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“… one scotch, one bourbon, one beer…"

Smacking his lips at the suggestion, Thom slid out from under the FTL drive and sat up. “God; yes please Al."

The upbeat jingle filling the Ronin's engineering module dimmed slightly as Al's voice sounded across the intercom system Thom had appropriated for his rather archaic taste in music.

“Firstly, Thom, that happens to be Mister Amos Millburn making drinking suggestions, not me. Secondly, you should be aware that we have no alcoholic beverages on board."

“You're such a buzzkill." Laying down again, Thom rolled under the still FTL drive and went back to what he was doing.

Thom had operated in space long enough to work up a decent repertoire with the machines that kept him flying. Back when he served in the Signal Corps he needed to be self-sufficient while operating in enemy space, thus effected most patches are repairs himself. And even now. he was running a power conduit patch with literally no spare parts whatsoever. He had to twine copper wire manually, wrap it in a heat-shrink insulation sleeve and hope his improvisational powers were up to scratch so the FTL drive powered up without exploding.

Engineering was still a gutted mess after the volatile energy discharge projected by the FTL drive when they escaped the supernova two days ago. The explosive force had nearly torn the Starcast Ronin in two, doing enough damage to the cargo spine that they wouldn't be able to pull any hard manoeuvres.

However, it wasn't that much of a problem as all forms of propulsion were shot anyway. The power conduits linking engine systems like the FTL and even simple pulse propulsion were totally fried, leaving the Ronin dead in the water.

Linking up the last of his improvised conduits, Thom rolled out from under the FTL drive and observed his handiwork. Spools of multicoloured cabling, breakers and exposed circuits littered the engineering bay's floor. Parts he'd stripped from every nonessential system he could lay his grubby fingers on were strewn everywhere, patching up holes the catastrophic malfunction had left in the propulsion systems. Per his theory if only he could feed power into the systems they ought to splutter to life just enough for him to limp the rest of the way to the frontier.

“Okay, lets hit it," Thom said taking a few large steps back.

“You want me to power up an FTL drive currently held together with duct tape."

“What's the worst that could happen?"

“Famous last words."

Al fed power through the improvised conduits and the propulsion systems answered… momentarily. Pulse engines spluttered, jerking the Ronin a few inches forward. The FTL drive hovered out of the cradle and started its slow long-axis revolution within the gravity suspension field. And then just as quickly the lights started to flicker throughout the ship. There was a crunching, grinding noise as the FTL drive bobbed then dropped back into the cradle and went out again. The pulse drives dimmed and an acrid smoke began to rise from the spools of wiring draped across the deck, connecting propulsion with the powerplant.

A few of the lengths started hissing venomously. The smell of burn plastic filled engineering and some of the boards popped, capacitors blowing and spewing a spongy yellow conductive ichor across the deck. One length of cabling caught fire and Thom ran over to stamp it out.

“Nonononono, kill it! Stop! Cut power!" he yelled as he jumped about the place, stomping flames and avoiding showers of sparks.

The energetic hum from the powerplant dimmed instantaneously and Al quickly severed connection to the auxiliary ports Thom linked his makeshift conduits to.

“Let that be a lesson to you. Do not daisy-chain power sockets."

“Ah, stick a floppy-disk in it, 'ya smartass." Waving away the trails of smoke now hanging in the hazy compartment, Thom dropped to his knees and reached under the FTL drive to unplug the smouldering mess. “I don't see you coming up with any solutions."

“My apologies. While you were playing out your favourite episode of MacGyver, I was running a thorough analysis of the event logs at seven-thousand times the optimal human capacity and discerned the cause for our FTL blowout."

“Peachy. Enlighten me as to why we almost exploded, but without the 'tude okay?"

“It seems to me to have been caused by a rather erroneous maintenance fault."

“You know I don't own a thesaurus, Al."

“Sabotage, Thom. I suspect someone sabotaged our FTL drive last time we were in dry-dock. I'm forwarding repair schematics to your tablet now, but… it seems we don't have the required parts."

Tossing aside the bundle of fused wiring, Thom sighed. “I noticed. We're stuck, aren't we?"

“Veritably."

The outlook was grim. All options pointed to dropping a distress beacon and simply hoping they weren't found by pirates before an SSG or TAFT vessel came by… or worse still, one of General Krux's lackeys from the Royal Dominion.

As Thom was gauging his options, weighting the risk of each, a soft voice made him stop.

“What's your name?" it asked, soft and quite lovely. The voice was female, velvety and articulated Sol Common with a sort of perfection even Thom couldn't attain thanks to his frontier twang.

Lifting his head, he slammed it painfully on the edge of the FTL drive, and now blinking away stars and rubbing a throbbing bump on his skull, Thom finally managed to scramble out of the compartment and turned.

Standing nearby with a data slate in one hand was Vaelia. She was still wearing the same tight-fitting jumpsuit as before, the one that was partially zipped down to draw Thom's gaze to her cleavage, and well-fitted enough to show off her bountiful curves. Shaking off the tractor-beam that pulled at his eyes, Thom pushed his eyes up to look at hers and noticed the little smile on her beak.

“I'm Vaelia," she continued to introduce in perfect emulation of Sol Common. She even had an Earth accent, as if she'd been born and raised in Geneva.

Thom opened his mouth dumbstruck, unable to form full questions for a moment, before finally asking, “The hell!? You know Sol Common?"

Vaelia nodded vigorously. “I do now. Well, I knew a little before. Enough to understand. But I spent these past few days studying so we could better communicate."

Every inflection, enunciation, emphasis… it was all there. Like she'd spoken the language all her life.

“I'm the crew's linguist," she continued to say, squishing her bust a little as she cutely hugged the tablet to her chest. “Learning a new language isn't too difficult."

“I bet."

Vaelia waved Thom over, then crawled into the cargo spine. Thom froze at that moment, observing how the cut of her jumpsuit pulled taut over her wide hips and the heart-like globes of her ass. It was a display just begging to be touched, and suddenly realising he hadn't been on some proper shore leave in some dive bar full of hopeless singles who didn't fit in with pretty people in the cosmopolitan night clubs, Thom felt his shorts shrink spontaneously. It had been a long couple of months.

Gulping, he tried to avert his eyes, but the delicious curves of Vaelia's rear were hypnotic, and he remained riveted as he dumbly followed her along the cargo spine and into the Ronin-A.

On the forward decks, a small cluster of humanoids were loitering by the airlock connecting the alien yacht to the Starcast Ronin. Two were immediately familiar, with two others entirely new to Thom. Of the colourful aliens, it was the Lycan who stood out the most, slightly taller than her comrades and other than Vaelia, the only other armed with a stunner on her thigh.

“You deserve an explanation," Vaelia explained. “It's the least I can do after you saved our lives. But first, perhaps a few introductions. You know Captain Gemini." She introduced the Lycan again, then indicated the lapin boy. “And our engineer Sammi."

“I'd use the 'engineer' title loosely with that dude," Thom commented, then looked the two new figures from top to bottom.

The new girls – though young women was probably a more apt description – were undeniably lovely. One was of a teeny race Thom recognised as Mauluse. The anthro mouse was only just about tall enough for the tops of her rounded ears to reach up as far as Thom's chest. She was petite and quite skinny, with a leggy sort of athleticism to her figure attenuated by a form fitted deep red robe, with a scarf and hood wrapped about her neck.

The other young woman, a Caushae lady, was dressed in similar regal sort of attire usually seen in Sovereignty circles. Her body was like a scientific study into what was physically attractive to humanoids. The anthro feline had a light tan coloured fur with lighter shades on her face and what Thom could see of her chest thanks to the plunging neckline of her dress. She was as tall as the human, though slimmer and built to the athletic perfection every nubile young girl aspired to attain in vain. Significantly less curvy than Vaelia though, and not as physically robust as Gemini, this Caushae princess still had a pair of impressive, perky breasts stretching out the front of her floor-length dress, and one slender leg ending in a shoe with a tall stiletto heel moulded about her feline footpaws on full reveal thanks to the long slit in the skirt running up to the mid-thigh.

The cloth was the same shiny shade of metallic blue as her bob of short hair, and like most other Caushae she had large eyes framed by dark eyelids, this girl's yellow irises standing out with predatory fierceness that put even Gemini to shame. There was a gentle smile on her lips though and she carried herself with a straight back and shoulders back as might be expected of figures in royalty.

Tearing his eyes from the alien women, each as pretty as the last in his humble opinion, Thom quickly did a double take on everyone there before finally introducing himself. “I'm Thom by the way. Captain Thom Crichton." He then pointed at the ceiling and said, “And this is Al."

“Charmed."

Vaelia grinned. “It's a pleasure to meet you both. This is Princess Jinory Azon." She introduced the Caushae woman with a formal wave and something of a bow. She smiled and returned the nod, addressing something of an in-joke between the girls that Thom clearly didn't get. Beside Jinory the mouse girl did a little curtsy. “And her handmaiden, Taenya. They are from the Azon System, a former Sovereignty Reformist starsector."

Thom frowned. “Former?"

Vaelia fidgeted with her fingers, then threw an uncertain glance at the faces of her crewmates. “It was taken over. Gemini told me you met with General Krux?"

“Yeah. Sweet girl. But not really." Thom waved them into the next room, the roomy mess-hall with an adjoining kitchen, then pointed at the nearby table and chairs. “Maybe you should start at the beginning. And tell the whole story before you start waving blasters in my face."

Vaelia's hand instinctively drifted to the neuro-stunner on her thigh, but beamed humorously. “I'm sorry about that." Switching out of Sol Common with the ease of a linguistic robot, Vaelia invited the gathered women to follow, and they all took a seat.

Sitting between Jinory and Taenya opposite Thom who uncomfortably settled beside Sammi, Vaelia started her story, from the beginning this time. Gemini remained on her feet by Jinori's shoulder, standing almost protectively with her arms crossed over her chest.

“It started early last year," she began, eyes glazing over as she seemed to travel down memory lane. “The Azon System was at peace under the Azon family rule. Despite the death of the emperor, the traditional Sovereignty rule in Azon continued strong. The people were well off, trade with neighbouring systems flowed through. Captain Gemini and the rest of us worked a small frigate between Azon and Kladar, another Sovereignty Reformist system.

“Then one day, it all changed. General Sorcha Krux from Royal Dominion was tasked by her father, the leader of the Krux System, to invade Azon and fold the system into their rapidly growing military empire. They fell upon the Azon capitol with violence of action, killed any who stood in their way, butchered much of Jinoy's family…" Vaelia paused, swallowing hard for a moment. “Jinory and her youngest brother were captured. That was when we came along.

“We were friends of the Azon family, and were running supplies between systems as usual when we were contacted with the Azon Resistance. They'd been in contact with Jinory and had a plan to rescue her and her brother. It didn't take much to convince us to join the cause. We executed the plan, but something went wrong… we were betrayed. Krux's agents were everywhere. We only made it out of the capitol narrowly with Jinory and Taenya on board one of the royal yachts. And you know the rest." She finished on the faintest glimmer of a smile, as if to say 'alls-well-ends-well…' relatively.

Sensing Thom was about to do that thing with his mouth-hole that produced sound, Al quickly cut across him. “You were attempting to use the pulsar as cover from General Krux's search. A clever tactic, but the EM interference scrambled your FTL drive and pulse engines, effectively stranding you."

“I was going to say that," Thom said with a huff.

“I'm certain you were. Though likely you were going to insult their intelligence at the same time."

“That's exactly what happened, Al." Despite her grim story, Vaelia smiled at the exchange between the human and his AI. “If you hadn't come along, then Krux or her goons would have found us."

Leaning into the backrest of his seat, Thom folded his arms across his chest. “Well, it looks like you're sitting ducks again. My FTL drive is shot and your ship is junk, probably thanks to your resident lesboy." He jabbed a thumb at the lapin sitting beside him.

Sammi frowned, realising he was being pointed at and looked desperately to Vaelia for a translation that never came.

“I'd love to help. Hell, I'm on my way to the frontier. The Terran Alliance of Federal Territories is the muscle out there, I'd be happy to take you to them for help. Unfortunately, I need parts to get the Ronin moving again."

Vaelia in the meantime chattered in a language unknown to Thom. She seemed to be translating for Jinory and the others. Gemini looked confused for a moment and eyed Thom with surprise, probably at the part where he admitted he'd be happy to help. Clearly she wasn't used to Samaritans just landing in her lap.

Jinory on the other hand didn't hesitate to answer the moment Vaelia finished translating. She looked directly at Thom as she spoke. The words were gibberish as far as Thom was concerned. She was opening her mouth and making noises, but there was no denying the loveliness in tone. Her voice was, like her exterior, a true treat to behold.

“Jinory said you can take parts from her ship," Vaelia translated happily. “Whatever it takes to make your ship work again."

Thom glanced up inquisitively, and Al answered as if noticing. “Our faster than light technology is based on alien designs, some of it Caushae. We should be able to amalgamate parts of the yacht's FTL drive and engines into our own."

Nodding, Thom stood. “Okay then. That sounds like a plan."

“So you'll help us?"

He scoffed. “Uh, yeah. Of course." Standing, Thom made his way to the airlock, seemingly eager to get to work stripping the Caushae yacht for parts to get the Ronin running again. “The way I see it, you have the parts I need, and I have your best bet at survival." He patted a bulkhead in passing to indicate his trusty ship. “I think we'd work better toge-… gah!"

He finished on a gasp, half turning as he noted the rapid fire click of sharp heels on the deck. He only turned part way to notice the blur of motion that was Princess Azon as she lunged forward and wrapped her arms about him.

Thom immediately stiffened – in more ways than one as he awkwardly noted the way her perky, firm breasts were pressing against him. Even through her dress and the hardened lining of his jacket, Thom got a fairly good feel of what treasures lay behind the layers of clothing she wore and couldn't help the stirring in his loins.

Gulping, he became suddenly fascinated by the emergency evac diagram mounted on the mess-hall's wall, while Jinory said something else and finally let go.

Vaelia giggled, noting the redness on Thom's cheeks. “She says 'thank you,' by the way."

“I figured as much." Glancing at the airlock, Thom cleared his throat and told them, “Go grab your shit." Then as he turned and passed through the pressure door to peruse the yacht for salvage he added: “And welcome aboard the Starcast Ronin."

*****{{~~~}}*****

As Thom set up the handheld recorder, the mic-gain was maxed out for a moment in a sound that was bound to translate into a distorted burp. He finished mounting the camera, then took a step back, holding out his hands as a gauge for framing himself while the lens focused on the human on the engineering deck. The FTL drive was humming with power, seemingly successfully patched with parts from the Caushae yacht while somewhere in the background Sammi was sweeping up discarded scraps and other messes he'd made assisting Thom's repair efforts.

“Okay, so! Captain's log, stardate: who the frig cares? I got it fixed! Tadaaaa!" Thom laughed as he presented the hovering FTL drive. It wasn't spinning on it's axis in the grav bubble just yet, but that was yet to come. “Al said he has some calibrations to make, but on the whole we should be able to fold into slipspace soon. What's the word, Al?"

“Forty-eight hours," Al reported shortly, likely keeping his cycles focused on the task at hand.

Thom looked proud of himself regardless. Another two-days of lingering in dead space would be heaven compared to the past couple of days of patch jobs and repairs.

“Thanks to my boundless genius, I managed to amalgamate many of the alien parts from the yacht into patches for our own systems aboard the Ronin," Thom explained for the log. “It took about two days, but I'm pretty sure it would have taken one were it not for Sammi's insistence he help."

“Sammi's contribution to the repairs were significant, Thom. Don't be mean."

Thom rolled his eyes, while in the background the lapine stopped sweeping, perking up at the sound of his name. Glancing between Thom and the recorder, and clearly not knowing enough Sol Common to understand what was being said about him, Sammi went back to sweeping.

“So as Al said. Two more days of calibrations and we are back in business. Frontier, here we come!"

All Thom had to do was survive the next couple of days. Seemed like an easy task at first. Vaelia knew the most Sol Common, with the rest of the aliens still stumbling as they learned through a programme she'd written. But Vaelia turned out to be company enough while Al dedicated all his cycles to the FTL calibrations. They spent that evening playing cards and having a laugh. It had been fun, even with her bombardment of questions…

Until the inevitable questions about human biology came along. Thom had spent most of the time trying not to look at her cleavage every time she leaned forward to snap a card on the table. But now he couldn't help look when Vaelia suddenly said: “I wonder how similar my own species is to yours. Do your human women look at all like me?"

“Uh…" Thom seemed to refuse to answer, cowering behind his fan of cards.

She continued brightly as ever, “I'm pretty sure you're very similar to my peoples' males. Your build seems about right. Do you know if your compatible with aliens at all? I heard certain virile human men have been known to father children with Caushae and Lycans…"

“Wow!" Thom suddenly slammed down his cards with a big shit-eating grin. “ThesecardssuckI'dbetterfoldohlookatthetimeI'dbettergetsomesleepgoodnighteverybody!"

He was out of the common room before anybody was even able to translate that properly, leaving Vaelia a little bewildered. Gemini on the other hand seemed to know the look of an award male making his exit and gave a bemused chuckle, though kept her comments to herself as she went back to the ration pack she shared with Jinory.

Thom's private slice of the universe that was the Starcast Ronin unravelled even further on the morning of the first day. He was up at the crack of virtual dawn as usual, age old habit to be up before his enemies so to speak. But as he came out of the bathroom he suddenly wished he'd slept in.

As he came out in his shorts and a sleeping t-shirt, Jinory was waiting outside the bathroom door, clad in naught but her underwear. Totally blasé about the fact, the Caushae offered a casual morning greeting in her own native language and swished past Thom, who had in the meantime done a good impression of Al suffering a total system crash.

The image of Jinory's body with pretty much nothing left to the imagination was now seared into Thom's memory banks. Every time he blinked he saw that skimpy g-string covering her privates and a bra that seemed more designed to hold up her breasts, rather than cover them, leaving the top arch of her pink nipples visible. And one might wonder why Thom might complain about such a show.

It wasn't so much a complaint, more so a bother that he had to try and hide the fact he had a raging erection tenting the front of his pants every time he passed one of the female crew.

Sammi on the other hand he couldn't care less, and he brazenly sauntered past the guy with a casual nod and a: “W'sup, dude." There was no need for shyness among guys.

That being said, Sammi began to say “good morning" but made the mistake of glancing down and balked with bright red cheeks at the large bulge boldly sitting at the front of Thom's pants.

By afternoon, Thom figured he might try and work off the stress in the gym. The Ronin's features weren't particularly extensive, but Thom had a few basic comforts to make the long hauls less of a chore. The gym to take care of himself physically for example, and the retro gaming console he had set up in the common area.

Gemini seemed to have the same idea as Thom and gave him a curt nod as he entered. Now the gym wasn't particularly big, but there was enough space at least that Thom didn't mind sharing. Unfortunately, Gemini decided it was leg-day today.

Dressed in a pair of yoga pants that fitted over her legs like a shiny second skin and a sports bra only just about covering her bust, the athletic woman heaved a barbell over her shoulder and started doing long, smooth squats. They were deep squats too, and each slow, powerful downward motion tightened those yoga pants over the taut curves of her ass, and the obvious cleft between her thighs indicated she took to exercising commando.

She didn't notice Thom looking, but it only took Thom about ten seconds to realise this would not help in the slightest and he bounced to go trash Sammi in 'Halo' instead.

Thom spent the rest of the day avoiding everyone. Months of little to no interaction with the fairer sex, and then suddenly getting lumped into tight quarters with four smoking hot alien chicks? Thom didn't know if he was in heaven or hell.

Probably both.

Speaking of alien babe numero-four; Thom was woken at all hours in the morning by a light knock on the door. Frankly he was expecting a Royal Dominion cruiser to bear down on them at any moment, or perhaps one of the jury-rigged patches to pop and obliterate them. At the time a mouse scuttling across the ship could have woken Thom.

Ironic then that it was an anthro mouse that woke him.

Opening his quarters door he glanced up and down the empty corridor, then pausing as he rubbed his tired eyes he drew his gaze sharply downward to Taenya standing in front of him. She was dressed kind of like Jinory in her underwear the previous day – minus the underwear.

A lacy nighty hung from her shoulders, semi-transparent enough to shroud her body to a semblance of modesty, but skimpy enough that Thom was dubious about her purchasing such an article in a normal department store. It had alien 'Victoria Secret' written all over it, and as per the designer's intention, Thom stared like a dumb teenager.

“I had nightmare," Taenya said lightly in what Sol Common she knew. “Can sleep with you?"

Thom was either too much of a softy to say “no" to those eyes, or too much of an idiot. But in the end he didn't sleep a wink, laying flat on his back, staring at the ceiling with bloodshot eyes while the petite anthro mouse lay half naked, curled up comfortably against his side.

“I yearn for the sweet release," Thom finally muttered as he broke at the end of the forty-eight hours.

Lounging in the captain's chair on the bridge, Sammi and the girls sitting nearby and chatting cryptically among themselves, Al's voice finally chiming in on the intercom was the most wonderful sound Thom had ever heard. The alien chatter would pause every so often and they would glance in Thom's direction then descend into a fit of giggles before their chatter continued.

“Calibrations complete."

Sighing with relief, Thom spun up a holo-board and tapped into the FTL controls. He plotted a course, then prepped for transition into slipspace.

“Ready to fold. What's the odds we'll explode again, Al?"

“I put it at seventy-percent."

“Seventy is better than eighty. Hit the diff."

Crossing his fingers, Thom exchanged a glance with Vaelia and they all braced themselves as Al fed power into the FTL drive. The whole ship began to rumble with activity as reality was tweaked open at the Ronin's nose. Then all at once the folded out of realspace and into the white light beyond…

Everything held solid. Amber lights slid across Thom's display indicating systems were not running at peak efficiency, but still within a normal enough range that they could maintain faster-than-light travel.

“Yeah!" he threw up his hands as the alien women on the bridge let out celebratory whoops.

“We are holding at eighty-eight-percent efficiency," Al reported. “I'm reading fluctuations with gradual deterioration of our condition, however we will make the frontier long before systems fail."

“Wicked! Our ETA?"

“Three weeks."

Thom's eyes bugged at the news. Very slowly he looked over his shoulder at the girls bouncing about in a celebratory dance over the FTL drive working normally. Each had a distinct style, from Gemini hardly moving and standing by formally with a smile as Jinory gave her a hug, Taenya busting out moves like a sexy K-pop backup dancer and Vaelia jumping happily on the spot, her generous bust jiggling with every bound.

Snapping his gaze forward again, Thom slid down into a tired slouch. “Oh, God. I'll be insane in three days," he muttered to himself.

Thom jolted slightly as he felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up into Vaelia's smiling face.

“Good work, Thom. Next stop, the frontier," she said, beaming happily for a moment before her expression dropped a little. “General Krux will not stop until she has recaptured or killed Jinory however. She will pursue us to the ends of the galaxy."

Thom chuckled with confidence, altogether too much of the stuff. “Let her try to keep up. Besides, she blew up a star in an attempt to kill us. She probably doesn't even realise we're still alive."

*****{{~~~}}*****

“You're certain they're still alive?" General Sorcha Krux only dealt in certainties. She was aware that her crew knew that, but still felt the need to re-iterate upon her XO none the less.

On the vid-screen connecting Sorcha's private quarters to the bridge, the Caushae executive-officer gave a firm nod. He'd been Sorcha's trusty second in command since they'd left the Krux System on her father's conquest nearly two years ago. she trusted his word above anyone else's, however the current situation was delicate. She needed him at better than his best.

“I am at ninety-percent certainty at this moment, ma'am," the XO responded. He gave a sidelong glance at the bridge crew to check on their progress. “The supernova event has settled and our sensors are running a more thorough sweep. We're still detecting exotic particles indicative of a fold event, meaning the Starcast Ronin at the very least attempted escape. We'll know more of their actual status shortly."

Not the kind of certainty Sorcha had been hoping for, but at least the XO was working on it. “Very well. Keep me up to date."

The XO saluted and Sorcha switched off the vid-screen.

Pinning a few errant strands of hair behind a pointed ear, Sorcha turned back into her spartan stateroom. Everything she needed was laid out neatly across the room, and as a result there was very little. The large bed and couch by the coffee table were perhaps the only luxuries she afforded. The far wall was dominated by a panoramic window revealing the sprawl of space that had up until earlier that day been bombarded by sheer heat of the supernova. The neutron star had shrunk to a blue little pinprick as it slowly withered, burned out and died.

Sorcha was hardly dressed for a meeting with her XO as she reclined back into the couch and curled her bare legs onto the cushions below her, hands clamped on a cooling cup of coffee. Her shirt was unbuttoned, and her jacket was missing, as were her deck boots and pants, leaving the young Caushae general clad in little more than a shirt and panties. She just thanked the tight cropping of the camera that had given the XO the illusion Sorcha was as formal as she was on the bridge in her private quarters.

Sipping her coffee, she set down the cup and picked up a data slate with the information her XO had forwarded her. At the top of the dossier hung the telltale SSG logo, below which the personnel file of Mister Thom Crichton was laid out. Sorcha had contacts among the humans; when one was embarking on a galactic conquest it helped to have agents everywhere. After her brief verbal sparring with the human, she'd reached to the corporate shills she kept on a payroll of rare metals and pulled everything that was available on Thom Crichton.

The man had an impressive repertoire, and lingering on the casual mugshot cropped beside his biographical info, Sorcha couldn't help purr with a grin. Sturdy features, neatly cropped hair, he clearly took care of himself despite the long days of boring space transit. Habits he picked up in the military, like keeping himself fairly well groomed and exercised regularly probably died hard.

She checked his history. A long stint in the Signal Corps; Sorcha knew it well. Humans had such inventive ways of waging war. TAFT's counter insurgency programmed, the Signal Corps was no exception. Ships floating about space engaging in hit and run tactics against rebel ships, sometimes even using false broadcasts to run whole fleets to their doom… it was impressive stuff. The high mortality rate in the Corps, and the fact Crichton had come out the other end smirking like a rogue spoke in volumes of his skill.

Sorcha had no doubt. The Royal Dominion captain she'd sent ahead of the Killmonger, the one Crichton and his ship the Starast Ronin, had been among her best, and this human with a piece of junk prowler had dispatched him.

She bit her lip feeling a hot flush coming and fanned her face with her tail. Though while she scrolled down, her free hand idly began to rake through the fur on her inner thigh.

The more Sorcha learned, the closer her hand drifted to the front of her panties. She almost couldn't help herself. Mister Crichton almost seemed like something of a kindred spirit, building his fortune from literally nothing. By chance he'd come upon the prowler now known as the Ronin and with a loan from the Sol Space Guild he rebuilt much of the ship with his own two hands.

Sorcha likened it to receiving a commission from her father for the Killmonger. Back then she'd just been a lowly captain with a destroyer. Then as her killcount grew, as she pioneered victory after victory against enemy armies in the depths of space she built up to the mighty capitol ship now at her beck and call.

A small moan escaped Sorcha's lips as she lay back, eyes fluttering shut. Her fingers firmly pressed through the thin, damp cloth of her panties and into the folds of sensitive flesh within. Tracing long slow circles, her mind drifted back to the smirking face of Thom Crichton, staring her down with that confident look, totally fearless in the face of certain death. He had a mighty pair of balls that human.

She was willing to bet, as her fingers slipped down the top of her panties and her fingers found the wet flesh now unobstructed by a layer of silk, he had a glorious stem to go with them. She imagined it slide up into her as her fingers found the excited, slick opening yearning for attention and gently dipped a fingertip into the slick honey gathering within…

Before she could begin to massage the yearning flesh, Sorcha felt her excitement wither as the intercom bleeped. She quickly yanked her hand out of her panties and swung her legs over the side of the couch.

With an absent wipe of her fingers she tugged at the back of her panties where some of the cloth had pulled between the luscious globes of her ass, and quickly went back to the vid-screen. It flicked on and Sorcha secretly hoped the XO cropped in the image wouldn't note her flustered expression.

He didn't, holding his formal expression as ever. “General, we have discerned the Starcast Ronin_'s escape vector. They are making for the frontier."_

“That arm of colonies is quite short," Sorcha mused thoughtfully. Shaking off the murk of desire addling her thoughts, Sorcha quickly looked up and compiled a plan. “Head for the frontier, best speed. Reach out to our SSG contacts at the same time. As soon as the Ronin makes dry-dock, I want to know exactly where. We can pounce on them in less than a few hours at that point."

The male Caushae nodded in agreement. “Make for the frontier at best speed, aye."

Dismissed with his orders once more, the XO disappeared from the vid-screen and Sorcha returned to the couch. She felt the Killmonger rumble to life all around her, and the panoramic viewport behind her was washed out with white light. They folded out of realspace in an instant and were away to the frontier.

Sorcha in the meantime, with a more sobered mind leaned back in the cushions, narrow footpaws planted on the floor as she spread her legs wide. Holding up the data slate, she eyes Crichton's dossier photo once more.

Her free hand slid down behind the elastic waist strap and her fingers probed at her quim. The lips swollen and aching with a sharper desire now she was focusing on the sensations. Her lips parted in a moan, her whole body bucking against her digits as they curled into her opening and gradually explored up into the slick, convulsing tunnel…

Her final sober though before she pleasured herself into the night, was a sense of excitement – she couldn't wait to see what Mister Crichton was really made of.

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