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The Dark Horse returns home, having left nothing behind. Probably.

Hey, we've made it to the end of the season. And, technically, that means the season wrapped up this year. This is a pretty straightforward episode with an uncomplicated B-plot that at least settles some things for Ciara and Mitti. And they're nice, right? Patreon subscribers, this should also be live for you with notes and maps and stuff.

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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Tales of the Dark Horse, by Rob Baird

S8E5, “Check."

Stardate 68090

Jenny reached over to ruffle the retriever's chest fur without otherwise moving from her position: lying on her back, like Dave was, and staring up at the ceiling.

“You could stay, you know."

“I do have other obligations."

“Like what? Bailing a mechanic out for screwing up maintenance on some old bomber? Fuck, Dave, if you want old bombers, we can find old bombers. I've got dozens of old bombers. I've wanted to do something useful with them for years."

“Useful?"

“They're big. Which you'd understand." He didn't rise to the bait. “Mm. Anyway, they'd be good missile platforms to harass my prey, if I had anyone who could fly the fuckin' things. You could find someone, right?"

“I'm not a pilot. I plan to be a history teacher." She seemed neither surprised nor put off by this. “I'm actually very boring, Jenny."

“You don't give yourself enough credit." Which was to say, he already knew, that she wanted something from him. And that, when he again failed to respond, led to her finally moving—swinging her leg over him and rolling on top of the retriever. “I give you credit. Didn't say anyone else's name, did I?"

“No, that's true."

“ You didn't say anyone else's name." He had not been able to picture what Maddy would look like with a truly wicked grin until meeting her counterpart, but there was no other way to describe the expression. “Were you thinking it?"

“No," Dave admitted.

“So it wouldn't be awkward." She rolled her hips against him. It was a precise, slow grind, and presently he felt a telling, familiar wetness against his bare cock. Her grin became triumphant. “What are you thinking, then?"

That he could feel her at all—and there was plenty of wetness by that point, both her doing and his own—meant that she was coaxing him inexorably back to attention. The retriever had to admit she had learned very quickly, or was preternaturally talented. “Four?"

“Four for you, maybe." She had a way of purring her growls, as her movements bumped against stiffer and more pronounced resistance. “You're sure you want to go back?"

“Sure," he confirmed. There was no harm, then, in feeling her up: stroking her sides; giving her rear a squeeze to help encourage her as he began lifting his hips to meet her rhythm.

Jenny rolled her eyes, the mask cracking only for a moment when a less-cautious movement caught the retriever's tip in the cleft of her lips, and started to wedge him inside. “Well, as long as you make it count…"

***

Captain's log, stardate 68090.5

We have completed our rendezvous with the Powhatan_. According to the other captain, she is satisfied that we've kept up our part of the deal. With that, it's just a matter of getting back home—which, I have to hope, will be simple enough…_

“Commander David Bradley, reporting aboard."

Maddy grinned. “Well? How was she?"

“Good at heart," Dave said, instead of answering the question Maddy appeared to be posing more obliquely. “Notwithstanding, how much time do we have?"

“About two days. Right, Dr. Schatz?"

“Yes, ma'am. Forty-six hours until I can no longer plot a course back. Minus the time it will take to actually plot it—no more than an hour? Forty-five hours, ma'am."

“You didn't already have that done?"

“Most of it, yes. But the rest of the calculations depend on a very precise configuration of the probes, which change based on when we get here, so…"

“Great. Forty-five hours, then, Dave."

“Especially if we'll need to be sitting in place for an hour, I recommend we use some of that time on a… less linear route back. Just in case."

And Maddy could appreciate that degree of caution, anyhow. “Fine. Lieutenant Parnell: take the long way home. And see if we can do something to mask our trail from their sensors."

“Aye, captain." The typical approach was, of course, to simply take a meandering course that crossed itself often.

Also, ideally, one that spent time in well-traveled spacelanes, where a single ship's wake might blend in to all the others—but she had no way of knowing where those lanes were. Besides, the Dark Horse's engine signature was highly likely to be completely unique.

“If I might suggest, captain?" They did have one clear advantage, after all: “We should plan on a full-speed sprint for the last leg. If anyone's following us, they shouldn't be able to catch up."

“Good thinking. Make it so, lieutenant."

Eli Parnell drew up a course that would take them 16 hours—enough variation to obscure their path, with enough time left over when they arrived to account for any unexpected difficulties.

Also, it would allow her to be back on shift when they were ready. Which was not to say that Lieutenant Parnell doubted the other conn officers—only that she felt “return from an alternate dimension" was the kind of maneuver for which you really wanted the only pilot with experience.

Sixteen hours later, she was back at the helm and waiting, with the others, for Dr. Schatz to be finished with his calculations. The Border Collie was all too keenly aware of that sort of pressure.

He'd estimated an hour to finish the job and—unlike Parnell—failed to get any rest in the intervening hours. Those, as usual, were best spent becoming increasingly apprehensive within the confines of his own skull.

But everything was going according to plan, right up until the alarm sounded over at the CCI console. Everyone on the bridge turned to look at Jamie Meyer at the same instant.

“Report," May demanded. “What's going on?"

“Contacts." That part, the mountain lion could tell at a glance. “Hyperspace signatures from at least… 30 different ships. They're not in the recognition database, but…"

“What?" Dave asked.

“I know the silhouette. I know a lot of the silhouettes…" She mirrored what she was looking at on the forward viewscreen, so that the rest of them could see. “Right? I could've sworn that was an Ajax-class cruiser."

Familiar silhouettes that were not in the database meant only one thing. Captain May growled. “The Union. Action stations! How far out are they?"

Jamie triggered the shipwide alarm before answering. “Thirty thousand kilometers. They'll be in range in no more than ten minutes, if they've got the same weapons we do. They do, right?"

“Close enough. Tactical: report."

“Shields are online and weapons are standing by. But we can't go head-to-head with them, captain." The range of Union weapons was generally comparable to their own. The power, on the other hand, was not. “That's four dreadnoughts and a dozen heavy cruisers, plus their escorts. They only have to get lucky once."

Her growl deepened. “They already got lucky. How long until we can escape?"

“Fourteen minutes, ma'am." Dr. Schatz licked his muzzle nervously, willing the countdown to tick by faster. “I've already sent the commands to the deflector, it just needs to finish restarting so it can align properly. I can't expedite that."

“Find a way," she insisted. The tactical alarm pinged again. “What now?"

“Uh. It's… it's the Powhatan, ma'am," Jamie said. “They're hailing us."

“ This better be good. Answer them."

The pirate captain was leaning back in her chair, wearing a relaxed smile. “Ah! Hello, Captain May."

“I didn't expect to see you again. Were you tracking us?"

“No, no. Nothing that devious. Looking for signals from the anomaly you must've created when you showed up here. I figured you'd probably try to take a meandering course to throw us off, anyway."

“You sold us out to the Union," the Akita hissed.

“It was more of a gift, actually. That didn't seem like the kind of favor you'd be willing to do for me, you know?"

Maddy shot her first officer a look. “So much for being 'good at heart,' huh?"

“This could be where she says that she'll cover our escape," Dave suggested. He was speaking to the other Akita, though, who only smirked. “I stand by my judgment."

Jenny rolled her eyes. “I will not be covering your escape. What kind of host would I be if I aided and abetted you like that? And why would I—what, just because you're cute?"

Captain May ignored 'cute' and focused on a slightly less incongruous word: “Host?"

Petty Officer Meyer temporarily muted their outgoing audio. “Captain. Forty-seven more ships just showed up—these don't even look like familiar silhouettes. They're all aliens."

Dave Bradley skimmed the data, and cocked his head at what he saw. “It's the Link—General Beltran's resistance group. I'll… explain later, Ms. Meyer." He switched the transmitter back on. “You sent our position to the Link, too."

“Of course. I told you: your appearance in this universe was going to be noticed. If I didn't let my friends in on your secret, they would've found you on their own. Very impolite to show up early to a party, I think you'll agree."

“The Link aren't your friends."

“True," she admitted, before giving an affable shrug. “But—oh, is that an incoming signal I hear in the background? That would be the Sicari Revolutionary Front, I assume. We're on slightly better terms."

Jamie was now trying to follow the courses of three—and then, in short order, four—distinct formations. Two of them had been converging on the Dark Horse. Now, seeing the prospect of impending collision, they were thinking better of it.

Maddy stared at her doppelgänger. “I can't help noticing that we didn't get an invite to your party."

“That's because you weren't invited. I'm guessing you won't even stick around for the entertainment."

“More hyperspace signatures," Jamie muttered.

“Maybe that's a good thing. It's about to start. Tell you what, though, sis—next time you're around these parts, stop in and I'll tell you all about it."

Her face disappeared, replaced on the viewscreen by a chaotic tactical display, and the computer's attempt to plot courses for the rapidly maneuvering starships on it.

None of them were now getting any closer. “That bitch." Maddy couldn't quite keep the admiration from her voice. “How long until you have the deflector back, Dr. Schatz?"

“Another two minutes or so." Some of the less important startup tasks could be skipped, he decided. “No. Ninety seconds."

'That bitch' was among the more polite of the terms Jamie could pull out of the radio chatter they were able to decode. There were seven or eight distinct networks, now, and the contacts were beginning to merge in a flurry of energetic exchanges swiftly escalating beyond words.

“Captain. We're ready," Eli Parnell reported; Dr. Schatz had transferred the course calculations to her console. “Whenever you want."

“Do it. Flank speed, please." And she stared at the situation map until it vanished, along with the rest of the universe.

***

Commander Bradley took the lead in talking to the engineering department, when Lieutenant Commander Hazelton had calmed down enough to give an intelligible summary of the ship's health.

The raccoon's summary mostly boiled down to: “we'll be okay, but don't do that again," although the emphasis had been carried out in spacer pidgin, and largely consisted of profanities.

It helped that both of them were aware “don't do that again" hinged on whether Captain May decided it would be necessary again, and there was no way to predict that. Instead, and after digesting a second report from Dr. Schatz, he found the captain in her quarters.

“Ah. Come in, Dave. How's my ship?"

“In one piece. Shannon didn't have any ideas for how we can make things easier the next time."

“Other than avoiding a 'next time'?" Maddy guessed—correctly. “I think we're all on the same page there. I'll be quite happy if there is no 'next time.' Speaking of which—how much 'time' are we talking about?"

“According to Dr. Schatz, we lost half an hour in transit. Not too bad, all things considered."

The Akita nodded. She had been trying to relax—her mug was full of herbal tea instead of coffee—but the prospect of having lost another six months had weighed down on her. “Good. And the universe is still here."

“We're downloading the latest tactical updates, but I don't think we missed much."

“Also good." Maddy moved to the edge of her bed, and pointed at the chair she'd vacated. “Sit. Tell me what she was like."

“The pirate queen? Jenny?"

“Who else? Shannon? I already know what Shannon is like, Dave."

He sat down, and when his captain pointed next at the teapot he poured himself a cup of oversteeped rooibos. “Let's say she was… interesting."

“Interesting?"

“She's a good tactician. A battlefield commander, for sure." He tried to think of a way to phrase the compliment in a way that wouldn't rub his captain the wrong way. “You're not all that similar."

“We're not?"

“Her crew is a lot more cutthroat—they're pirates, after all. I don't think she's as good at being a captain as you are. You get the best out of the people under you. I'm not sure she does."

“Were any of them people you recognized?"

“No. But I also mostly interacted with the bridge crew."

“Considering everything…" Maddy had been trying to think about whose counterpart might be most intriguing to meet. “I wonder what Shannon's like."

“I'm sure that universe's Commander Hazelton blew herself up thirty years ago. But they're all using aliases, anyway. Again: they're pirates."

“Why 'Jenny'? What's her real name?"

“Madison Amelia. Yes: I asked."

“And?"

“It's a reference to an old Terran song. I haven't looked it up in our database yet, but I can't imagine it's a very polite song..." Strictly speaking, he'd asked, and she'd said: Jesus Christ, don't they have Bertolt Brecht where you're from?

Then she'd rolled her eyes. Then she'd muttered that if he was going to be an uncultured idiot, he might as well be the kind of uncultured idiot who was a good fuck. ASAP, New Dave, we don't have all day.

That had been the lead in to the second of five times he'd tied her, which he did not plan on telling his captain.

“She's a sociopath who only cares about causing chaos. That little stunt…" Maddy, in the silence that followed Dave's non-explanation, chose to draw her own conclusions. Her lip curled: “I wonder how many people that's going to get killed. For her amusement!"

“I'm not sure that was actually the point."

“She described it as the 'entertainment.'"

“Yeah. But what if she was right, and the Union was looking for us?"

“What if she was?"

“Then by directing them to us, she ensured that we wouldn't be found early." Jenny had openly said as much, and May didn't see the relevance. “Okay. And she pointed them to our position, in the middle of nowhere."

“So?"

“Well away from Udolga. Even if the Union cleaned up at that battle, any losses they suffer are ships they can't use to retake the prison."

“Hmm."

“And it delays any reprisal. And that's in the worst-case scenario, from her perspective—the one where they all figure out the trick she pulled and escape while they still can. In the best-case scenario, they really go at each other."

“Hmm." Maddy thought that over: “Some of them probably try to avoid that, I guess."

“Probably. It's a good survival strategy."

“So if you were a Union commander, like… like maybe they'd take the opportunity they were given, to really put the screws to the Link and those other guys…"

“Exactly. If that happens, the power balance in the sector is thrown off for weeks, and all the most aggressive players have been crippled."

“Hmm," the Akita repeated. “You really think she did that on purpose?"

“Yes. I think she wants to burn things down, Maddy, in a way that you don't. But she does have a little bit of… decency? A desire to do the right thing?"

“Maybe a little. I guess over there, doing the right thing is a sign of madness. It's good to have you back, Dave."

“It's good to be back." This he meant quite genuinely.

“Mm. Thanks for the report. Tell you what: go get yourself checked out and take your next shift off. I'll cover it."

***

As it happened, Ayenni and not Dr. Wolf was in the infirmary when Dave appeared. This would prove to be fortunate for them both.

She started her examination as soon as the retriever explained the purpose of his visit. “I don't think you were over there long enough for prolonged cellular decay…"

“And you can treat mild cases, right?"

“Yes, of course. I wouldn't have let them send you over to that ship if I thought otherwise," she reassured him. At first glance, there wasn't much cellular damage at all. “I'm sure it won't be a problem."

“Hopefully not."

On the other hand, Star Patrol diagnostic equipment and Star Patrol uniforms had been designed together—she could look right through them. “Hmm. How are you feeling?"

“Fine. Why? How do I look?"

Ayenni smiled. “Like someone who owes me money."

“I had… unwarranted faith in my ability to get her to take 'no' for an answer," Dave admitted. “She's not the type."

“I can tell." She finished her scan, and let the computer process the more complicated results. “The abrasions on your back aren't too bad. They'll heal in a day or two, if you don't want anything for it."

“That won't be necessary, I hope. It won't be, right?"

“I am detecting a mild immune response. Did she actually break the skin? Oh, my. I think she must've."

His ears pinned. “It wouldn't surprise me."

“Other than that, I think you're in good shape. Elevated levels of testosterone, but that's probably to be expected." She had been practicing a more forward sort of grin, which she now turned on the hapless retriever. “Maybe I should take advantage of the opportunity. You're not too worn out, are you?"

“No."

“Then I think it would be best if I escorted you back to your quarters."

She'd found it could be to her advantage if she didn't hide the edge of her thoughts from her partner. Dave raised an eyebrow. “Doctor's orders?"

“If you make me, sure."

He did not. But she was doing a very poor job screening her intentions from him, and despite the haste with which he moved, by the time they reached his quarters the dog's uniform felt quite restrictive.

Nobody had been around to see them, at least. Ayenni, given a private audience, stood back and watched with interest as he stripped, leaving his clothes in an untidy heap.

When she started to disrobe, herself, Dave's paws slid under her shirt. The contact, as it often did between them, broke through the remaining barriers she'd put up between her mind and his own.

Fuck, I want you.

Her clothes were gone. Several hours later, after she'd gone back to work in sickbay, the question of how it had happened so quickly would be answered by the discovery of fresh tears in the fabric. At the moment, neither that—nor the garments themselves—were an issue.

He'd let her go, and the alien's thoughts were hers alone again, although mutual lust made for a low, constant static that demanded immediate addressing. Looking downwards at the retriever's jutting cock, already starting to drool precum onto the floor of his cabin, she thought she could manage the next steps in a more traditional fashion.

“Well?" she asked. “What are you waiting for?"

He gave her shoulder a shove, twisting her around—again his thoughts clashed into her own, and when they cleared she found herself staring at the bulkhead next to his bunk, with the mattress yielding under her knees and forepaws.

Behind her, the retriever watched hungrily. Dave had not been entirely certain he had anything left in him, but the thought of an opportunity to make up for his indiscretion—if not infidelity—had been provocative, and the sight did the rest of the trick.

He guided his cock into place, pushing deeply into the alien—first with a growl, at the snug warmth surround him, and then a groan as the close touch overwhelmed Ayenni's ability to separate her emotions from his, and he shared a moment of her own sense of pleasure.

A wash of faintly luminescent pink started in her fingers and toes, then spread upward to meet in her chest, and ripple back outward in a darker crimson. Her eyes were closed; she was not conscious of her body's reaction. Dave had learned to perceive the color as signifying excitement, and happiness.

As a Yara, it was more complex. She enjoyed the feeling of penetration, certainly—between her own kind, telepathy ensured genuine connection did not require anything physical. For Terrans, though, there was nothing more intimate than that bare contact, and the heat of her lover's shaft radiating outward as he slid deeper in had proven to be truly thrilling.

And this time, she'd perceived his raw lust for her. He stayed still for only a few seconds before he started to thrust, his pace forceful and heavy from the very start. It took her a moment to process her reaction—why it was so immediately gratifying—beyond the most primal.

Yara, who were not especially tactile, divided physical and emotional closeness. But Terrans did, too; she knew it was possible for someone to be physically aroused without emotional significance. Without intent, even.

Ayenni hadn't doubted Dave's feelings. She had not even considered that anything that happened aboard the Powhatan might have changed them. All that said, she could feel both his baser instincts and his desire for her, specifically, with every plunging, grinding buck he managed.

And it was nice to be special.

Dave could have articulated that—or something like it—but not at the moment. He knew instead only that she felt particularly warm around him: a truly fascinating, softly wet texture parting smoothly around his shaft.

And, more than usual, that every thrust sent little waves and flashes of color through the alien's pristine white fur. The position helped; she was completely exposed before him, her pelt a tapestry that her rising emotions painted with increasingly bright tones.

He needed her. And in that moment, as his hips rutted against hers in a shorter, sharper rhythm, forcing the swell of his knot into place, she needed him needing her. She could already feel his bulk asserting itself, slickness overcome by tightly wedged friction.

Dave's surrender was less voluntary than the start of their mating had been. He could no longer pull out; he rocked in a stuttering, uneven pace, trying uselessly with each thrust to get himself deeper, as if it was even possible.

But their thoughts, merging as his control slipped, gave him the clarity to realize it was slipping. He could focus on the stimulation around the base of his knot, and the way everything condensed so crisply to the knowledge he was about to fill her, that his length was twitching, his sack drawing up, his paws—

The last time he slammed forward, he dug his claws in at her haunches, pulling Ayenni's hips back, and the intensity of his craving, the feral gratification of the moment, overwhelmed them both.

Dave didn't hear the uncouth coarseness of his snarl, or notice the tawdry way his lip curled and his eyes narrowed with single-minded intent. All he felt was the rush of release, tension drawn from him one warm pulse at a time.

Ayenni perceived the snarl, but not her own startled, unbecoming cry, or the certainty that the grip of his claws had been the unexpected final straw that kept her from staying ahead of her racing thoughts. He was throbbing, shooting himself into her, the added slickness a perceptibly spreading heat…

It was nearly the worst telepathic faux pas, to broadcast one's thoughts without permission or intent, but she neither knew nor cared about that any more than Dave perceived the undignified hunch he took over her back as he pumped the alien full, perfectly aware of how she was reveling in it.

Towards the end, she'd assembled a few representative questions. She could ask, teasingly, if he'd learned anything from the pirate Akita. Or if that had been her preferred position, too. Or if he'd gotten quite so… snarly.

As it was, she lacked for more coherent thoughts, and by the time the two could think straight again—and by the time their thoughts were no longer joined—she no longer cared about the answers.

And, despite the snarliness, Dave settled down quickly. Before the pleasure of the tie gave way to the overstimulated pressure of trying to move through a tie, he guided the alien down and onto the bed, cuddling her from behind.

That much physical contact, too, could be overstimulating to a telepath. But, similarly, she didn't notice through the haze of afterglow. The retriever was simply a comforting presence Ayenni's mind gradually adjusted to as she recovered her wits.

“I missed you," she told him aloud.

Dave kissed the side of her neck. “Same," he admitted, and when she thought: I know; I can tell, he chuckled and gave her a fond nuzzle. “You're not getting an apology."

“I'm not asking for one." Contented, happy colors rippled slowly through her somewhat-less-immaculate pelt. And then, for the second time in as many hours, someone told Dave: “It's good to have you back."

And for the second time in as many hours, he felt immensely fortunate to be able to say: “it's good to be back."

***

Senior strategic analyst's log, stardate 68093.2

Having finished processing the last round of updates waiting for us, we seem to have benefited from a quiet period in the conflict—and, as far as I can tell, our absence was not noticed, let alone missed.

Lieutenant Vasquez was able to summarize quickly: “Actions close to our border have slowed down. A patrol from the 12th Fleet ran into a few Pictor scouts three days ago, but that seems to be all we're seeing."

“Gathering their forces," Maddy suggested. “We managed to forestall an outright invasion, but their industrial capacity is benefiting from years of preparation that we don't have. Right, lieutenant?"

Vasquez nodded. “Yes, ma'am. It's safe to say we're still on the back foot."

“It's quiet on the Dominion front, too?" Dave asked. The Uxzu were not, as a rule, the 'sitting still' type. This meant they were entirely likely to create their own problems, if they felt the alternative was letting things become too calm.

“Yes, in general. A few spoiler attacks—here, here, and here, out towards Itun space. Targeting a few long-range sensors, mostly, but the after-action reports…" Vasquez paused, adjusting his own expectations of the accuracy of those reports—the Uxzu had a certain tendency for bravado. “Even accounting for a bit of dramatic license, it's nothing major."

Commander Bradley perused them, tilting his head. “Look at this, though: the Pictor attacked the antimatter production facility in the Tashaq system. Significant damage was reported, it seems."

Pancho tapped the screen, calling attention to his summary of the battle. “Yeah. But it's their normal attack pattern. Fighter swarms, plus a few kamikazes. The Dominion are still trying to adapt to those. It's hard. Their strategy is basically the same, but the Uxzu aren't used to being outnumbered."

“Where's the mothership?"

“Sir?"

“Were did the fighters come from?"

Jack Ford leaned forward to explain: “Pancho's report explains that. Four Type-9 heavy cruisers. Star Patrol intel says they can field two squadrons apiece." Captain Ford kept a close eye on that kind of intel, because it told the coyote what to expect in the event they found themselves in a pitched battle with the Pictor. “That's plenty, for what the Dominion encountered."

Dave dismissed the summary with flick of his wrist, and summoned the next. “This, too. Lots of starfighters, Captain Ford..."

“Yeah. They can afford the losses. Even a Type-9—and the Dominion took one out there. See? I'm pretty sure we estimate the Pictor have hundreds of those. Vasquez?"

“At least, sir, yes."

“You don't look convinced, commander."

“Well. I'd ask again, Captain Ford: I agree about the fighters they can stage off a group of Type-9s. But where's the mothership?"

Maddy was growing more curious about where it all was leading. “What are you getting at, Dave?"

“The Type-9 is an escort carrier, for all intents and purposes. They'll need one of their big dreadnoughts—at least a tender—to keep them fueled and replenished."

“Huh," Jack said.

Captain May looked over at the coyote. “Yes?" The odds that both of them had noticed something that would turn out to be a red herring were quite low.

“They are pretty far from home…" Captain Ford was starting to build a counterargument out loud so that it could be sanity-checked in real time. “But we don't know how far their fleets are ranging, either."

“Strategically, putting pressure on the spinward front makes sense, too. It divides the Dominion's attention, and they're easily baited," Vasquez pointed out. “The Kolash Pride especially will want to fight back."

“They should." Dave felt certain of that now. “The Pictor are aggressive, too, but not stupid. These raids are impulsive—targets of opportunity. They wouldn't run the risk of a battlegroup being ambushed and destroyed so far from resupply."

“Then…"

“Their targets are all within a reasonable range of Itun systems. They have supply depots there."

“The… Republic of Itun?" Vasquez widened their view of the map, so that they could see more than the nearest few parsecs. “Dr. Beltran can correct me if I'm wrong, but they're neutral, aren't they?"

“Officially. They also have a long relationship with the Uxzu, trading agricultural products for other refined materials. The Dominion has never attempted to take their planets by conquest. A centuries-old treaty guarantees that."

“Their biology is incompatible," Vasquez was able to surmise, given the average sulphur concentrations he saw on the planetary spectrograms. “It can't be much to do with their military—they don't really have one. Probably explains the nonaggression treaty."

Interstellar politics had never interested Jack Ford, and he was following that conversation with only one ear. Naval strategy, though, was a different matter. “Commander Bradley's right. It's a little suspicious that we ain't heard word one from any big Pictor formations they could be launching from. And the locations add up."

“Let's see?" Lieutenant Vasquez hadn't come to any such conclusion originally, but he was willing to be proven wrong. “The supply lines are long, but mostly empty space between the galactic arms…"

“How are the Pictor with sulphur?" Jack asked, suspecting the answer.

“They're fine with it. Itun and Pictor metabolic physiology isn't that dissimilar, from what we know." They'd never actually encountered the Republic—content to accept the Dominion's explanation of their neutrality.

“And no military," Dave reminded them. “The Pictor would've made them an offer they couldn't refuse. Let their 'neutral' space be used for Pictor supply depots. Nothing too heavily invested, or we might've noticed on long-range scans."

Maddy sighed. “We need to tell the Dominion, Dr. Beltran. Figure out a polite way of saying they were wrong about the Itun and send it out at once."

“I will, captain, but I caution you that I am not optimistic about salvaging the nonaggression treaty."

“You'll find a way," Captain May reassured her—and meant it. “The Dominion might understand the tough position the Itun are in."

“No, Maddy."

“Dave?"

“Tell them they've been betrayed. They'll understand, and order the reprisals they need. We can probably come up with a better guess for where the supply bases would need to be located—or maybe the Dominion will know."

Dr. Beltran felt that it was, at least, her responsibility to state the obvious: “those 'reprisals' could be quite severe."

“The Itun picked a side," Jack told her. “And it ain't ours."

“And if the Dominion attacks quickly," Dave added, “they'll be able to hit the Pictor before they can remove whatever materiel they've stashed. If the Itun learn their lesson, they'll evict whoever's left."

“Then the Pictor occupy them, instead." Maddy didn't see how that really changed the equation much. “So what do we gain?"

“I'm not sure there's any advantage in occupying the Itun, if they're no longer neutral. If the Pictor invade, it tells anyone else trying to stay neutral that they're next on the menu. If it ends with a limited war, it tells those powers that they only to claim neutrality if they mean it."

Maddy licked her muzzle, not quite nervously, but definitely feeling the pressure of trying to influence events on the far side of the Dominion—events that could quickly spiral out of control. “And if the Uxzu go too far?"

“Captain Ford said it already, Maddy. The Itun picked a side. They abrogated the nonaggression pact. We can't help what the Uxzu do."

“Dr. Beltran?"

“I have given you my diplomatic opinion, captain. I have no opinion on military strategy."

The Akita closed her eyes, and made a quick decision. “Lieutenant Vasquez, draw up a briefing for the Admiralty's coordination center. Have Captain Ford and Commander Bradley review it to make sure the urgency is clear. That's fine with you two?"

“Yes, ma'am," Ford said, nodding—as Dave had done, though the Akita already assumed his assent. “I'll pull together the existing data on those cruisers, too."

“Good. Send it to the Dominion as soon as it's ready. Once they reply, send it to the Admiralty."

“ With their reply?" Vasquez asked.

Maddy shrugged. “I leave it up to you." There was no point in being on the record about her concerns that Star Patrol communication channels might still be compromised.

The wolf worried his claws together for a moment. “I'll throw in a note that we did inform the Dominion, then, ma'am. The admirals can intuit the answer."

***

Ciara shook her head at what had become of the Kahil. The missing pieces had been reinstalled, although even from the outside she could see some of the changes—a Star Patrol transmitter here, a bit of reinforcing metal there.

Inside, the assortment of cables used to interface her original Uxzu equipment had vanished. The screens were flat, glossy, and neatly fitted to pass inspection by at least a majority of Terran quality control specialists.

“It almost looks… in good shape?"

Liron grinned. “I had a lot of time to think about it, when I was trapped in the damned thing."

“What all have you done, Rocha?"

“Ms. Torres, too, not just me. We started with the power grid. It's fully compatible with the Dark Horse, now. No need to blow up converters."

“There's still a couple, mostly around the main reactor, but Liron and I think the load factor won't be a problem. We were… taking some shortcuts," Mitti explained. “Relying on the sturdiness of Uxzu engineering."

“I know. But it's fixed now?"

“Should be. You'll want to take it for a test flight. One of us"—Liron gestured between themself and Mitti—“should go along with you to monitor the new systems."

“Me," the Abyssinian said. “It should be me."

“You're grounded," Ciara reminded her, although the Kahil certainly looked safer than it ever had before. “Captain Ford won't approve that."

“He already did." Liron, used to being glared at by pilots, did not flinch at the look Ciara gave them. “Ms. Torres is probably better for the assignment, anyway."

Munro was smart enough to realize that, if Warrant Rocha had already spoken to Ford, it meant Mitti wanted to be flying again. She doubted it was a winnable battle. “Fine. I'll draw up a flight plan. What?"

She had found a computer pressed into her paw. “Check that?" Mitti suggested. “We designed the test procedures."

“Yeah? That's why you had a flight plan ready?"

Mitti shrugged. “Should I get the preflight started?"

***

The Uxzu had responded with uncharacteristic speed to Lieutenant Vasquez's warning—Dr. Beltran, having reviewed the reply, suggested they might have suspected perfidy all along. This did not entirely settle Captain May's nerves.

She left the bridge under Lieutenant Bader's watch, retired to her ready room, and summoned Commander Bradley for… advice. You just want advice from him, and that's entirely reasonable.

Maddy did not want to admit any other possibilities. Kenra Tellak's answer and Dr. Beltran's notes were sufficiently short that she'd read them a dozen times before he arrived. “The Dominion is mobilizing for an attack on the Itun."

“They can't occupy Itun planets, though, right?"

“No. It might just be a show of force." Maddy sighed, though, because she doubted that. And she doubted that Dave thought so, or that he'd thought so when recommending the course of action in the first place. “Orbital bombardments, probably."

“Do we know which prides?"

“The Chal-Ulaha. The one we helped bring in to the alliance after decades of demilitarization."

“I remember." They were a significant industrial power, prevented by long years of convention from maintaining a standing navy. But the Kolash Pride needed that industrial power more than they needed convention; Matriarch Kenra Tellak seemed to consider it an acceptable sacrifice.

Maddy hadn't been entirely sold on that—significant reshaping of Uxzu politics that it was. She was even less convinced now that the first dividends were being paid. “Do you really think it's worth it?"

“The alternative was having a traitor on their border. I don't see how that's sustainable."

“I guess not. Is that… realpolitik something you picked up from my twin?"

As 'words Dave expected from his captain' went, realpolitik was not one of them. “Talking to Dr. Beltran, Maddy?"

“I'm trying to broaden my horizons. I just normally expect you and her to be on the same side."

“I prefer to be. I think these count as… extenuating circumstances."

“Of? The alliance being threatened?"

“No. More that…" The golden retriever trailed off while he tried to figure out what it actually was that bothered him so. “We've been trying to build relations out here, right? And we saved the whole sector from the Wanesh when they were trying to build that superweapon…"

“Yeah. And we saved them from the Pictor when they tried to destroy hyperspace."

“That too, yeah. I think that you've generally erred on the side of peaceful solutions to whatever problems we find, even within the Dominion."

“So?"

“The Itun are taking advantage of that. They're not willing to stand up for themselves—fine. But I wonder if…"

Given the explanation she'd heard so far, and her history with the retriever, she saw where he was going when he stopped talking. “You wonder if they decided to let the Pictor use their territory because they thought that even if someone found out we'd talk the Dominion out of reprisals."

“More or less."

“I guess you're less… bloody-minded than I thought."

“What?"

“It was a little uncharacteristic of you. Wanting to sic the Uxzu on somebody?"

Dave couldn't help his surprised laugh. “ That's why you asked me up here to talk, Maddy? You thought there might be something wrong with me?"

The laugh, and his good-natured grin, were decidedly familiar. Her concerns had been ridiculous—the sort she could play off with a joke. “Maybe you got switched over there. We thought I was dead, right? Until it turned out that I wasn't…"

“Even if Jenny had access to… what do you call it? We're not really twins. My doppelgänger—alternate-me—something like that?"

“I don't know the right terminology," May admitted; 'mirror' had suggested itself as a term, but their counterparts were not exactly mirrored. Mitti, clearly, was her own person. “I know what you mean."

“Even if Jenny had access to my twin, she wouldn't send him back. Not in one piece, that's for sure."

“They have a history?"

“He's the one who tried to kill her, I gather—sabotaged her ship and left her for dead. He got a promotion out of it, eventually."

Again, her history with the retriever told her why he'd mentioned that tidbit. “Administrator of a prison planet?"

“Reading between the lines: yes."

“A woman scorned, huh?"

“A woman betrayed," Dave suggested. “I don't know what you'd do in those circumstances, but Jenny definitely knows how to hold a grudge."

“I don't know if I'm the grudge-holding type," the Akita admitted, leaning back and relaxing in the exact same pose—though Dave would not mention this—the pirate captain used. “I think I'm good at forgiving."

“Still. You might liberate a prison, too."

“Maybe just for fun, even." Having said it, Maddy was struck by the thought that this, too, could just as easily have been the pirate's aim. “But that's also my point."

“Yeah?"

“Being the impulsive one is my job. I need you to keep me honest, Dave."

***

Main test objectives:

- Power (bus A/B) within 25 mA of nominal at 50% load

- Power (aux bus C) within 250 mA of nominal at 100% load

- TC64009 test battery complete with 0 errors

- RMa/RPi temperature under 1600K/15000K

- RPmax within .1MK at 365MK target / 170T

- Pilot/flight engineer familiarization

“What was it like, being back in your own universe?"

“What do you mean?"

Ciara looked around the interior of the Kahil, and found the first bit of original equipment she could—a sharp-edged computer console with a few physical knobs and dials on it, a far cry from anything the Star Patrol would put in a modern vessel. She tapped it. “It's all like… this. Y'know? Alien."

“I… suppose I'm more familiar with it."

“And you were able to patch in to that prison planet's comms network. You were in your element."

“You're asking me if I miss it?" Mitti asked.

“Well… more asking if it felt strange to be back."

“No. It was nerve-racking."

“Why?"

The Abyssinian's tail flicked. She did not want to tell Ciara the truth—moreover, she doubted the vixen would really understand in the first place. Simpler answers were always better. “I was just… under a lot of pressure."

Pressure was just part of life on the Dark Horse, if not the Star Patrol in general. “I understand that, sure. Like when I was a test pilot."

“Exactly." Obstacle skirted, she checked the Kahil's computers. “Engine diagnostics are ready. Do you like them so far?"

“Did you get an extra… four kilonewtons of idle thrust from the motivator?" She looked over her shoulder at the cat, impressed. “Really?"

“The Dominion had an old thruster design, yeah. It was Liron's idea, actually."

“Nice. We should be good to start the maneuvering test in a few minutes, then." This was what had been meant by 'pilot familiarization' on the procedure list Ciara had been given. Did she understand all of the changes that had been made? Would they be acceptable? “How are you and Liron getting along?"

“I like them. They don't blame me for nearly frying their brain. Not too much, at least."

“You fixed their brain, too."

“The pirate lady did."

“Details." Ciara smiled softly to herself. “You would've gotten it eventually. Liron said she tried to hire you. Well, kidnap you first…"

Mitti flinched. “Yes."

Ciara had only caught a glimpse of that movement, but when she looked back at the Abyssinian, her expression hadn't quite recovered. “What's wrong?"

“It was… an awkward conversation."

“Was it?" Mitti's tailtip was still twitching, and Ciara grew concerned. “Are we going to have another one? What happened back there?"

“Nothing."

Ciara drew what, really, should have been the obvious conclusion. “Did you— did you know her?"

“Jenny? No. In the Link, we thought she was an alien. She didn't seem to be very concerned with the Union."

“Just payback."

“Right."

“If it wasn't personal, then…" Mitti didn't react to the prompt. She opened her muzzle, and Ciara guessed—correctly—she was about to point out that the final calibration checks had finished. “Test can wait. What's going on?"

“I…" She splayed her fingers, extending her claws so that she could worry two of them together. “I'm not sure how to explain."

“Try?"

“I'm not sure it's something you'd understand."

Ciara switched the flight computers off and idled the reactor, which slowed with an audibly descending hum. “Try me. I've had to adapt to a lot on this ship."

She'd given the feline a smile that was intended to be reassuring and mostly made Mitti feel even more awkward for her thoughts. “I thought we'd never go back. Um. It wasn't my place, but… nobody asked me, either."

“So?"

“You… care about people here. Your comrades. When Liron… I mean, Captain May…" She stopped, gathered her thoughts, and tried again: “This universe is so much nicer than the real one. But Captain May found a way to go back, just for the chance at saving their life."

“She's like that. You're like that."

“She agreed to let me apply for asylum in your Terran Confederation, too."

“Exactly. See?"

“But she didn't have a choice. I was already here. I didn't ask beforehand, did I?"

Ciara had drawn the obvious conclusion—Mitti and the pirate had some kind of history together—because the conclusion the vixen was now being asked to draw seemed unconscionable. “You thought she was going to leave you there?"

“Maybe the Kahil, too. It would've been tidy. I think the pirates would've offered a pretty good price."

“Not enough. Captain May wouldn't have given you up. No way in hell, Mitti. The captain's too good of a person to even consider it. You know that."

“No I don't."

“You should."

“Maybe." Since it was now irrelevant, she mostly wished she'd cut the vixen off before the conversation progressed to the point it had now reached. “Trust doesn't get you much, where I'm from."

“ I wouldn't have let them. How about that?"

“I know."

“I'm serious. I wouldn't have let them. Think about that."

Mitti resolved to consider it more thoughtfully. In practice, once she committed to the introspection, it didn't take much considering. She hadn't needed Munro to say it out loud.

Now, on the one hand, she felt even more strongly that she should've ended the discussion much earlier. On the other, the speed with which the answer had come to the Abyssinian had lifted its mood of her own accord.

She counted to thirty in her mind, to give her answer the right amount of weight. “I believe you."

“Trust me?"

“Trust you," she added. “Yeah."

Ciara's past life as a test pilot had generally seen her act as the most daring one in any given situation. The Dark Horse presented fewer opportunities for that, filled as it was with even more outrageous types.

Mitti was one of the less outrageous of those, and—reassured by the vixen—was also willing to get back to work. She did not perceive, in the seconds that followed her admission, the rash decision Ciara was coming to in her mind. Neither, until she'd opened her muzzle, did the vixen.

“I love you."

At first, the Abyssinian could only blink her surprise. “Ciara?"

She was not privy to Mitti's internal thoughts, which had played out during the half-minute of silence. Right then, she was not even privy to her own: the course of action had been committed to on nothing more than a pilot's instinct. “I wouldn't have let them take you, if they'd wanted. Because I love you."

Now, Mitti was caught up to speed. And, now, she grinned. “I was going to say that you should've waited until we were back on the Dark Horse."

“But?"

She unfastened her harness and got out of her seat. “But the flight computer's off. We're not accelerating. So I can do this," she said, and crawled over to give the vixen a kiss, and to leave their noses close together when she drew away. “I love you, too."

Ciara had slid her arms around the other woman, and kept her in a gentle embrace, looking into the Abyssinian's bright eyes for a long spell. It was a relief to have that all out in the open; a combination of that relief, and genuine surprise, sparked her abrupt giggle.

“Hmm? What's so funny?"

“Just… I had to check to make sure neither of us had accidentally leaned on the transmitter. We'd never hear the end of it."

Mitti snickered, too, extricated herself from the vixen, and took her seat again. “We won't, don't worry."

“What do you mean? Are we transmitting?"

“No. But the logs will pick it up. I mean, you shut down a core system. I undid my safety gear." She buckled her harness again, to emphasize that. “Liron will check."

“Are they a gossip?"

“On this ship? Who isn't?"

***

“Well? How's my squadron, warrant?"

Liron perked their ears at the sound of Jack's voice and scrambled to their feet, coming to belated attention. "Ah—sorry, sir. I didn't hear you."

“It wasn't a test," the coyote assured them. “At ease, anyway. You don't have to do that. Hell, I'd rather you not do that. Accidentally try saluting with a torch in your hand, or something…"

The maned wolf allowed themself a smile. “You're required to demonstrate that you won't do that to be certified, sir. I am sorry, though—you asked a question."

“The squadron. How are we?"

“Pretty good shape. Commander Kamyshev's plane probably took a hit on that last sortie—minor damage to one of the shield emitters. I took the opportunity to retune them and upgrade the stabilizing cores on both the Riverjacks."

“What's the upshot of that?"

“You should see a 3% drop in power consumption."

There was no sign of any work having been done on the scouts—Liron had closed all the hatches and cleaned up the scoring—but Jack looked to his plane, anyway. “A whole 3%, huh?"

“It's not much, but every bit counts."

“Especially since the bulletin said it was under 1%. Last FMO update, right? When we met up with Admiral Mercure."

“You read the MOMs? Sir?" Liron had not encountered many squadron commanders who bothered keeping up with the Fleet Maintenance and Operations Memos, which Star Patrol engineers regularly pushed out and which were generally quite dry.

It was a habit Jack had picked up out of boredom, on his last ship. “When they're about my Riverjacks, I do."

He would, however, have been happy to know about his rising esteem in the maned wolf's eyes. “Um. Most of the Type 7s in frontline service have already taken the previous firmware upgrades to the core, too. You skipped those."

“We're fully up to spec now, though? Good to know. What about the Tempest?"

Liron rubbed the back of their neck—for effect, at first, although they weren't surprised to find a knot there. “It's a bit of a bitch, sir. Right now, I'm focused on keeping it flying. If I get some breathing room…"

“Don't count on it. The Kahil? You wish you'd gone on the test flight, after all?"

“Ms. Torres and Commander Munro made better use of it."

“Yeah. I gathered. Hey—" Jack held up a paw in reaction to the look he was getting. “All I know is that when she debriefed me, Cash felt the need to 'officially disclose' a 'romantic or sexual relationship.' She asked if there was a form to fill out."

“I see."

“There isn't one." Really: Jack didn't care enough to find out which of countless forms it might've been. He'd heard rumors their new cook had come from the JAG office, anyway, if it came down to it. “Unless it's a problem, which I don't expect it to be."

“Well… there was no impact on the flight. Actually, nothing really happened. They had a brief discussion."

“That's it?"

“That's it. They just talked, said 'I love you,' and went back to work. It didn't even impact the testing schedule. I'm sure she was trying to get ahead of the rumor mill—I think... I mean… professionalism dictates I…"

Liron's confused expression told Jack he was not about to learn anything salacious, so he felt his grin was permissible. “We're between friends, warrant."

“Is anyone even surprised? No one's surprised. Why would I care if Commander Munro is dating someone?"

“You wouldn't."

“I know how this works. The way this works is you just kick your roommate out so you and some petty officer in the supply department can fuck. I know that. We all know that."

“Well…"

“Right. I forgot—everyone here even has their own quarters, don't they? I have my own quarters. Nobody even has to slip me a guest pass to the officer's mess so I'll close a storage locker for ten minutes before a sortie while I go get breakfast."

Not that Jack had ever done such a thing. The coyote cleared his throat. “No, that's true."

“Don't your pilots do normal pilot—"

“Oh! Oh, no, no. You're not putting this on me, warrant."

“You're saying it's just Commander Munro?"

“Cash is an odd one. Hell, I don't know. Maybe when they're flying prototypes they need to track whether you've gotten off recently. I told her it was none of my business."

“Right. It's not."

“Exactly." A new thought occurred to him. “You think it was the first time they said that?"

Liron rocked their head contemplatively. “Context and all? Probably."

“Hm," Jack said.

The two of them were quiet for a bit, while Jack recalled all the other ways that a squadron was normally expected to work. The Dark Horse had offered him very few foils—and no accomplices.

“So…" he prompted.

Liron had never been a pilot, but had been an integral member of a combat squadron. “I set a reminder for their anniversary. Figured I would string up a little banner in the cockpit or something."

“Uh huh." Jack grinned wider. “You know you can't keep things like this from me—I expect better from my PCs."

“Guest pass to the officer's mess?" They tried to look hopeful.

Captain Ford laughed. “I like you, Rocha. Please don't go back to the fleet."

“I'm not planning to. Even with my little adventure."

“Good. They'd waste you." Satisfied, he brought things back to their immediate needs. “But the test flight went fine?"

“It went fine, sir. The Kahil can be cleared for operations again. There should not be any more unanticipated explosions."

“That's what I wanted to hear. And what about the tactical network link?"

“That will take some more work to perfect. Ms. Torres and I have a proof of concept, but there's still a little too much lag in the targeting integrator."

The coyote nodded. “Make that a priority. Commander Bradley wants us to be able to use the Kahil as an actual bomber. He also asked if we could retrofit the hardpoints to carry torpedoes."

Uxzu ordnance was smaller than the ship-to-ship torpedoes loaded by the Dark Horse herself. But the Kahil had a powerful engine, and no shield generator that required precise, smooth geometry. “I could. At least two. Maybe four—I'd have to check the spacing."

“Or M77 beam pods. I understand they never worked out on the Aardvark, but… he said the fighting over Udolga gave him an idea. Get the Kahil in close, and we could blind the ship try to steer their own missiles—force them to rely on internal guidance only."

“It's not a bad plan, sir. I heard pilots talking about something kind of like that on my last assignment, but the Riverjack doesn't really have the punch."

“The Kahil would."

“Yeah. Commander Bradley said that?" Liron had always thought of the retriever as a more sedate character.

So had Jack, who shrugged. “He's seeing red. But we both agree he's not wrong, so… let's try it. Take as much time as you need from the workshop."

***

They didn't, as such, keep shifts, and Lukas wasn't too surprised to see Ayenni when he returned to sickbay from the mess hall. He was a bit more surprised to see her at one of the analytical stations, staring intently at the screen.

“Something the matter?"

“I have a question about sperm."

“Uh. Sure, okay." He set his mug of coffee down and circled around to join her. “What's up?"

“Thoughts?" The other doctor pointed at the screen.

He was not certain of the semen's provenance, but she had at least correctly identified it. “That's what you've got, yeah. It looks perfectly normal."

“Well, it's not perfectly normal. There's no hexagonal binding sites for SA,2-intricacin to inactivate the lipid layer, for one. And the sera is registering complete zero on complimentary P-cells."

Lukas looked, with some regret, on the distance that separated him from his coffee. “It's perfectly normal for Terrans. I'm not a specialist in this field, but I don't see any deformities. Switch to the protein filter?"

She did so; the computer helpfully color-coded everything it found. “These are intact DNA packets?"

“Yeah. And the motility seems reasonable. Why?"

“This is Dave's. This shouldn't be happening, right?"

“Oh. Shit, huh." Dr. Wolf took a moment to retrieve his coffee, while he pondered that conclusion. Having an immune booster implanted was a requirement for Star Patrol crew. They were also used, of course, as a nearly foolproof means of contraception.

Nearly. Regular scans would pick it up if the implant failed, and in any case the odds that both partners in an encounter would experience simultaneous failure was vanishingly small.

“His implant must be malfunctioning. Is there anything to suggest he might've picked up a pathogen over there?"

“No. Assuming the cytokines you Terrans have would give me a clue."

“They should. Those look normal?"

“Yes. Most of him looks normal. This was my first hint that anything might be out of the ordinary."

He shrugged; even if it had failed completely, replacing the implant was a 5-minute procedure. “Well, maybe it's bent. It happens. Have him come back whenever and we'll check the immune chip."

“'Whenever'? It might be more… urgent."

“You're thinking about compatibility?" Lukas shook his head. “I'm guessing from whatever 'SA,2-intricacin' is, he's not going to have much luck with you."

“I can explain Yara mating practices in detail later. But that's not really my point. See, here? These were his blood tests when he reported aboard. His testosterone is definitely elevated enough to have produced a change in mood."

“And DHT? Can I…" She leaned away from the terminal to give him access, and Lukas ran a few quick tests, his head canting further. “What's going on with the reductase?"

“That’s a good question, isn’t it? I don't want to jump to conclusions. I'm asking you, as a Terran, what's affecting them. Here's his neural panels." She took the computer back, and nodded to the screen.

Dr. Wolf frowned. The coffee he'd chosen wasn't strong enough. “Do you know when Commander Bradley's next shift is?"

“0800. The captain told him to skip one."

“As his… girlfriend, right? As his girlfriend, tell him to come down here."

She tapped her communicator. “Hey, Dave? Are you awake?"

“Sorta." She could clearly picture, from his mumbled reply, the tired expression the retriever would be wearing. “You need something?"

“Can you come to sickbay? I've got a question for you."

“Yeah… Yeah. Sure. Give me a couple."

Lukas listened idly, claw tapping as he reviewed the neural panel Ayenni had brought up. “And you're feeling fine?"

“Yes."

“Because the obvious answer would be that his hormones are a response to being around someone in heat. But that wouldn't be anyone on the crew."

“No."

“And not you."

“No."

There were less obvious answers. It might've been a very particular failure of the implant, although the odds had to have been several million to one. It might've been some interaction with the life support systems aboard a mirror universe starship—which interactions, he had no idea.

A handful of Terrans experienced long-term autoimmune problems if Anuvian plague spread to their nervous system, but in Dr. Wolf's experience the answer was almost never lupus, and certainly not acquired lupus.

On the other hand. While they waited for Dave to show up, Lukas took a sip of his coffee. “How'd you make out on the bet, anyway?"