The Auditor

Act 4, Scene 4

A Moreauverse Novella

“Time to recovery?" Jack asked with a soft, rasping growl.

“A few seconds, gravity tenders calibrating mass." The tech's voice was thick and they had to clear their throat a couple of times while making their report.

“Thirty-seven seconds to light horizon, approximately twelve minutes to event horizon, fifty-six minutes to wave front."

“Can we disembark them before then?" Johan asked as the proximity plot continued to zoom in until both ships were distinct, blocky artifacts showing their relative sizes. Beside the Choice the Falcon lander was miniscule; a new hatched chick sheltering under the raised wing of its mother.

“No." The science officer said without looking up. “The umbilical is not shielded against that degree of high energy radiation, even with the port shield at seventy percent containment the spillover would expose it to instantly lethal levels of radiation."

“Gravity tenders locked, holding at two meters standoff, secure on all emitters. Ablation shield lowering."

“We are in position to take the primary shockwave to the starboard keel shielding. Flash horizon in five." The scan tech read off as all eyes turned toward the main display.

It looked serene, an oblong shape slowly spinning about the center of its long axis, flickers and flames of burning crackle still lingering after the firefights that had taken place in the space around it. One was a blob, like a nebulae writ small, still expanding where the first of the Yugo class transports had been destroyed by the other. The second was nothing more than a positional icon on the screen, too small to be resolved.

Hope you liked the show, you fuck. Johan thought fiercely at Jeyev's memory; the shockwave had already passed where the ship had been. The thermal radiation of the light front and following debris would destroy it only slightly less quickly than a human thrown into the station's reducer among rocks being pulverized for the precious material within.

Then the center of the station gleamed, a brief flicker as a jet of superheated gas was vented through the very first hangar delved into its flank. A small ship was hurled out ahead of the blast, tumbling amidst a mass of ejecta that shredded it in milliseconds. Then the entire center of the rock bloomed with a blinding, misshapen sphere of light which cut it completely in half, either end venting fountains of fire like solar prominences as they tumbled shortly before both of them vanished in twin flashes so bright the display had to invert it to black.

“Twelve minutes to event horizon." While the first direct experience of the station's death was pure light the energy was still relatively minor, a mere flashbulb in space. The second experience would be the expanding front of charged particles and hard radiation which would be considered the actual 'event', itself, moving only slightly slower than the speed of light. The actual shockwave would follow much later, expanding much more slowly as dust and debris was caught up and hurtled away at fractional light speed velocities. The actual debris of the station, likely more plasma than mass objects, would likely never reach them before they moved out of its far slower path.

If Salen had been trapped on the station, alive or dead, he was less than atoms, Johan thought morosely, rapidly expanding to join the cosmic dance of creation and destruction, finding his way to distant stars and planets and, eventually, life forms. A little of his lover across the entirety of the universe until the final moments of time.

They maintained position, drifting slowly away under the impetus of the expanding light against the immense mass of the Choice, and waited for the event horizon and, behind that, the true danger of the station's destruction.

The scan technicians kept them advised of the event horizon's rapid approach, counting down the minutes, then ten second intervals, before the last ten. The wave did not flash past as the initial light front had, it approached with a hasty surge, building rapidly and cresting across them. “Event horizon." Announced the scan tech as the bridge turned to their displays, looking for any anomalies that might put the Choice at risk, or doom it entirely.

Energy readings spiked across multiple stations but nothing alarming, nothing beyond a sliver of yellow as the Choice was pushed along a little more swiftly, the flight technicians keeping their attitude set so that the vulnerable Falcon lander, and their open superstructure on that side, was not exposed to the full brunt of the radiation.

“Forty minutes to wave front."

“Energy within calculated limits, Captain, no anomalies. Falcon Two in communication shadow due to excessive RF. Last reported levels in the green; the shield's protecting her."

“Good to hear, lieutenant. Maintain attitude and drift. Set condition Theta, brace for impact, low inertia and long duration. All damage control crews stand by." Lights, blue and yellow, began to pulse softly along the railings and in tiles along the bottom of the walls. The tone that was being emitted was just within Johan's hearing range, but the low frequency alert, below his range, was easily felt in his chest as an ominous throb; thunder coming, stay alert! Captain Bander turned his head slightly to regard him.

He spoke softly, between the two of them. “Sorry about Salen. Where'd you lose him?" Obviously, since Salen had not been at Johan's shoulder nor reported to the infirmary for some injury, he was missing, likely deceased.

“Station core, during the evacuation. I have no idea what happened." Johan threw his hands up slightly before dropping them back to his side. “He just… disappeared, without a trace. That was when the station power was down, fucking black as a tomb. A tomb two fucking kilometers in diameter."

“Wasn't on any of the ships?"

“No." Johan shook his head morosely. The silence stretched as they watched the continued expansion of the station's immolation grow on the main display. Nothing tumbled within that blob of plasma, no debris survived the station's detonation and subsequent conversion, almost entirely, into so much energy and charged particles.

“One minute to impact." The brightness of the yellow lights increased as did the frequency of their slow pulsing, the blue did not change.

“We accounted for all but five of the survivors boarding the freighters. They went back, trying to shut down the reactors. Clearly, they failed." Johan nodded at the rapidly expanding wave of distortion turning the expanding rosette of the station's demise into a blurred smear on the display. “No idea who the Falcon landers recovered, so there is that very thin shred of hope."

“Thirty seconds."

“Set condition Zulu."

“Zulu, aye." The yellow stopped pulsing, becoming a solid orange while the blue turned white and began flickering in a clear countdown pattern.

“Hope is what we bring, Johan, and hope is what we grasp. Hold to it." Bander reached out a furred hand, blunt black claws gleaming, to grasp the human's shoulder. “If Salen falls his name will rise on eight planets, on twenty-seven colonies within the Alliance and Orion he will be remembered." Turning he reached across to touch a claw to the center of Johan's dirty overcoat. “Your heart will remember him."

“I can't remember what it was like to do this without him." Johan listlessly waved an arm toward the hazy view of a dim blob of light in the center of the forward display. “I don't know if I can continue without him."

“If you can't, you can't. There are dozens following your lead, doing what they can. We'll just put more assistance their way, whether they know it or not."

“Ten seconds."

“Oh, speaking of, there's a transmission I'd like you to listen to after this mess is over." The shepherd waved at the screen as well, now little more than a foggy smear full of sparkles as the few asteroids and dust of crackle between them and the wave were overtaken and detonated.

“Impact, leading edge." This far distant the concussion wave had long since depleted itself; now it was just debris hurling outward under inertia. It began as almost nothing; an ever so slight, nigh imperceptible vibration through the deck. Then the entire room began to hiss like a snake sensing a nearby threat as the wave front swept past them pushing a pall of purely normal, non-combustible dust before it. As the minutes passed the hiss became a growl, then a roar that set the entire multi-million tonne Choice to vibrating as if in the throes of a minor earthquake. Flight control moved with deft efficiency to adjust their attitude, to keep the thickest aspect of their shielding presented to the force of that wave of debris.

“Damage control?"

“All green, no major faults. Shields are holding, sensors indicate minimal ablating of the hull. Minor failures of structural connections throughout the ship. Bilge reclamation recycler seventeen has blown a cistern pipe, there's considerable flooding between structural members eighty and one eleven." Johan remembered fighting in that bilge. Though it was much cleaner and better maintained now than it had been, it was still a bilge. That's where he had discovered who the current Captain's father, if not direct sire, was.

“What was that transmission?" Johan asked, curious, though his thoughts were more on Salen's loss than anything else.

“My ready room." Captain Bander motioned toward a door to one side of the bridge. “Control, how long before we can properly recover or release Falcon Two?"

“At the current rate of falloff, and our outward trajectory, approximately six hours, Sir." Flight control reported crisply with a short nod. “Radiation will preclude use of the extendable boarding connection so we will have to bring it into a corvette pod if we want to recover the stragglers they picked up. The other landers also have refugees who will need to be similarly disembarked."

“We'll be in my ready room. Advise me when we're ready to recover our corvettes and dock the Falcon's lander. Prepare for reprovisioning if they require it."

“Copy, sir." From the logistics officer.

“Grant, you have the conn." The human, who had been at a nearby console, stood up and saluted.

“I have the conn, aye sir." The captain returned the salute. Johan followed him into the spacious room and the door hissed shut behind him. Bander motioned him toward a broad, comfortable lounge while he moved to a service to one side of the room. Johan eased himself down, scratching distractedly at the ruined hole in the scar-faced mask that was beginning to itch after so many hours. He was beginning to feel the bruising in his cheek from the one hit he had received. The mesh underneath had spread the impact force out, saving him from more than bruising and a minor cut.

No one on the ship made any remark, they had seen him in many costumes over the years, some returning in far worse shape. The captain took it in without pause the same way.

“Lara pointed this out to us; she picked it up on their deep space receiver once she got it back online. The news is recent, but his message was put out some six months ago, by the time stamp. It's from a planet called Jericho, at least it was so named in the broadcast. I believe the cartographers were able to draw up a lot of publicly accessible information on it. Lots of strife; past and current, Coalition and Sangan dual occupancy. During their last conflict the Defense Authority used a lot of their moreau soldiers with heavy losses. Campus moreaus managed to take a few bites out of their owners, and their holdings."

“I've heard of it, in passing. Some of the others have taken refugees there after being liberated. I have not."

Bander flicked his ears, whiskers lifting in wry humor. “You tend to run far larger productions, Johan, with far more broad reaching effects and consequences. The people you're talking about are just transporting ten or twenty at a time, not hundreds." As he spoke he set two tumblers out on the service and selected a tall bottle of some honey gold liquid to pour into them. He brought both over and handed one down to Johan before he settled into a nearby chair, tucking his tail around to one side. “Seems like the moreaus that seized land during the last major conflict have held it ever since, under an Alliance treaty, and have expanded considerably, installed their own port and deep space transmitter."

“Neither of which are cheap by any stretch." Johan agreed with a nod, taking a sip of the honey hued liquor, the fluid shimmering with an opalescent sheen in the overhead lights. “So they've held quite a bit of territory for a good while to establish that level of trade, especially off planet."

“Yep. Near on fifty years, I think. And now they've gone a step further. They're withdrawing from the Alliance, while they've got Alliance on all sides and the Sangan just over the horizon. They're establishing an independent moreau holding."

Johan sucked a breath between his teeth, both from the news and from the slow fire of the liquor seeping down his throat. “That's ballsy. All moreaus?" He chuffed a rueful laugh, “And I bet the nearby human settlements want the land back."

“Pretty much." Bander nodded, sipping lightly by extending his tongue slightly, the tip cupped, to tilt a bit of the liquor onto it. “From what I gather going by their declaration broadcast and news data. I'd imagine there are a few humans within their borders, just not any in governing positions."

“Let's hear this declaration of theirs, then. It'd be a windfall, having a purely moreau governed polity within Alliance territory."

“Computer, play 'Kashkin Declaration' transmission, on primary emitter." He turned in his seat slightly to direct his strong canine head toward the briefing table to one side of the room. A large holograph appeared above it, the lights in the room dimming automatically.

A moreau, a badger by the look though its gender could only be ascertained by the cut of the clothing that it wore. Not knowing the fashions of the speaker's world Johan could not even make that determination. They stood before a podium of some sort, badged with a stylized circle with heraldic apparati that were indecipherable to the human or the canine observer. Resting both stout clawed paws on the podium the speaker looked into the imaging device, and spoke.

“In the five centuries since the creation of the first of our kind, there has been no more important question than the one of our status, either as beings possessed of free will and judgment, or of property. And in five centuries, not once has it been anything but obvious that we are, as we have always been, a separate people." They said, their voice smooth but with the underlying soft growl of their species template. There were additional audio tracks in various languages that could be selected but Jack had chosen the more normalized Alliance common speech. Johan felt that their opening statement was not, exactly, entirely factual. True enough for them, and the greater moreau population of the Yucatec Alliance and perhaps the Orion Soviet worlds, but not for the Eight Worlds that were established when one of the early ark ships split off, became lost, and found themselves far from human dominated worlds.

This was all knowledge to Johan, gleaned after almost two decades shuttling back and forth between the empires, republics, and other polities that were established from ancient Earth ties and the far more distant, secluded Eight Worlds. He had not been born there, the human population on those planets was less than that of the moreau population within the core polities. He had been born in the Alliance, had prospered there, and found enough despair there to seek some way to balance the scales. He had found that purpose in finding those moreaus he could, who needed liberty from their oppressors and delivering it to them. Many were merely ferried to safer places within Alliance or Orion space where they could start new lives, better lives. Some he took far further, introducing them to the Eight Worlds where the enhanced animals had come into their own; free.

He was not the only one to do that, not by a wide margin, he merely embraced his role with far greater scope than others might.

Johan listened to the speech without comment, Jack seated in his own chair, long shanked legs crossed, sipping the heady, calming liquor as the bottle drained between them.

“On behalf of those people whose fate is our solemn burden, we resolve finally, by unanimous assent and free will, that this declaration serves as the instrument of our separation. In so doing we confirm the founding of the independent state of Kashkin, the dissolution of the colonial administrative council, and the establishment of this government as the sole and lawful authority." The badger trailed off, their gaze drifting toward people not visible to the imager; witnesses to the declaration.

Whomever had transmitted the message inserted their own parting words before the message terminated. “We are Kashkin."

“It repeats from there." Jack said quietly after a moment of silence. “Information synthesis drew from accessible media from the same transmission location and it seems that there is a great deal of animosity between this newly formed Commonwealth and the neighboring human territory. The Colonial Defense Authority was mediating but, it seems, they've thrown in the towel and are withdrawing from the situation as of August, by their local calendar."

“When is that by ours?"

“Four days, accounting for differences in timekeeping."

Johan rubbed his jaw as the holograph froze, the speech complete. “That will only lead to active conflict there when it happens. Since the local human territories refuse to accept the independence of the moreau colony, as I would expect of them, they will want to crush any dream if true independence for moreaus, anywhere. They lack our pragmatism." Meaning the overall polity of the Eight Worlds and a few smaller, scattered colonies that had bid for their own independence among the Eight over the last handful of centuries. Separating from the greater political entities always brought tension and that often broke from the Eternal Conflict, sometimes in disastrous ways.

“They're going to need to be acknowledged and, if there's a current ongoing conflict, support or at least witnesses other than on-site coalition forces and supportive third parties." Bander leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Witnesses too big to be cowed away by whatever PMCs are on station. The recent news indicates that is Defense Authority, maybe others, and the Orion Soviet."

“Us, you mean. We're unallied with any of those three, and we're more than big enough to bluff out a PMC trying to send us packing."

“Yes, that's what I was thinking. We out-mass more than ninety percent of the ships any PMC out there can field. And if they decide to use force to send us running we've got our own deep space transmitter to let everyone know exactly what they're doing. And, if push comes to shove, we've got the Eight Worlds behind us."

Johan chuffed and shook his head slowly, chuckling drily. “Jack, this is not the time to reveal the Eight, yet, probably not for a good long time. You know that."

The shepherd leaned forward, ears forward and eyes earnest. “When, Johan? When will that be? We've advanced far beyond them, we've all but eliminated the squabbles that still keep my kind in bondage among the Alliance planets and elsewhere! You saw what that shepherd was pushed to!" He waved an arm at the susurrus of noise still vibrating through the mass of the Choice, sometimes accentuated by deeper noises as larger impacts punched through the shields and struck the hull. “She destroyed an entire station, for vengeance at how they're treated. Moreaus in the Alliance deserve better, they deserve peace!"

“And you just saw their first steps toward earning it, Jack. We can't sweep in and hand it to them, they'll never appreciate it, or us, if we do. We still have to maintain that obfuscation, working within the established framework of the Alliance. The Orion Soviets are getting close, but their system still has flaws to work out. They will, very likely, be the first one the Eight Worlds reach out to. And that is not for us to decide, not here, not over bared fangs when we get to Jericho. That is for the Conflict Council and Voices of the Eight to decide. We are merely to help where we can, as we do, as others who do without even knowing about help from beyond their polities. Establish trade, bolster the strength of their economic position so that their independence can gain a good foothold."

The captain growled, ears backing but not going flat in frustration. “Yes, but we need to do more. To stop situations like this one from developing so far that some poor soul quotes Invictus and immolates themselves with enough energy to reduce entire planets to rubble."

“I agree, but we must do so subtly." Johan finished the drink, feeling the calming heat of it suffusing outward from his breast. “Once we recover the last of the stragglers and report to our contact we'll jump to this Jericho and throw our support behind the Kashkin independence, officially witness its legitimacy and lend what logistical support we might, I'm sure they'll need it."

“Merely logistics? We've got two pods worth of ground combat equipment."

“Purchased by and slated for the Irikosh, they deserve their bid for freedom as much as the Kashkin does. It's not due to be delivered for another three months. There's another couple pods full of general and medical supplies that we can write off, that should be more than sufficient. If they've managed to hold their own this long I doubt they will need more weapons, and that would only make them an even bigger threat worth more resources to crush. We'll see what we see when we get there." Johan stood and stretched, feeling every minute of the last sixteen hours. “I'm going to get out of this monkey suit and get what rest I can. Give me notice when we're ready to take in the lander."

Captain Bander stood and set his empty tumbler on the table. “Rest well, Johan. I'll see you in a few hours." He stepped out of the ready room and Johan followed, making his way to the exit.

With a heavy heart he walked the short distance down the corridor, past the wardrooms of the senior officers, and stopped at his own door. He stared at it for almost a minute, passing crew moving around him without intruding on his silence, before raising a hand to cycle the door.

Salen's scent, mingled with his own, washed out in a subtle sigh of recycled air and he took a long breath before he stepped in. How long would his mate's scent linger in the sterile environment, he wondered? Dare he have the bedding laundered, remove the few strands of Salen's fur still caught up in it? Erase his presence through the laundry chute?

He crossed the receiving room, avoiding their shared stateroom, and into the refresher. It was a large room, far larger than a standard ship toilet, divided into two cells; one for the typical use of toilet, shower, and full body drier, the other for a large chair and armature similar to but much more involved than the one on the Stateroom.

Shedding his ragged, sweat stained, odiferous costume he sprawled into the chair and tapped the button to activate it. He ended up falling into an unconscious slumber while the machine peeled away the layers of his cosmetics, not moving until an insistent chime woke him some time later.

“Director Johan, the majority of the debris field has passed and they are preparing to dock Falcon Two." A crewman informed him when he waved a hand to let the room know he was awake enough to hear a message. “I was told you wished to be informed."

“Thank you. Let the captain know I'll join him shortly on the bridge."

“I will pass the message, sir." The channel went silent. Johan levered himself out of the chair, the armature long since finished with its work and retracted into its stowed position. Staggering into the toilet he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His face was haggard, bags under his slightly reddened eyes, a livid purple splotch on one cheek where the bullet had struck. There were less pronounced bruises along his brow and jawline due to the mesh stiffening abruptly to spread the impact force into the rest of his face. The impact point glistened with a layer of restorative ointment, applied by the cosmetic station. It would bind the torn skin within hours, much of its work already complete, and lessen the bruising much more rapidly if he continued to apply it.

He stepped into the shower which obligingly activated at just the right temperature which, for his naked skin, was on the hot side but perfect for Salen whose body temperature naturally ran a few degrees hotter. He emptied his mind as he went about bathing alone, eschewing the drier for something as simple as a towel. Dressing was a perfunctory affair; slacks and shirt in command colors with no rank insignia.

The bridge was a quiet hive of its normal activity when he stepped in, the ever-present guards, this time a burly human woman and a wiry schnauzer template canine, each gave him quick glances and brief nods in greetings before resuming their attentive positions to either side of the door. The captain was present, seated in his command chair in a relaxed pose, talking to his father, the commander of their escort group, Daeron Bander, the scar faced human Johan had met the first time he was aboard the Commodore's Choice. Back then he had been the commander of a mercenary company called the 'Black Eyed Dogs' which were, officially, still a scourge on those shipping moreaus across most of the Alliance.

Daeron gave him a warm smile, which did little to soften his grim face with the four diagonal scars the man had inflicted upon himself, and a nod of greetings. The captain turned slightly in his chair to give Johan an easy nod as well. “They're maneuvering Falcon Two into corvette bay four on the port side, should be secure within the half hour. Their colonel would also like to have a private word with you at your convenience, J. You can take it in the ready room."

Johan glanced at the main display which, at the moment, showed a view of the local system from a point far above or below its ecliptic. The primary star was a dirty orange dwarf circled by two small inner planets, rocky and barren, and a vast ring much further out; the remnants of one or two, or more, gas giants that had been destroyed at some point in the past. In one small section of the belt a beautiful nebula was expanding, the ring of destruction still undisturbed by the orbital forces that would one day make it blend into the belt almost flawlessly, save for the vast gap left behind by Lara's Sacrifice.

He smiled when he saw that the cartographers had already given it a name. The positions of the Choice, one corvette unable to dock as its bay was in use were also highlighted, and the Falcon fleet, missing its cutter, a few thousand kilometers distant just within the expanding ring. He walked into the ready room and let the door slip closed behind him as he crossed to the captain's desk and sat in the seat behind it. Someone on the bridge had already hailed the Colonel, at whichever ship he was on, and the return signal was waiting for him to activate.

A single wave of his hand across the desk brought up a hologram, empty for a few seconds showing a richly appointed room visible to the distant imager, before the Colonel stepped into view and sat in his own chair. “Auditor. I see you are looking much better."

“I still need a few days' worth of sleep, but I am feeling much more myself, Colonel, thank you."

The dark-skinned man smiled and nodded. “You look more like yourself, too. Who was The Auditor, if I might ask? I see several public articles so I assume he exists, or existed?"

Johan chuckled wearily. “Oh, he exists. I don't usually go and assassinate those whose identities I co-opt. He was handsomely paid to step out of the public eye for a year or so, enjoy a nice vacation after his… well, unfortunate accident." He sketched air quotes around the last, revealing the ruse. “When he reappears in a few months he will look little changed, save for perhaps a tan. Reconstructive surgery and all." He waved his hand dismissively. “You wished to talk?"

The man frowned and nodded slowly. “I did. I received a response to my request, concerning the moreaus we found on the station, which was made shortly before we were forced to evacuate."

Johan raised an eyebrow. “And?"

The Colonel cleared his throat, his expression uncomfortable. “I was advised that if they refused to release the station or accept their new supervising body they were to be euthanized. All of them, no exceptions."

Johan coughed softly with a sigh and shook his head; the corporations of the Alliance had a long, long way to go before the Council would even begin to consider revealing its existence to them. “I see."

Colonel Black squared his broad shoulders and steepled his hands before his mouth for a moment before speaking further. “Unfortunately, due to the rather unexpectedly powerful EM pulse of the station's destruction through our receiver array the computer was corrupted, losing several days' worth of data and any messages received. Because of the imminent destruction of the asteroid due to sabotage by the existing command crew we were forced to evacuate after a brief exchange of weapons fire with defenders we were not able to properly identify."

Johan chuckled softly and gave an appreciative nod. “It was good that you were able to withdraw in time, then, with little damage suffered." He leaned forward slightly. “Who were your employers for this venture? Will they sanction you for failure to complete your contract?"

“Exillar Ordinance, a subsidiary of Absalon Resource Technologies." Johan raised an eyebrow and whistled softly; Absalon was one of the few other mining outfits that had a source, very hidden, of crackle though it was a less pure variant. And, if rumors were accurate, that source was running dry. Having the precursor as well as a weapons development company and, logically, the infrastructure to utilize the first to produce the second, their margins were very healthy even with the lesser grade material. Had they secured the station they would have all but cornered the market on crackle and almost all weapons derived from it. “And yes, they were livid when they received images of the station's destruction from our frigate. They're threatening sanctions, especially since we lack crucial data to verify we were ever on the station due to our own computer's failure."

Johan beamed and laughed. “Well, you do know where two freighters full of raw crackle are parked awaiting pickup." He waved his hand toward the hollow. “They're all yours, if you can secure them before my own sources discover them."

“Kiplinger's already on station, will probably have them gone within the hour." Black said with a smile. “And I do appreciate you folks going after my lander, you had no reason to."

“Nor reason not to, Colonel. You and yours had no need to let us out on those freighters, either. Handshake for handshake, as we like to say, a lot less acrimony than a blade in the back. It's good to know that there are commanders out there who understand some basic humanity and self-respect. I daresay we may be contacting you in the future."

“I look forward to it… Auditor." The Colonel gave him a parting salute and his holo faded into white mist, channel closed.

Johan let the holo fade before opening another, requesting access to the Choice's deep space transmitter, to initiate another hail. Due to latency, even over the FTL deep space communication network, it would take almost an hour to receive a response. While he had been in a comatose slumber someone had gotten aboard the Stateroom and recovered the data that the ghost had downloaded and the report that the computer had developed from it. Johan pulled it up while he waited for a response from his long-range hail. He found more than he had expected; the ghost had polled every piece of technology with computer access. The maintenance drones, the automated repair facilities, even the boring machines. The sheer amount of redirected crackle was staggering; Jeyev and his entire cast of clowns would have been set up for life even without 'selling' the station to Absalon. The communications between Jeyev and the clearly identified, undisguised Absalon representative had even been recovered from the man's encrypted 'reciprocity' data store.

“Mister Johan." An image appeared in the holo, showing nothing but the figure in the emitter. It was a feline template moreau, a lion to be exact, his mane and fur immaculate and as black as Salen's though with subtle silver at the tips. Powerful fangs, longer in relation to his muzzle than even Rakshasa's, gleamed a pure, opalescent white. Intense eyes of polished emerald, pupils vertically slit like a fox rather than the round pupil unmodified lions had possessed, pierced him with intense regard. “I am receiving a data package, the result of your audit?"

Johan bowed from his seat. “It is, Director. I am sure you will find it horrifyingly illuminating. You'll find that Absalon Resources was courting the current facility commander and had made a purchase contract for the facility, down to the last asset on it."

The lion's gaze did not flick to the data report Johan knew he was scrolling through simply by the play of light upon his chin and mane. “And has that issue been resolved? Alph Polaris outpost remains in CMI's hands?"

“It has been resolved, but no, the outpost is lost."

Hardness tightened the muscles of the lion's sharp chiseled muzzle. “Lost? In what manner?"

“It was destroyed."

For the first time since making contact with him over a year previously Johan saw emotion etch itself upon the lion's normally inscrutable feline face. His lips lifted, showing a full set of deadly white teeth, whiskers flattening back as his mane doubled in volume. “Destroyed?" He verily roared and Johan winced. “I sent you there to discover what was going on and assume control if necessary! Not destroy it!"

“The current commander, one Elyas Jeyev, identified in the report, claimed control seven months ago through mutiny, murdering the former command staff and many of the moreaus. When I attempted to utilize your authorization codes to seize control of the station, after discovering the entirety of his actions, he crashed the entire facility. There was no power and no computer to receive the authorization codes. When power was restored a moreau that Jeyev had tortured, one familiar with fusion power systems, sabotaged one of the reactors. It overloaded resulting in the destruction of the facility, as shown in the report. Attempts were made to reverse the sabotage but were not successful."

Ebony growled, the imager tracking him as he paced in a spitting fury, his immaculate mane haloing his head so much it was cut off by the imager's limited field of view. “And the other moreaus?" Initially the lion had made contact with Johan only to request he look into the fate of the station's moreau laborers. He had wanted to automate the facility but the other members of the board had refused, stating that biologic assets were easier and cheaper to replace than exceedingly expensive robotics which would still require moreaus to maintain them. After their refusal Ebony had sought other options.

When production crashed the Board had become concerned, but were wasting so much time in committees that Ebony had moved Johan into play with a hasty plan which, in the end, resulted in the loss of the entire facility.

And still his first concern had been for the moreaus.

“All that survived the mutiny and subsequent privation, and many of the humans, were able to be rescued before the reactor went critical. We are taking them aboard now."

The big cat let out a short chuff of breath, silvered whiskers flicking as he glanced down and made a motion that could not be seen but for the subtle shift of his shoulder. A moment later Johan received notice of a data transfer. “There, as agreed. Those are the deeds of ownership for all moreaus assigned to the station or transferred in under Commander Nan's authority. The humans remain employees of CMI. I will require that they be returned to a transfer point for recovery. There will be an investigation into the matter of mutiny and murder as well as the events that led up to the loss of the facility."

“And what will their fates be?"

Ebony gave him a sardonic look, one silver dusted black brow lifting. “They're humans, should I not treat them in the same way that they have treated us, mister Johan, if I find them culpable?"

“Many that were rescued are not, as shown in the report. Some have established relationships with the moreaus, I would prefer not to force them apart. There are also children, though none human."

“You have their deeds, mister Johan, those moreaus are free. They may even apply for citizenship if they choose, though I would question their intelligence if they do so. But their humans must be brought before a board of inquiry. Also, if there are cubs, the deeds should be sufficient to establish them as unbound from ownership contracts if lineage can be verified." He paused, gaze dropping to a display below the view of the holo imager. “I see that a relatively small portion of the belt has been affected by the destruction of the facility. Have your science officers determined the remnant background radiation of the event?"

“They have not completed a thorough survey and I doubt we will linger overlong to conduct such, but initial gross scans indicate the areas immediately around the point of the event, perhaps five to seven percent of the belt, are now too radioactive for anything but robots. That will also taint the R4, possibly enriching it to R7 which is not usable with current technology." Johan reported after scanning the one page insert at the end of the report. “The belt directly opposite the destruction remains unaffected."

“Good, then. We can rebuild. Perhaps this time the others will understand the necessity for automation over moreau labor or human overseers."

“That cataclysm was as bright as a small supernova, Director Ebony, it will attract attention. Holding it may be an issue."

“There was a PMC present, yes? The Falcons, by your report? What was their role in securing or losing the facility?"

“They had effectively captured it intact before they realized the reactor was going critical. They were instrumental in evacuating what personnel they could, moreaus and humans alike. They made a valiant attempt, with station technical staff, to reverse the failure but could not in the time they had."

“Have you established communication with them, if they were transporting evacuees?"

“I have, yes, sir. Their commander is one Colonel Al'andiir Black, I can transfer you his credentials if you wish."

“I am familiar with their umbrella PMC, and their overall operational reputation, but not the on-scene commander. Observations?"

“Honorable. He could have left us behind but did not. They even provided security escort during the evacuation with some material loss. Their general comms frequency band is also in the report, and they have deep space comms capability."

Ebony nodded, a shift in his posture indicating he had sat down though what he had sat down upon was not visible. The holo imager on his end had a very tight discrimination filter. “I must admit that I am far from satisfied with the outcome of this… fiasco, mister Johan. If this report is entirely accurate, I have no reason to believe it is not, there was little you could do without exposing your purpose at an earlier juncture. You will receive full compensation for your operation, but with reservations. I admire what you do, but if these are the results, I cannot say we will be reaching out as obligingly in the future."

“Entirely understandable, Director. Even if the door is closed, keeping it open just a crack is all I ask."

“Then don't come kicking at it, mister Johan." The holo flicked, fading to white; channel closed.

The communicator chimed softly, someone had noticed that the active session had ended. Johan reached down and tapped it with a sigh. Time to move on; the station was gone, Salen was… gone. The ghost could be recovered. He would be back to where he was seven years past.

Or, perhaps, he could pass the torch and retire to one of the Eight Worlds.

“Mister Johan, they have recovered the Falcon lander and off-loaded the refugees they had aboard. Do you have anything you wish to impart before they launch? They have another lander with refugees, rescued from the command decks, as well and it is moving into position for docking once the first is released. We still have to recover the Broken Fang before we can depart." The comms tech said with quiet respect.

“I have nothing, ensign. Thank you for the notification."

“Aye, sir. Master Salen has arrived on the bridge, should I send him in?"

Johan was across the room before the statement was completed, launching through the door so fast it barely opened enough to slip through. Behind him the captain's chair spun wildly as it tilted over and fell with a clatter. Salen, standing beside captain Bander and his father, commander of the corvette Porn Star's Folly, turned at the noise, his black furred muzzle splitting with a whisker lifting smile. The lush length of black fur behind him drew up into a relaxed curve, bushing comically wide, at Johan's sudden appearance.

The faux skunk was lifted entirely off his feet with a startled, trilling cry of surprise and delight as Johan swept him up into a crushing embrace. He buried his face into the wonderfully thick, dirty fur of Salen's neck and let out a choked cry of his own that the fur did little to muffle. He cared not a whit that the entire bridge crew was witnessing his utter loss of decorum. To one side he heard the Banders chuckle in two very different voices and someone issued a quiet command for the crew to return to their tasks; Grant.

Daeron turned and threw beefy arms across them as he pushed them back toward the room Johan had just vacated, chuckling merrily the entire time like a steam locomotive on idle. “C'mon, kids, we don't want to let the rooks see how relationships are supposed to work, now." He gently pushed them through the door, Salen still held aloft in his human mate's desperate embrace.

Johan did not put Salen's paws back to the floor for several long moments, doing a slow pirouette as he held the wonderful presence tight, inhaling that scent, feeling the warmth of his fur where it was exposed from the standard crew coveralls he wore. Salen huffed and embraced him back, lush tail wrapping about them both.

Stumbling as if drunk with Salen's weight in his arms Johan managed to get them to the sofa before his legs failed, spilling them both in an ungainly pile upon the soft upholstery. They untangled themselves and managed to sit more or less upright, Johan holding the black furred skunk shaped dog close. “How?" He cried, openly weeping though not sobbing, tears blurring his vision as he tried to drink in the sight of the love he thought had become scattered atoms.

“Mercs." Salen said, his voice rough edged with emotion and injury. “That weasel Brady hit me with a stunner while we were transiting the core. Hauled me off to his ship strapped to a gurney."

“I do hope he paid for that?" Johan growled, wiping his tear-stained cheeks, imagining his eyes must look an absolute fright.

“Lara caught up to us and made him pay. She cut me loose and fled when the Falcons were breaching the hangar. They cut him down, found me, and hauled me along." He sighed, coughed, and cleared his throat before rubbing at it with one hand. “Strap at the neck, across my throat." He explained to Johan's look of concern. His whiskers lifted, angling back as he gave Johan a brief, if exhausted smile. “I'll let you ease it, love, with your special elixir… but not this cycle. I'm wrung out."

Shifting to his feet Johan held out a hand, helping his black furred partner to his feet. “Let me take you to the cabin, get some rest. Food?"

“Starved." Salen admitted, leaning against Johan as they walked toward the door. “But I'll eat when I wake up." The door hissed open and they stepped back out onto the bridge though far fewer eyes were turned their direction. The two Banders, of course, glanced up from the navigation table. The captain nodded greetings with a slight if warm smile, ears forward. The commander gave them both a rakish, leering grin and winked, then thrust his arm toward the door off of the bridge.

“Go." He rumbled in a no-nonsense commanding officer voice which made the dog standing beside him snort with humor at having his own commands co-opted. “Do not return until you've both gotten a full z-watch, food, and please get yourself a shower. That dog stinks." Captain Bander barked a single sharp explosion of laughter and cuffed his father smartly on the back of his head.

“You forget your place, commander Bander." Jack said affably, hands on hips, tail flicking behind him, ears erect and forward. “Those were my orders to give."

Daeron merely shrugged, “They're civs, kid. I can order 'em just as much as you can."

“On my bridge?"

That made the elder human pause, one eyebrow raising as he scanned the bridge. Few eyes were turned toward their banter but on every head with mobile ears at least one was turned their direction. “Yeah, okay, you got me there." He stood down and adopted an at-ease pose, hands clasped at the small of his back.

Captain Bander turned his attention to the pair standing nearby still holding one another close. “You two, off my bridge. Do not return until you have gotten a full z-watch and food. That is an order." The shepherd was smiling as he delivered the stern order. Daeron merely rolled his eyes and mimed the orders.

“How long before we jump, Captain?" Johan asked, too spent from the tumultuous roller coaster of emotions he had just ridden to smile at the concurring orders from two of their closest friends.

“Navigation?" The captain asked without turning.

“Six hours to primary jump." The plot window expanded from their location, slewed, and narrowed slightly. Several stars and other navigational items were highlighted. “G-T19807, red dwarf system, asteroid mass bodies only, within 15au of the primary. Our target is 37au along the ecliptic, zero relative delta-V for rendezvous."

The captain turned a glance toward Daeron who was attempting to shepherd the two exhausted, entwined males from the bridge. “Commander, status?"

Daeron turned and adopted a pose of attention. “Frigates Sharp Spear, Red Lance, and Mackey's Mickey should be on station within three days of our arrival, captain, sir. Twelve hours to rendezvous and assume escort position before Jericho approach. Sir."

Jack chuffed softly through his nose at his father's officiousness, as if they were not relative equals in their own fleets. “Very well, commander. If you'll see those two out and ensure they follow orders I would be in your debt."

“Aye aye, captain, sir." Daeron sketched a jaunty salute and once more chivved Johan and Salen to the door. “Satisfied?" He asked as it whisked shut behind them. “Now go, you two look ready to either fall on your faces with exhaustion or fall on each other." He paused, then grinned, the scars on his face pulling as he clapped either of them on the shoulder. “Maybe both." He pushed them down the corridor gently. “Go."

Johan nodded and shrugged, turning with Salen to make their way the short distance to their shared cabin. He had been sorely tempted to simply pick his dog up and carry him across the threshold like a bride of old but didn't feel that his arms still had the strength. The few crew in the corridor stepped nimbly around them, all very well aware of that particular couple on the ship. The intimidating presence of the elder Bander also convinced them to keep their attention on their tasks.

In the cabin Johan forced Salen to stand still while removed the crew coveralls and threw them in the general vicinity of the laundry chute before escorting his mate toward the bed. While Salen sat Johan shucked his own clothes creating a roughly scattered debris field between the bed and laundry chute as if a ship made of fabric had suffered a disastrous crash landing from bed to wall.

He sat down beside Salen, drawing the black dyed skunk close. “I thought I had lost you, Salen." He said softly, holding him close, letting that delightful fur rest warm against his skin. Just as Daeron had pointed out Salen did have a rank bouquet, though not entirely of his own scent. He smelled of rock, metal, oil, dust, exhaustion, adrenaline, fear, all overwhelming his normal, if overly pungent, musk. It was a heady mélange and not an erotic one, though if either had been in the mood it would not have slowed them.

Neither was, satisfied to just be close.

“I thought I was lost." Salen admitted, ducking his angular muzzle into the hollow of Johan's throat, blunt claws pressing against his off side as if to drag him closer. “When that psychopath had me strapped to the gurney after nailing the shit out of me with the stunner I was utterly powerless. No strength, no wits, just… just raw fear. And what he had on his ship, Joh! By all the cursed black stars it was terrifying!" The dog shuddered, fur fluffing and then flattening as he pressed against the human whose life and bed he shared. “He skinned moreaus! That coat Jeyev was wearing… that was nothing! He had more than dozen tacked up to the walls of his ship, like fucking trophies! If Lara hadn't come along he would have put me up there, too." He paused, shaking against Johan's side while the human stroked his back and rested his chin between rounded, velvet furred ears. “She saved me, and ended up sacrificing herself. I saw, on the feeds in the lander's crew bay."

“That was her decision, Salen. Her choice, freely made. Maye the first choice she was ever able to make of her own free will. I don't know how, but we'll honor her. Maybe Director Ebony will, since the cartographers have already codified the name of that gap in the belt." Johan chuckled softly. “He was pissed."

“I can imagine. Millions of tons of an already rare precursor wiped out because of one tortured dog." Salen looked up, then leaned against Johan's side. “Will they ever learn, these humans? The soviets are getting there but still have a long way to go, but the Coalition…"

“They will, or they won't. If the former they'll be accepted as a polity to ally with. If not they'll fall and something else will take their place."

“Not the Sangan."

“Oh, no." Johan assured him. “The Eight will probably do more than they are now to curtail that sort of expansion."

Salen sighed and yawned that immense sharp toothed yawn not even the shepherd captain could duplicate. “We should obey orders."

“We should." And so they did, drawn up as close as the physical limits of their bodies allowed on the bed, skunk shaped dog cupped in the curve of Johan's taller frame, lush tail draped over and down along the back of the human's legs, as they fell into the darkness of slumber.

“Clean jump." Navigation reported as the Commodore's Choice, now transmitting its proper, licensed Alliance identification, leaped from one star system to another in the time it took to contemplate the physical sensation of the transfer. Systems shut down to protect themselves from the high energy pulse of jump quickly came back online. “Zero point three three degree variance, captain, with apologies."

Thirty thousand kilometers was hardly a big degree of variance, considering there were no mapped bodies so far distant from the tiny red glimmer that was the system's primary, but the navigation officer would take his subordinates to task regardless. “Well within tolerances, navigation. Signals?"

“Clear. Navigation buoys at 1 and 10 au, a bunch of survey probes in the litter between 0.5 and 13 au. No active sweeps."

“Let's go EM dark, just in case."

“Copy, going dark. Should we ping the nearest navigation buoy?" It was customary for passing vessels to ping the local buoys just in case they did not arrive at an expected rendezvous so that their progress could be tracked. The buoys would routinely dump their data to passing ships to be relayed for the same purpose.

“Not this time, navigation. Let's stay nice and quiet."

“Copy. All signals dark."

“While we're waiting get analytics on chatter coming across the deep space feeds, see if we can find out what's happening at our destination."

The Choice waited, a single large boulder far out beyond the limits of the local asteroid field so far as any passing traffic would notice unless they did an active scan and discovered it was refined metals rather than rock. That would open a whole can of worms passing ships would probably not enjoy.

Sixty-eight hours later signals broke into the general quiet of bridge conversations. Coffee mugs were hastily secured and everyone adopted full alert postures. “Emergence pulse, two hundred thousand kilometers. No EM." There was a pause. “Stand by. EM burst, broad signal, low power." Meaning it would attenuate within light seconds, becoming nothing more than the background radiation of the universe, easily attributed to asteroid collision. “Silent again."

“Incoming hail." Comms said at almost the same time. “It's the Red Lance, subcommander Alovahn at the helm."

“Let them know we're here." Comms sent back a terse reply, appending their coordinates in the system. A few moments later glimmers on the viewscreen revealed the approaching ships by the infrared glow of their thrusters. “We can light up again, navigation. Communications, hail them."

Moments later, with a sub-light second delay, a black and russet canine visage appeared on the main display. “Hello, captain Bander." The doberman gave a brief salute, though his uniform was anything but standard, with no visible rank to require any sort of salute. It was a hodgepodge of countless styles, rings of polished metals in the dog's cropped, sharply pointed, upright ears.

“Greetings, commander Alovahn. How's your group?" Even as the captain inquired three brackets appeared up on the display, highlighting three ships defined solely by the radiation of their thrusters as they closed rapidly.

“All in good shape, Cap. We lost those damn Haidovirs, though. They jumped in with as much delta-V as their ship could manage and, when they spotted us, jettisoned their cargo."

The bridge went silent for a moment at that news. “Jettisoned?"

“Aye, the entire cargo section just went tumbling free as they managed to get some rocks between us. We let 'em go, of course, managed to get grapnels on the container before it ended up in the rocks. They had forty-two." The dog's ears flicked back and his whiskers drooped. “Only thirty-seven survived, dehydrated and freezing but we managed to save what we could."

“Both fortunate and unfortunate." Bander replied with a slow nod at his peer, rank classifications notwithstanding, on the flagship of the trio. “Were are they now?"

“Still aboard. Commander's summons kept us from making a transfer point. He there?"

“Galley. He just came off Z-watch, should be on the bridge in twenty or so. I'll put him through. How long before rendezvous?"

“At current speed, eleven hours fifty minutes. We're going to make a parabolic approach to be in position when we match speed."

“Copy, we're already oriented for jump, increasing delta-V for entry." Jumping with high velocity in relation to the target was beyond unwise but Jericho system was well mapped and their emergence point was far from any established travel lanes. “Analytics is compiling what they can from network chatter, we'll have it prepared shortly. Seems we'll be looking at five ships; A heavy cruiser, Suvla Bay, and two destroyers, the Farragut and Yeager; another ship flagged as a cruiser but acting as some sort of hospitality ship for negotiations; Malinche, all Alliance. And a Grand Orion Soviet heavy destroyer, the Krasni Kavkaz. We have no intel on them, haven't encountered any of them before. You?"

The doberman shook his head. “No, but we're in the clear with the Orions, as Shields and Dogs, since we don't interdict much in their space. We might be able to bounce them a data squirt using your deep space comms, letting them know we're coming and why. If they're observers or actually supporting that independent colony they might be willing to help us annoy the Alliance."

“You speak Ruski, Al?"

“I don't, but comms specialist Veylar on the Mackey's Mickey does. Her brother's been inserted in Orion for decades and she visits often."

The captain grinned, having one of the five ships not wanting to shoot them would be a bonus, regardless. “Get it done, I'll tell comms to make the connection."

As promised Daeron arrived, mug of coffee in hand, slightly less than twenty minutes later. He and his mate shared warm, if reserved, greetings and news of their partially successful raid.

Over the next few hours the four ships grew closer, the smaller frigates swinging in along sedate trajectories that would bring them alongside the Choice's course, drifting close enough to mesh the frequencies of their respective jump drives but not so close the energies would disrupt one another. The Choice launched one of its corvettes, the Porn Star's Folly with Daeron at its helm, to pick up those that had been recovered during the raid and ferry them over to the Choice. The far larger ship had a medical bay commensurate to its size that would help those poor souls as it was helping those recovered from the mining station. Once the Folly was recovered and the ships synced, they prepared for exiting the system a day after the arrival of the frigates.

“We're going into the gravity well as close as possible." The captain of the Choice said over the shared comm channel with all three frigates. The doberman, a human, and a feline of indeterminate domestic template listened attentively, their own navigation officers on the same link. “With our envelope we can match the frigates for proximal approach, about four hundred thousand kilometers with the planet's primary satellite currently in opposition. Transponders off, we'll go in dark."

“Dark?" The feline asked, somewhat surprised, “That's a hot zone, jumping in silent is going to get every gun in orbit trained on us, if they don't just start shooting."

“Understood, LaRue. Switch to Silver Shield transponder codes but keep them dark until I give the order." Daeron, standing beside his son, said with a grave nod. “That'll make them scramble, throw their plans into a tizzy for a few hours with undeclared traffic arriving with a military escort. If those are Defense Authority ships in orbit they'll have to clear any action with the regional Alliance Ecclesia, unless we start hostilities, which we won't. That will take time and that is the currency we're spending on behalf of the independent colony planetside. Our presence will limit action from space; they won't want to risk launching any sorties with gunships of unknown allegiance in orbit with them, and just having us eyeballing them will, hopefully, prevent them exercising more drastic measures."

“And if the Sangan are in orbit?" The feline, LaRue, continued, though respectfully, playing devil's advocate. “They have interests planetside, too, and don't give a cat's whisker who's watching."

“We didn't get any impression they were, but if that's the case then Alliance forces will have their focus elsewhere and not on a mystery freighter and its escort. It won't take their scan techs long to figure out none of us fit Sangan ship profiles." Daeron gave a dark chuckle while the captain spoke. None of them cared for the Sangan whatsoever so any time they could thumb their noses at them they took every opportunity.

As one the three frigates turned off their transponders, each switching to the Alliance PMC licenses for their 'legitimate' occupation as freight escort which the Silver Shields actually did do, just enough to be a known presence.

“Navigation, prepare for jump. Sync envelope frequencies with our escort group."

“Syncing. Five minutes." A warble issued from the bridge's speakers, muted to a mere hint while elsewhere on the ship the normal volume would alert all stations to prepare for transition to another system.

“Jump in five minutes, all hands secure to stations. All non-essential personnel to secure stations. Lockdown, lockdown. Prepare for jump in five minutes."

Johan rolled over and nuzzled into the lush, warm, freshly cleansed fur of Salen's neck, nibbling at it though his teeth could never find their way through its thickness to find flesh. Salen made a warm, rumbling noise half sigh, half churr of contentment. He was safe, he was home. For a time, during his captivity under the control of Jeyev's little troll Brady and, later, hopelessly racing though the doomed station gathering up others as they made their way back to the Falcon's landing craft. And then the long, desperate flight away under almost two Gs of constant thrust that threatened to steal his breath. With no available acceleration seats the moreaus had been forced to brace where and as they could, suffering through the punishing hours hearing nothing but the roar of the engines straining to get them away in time.

The Choice had come to their rescue and that was the first time Salen had felt any sense of relief since getting stunned.

And now his mate was nestled warm against his back from nape to knees, one hand idly delving into the deep fur of his chest, the other under the pillow his head rested upon.

“Do you remember?" Johan asked, raising his head from its intimate burial in the fur of his nape and shoulder.

“Mhh? I remember much, Joh, always pleasant." He shifted his tail, letting its heavy length drift down across Johan's unclad hip to brush the back of his naked thighs and knees. That left his backside, equally naked but for his own fur, exposed to the warm pressure of his mate's loins. “With you." Oh, there had been others since, in character during productions and out of character, but Johan was always there after, without jealousy and his unflinching support.

“The first time we went through a jump together." Not that they hadn't enjoyed many shared jumps since, but the first had been special.

Salen laughed, a warm, breathy trill deep from within his chest. “Oh, delightful light I do." He rumbled as he gave his hips a solid rearward shove, grinding his rump against Johan's groin and, more pointedly, the length of warm, naked flesh that nudged under the broad base of his tail. “That is one of my most precious memories." He turned his head to look back at his partner, lifemate; savior. “And I remember what you said."

Johan let out a startled grunt when Salen shoved back and his maleness, at half mast, was solidly ground between the fur softened curves of Salen's ass firmly up beneath the root of his tail. It quickly went from half-mast to full as he felt the hot muscles caressing at his tip. “What did I say?" His mind was not exactly focused on the particulars of that memory, other than having his own ass stuffed full of the skunk shaped dog's knot when the Choice dropped out and back in.

With another roll of his hips Salen flexed the muscles of his tail and beneath, putting pressure on the vents his creators had modified dramatically from their original purpose. “You will." He quoted in a passable facsimile of Johan's voice. The human chuckled, and then laughed when Salen shifted again, drawing his length along the furry vale of his ass and then rocking back. When his blunt, now fully aroused tip felt the heat under that handsome tail it was slick against him. His fingers curled into the fur of Salen's chest as he felt the pressure of that caress increase, muscles flexing, tightening, relaxing.

Embracing.

They both let out mutual grunts of shared pleasure as the rearward shift of Salen's hips and forward roll of Johan's brought them closer, his erect girth sliding into the hot, clenching grasp of the skunk's ass. The thick tail lifted higher, brushing Johan's hip, and shuddered at the intense pleasure that set fireworks off behind Salen's momentarily closed eyes. Those shudders translated directly into the cock spearing him, making Johan gasp and tense, drawing back abruptly, almost entirely, before slipping forward again, a little deeper.

“One minute to jump. All stations lock down non-essential functions for jump transition." The announcement issued from the speaker set in the wall near the bed. Luckily they were not likely to be spied upon so had no concern that the communication was two way.

Not that either of them were consciously listening, their bodies sliding close, human arms around the ebony furred torso, pale fingers creating furrows in the skunk's thick pelt as Johan buried his face into the hollow of Salen's shoulder. The skunk's tail hiked up, draping across the bed behind his lover, each time Johan drew back, then tucked in a firm, muscular motion that tightened the passage into which his cock plunged. One hand found its way down to Salen's plump sheath, stroking it with a tenderness that belied the urgent grasp of his other hand into the fur of Salen's midriff.

Close, so, so very close.

“Ten seconds." Johan drew all the way back, slipping free of his mate and returning his hot girth to press, with aching need but a tender, light caress, against the twitching ring under Salen's upraised tail.

“No." Salen quoted in a throaty rasp, reaching back to grasp Johan's muscular ass. “You will." He repeated, shifting and twitching up his tail as Johan powered forward, piercing his clenched ring, driving deep into the tight embrace as that tail came down again.

Emptiness, vast beyond comprehension, a presence against, with, within, all around, endless yet comfortingly close. He was him and him was he, bound in that moment of eternity, both one.

Flying up, outward, to pieces, together, and coming back down with a solid finality that separated that moment of the most intimate sharing. Johan cried out as the transition washed over, through, and away, the sense of falling into himself and away from Salen throwing him into climax with a sudden spasm of unspeakably divine pleasure.

Johan let out a muffled bellow as he slammed his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt under that upraised tail as Salen hissed through his teeth and pushed back just as solidly. His cock twitched, throbbed, spilled his seed deep into his mate in a rapid series of powerful muscular jerks while they remained pressed as close as fur allowed. Blunt claws dimpled the skin and muscles of Johan's ass as Salen kept him from withdrawing, his tail twitching up and relaxing each time he felt the powerful muscular twinge thump against his prostate and spill liquid heat into the very center of his being.

After what seemed like an eternity the power of Johan's release ebbed and both of them slumped in euphoric, boneless relaxation Salen turned his head enough to give Johan's brow a soft kiss. “Next time," he panted as Johan fought to get his eyes to focus.

“Hnnh?" Was all the human could muster in the stupor of his post climax bliss.

“Next time we jump… I want you in my muzzle." The skunk-dog breathed, purposely squeezing the muscles around the human's still erect length, his tail drifting down to increase the pressure that made Johan's eyes roll up and his jaw go slack. “And I want to be in yours."

Johan squeezed gently at the plump, firm sheath under his hand, letting his thumb drift just below the thick, exposed taper of Salen's tip. “You can be in my mouth right now, love." He murmured as he felt the wetness of Salen's arousal pulse across his palm. He released the skunk's sheath to bring his hand up and lick it away, relishing the subtle salty sweet bitterness.

“We're in Jericho, the captain may need you on the bridge." Salen warned as he tightened, making Johan grunt again.