FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Blaze of Glory

Chapter 1: A Dying Star, a Crippled Ship, and a Generous Offer

In the dim light that is space, a star was dying. Its light, once intense and incredibly bright, was now dim and weak. Great tongues of fire, solar flares many times the size of the few small planets that had once orbited the sun, marred its now unstable corona. Dark spots were common upon its surface and made it appear as if it were slowly rotting from the inside out. In a way, it was, as the core was slowly running out of fuel, the once-balanced equilibrium of plasma and gas now disseminating into disorder as the electromagnetic fields failed. It was alone in its death, the few circling planets having either already been absorbed in its slowly expanding mass or flung off to other parts of space. The star's solitude was interrupted as a ship was yanked painfully from hyperspace.

The ship shuddered as it was forced from the semi-reality that was faster-than-light travel. The engines blinked out as it drifted through the void and slipped into a wide elliptical orbit about the beyond-ancient sun. Eventually it would plunge into the great fires of the old and now-waning and dying star if left untended and underpowered.

Though it was many hundreds of metres long, it was almost invisible amongst the innumerable stars that watched with cruel disinterest. The vast distances in space obscured any outright eye-only detection of the ship. If it had been visible to any observer near enough, they would have noted that it was a Titan-class bulk carrier painted in a dull grey with the ship's name, Sanctioned Deliverance painted with industrial care in letters the height of three-story buildings. Its long and ridged hull was dented and pitted from a long, 100-year service life of ferrying its cargo amongst the stars to places both bizarre and fascinating. Lights flickered behind the metre-thick glass portholes and observation bays as it sought to re-power itself enough to gain headway and remove itself from its suicidal course.

They were almost powered and ready to get underway once more when an explosion rocked the craft and it slewed drunkenly to the right, flames and superheated plasma leaping out into space. Debris, great chunks of metal, shards of glass the length of a man, cargo containers, and ship personnel spewed forth after the oxygen was cut off from that section of the ship and the flames had died away. All told, some fifty people died in the explosion, some due to the fiery blast itself, others as they choked and froze in the harsh environment of space. All became stiff and spiralled away from the craft along with the rest of the wreckage, slowly but inevitably being sucked towards the sun as it continued in its deathly disintegration.

The ship was crippled. The blast had taken out the main plasma conduit to and from the engines and the power core. It was as good as dead. The rest of its convoy had continued unaware of their absence, and it would be a good few hours until the sensor suites on the other craft noted a change in their wake resulting from the loss of the massive vessel. Luckily, or possibly not, they were not alone for long.

Another craft emerged from hyperspace, temporarily tearing a rent in space as it slipped gracefully from its own course. It was a matte black craft, only four hundred metres long and shaped after a dagger with the handle missing, the main hull long and angular whilst two immense housings protruded towards the rear. The great cowlings held two engines apiece and they shifted slightly as the sleek craft came about on an interception course with the Sanctioned Deliverance with all the liquid grace of a cat stalking its prey_._ It lanced through the void almost stealthily as it closed in on its kill, hidden armaments unsheathing from their armoured travel compartments. A signal pulsed forth from its communications array above the middle of the hull just forwards of the engines, directed towards the wounded cargo vessel.

**

The bridge of the Sanctioned Deliverance was in chaos. Alarm klaxons sounded and harsh red emergency lighting poured down from lumen strips set into the ceiling, drawing energy from the smaller back-up power core. The cut off from the main reactor had made it so that only the essential shipboard functions were working at anything above no activity at all. The stale air that seeped from the mostly-intact air ducts was tainted with electricity and smoke, the bridge taking on a pseudo-futuristic form of hell as sparks hissed and snapped from several abandoned stations. Several of the crew that had manned them were laid out on the floor dead from force feedback erupting from the computer stations to kill with bright flame or debilitating blue electricity. Most of the other stations were manned, but the tension hanging in the air spoke for the crew; they wanted to be anywhere else other than the bridge right now. A small, but intense, fire came into being at the navigation console and the rabbit morph manning it had the misfortune to inhale at the same instant. His lungs turning to blackened crisps on the inside even as his flesh and fur burned and melted on the outside. His remains hit the floor and the captain called out fire. A team of crew members dressed in the livery of damage control flew through a partially-broken door and sprayed the offending blaze with foam. When they were done, they retreated to await the next fatal accident. What remained of the crew member on the deck smouldered grimly, and more than a few heads turned away in an attempt not to throw up.

The communications hub beeped and a small green telltale blinked on the centre of the touch pad. The Communications Officer, a chakat, drew it to the captain's attention. He looked over and demanded to know who was hailing them. The source came with an identity tag. The Dying Breath. Yet more warnings blared as the few functioning sensors registered weapons locking onto the shattered form of the Sanctioned Deliverance. "Put them through." said the Captain, an older human male with greying hair and an exasperated look stark upon his noble, patrician features.

A holographic screen flickered into life in front of the captain's chair, the blue haze fuzzy and indistinct. When the figure that appeared spoke, its voice was off from the movements of its mouth and was harsh with static distortion caused by the damaged freighter's sensors. The words themselves were mildly distorted, but the air of superiority made the sub-light transition easily enough. "Hello, Captain Yarrick. I see you have run afoul of some poor luck. You are crippled it seems; are you in need of assistance? My crew and I would be more than willing to help. For a modest price, of course."

Yarrick frowned up at the figure and slouched in his chair. "I suppose I have no choice, do I, Smith?"

The holographic likeness of the Dying Breath's captain smiled. "Of course you have a choice; it's just a very undesirable dilemma. Personally, I'd hate to be you at the moment. But if you'd rather not have help, I can turn around. I hear Chakona is nice this time of year, and my crew have been in need of shore leave for some time now..."

Yarrick sighed, resigned to their need for aid. "Me and my crew will be unharmed?"

The face frowned as if hurt. "Oh, come now. I wouldn't hurt a fly if it did nothing to harm me first. But as a warning, I must say this: If so much as one member of your crew draws arms on me or my men, I slaughter everyone, be it aboard your ship or from the void."

"Whatever. We surrender. Just get us the hell off this ship."

"It would be my pleasure, captain. Shut down all defences and power down your sensors. We will launch our recovery craft immediately. Ciao!"

**

When the rescue party from the Dying Breath came aboard, it was via the bridge airlock. The hatch across the open space of the command centre from Captain Yarrick hissed as the air pressure was equalized on the other side of the door. The hatch then slid open pneumatically, revealing two heavily-armed and armoured bulwarks of muscle and hostility that burst onto the bridge with a clatter of activity. Upon seeing that the crew were lined up and unarmed as ordered, they lowered their weapons and came to attention to either side of the airlock. One of them called the all clear and the Dying Breath's captain stepped foot on the steel mesh decking.

Calling the figure arrogance personified would have been a massive understatement. The captain wore a gilded set of shipboard armour, with fine golden and silver traceries edging and embroidering the surface of the black combat armour. An old-fashioned pistol, computer tablet, ornate knife, and a series of pouches ran about the waist while a gaudy cloak made of some great arctic beast born on a planet unknown was draped across the shoulders and fell to just below the knees.

The captain was an arctic fox morph, that much was immediately obvious. The face was what drew Yarrick's gaze, however. Brooding grey eyes peered out from above a white-furred muzzle, the nose cringing at the smell of fire and scorched meat. Long, white hair was mostly pushed back from the face, mingling with the grey-tipped fur of the cloak. A mostly-white tail flicked out and curled innocently about the captain's legs, the ebony tip flitting back and forth on the flooring. The Captain was also female.

"Hello again, Captain Yarrick," grinned the wanted criminal, treasonous scoundrel, grudgingly admirable commander, and treacherous pirate captain Stacy Smith, not hesitating to show her gleaming white fangs. The thin silver circlet gleamed in the red lighting from atop her head, nestled between a pair of swivelling, attentive ears. "Did something burn in here? I smell scorched meat."

Yarrick could barely restrain his anger at her flippant disregard for his crew. "Yeah. My helmsman."

Her brow furrowed somewhat and her ears rolled backwards a bit, her smile being replaced by a frown. "I am sorry to hear that." She sounded sincere, but Yarrick knew she wasn't.

"My shuttles will be docking on your port side, bays J though N, in a matter of moments to take on passengers and our payment. I prefer starboard myself, but, well, seeing as you no longer have one, port will have to do. I imagine that the explosion blew out the main plasma conduit as well, otherwise you would have been away, back on your errand run, before we had the chance to meet. Most unfortunate, that."

Her words stung, all of them. Yarrick knew that he should have ordered the individual crate scans at port, but he had been pressed for time and had loaded them without a thorough security check. Undoubtedly, the pirate captain had made sure one of the crates was loaded with a gravitational generator to pull them from FTL travel speeds in this Terra-forsaken expanse of space. The explosion had been from another hidden package and had been timed to cripple the ship at the opportune moment when it returned to real space. He merely smiled at his self-proclaimed saviour. "Yes, it was."

The pirate's comm link chimed on her wrist. She glanced down at it and turned back to Yarrick."Well," she started as she bowed her head slightly, "my shuttles have just docked. I suggest you tell your crew to proceed to the docking bays. I will send Trax and Rhajir here with your officers for their... protection. You will be coming back with me aboard my personal craft. "

The chakat, a black and white furred quadruped by the name of Dewclaw, stepped in front of him with hir fur standing on end and hands clenching in anger. "Over my dead body!"

Stacy didn't even flinch, in fact stepping closer to the enraged chakat and stopping only a few inches short of the enraged taur. It was a suicidal move by most standards. "That can be arranged," she said quietly as she clasped her hands behind her back, "so don't test me. Step back in line, cat, as the captains parlay."

For a moment it looked like Dewclaw might lunge and rip the smaller fur in half. Then she seemed to shrink back as she stood aside. Stacy's smug look of satisfaction was only caught by Yarrick before she covered it with a mask of indifference. Another console erupted in a flurry of sparks as if in sympathy for the dramatic encounter and almost everyone save the captains jumped. "That's a good kitty." she said smugly, "Now, Captain Yarrick, if you please?"

Yarrick glared at her as he flicked a switch on the arm of his chair. "All hands, please report to docking bays J through N by department. All ship members are hereby ordered to stand down and comply with the orders of the Dying Breath's crew. We are abandoning ship."

"Sir-" started the strong willed chakat from his side, slightly tugging his arm and pulling him towards the vacant comms station for a word.

Yarrick cut her off before she could reply. "No, Dew, we are helpless. It's either comply to their whim or die out here."

"But they are pirates!" growled the chakat, "Scum!" This time it was not Yarrick who interrupted her, but rather a gunshot. Shi flopped over, the better half of hir face blown away. Blood and bone sprayed across the captain and the flickering screen behind them, a neat hole shattered through the glass display.

Captain Smith lowered her pistol. It was a projectile weapon and nowhere as neat as an energy armament, but still lethally effective nonetheless. It also sent a clear message when it fired, the beastly bark of the pistol far more angry than the snap-hiss of a phaser. Stacy watched the wisps of smoke that coiled and curled about in the air in front of the barrel before tucking the firearm back into its protective holster. She sighed heavily as she did so and one ear flicked in annoyance. "Does anybody else have a problem with our uncharacteristically kind, and incredibly generous, offer of assistance?" she asked as she cast her, now far more intimidating, gaze about the gathered bridge crew. Nobody spoke out. "Good. Now, you all have a shuttle to catch, no? Captain Yarrick; a word?"

Yarrick stood stock still in shock. He wiped a droplet of the chakat's bright crimson blood from his cheek, smearing it across the faintest beginnings of a beard and his pale skin. Without saying anything, the rest of the Sanctioned Deliverance's command personnel filtered out of the room, the hulking members of Stacy's crew herding them out through the heavy bridge doors as if they were common cattle.

He was now alone with Stacy. A chill started to creep up the back of his spine but he suppressed it and tried to look as outwardly calm as possible. On the inside, however, he was terrified, angry, shocked, and the slightest bit numb.

She slowly stalked across the large, partially wrecked area and made it to his chair. She slumped heavily in it and spun it around to face him. "Well Sal, you really outdid yourself with this command, didn't you?"

The question was rhetorical.

"When you said you were going straight, I honestly didn't believe you. I partially expected you to come back and ask for your ship back."

"Why are you here, Stacy?" asked Yarrick.

"Just making a living, Captain, just making a living."

"Don't give me that. You and I both know that there is no way the Breath is going to be able to make off with all of our cargo. Add that to the fact that most of it is not very valuable, I'd say that you have another reason for attacking my ship and killing my crew."

Stacy looked down at Dewclaw's swiftly cooling corpse as it lay on the steel decking. Blood and brain matter had begun to pool around the shattered shape of what used to be hir head. "I just thought I'd say hello, see how you were holding up. A visit, really."

"Sure. Look, if you want me to join you again I am afraid you wasted your time and the lives of my men." growled Yarrick.

"You know, if you would have met me on Titan, this could all have been avoided." said Stacy as she spun in the chair so that it was facing out at the great, blotted, orange sun. "If you would have come to the bar, we could have discussed this over a good drink instead of the blood of your latest conquest." A single furred hand flicked in the direction of the dead chakat.

"This is because I decided not to accept your drink invitation?!?!" shouted Yarrick. Her eyes, as cold as a solitary moon on a winter's night, narrowed as she nodded.

"Well, yes, of course. Looking back at it, I would say that you should have accepted. Times have changed and you are a hard man to get a hold of."

Yarrick's mouth worked silently, no words finding their way out of his mouth, as she stood up. "Well, come along; you do not want to miss the show. Zycov hasn't had the chance to use our weapons systems lately and this ship does make for a rather tantalizing target. Such a large and ungainly craft... The stars will be happy to be rid of it. It's going to be a good show when it goes up, I promise you that."

**

A dozen or so minutes later, the small shuttle was away from the doomed freighter and accelerating towards the dark and predatory shape of the Dying Breath. The main weapons of the ex-strike cruiser thrummed with power as they readied themselves. The barrels of the primary forward lances started to build up with white light as they reached the final stage of the firing sequence. When the critical power level was attained, two great beams speared through the few thousand kilometres of space towards the hulking craft. Yarrick watched through the rear viewing bay of the small craft, having gotten out of his seat to oversee the death of his freighter, as the beams passed by several thousand kilometres to their left. Beside him, Stacy smiled at the destruction soon to be visited upon the remains of the Sanctioned Deliverance as they watched through the magnified feed.

When the super-concentrated beams of light and heat collided with the freighter, there was no sound. At first, it looked as if the weapon had done nothing at all to the Sanctioned Deliverance, the beams small next to the sheer bulky hulk of the freighter. They saw nothing change as the twin beams cut through the armoured hull and passed through several layers of decking with incredible ease to strike at the main power core, but they saw the result of the death blow.

The ship expanded about the midsection, another great rent now apparent where the other shuttles had been launched from. Explosions then coursed through the ship as the core overloaded and flooded the system with excess energy, great plumes of fire flashing before the oxygen was used up and they winked out. Finally, the hull crumpled back in onto itself as it the core imploded with the force of roughly two-dozen atomic warheads, the dark-matter fuelled explosion shaking the shuttle slightly even at this vast distance. When the dust settled, the remains of the once-great craft were torn in two, the prow spinning lazily towards the sun and the aft surged backwards. It wasn't long until it too felt the pull of the sun's gravity well and began tumbling towards it with the few other remnants of the craft.

"Told you it would be a good show." smirked Captain Smith over her shoulder as she returned to her seat.

**

"Thank you, Jurgen." said Smith sincerely as she trotted down the shuttle's ramp into the main hangar of the Dying Breath. Ice crystals were still melting on the exterior of the shuttle as the heat of the air worked to rapidly warm the small ship and the great blast doors started to grind shut behind them. Its engines ticked and popped as they powered down and Yarrick was led down the small ramp himself by a man that looked as if he had seen the wrong end of a Tiruvian thresher's claws.

The man who had passed the captain a data tablet, a young lad with dark hair and a slim face, nodded and went off on his own business as Yarrick reached the foot of the ramp. The freighter skipper noticed something familiar about him that couldn't help but ask about. "Karen's kid?"

"Yes," replied Sasha as she breathed in deeply of the recycled air of her space-borne fortress, "the very same. I always loved the smell of this craft; it smells of freedom."

"If you ask me," retorted Yarrick, "it smells of hypocrisy now."

She smiled at him as if he had just told her that he loved her. Which is to say, she was looking at him as if he was something that she had just discovered on the bottom of her boot. "Well then," she hissed, "it's a damn good thing that nobody asked you."

Yarrick shrugged and she glared at him for a few tense seconds. She had been known to kill others for just such an insult to her precious craft that was, with all intents and purposes, known to be her most valued possession. For a moment, he was wondering if he was going to end up like Dewclaw with a bullet to the face. He flinched involuntarily and she laughed. "You always did have balls Yarrick, I'll give you that."

He hoped that she didn't see the small sigh of relief he let out as she turned her head in the direction of a set of blast doors that lead to the many corridors that ran the length and breadth of the ex-military vessel. "Oh, so you remember?"

"I do," she smiled, "And had I known that you would come to treat me like a vile conqueror rather than the beneficent leader that I am, I would have ripped them off of you before you left." Yarrick didn't know whether or not it was a joke so he instead remained silent. She seemed to take that as an acceptable answer. "Follow me. I think we'll head towards my chambers for a drink for now before seeing to your sleeping arrangements. It's no Sirius bar, but it will have to do."

**

The lumen strips tucked away around the curved edges of the great chamber slowly lit the area up with a dim glow. It wasn't long until the private chambers of the pirate captain became perceptible. By building standards, they were large and luxurious. By shipboard standards, it was ludicrously well appointed in a fashion almost unheard of outside of the vast cruise liners that drifted to and from worlds on pleasure routes.

The dark walls were composed of a smooth ebony metal, the floor made of a dark granite ran through with strips of gold. The ceiling was mildly domed, a great portion of it flattened at the top and carved with intricate detailing work. Upon closer inspection, the carvings came together to depict hundreds of stars completely unfamiliar to Yarrick set in permanent positions about three metres above his head. Each one gleamed with its own light, making them come alive and twinkle as if they were the real thing.

The walls were not carved, but instead sheltered numerous panes of glass behind which lay the innumerable souvenirs and keepsakes that the captain had accumulated over a decade of heists, lootings, robberies, and expeditions. Here was the skull from a great canine-esque animal from some reach of space Yarrick had never even knew existed. In another closed alcove was an obviously-old armoured helmet of some sort that sat next to a weapons system that had been triggered open to display its inner workings, the petals of the device reflecting the white light that beamed down upon it. On the other side of the room, in a considerably larger case that was as long as Yarrick was tall, was an entire collection of firearms. Each one was labelled with the name and occupation of their previous owners, all long since directly culled by Stacy's hand. Just behind that was the complete skeleton of a large reptilian creature that reminded Yarrick of the dinosaur bones he had once seen in a museum on Terra, but there was something distinctly wrong about it that he couldn't quite put his finger on.

There were also normal things in the room despite the trend being set by Captain Smith's many collected items. Directly across from the sliding doors and up a single shallow step up to a raised second level was a great four-poster bed bedecked in ochre and crimson. A mirror sat above the headboard and made the room appear larger than it was, not that it was needed by any means. Several cabinets filled the spaces along the walls in between the numerous exhibits, all made of a dark wood and finished with onyx handles and hinges.

To the left of the chambers on the same level of the bed sat a desk made of the same dark wood. It was placed underneath a window built into the very curvature of the roof and it let in the outer light emitted by the dying star. Directly in front of the desk and under the window was a large screen, the controls for which hardwired into one side of the desktop. A large chart of sorts took up the majority of the desk, a lamp perched unlit and heaps of tablets and actual paper-and-ink books sat to either side. A rare grav-chair floated completely silent before the desk.

Several comfortable black leather chairs were on top of a soft tan rug and centred around a glass table. On the other side of the chamber to the right of the bed was another sliding door that undoubtedly lead to an en-suite bathroom. Ex-Captain Salvador Yarrick was impressed. It had changed a lot since she had taken it over. He had had more spartan tastes himself.

"Come in. As a fellow captain, I feel inclined to offer you all the comforts that I am privy to." invited Stacy as she strode into her vast room. Yarrick followed and the door whooshed shut behind him, sealing with a click. It was the only way out, and now it was locked. "Take a seat, Sal." She gestured to one of the chairs gathered around the table.

He shook his head and walked slowly towards the chair. "You never told me what you would do if I refused. If I had known then, I probably would have agreed."

She turned back to him, looking up from the wine cabinet she was searching through. "Well, I had thought you knew me well enough to accept regardless." She finally selected a bottle, a dark green affair with a red label, and grabbed two glasses from the shelf above. "Besides," she grunted as she popped the cork, "A specific threat is never as good as an open one. An open threat gives the mind of your enemy the opportunity to think up stuff you yourself couldn't even dream of. Not for my lack of trying, of course." She poured the amber liquid into two separate, long-stemmed glasses and took the seat opposite Yarrick, taking off her fur regalia and placing it over the chair's back and subsequently showing off her lithe, but properly-filled out form. She offered one of the glasses to him after pouring a bit of the wine from his cup into her own. She took a small sip before she waggled the glass invitingly in front of him. Yarrick took the offered glass and knocked it back in a few gulps, not noticing the well-aged flavour of the heady alcohol.

It was an old tradition among what were commonly referred to as 'space pirates'. Essentially, the host takes a small bit of beverage from the guest's cup and drinks it before the other accepts the glass. It is seen as a demonstration of goodwill among enemies and friends alike, the purpose itself to show that the drink was not tainted with any form of poison or drug. His host drinking it showed that the captain had no intention to poison him. The gesture made Yarrick feel a bit more comfortable, but he was certain that she could kill him in an instant if she willed it without the need for such underhanded ways. She still hadn't removed her pistol or knife and they dangled from the weapons belt around her waist as she made herself comfortable, leaning back into the deeply-seated chair.

As he set down his glass, she offered him some more, raising the bottle a bit from where it sat on the side table beside her. "Why not," he said, "it's not every day that you lose your command and get kidnapped by pirates."

"Bah!" she spat, "'Pirate' is such an inaccurate term. I do not see what you see in it. So... archaic and forlorn. Completely outdated. The way you use it, though, almost makes me think that you have forgotten what it is like to be one." She smiled coyly at him, taking another sip from her glass and crossing her legs.

"I almost have. And I want to." Yarrick admitted. She merely laughed as she refilled his crystal goblet.

"So you were really serious in that message then; you've gone straight."

He blinked, inclining his head. He could feel his annoyance growing as he replied. "Of course I was! When did I ever joke?"

She took a moment to think about that. Finally she closed her grey eyes and nodded. "You know I can't ever think of a time where you made a joke. And if you did, it was never that funny." He sighed heavily and slouched in the chair, the leather squelching slightly as he moved.

"Well," she said as she shrugged, "You have to look at it from my side too. Who would ever have guessed that the great Captain Yarrick, scourge of the Eastern rim, would ever be reduced to running goody runs? For Star Corps, no less!"

He made to say something as he turned from her, his hands balling into fists. "It was a nice change of pace. I enjoyed it. That's all gone now, though. You saw to that. You know how many people will suffer from the destruction of my cargo?"

"Hmm... Kind of. I read your cargo manifest. The few medical supply crates and food lockers will not be missed for long seeing as how the other craft in your convoy were carrying the bulk of them. It helped us out though, we needed to re-stock soon anyways. As for the research equipment, nobody will care. So what if a few mopy stellars don't get their fancy new microscopes? Few people do. The rest were just prefabricated buildings and miscellaneous cargo. Oh, and that new shuttle from the second hold will be put to good use, I can promise you that. In short, people will suffer, sure. But they won't die. Not right away, at least."

"My crew members died!" said Yarrick, now standing and his voice almost a shout.

She flicked one ear. Not a flinch. More of a warning. "Settle down Yarrick. Sit." Her voice was a barely audible whisper. He complied and slumped into his seat heavily. "The death of your crew was regrettable."

"Regrettable!?!?," he cried, once again finding himself at wit's end, "Is that all it is to you, Stacy?! Regrettable?! You even murdered my comms officer in cold blood! You shot hir!"

Her ear flicked once more. "You know, it wasn't too long ago that you would have done the same. Shi was out of line and endangering the rest of your crew. Shi needed to be disciplined. What I did was extreme, yes, but it was also necessary. I imagine others would have taken hir lead and tried to fight us off. You know they would not have won and they all would have died. As for the other deaths... well... I wish we could have avoided them."

Yarrick made to say something, but his jaw clamped shut. Despite every emotion raging through his body, a small part of him heeded the fact that her actions were, believe it or not, for the greater good. What he said next was feeble and obviously pained. "I'm glad I decided to move on. I don't see things your way anymore. That's not me anymore."

She barked a harsh laugh. "Oh come on, Sal. Both of us know you are still you. Who else could you be?" She paused, a frown setting onto her sleek muzzle. "However, you may have changed some since our last encounter on Plato. You are still you, but a different one than the one I once knew. I see that you were the wrong man now after all."

She let that hang for a moment. Finally she stood up and strode over to her desk. "I do not think we have anything else to discuss, seeing as this new you is so disinclined for sacrifice." She tapped the control screen that was flush with the surface of the wood. "You will be billeted with the rest of your crew on sub-deck four. There you will wait until we contact the Feds and alert them of your pick-up location. I am sure you still remember how that works."

He stood up and set the now-empty glass on the table. "Thank you for your hospitality." he said glumly as two armoured security personnel showed up, lugging heavy shotguns in their gloved hands as they strode through the reopened door.

"No problem, Sal," she said flatly as he was gently tugged away by the guards and out into the hallway. "And by the way," she called after him, "I liked the old you more."

**

With the now ex-captain gone, Stacy shrugged her armour off and changed into something a little more comfortable. Now in a plain shirt and loose pair of pants, she sprawled herself out on the bed after throwing her bandolier over the side of the grav-chair. It drifted a few centimetres before once more coming to a stop without so much as a sound. She stared up at the backlit ceiling, the exact star pattern of the sky above her childhood home on Terra replicated through the intricate carvings that had cost her as much as a new shuttle. She cleared her throat. "AI: activate holoscreen, bed ceiling."

"Right away, Madame Smith." came the electronic reply. A slight static charge built up and produced a small buzzing, making her white fur stand on end. A holographic computer screen appeared above her head, given form by one of the many projector suites built into discrete niches in the ceiling and walls of her quarters.

"Open file 'Blaze of Glory'. Encryption code: RN001E3X. Key Pattern: Niner-Foxtrot-Bravo."

The idle background showing the view from the peak of Olympus Mons on Mars phased out as a new series of images and text windows opened up. She checked the electronic pathways and security systems to ensure nobody else had tampered with her latest project. Satisfied that all was in order, she called up the proposed crew manifest. Stacy scrolled down the list before finding Salvador Yarrick's name. She hesitated for a moment before crossing it out with a gesture. On the list, four were still classified as open in white and three others were checked off and highlighted in green. If it all went well she would need only two more people before she could begin her expedition. She frowned; it hardly went well. The twenty-four names that had been crossed off and now glowed an angry red testified to that.

Sighing, she pulled a small data chit from her pocket. She had been handed it as they had boarded the Dying Breath by Jurgen, her aide, and had slipped it into an empty ammo pocket as Yarrick had disembarked. She leaned over to one side of the bed and found an open access port with a probing claw. She fumbled blindly before successfully plugging the chit into the receptacle. A pop-up appeared on the screen and Stacy keyed in the appropriate codes, a blinking amber light turning to an idle yellow.

As she waited for her clearance to register, she picked up a small metal sphere that sat idly on one of her nightstands next to the bed and began to look at the object longingly. The baleful black metal was cold and exuded a sense of untapped potential. The alien runes curved into its face seemed to glow mildly with yellow light in a slow tempo even though there was no way that the orb could possibly be emitting it. Stacy had no idea what it was or how it worked, but she knew beyond a doubt that it would prove to be more than worth the price in blood that she had willingly paid to obtain it.

The chip beeped under her as it let its data course onto the screen and the yellow light turned to a welcome green. She smiled and looked up from her prize. Apparently, the next 'recruit' was on Terra. Perfect. Maybe she'd even get to visit her brother while she was there. Stacy speed-read the personal information document that a contact had provided her with. Grinning now, Stacy found what she wanted.

"AI: Open a secure voice-only link to Terra using this number." She highlighted the proper string of numbers on the page with a gesture.

"Right away, Madame Smith." came the room's synthetic voice. A dial tone could be heard as the sound dampers built into the walls activated and cut the room off from any prying ears. It rang a few times and Stacy's smile vanished to be replaced by a frown of mild annoyance.

Stacy was about to give up when a voice finally answered. "Hello?" The voice was gruff and sounded annoyed at this interruption.

"Hello, Gavin." she began as she flipped the curious sphere held in her hands,"It's Stacy. I'm going to be on Earth soon and I was wondering if you wanted to get a drink..."

Chakat Universe is © Bernard Doove and used with his permission.

None of the characters or ships mentioned here are copyrighted, and if you're writing something feel free to use them. However, I would appreciate it if you told me what you were doing first.

This is purely a 'trial version' at this point, and in order to continue I would like some feedback to let me know that somebody is interested in reading. If none is received, I suppose I will sideline this idea and move on. There is already a plot line figured out, but I am open to suggestions, requests, criticisms, call-downs, and insults for anybody who wants to contact me.

(Almost) always here to reply, drop me a line at [email protected] if you have something to say or just want to say 'Hi'.