FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Jules held the door to the holding cell open, watching with curiosity as his commander guided the last survivor of the Pteran transport inside. Although he was not a prisoner, the H.S. Skycrest was a military starship twice packed to its gills with Heskar. The only rooms left for a guest were one out-of-service cargo hold and three cells in the brig.

This might have been an issue if they escorted one of their own scaled kind. The bat-like Pteran, by contrast, was only a head larger than a Heskar adolescent and a fraction of the weight. The cot was wide enough for the man's wingspan and would be the safest place to keep their guest until they'd completed their voyage to Ghost Station Alpha, where he could be relayed back to his people.

Commander Amir returned, sealed the door, and locked three deadbolts. Through the one-way mirror, Jules could see the Pteran sitting with the tips of his wings braced against his chest.

"Lieutenant Brahn," said the Commander.

"Ma'am." Jules snapped to attention.

Quay Amir was his superior in every possible way. She was heads taller than him, and her armor was nearly twice as broad. Her uniform, like Jules', mimicked a traditional plate armor on the outside. It had sixteen ceremonial scales, alternating blue and silver with a perfect polish. The horn-like adornments on her shoulders shifted as she measured him in a single glance.

"You now have one singular duty until we dock at Ghost Station Alpha," she declared. "Keep Toya Kelial safe."

"Yes, ma'am."

"I assume you've been briefed on Pteran social structures?"

Jules' crest crinkled as his brow raised. He'd received a battery of lectures on their confederate neighbors upon his promotion. "Pterans form groups called 'Flights' that have a unique group identity."

"It's more than an identity," replied the commander, narrowing her eyes. "Groups ranging from two to two hundred are considered distinct legal individuals. But it goes deeper than that. From birth, a Pteran never goes long without a flightmate. If left in isolation too long, his mind will shatter."

The air filtration shuddered and clicked, reminded to bring the air closer to the humidity of their home world. Jules wondered if the air on Toya's world was as thick and balmy as theirs.

He realized there was much he wondered and little he knew about the Pterans.

"I'm not a therapist," he protested. "There must be someone else better suited to take care of him."

"I'm afraid we're fresh out of xeno-psychologists." The commander put one hand on Jules's shoulder. "Just yesterday you were bitching that all you did was hold open doors for officers. Believe me, I would love to hand this off to someone who won't screw it up. You're the one with the training, and you are going to make sure that glider gets to the station in one piece, or else I will make sure you spend the rest of your tour as a glorified doorstop. Are we clear, Lieutenant?"

Jules scowled. Despite the dressing down, it was oddly reassuring to know that his command hadn't softened just because they were on a diplomatic assignment. "Crystal clear, Commander."

"Good," said the commander. "Get him badged for the crew decks. If something goes wrong, I don't want to hear about it."

The Commander stalked away. The report of her heavy footsteps echoed through the corridors despite the lower gravity. Jules turned and peered into the one-way porthole again. Toya had not moved, and his blank expression had not changed.

The Pteran didn't react when the door to the cell slid open again. Nor did he look up to see Jules lumber in, arms shifting stiffly under the weight of his uniform. Most other species reacted with some combination of intimidation and awe. His suit bore red and gold plates, made to resemble the fire-spitting creatures of their lore. Jules' family crest bore these royal colors, and so he was privileged to wear them as a part of his service.

"Your name is Toya, right?" said Jules. The Pteran's ear twitched at the sound of his voice, but he still did not look up. Jules sighed and sat down beside the smaller man, and the cot creaked at the combined weight of his body and armor. "I got the report, but I figured it's more polite to ask."

Toya's lips parted, and he let out a small, shuddering breath. After several moments, he managed to speak. "What happened?"

"We heard your distress beacon," said Jules. "And we picked--"

"No," said Toya. "I mean, why did our system fail? Four sets of ears and not one noticed the critical malfunction? I… they… no, no. I need to see my ship."

"They need to finish scrubbing the engines first," said Jules. "Half of the systems are leaking radiation and the other half are pumping out noxious chemicals."

"I can help with decontamination," said Toya. His eyes were wide now, filled with a manic determination as he sprung up from the cot. He landed hard, gasped, and nearly buckled under the atmospheric gravity. "That was—that is part of my job."

"Toya." Jules lowered a hand to the Pteran, who stared at him before laying the claw end of his wing over his thumb and pulling himself up. "What would you say if a Confederate delegate, who had barely survived a shuttle failure, started hopping about and demanding his way onto your crew?"

Toya let out a tiny growl of frustration. "At least let me see it."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"Please."

Jules rubbed the spikes of his beard and sighed, and found himself missing the natural order of his chain of command. He might grouse over a superior denying his requests, but at least there was no ambiguity. Seeing the wreck wouldn't do anything for Toya's health, but then, being denied might make it even worse.

"Fine," he conceded. "Just a look."

* * *

Toya's 'ship' could barely be recognized as such. It sat in the docking bay, or rather, its three pieces rested there, a shadow of their former self. Fibers and structural panels jammed out in nearly every direction from the collapse of the ship. The forward cabin remained intact, as did some of the sturdier storage pods and the engine frame.

Jules had lowered the blast plate so that Toya could hang from the viewport and watch the engineers. A team of six Heskar swept black devices over the engine, checking to see if the contamination levels had been lowered enough to move on to a more finite diagnosis.

"Why don't we go to the mess?" Jules suggested. "You need to eat something."

"Not hungry," Toya responded shortly. The fur of his face bristled against the glass, his attention fixated on the wreck.

Jules needed to get his mind off of the accident, or it would consume him. "Well, it's not high-tech, but the door to my quarters has been sticking lately. You think you could take a look at it?"

Toya sighed. His claw tips drummed against the door as if responding to the idea. It was, Jules knew, beneath the consideration of most accomplished engineers even if it were a classified alien vessel. But work was work, and if nothing else, he knew engineers thought with their hands as often as their brains.

Even if he doesn't have hands. Jules studied the Pteran's wings and suddenly wondered how they worked at all. His sails ended at his hips, where a thick blue kilt and several pouches hung.

"Show me," said Toya.

Jules bobbed his head and offered to help him down from the window. Toya instead twisted, pivoting on his wing claws with an acrobatic twist before leaping seamlessly to the floor. He hunched for a second but then straightened his back, already accustomed to the difference in gravity between their ships.

Of all the missions that Jules expected to take in deep space, the last thing he expected was to be standing in his quarters with a Pteran balancing on his shoulders. He had removed one of the structural panels, which now sat propped against the wall while the bat gazed into the void of the frame.

"Do you all sleep alone?" asked Toya.

Jules blinked. "What?"

"I've only seen two rooms on board. The guest quarters, and yours. Both have only one cot. Am I mistaken?"

Jules' tail flexed and bumped the floor twice. "Heh. Most of the enlisted have to bunk together, but it's not typical for us." He laughed, deciding to brush off the matter of their 'guest quarters' for the time being. "We're accustomed to privacy, but only officers get the luxury of individual quarters."

Toya didn't respond. A fixture inside the door rattled, and his wings flexed with effort. Whatever he was engaging with he only needed two points to manipulate. Jules vowed to find him something more complicated to fix.

He must be used to bunking with the rest of his flight, Jules thought. It dawned on him that he couldn't send the Pteran to sleep alone in an empty cell. His tail twitched again, and he cleared his throat.

"If you wanted to, you can bunk here for the rest of the voyage."

A metallic thunk sounded above him. Toya leaned down, fur between his ears bristled.

"Only if you want to, I mean," muttered Jules.

"I thought you ridgebacks valued your privacy," Toya said slowly.

Jules gritted his teeth and then laughed anyway. Fair play, glider. "We also don't get a chance to see our allies too often. Call it curiosity."

Jules chirped and studied him for a moment. "I'll… think about it." Then he shot back to the door frame and began to work at it again. A few moments later, Jules heard the click of a latch moving into place and the whoosh of oiled metal on metal.

"Try it now," said Toya.

Jules let him down and then stepped back, pressing the button next to the door. It let out the mechanical equivalent of a relieved sigh and then slid into place—without skipping, whining, or leaving a millimeter draft.

"Nice work," said Jules, and he meant it.

* * *

Jules thought that Toya was doing better.

The first night, the Pteran tried sleeping on a desk chair on the far side of the room. Laying tip to tail with his wings folded, he had just enough room to rest his head on the cushions. Even the most functional of Heskar blankets made a veritable nest for the man once it'd been arranged to his size.

Once, he got up in the middle of the night and turned on the star display. An inky indigo reflected on his face as he studied the flowing colors of the quantum bubble outside. Jules knew that the field was what allowed their ship to enter the 'rivers' of subspace that rushed across the universe faster than light.

And he probably knows how the field generator works, Jules mused. Spent hundreds of hours staring at that view right there, and he still looks like a hatchling seeing the stars for the first time.

He started eating and asked far too many questions about how the Heskar synthesized their rations.

"I didn't think I could get mango on a Heskar military rig," he said, dabbing some of the orange paste from his lip with a cloth.

"Okay, I'm not a chef, even I know that's not mango."

Toya laughed. "It might just be flavor packets, but I'm still impressed by the variety."

"What did you think we ate?"

The Pteran thought for a moment, then looked to the side as if embarrassed. "I guess I hadn't put much thought into it."

"Uh-huh…"

"So you don't live off the blood of your enemies," Toya went on, "and big hunks of meat?"

Jules chuckled. "Our army core would be just chuffed to hear you think that." He patted the belly of his breastplate so it made a bright clang-clang. "Takes a whole lot to keep this bad boy in shape."

"A whole lot of paste," Toya agreed.

They dutifully emptied their plates and drained their cups. What Toya couldn't operate with his wingtips, he showed no shyness about wedging his soft-furred face into.

The noise of their conversation had attracted more than one queer stare from Jules' crewmates. He couldn't blame them. Toya was carrying on as if they'd been born in the same clutch and showed no shyness in watching them in turn. By the end of their meal, though, he was starting to realize how much of a stir his presence was causing.

"I'm embarrassing you," said Toya.

Jules shrugged and let his arms rest on the table. "Not really. No one's going to make a big deal out of it."

Toya watched another Heskar carry her tray past them and frowned. "Then why are they all avoiding you?'

Jules blinked. He had no idea what the Pteran was talking about. Then he saw the way that Toya was looking at his crewmates. Watching the way their eyes moved and their quick locomotion. The distance of their bodies as well as their words were completely alien to him.

"No one's avoiding us," he tried to explain. "That's just how it is in the service."

"It looks lonely."

Jules followed Toya's gaze to another Heskar sitting across the room. He knew this one, a soldier named Shale, since they'd gone into the academy at the same time. He could imagine fighting alongside the man, and even dying next to him. They knew they bowed to the same cause, even if they didn't know each other's inner worlds.

"It's different," said Jules. "That's all."

Toya ran the sides of his wings down his cup. He said nothing and watched the last drops of water shimmering inside the container. Jules enjoyed the silence, but Toya looked like he was being tormented. He shifted in his seat, and his breath caught more than once until he had to speak again.

"So what happens to me now?" Toya asked.

Jules remembered his last brief from the commander. "You ride with us until we reach Ghost Station Alpha. There's a flight there that's willing to take you in. Merchant group out of the Tatamo Sector."

Toya laughed. It struck Jules as a bit odd, but then, for all he knew, it could have been some Pteran inside joke.

"So as long as you can tolerate the paste," Jules continued, "I think you're going to be fine."

"Fine," Toya repeated the word, rolling it over on his tongue. He looked up at Jules and managed a small smile. "Yeah. Just fine."

Jules gathered their trays and dropped them off at the cleaning station.

Over the next few days, the Heskar had the brilliant idea to procure Toya a set of appropriate tools. It didn't take long for the engineering shop to print off a few spanners, screwdrivers, and drills—nothing that could pierce metals or other composites, but enough so that he could enjoy working on more complicated projects. There were displays that were flickering, cables that needed replacing, and dozens of other things that the crew of the Skycrest wouldn't mind passing off to their guest.

Everything was going fine until the night they dropped out of the river to retrieve data from the local probes. They were hours from resuming their journey when Jules awoke to the screaming of an alarm above his cot.

Jules slapped the intercom and blinked the crust from his eyes. "What the hell is going on out there?"

Commander Amir's guttural growl shredded the speaker. "Toya just broke into airlock six."

* * *

One of the Heskar engineers was buried in an access panel, swearing when Jules arrived at the corridor. Beside them, the ship's doctor stood stiff with a silver case clenched in his fist.

"What's going on?" Jules demanded.

"Little shit crossed the wiring," said the engineer. "Bay's stuck in launch configuration. Only door that will open is the one leading into space."

"But there's nothing in there," said Jules.

The engineer hissed over his shoulder and jerked a thumb at the door. "Just mister ambassador there."

A chill gripped Jules like claws of ice ripping through his armor. He turned from the crew and pressed his face against the window. The lights were off in the bay, but the dim glow of the ship's array reflected around the edge of the launch bay. He could see Toya's shadow braced against the frame of the outer door. The Pteran held a panel that he'd ripped from the wall, claws resting next to a series of exposed cables.

Jules bunched up a fist and pressed it against the call button next to the door. "Toya, what the hell are you doing?"

Toya's shadow flinched. He shifted his wing to a nearby button and his voice crackled back over the intercom. "What does it look like?"

"Like you're about to do something stupid."

Like you need help, he thought, but the other thing was easier to say.

"I've already died out there," said Toya. His other wing shifted, reaching up to press against the glass that stood between him and the unprotected void of space. "I need to be with my flight."

Jules rested his head against the wall. He ground the tips of his teeth together. A part of him felt that Toya was mad. But that was the part that didn't know the world beyond his scales. He volunteered for the Frontier division because he knew the universe was bigger than any of them realized, and he wanted to be a part of it.

Toya needed to be with his flight.

He wasn't going to find them in the vacuum of space.

Jules murmured a prayer that Toya's memory would be enough.

"I don't know a lot about how you people live. It's strange to me that anyone could be so connected that their lives become inseparable." Jules sighed. "But I can guess that your flight'd be hurting worse than you are now if you opened that door. Is that what you really want?"

The speaker clicked. A long beat of static played, and then drew silent again.

"Toya?" Jules pressed his palm against the door. A tool fell from the tip of Toya's wing with a mute clatter. His grip on the frame loosened and he slid down until he was braced against the floor.

"No," said Toya. "It isn't."

The Pteran slumped out of view, but Jules knew the man was weeping. He kept his ear to the com just in case Toya needed to speak again.

Minutes later, the engineer swore and the doors groaned open. The doctor on duty stepped into the airlock bay wielding a sedative. Jules knew he wouldn't need it.

* * *

Being alone didn't use to bother Jules. Yet as he sat in the corner viewport, one arm draped around the bench, the silence in the corridor felt like an accusation. Toya should have been sitting next to him, admiring the view of the river rushing by on the nearby display. He would have noticed the filters needed changed, making the air smell just a bit like the black tobacco back on Hesk.

The minute that the Pteran landed in the medical bay, Commander Amir had Jules relieved of duty. If Heskar saw confinement as punishment, he might have considered that, but the lack of responsibility would be enough to put Jules'head in a spin.

Everything he thought he was doing right turned out to be the opposite. Each kindness he extended hid a claw that scraped away at Toya's mental health, and he hadn't even realized it.

He still didn't know what he was supposed to do, and that was the worst part.

A door slid open and the sound of small footsteps echoed along the corridor. Toya jumped into the seat next to Jules, who gave him a surprised look.

"The doctors say I'm okay to be out for a bit," he said, rubbing his wing against his chest. "I think they just wanted to get rid of me."

The two exchanged a long look before turning toward the nearby display together.

"Nice view," said Toya.

"Yeah," said Jules. "Most of what's back here is storage, so the crew doesn't come by often. It's nice when you want to be alone."

Toya laughed. "Despite what you might think, my people do like to be alone, sometimes."

"Do you want to be alone?" asked Jules. He flinched, worrying he'd asked too quickly.

Toya looked up at him for a moment. "No."

His ear twitched at the sound of the air filtration rolling over to another cycle. If there was a flaw in the system, he'd certainly have figured it out already.

"Four years at the academy," he said out of the blue. "And two synching with my flight. Hell, my whole life I worked to be on that crew, and now it's all gone." He lifted his wings, ready to help connect the dots for Jules. "I can't serve on the station without a flight."

"Shit," said Jules.

"Yeah. Shit." Despite Toya's scowl, it felt like the first thing Jules said that he'd ever agreed with. "Oh, but I can look forward to a happy life as a fruitmonger."

"They won't let you be an engineer?"

"You can't have a flight of one," said Toya. "And I can't look at another engineering corp without seeing my flight."

Jules winced. "And I've been shoving your face in it since the moment I met you."

Jules might not have understood the bonds between Toya's family, but he knew enough of what he'd done that his guilt felt heavier than his uniform. The fluid underneath rippled gently when Toya laid a wing against his arm.

"You had no way of knowing," said Toya. "You couldn't fix what you have no way of seeing."

It felt strange to be forgiven by the alien. It felt stranger still that Toya did so much through touch, but he couldn't bring himself to remove the Pteran's claw from his arm.

Toya drew it back anyway. "That makes you uncomfortable."

Jules waved his arm over Toya's head. "It feels weird," he said. "My kind won't even sit this close if we aren't from the same brood or thinking of bumping uglies. And then, we wouldn't be doing it in public." He let Toya squirm a little before laughing. "The crew knows better."

"My flight wouldn't let me live it down if they knew," said Toya. He scooted an inch away from Jules, suddenly uncertain about the space between them.

"If it'd help, I can roast you for the rest of the trip," Jules offered.

Toya hid his face beneath a wing and muttered something. It was high-pinched and a bit hard, which Jules guessed was some form of Pteran vulgarity.

"Four of the best engineers on the planet," he said, slumping back in his seat. "And we couldn't fix our own damn ship."

Jules exhaled. His flight must have shared responsibility for the upkeep as one. If any one of them were at fault, he supposed Toya would feel responsible as if he'd doomed the crew himself. "Can't fix what you have no way of seeing."

Toya glared at him. It was a cheap move, throwing his words back in his face, but if the engineering crew was as great as he described, then they wouldn't have missed anything they could see. The diagnostics from the salvaged ship would prove that in time.

"Guess not," said Toya.

* * *

The rest of the voyage to Ghost Station Alpha continued without incident. Toya griped a lot more, which Jules took to be a good sign. He didn't ask the Pteran to take on any more projects, but that didn't stop him from asking for things to put his hands on now and then. The most noticeable one was installing a crossbar over Jules' bunk so that he could hang from it while he slept.

Having constant company chafed at times, but Jules was more than willing to put up with it for another week if it meant he wouldn't have to pry Toya out of another airlock.

It was two days before they would be able to see the station out of the viewport. Jules had brought up old pictures on his terminal and was studying the layout. Twin cylinders floated in position at a safe distance from Ghost's event horizon. Ghost was a deep blue singularity that emitted a steady stream of photons. The station looked as if it could fall into the phenomenon at any moment, but its solar panels had harvested the radiation for years without incident.

Double rings descended the cylinders, each with a variable habitat suited to the confederate species that made up the colony. In the picture, a trio of commercial freighters were waiting for clearance to dock and unload their cargo.

A text alert slid from the corner of the photo and a notification chimed.

Incoming Transmission.

Jules tapped the screen and opened the call. When the decorated Heskar appeared on the screen, he questioned whether he should have changed out of his under-layer, or if she would realize a naked Pteran was hanging just out of frame.

"Lieutenant Brahn," said the Heskar. "Is this a good time?"

Any time was a good time for a superior officer, whether he thought so or not. Guess news of my failure has already gotten to the station.

"Admiral Skal," he said. "Will it be an issue if our guest happens to overhear?"

The Heskar blinked, and then it occurred to her that Toya would be nearby, and shook her head. "This isn't confidential," she assured him. "The Pteran delegation has told me to express their gratitude for delivering Toya safely to the station."

Jules looked over to Toya, who raised an ear and half-smiled. It felt like the sickest joke in the universe, but as long as the Pteran was in one piece, he couldn't care less.

"You tell them we'd do nothing less for our allies," said Jules.

"Tell them yourself," said the Heskar, her spines rippling as she smiled. "I'm not calling for your report, Jules. I'm offering you a spot on GSA security."

Jules's eyes widened, betraying a momentary shock. "Ma'am?"

"You might have noticed that the overlap between a competent rifle hand and diplomatic sensibilities is, well, non-existent. Thanks to that rescue, you've got more experience handling Confederate affairs than most of the navy."

That's sad, Jules thought. But all he said was, "I'll think about it."

"You've got two days to consider it," she said. "The council will expect an answer when the Skycrest makes port."

"Affirmative, ma'am."

The Heskar grimaced. "Let me thank you personally, Lieutenant. The Confederation is in a sensitive era. Everything we can do to better our relations with our allies will impact the future of our species. I'm glad there's someone I can trust someone out there."

Jules nodded. The call cut abruptly and coldly, which was the nature of communication from Heskar command. As he soaked in the conversation, Toya snickered.

"Guess she hasn't read the full reports yet."

"You. Shut it." Jules pointed at the Pteran.

Toya did not 'shut it.' "Think you'll accept?"

Jules had trained and prepared for a two-year tour on the Skycrest. It was that long before he thought he'd even had another option. If the last two weeks were a sample of what the job would entail, it would be awful, and stressful, and there would be no easy answers.

At least I have a choice, he thought, looking at Toya. Wasn't meeting people like him why he signed up for the tour in the first place?

"Dunno," he said. "Maybe."

"You'd better," said Toya. "Or I won't let you won't hear the end of it."

The image of the station continued to drift on the screen. The future of their species all balanced on the tip of metal and electricity, at the mercy of fate and the unknown.

"Before I left, my sister told me there were two rules for space," said Jules. "Rule one, 'have a plan for everything. Rule two, 'be ready for the bullshit no one planned for.'"

Sharing that one conversation was more difficult for Jules than every minute of military training. Toya, to his credit, averted his eyes and kept his reaction to a half-smile.

"Small worlds," said Toya. "Our engineering corp teaches something very similar."

It was a small step. Jules had already started to build the pieces inside himself to get along with Toya. It was easier in private, where he could rearrange the universe without another Heskar shoving it back into place. Toya wasn't one of them, and their conversation didn't mean they were about to throw each other into the cot and share their deepest secrets. His crew wouldn't think that they were engaged in courtship, and now that he knew Toya, he knew that Toya didn't think so either.

He could pretend that he had a difficult decision to make, but Jules knew himself too well. If he turned down the offer, he would never forgive himself.

Ghost Station Alpha would test the alliance between their peoples, and if his experience was anything to go off of, they would need every bit of help they could get.