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Exodus

“Master Abel.”

Abel lurched from his slumber and reached for his chest. His heart was racing, panicking from an unknown, unseen nightmare the likes of which he had suffered from greatly in the past month.

“Abel,” Yin whispered. The Vulpeculan rubbed his soft paw-pads on Abel’s shoulder and leaned in, resting his cheek against Abel’s. “It’s okay, it was just a dream.”

The hand over Abel’s chest twitched and ached. Abel reached down with his left hand to rub it and sooth away the pain but felt nothing but the skin of his chest, the pains dancing in the air above it.

Pulling down his blankets, Abel saw the metal socket resting atop the stub of his right wrist. Every morning since the explosion he had to be reminded of what he had lost.

“The doctor did say that a more natural-looking prosthetic might help with the phantom pains,” Yin pulled open the drawer of the nightstand and pulled out a false hand. It was made of heavy but flexible steel and it whirred to life the moment Yin stuck it in Abel’s socket. “It would help prevent unwanted attention as w-”

Abel flexed his prosthetic’s index finger and smiled, “No, I prefer it this way.”

“Your father and I...” Yin lowered his ears, “...we just want the best for you. And we want to help you with whatever you want and...we don’t always...”

“I know,” Abel swung his legs off the bed and pushed himself up. Abel’s right hand was heavy, a constant reminder that it was not quite right, but it was powerful and had options for all kinds of modules, in particular self-defense ones. Abel wrapped his arms around his father’s slave and held him tight. “You both care so much, I’m glad.”

“After everything you’ve been through...” Yin swallowed, “…we had no idea. We had no...”

“It’s okay...”

“Your father is downstairs with breakfast,” Yin sniffed, pulling away from the hug.

“Good, thank you.”

Brolath crossed his legs on the foot of the bed as the door clicked open.

Chikal was practically shoved into the small room, the Procyonid nearly falling face-first onto the ground as the door behind him was slammed shut and a series of locks clicked into place.

Despite sitting down, Brolath still towered over the smaller Procyonid, who looked up at him with an impassive gaze.

“You’ve come to rape me, then?” Chikal frowned. “I’m not going to be yours.”

“No,” Brolath shook his head. “I’m not going to lay a paw on you.”

“Then why?” Chikal looked around. There were condoms, jars of lubricant, and other sexual devices lining the shelves of the small apartment. “Why did you have me transferred halfway across the galaxy to force a conjugal visit on me?”

“That must have scared you when they told you,” Brolath sighed and rubbed at his forehead. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry!? Do you even know how it feels? Do you know what you’ve put me through!?”

“I don’t think I’ll ever know the full extent,” Brolath cupped his face in his paws. This was harder than he ever could have imagined. “I didn’t come here to apologize. I regret...lots of things but apologizing for what I did without any way of fixing things...is a useless gesture.”

“So then why are you here? Why did you force me to come here?”

Force. Chikal kept using that word and it was true, Brolath once again abused his power to get Chikal here. He had originally asked for a conjugal visit but was refused by Chikal, rightfully so.

“I need to ask you questions for a favor,” Brolath whispered. “And this is the only place in the prison without someone watching and listening in...”

“Fuck your favor.”

“It’s not for me...”

Abel blinked when he saw Regnath sitting at the living room’s bar counter, slowly munching on a Regulian-sized serving of bacon and eggs while a more modest serving sat untouched on a plate next to him.

It had been some time since he returned home but after everything he had been through it did not feel the same. In some ways he had a new respect for Regnath and Yin, having missed their love and support during his harrowing mission, but at the same time Regnath had killed his biological mother along with making Glass the way he was. It may have been a mercy kill, an attempt to put him out of his misery after a Vulpeculan soldier tortured him, or an attempt at it in the case of Glass; and even though Regnath saved Abel it was an unsettling idea.

They had talked about that, Regnath, Abel, and Yin. Abel was not comfortable with it, but tried to put it in the past.

However he could not mention the details about Glass and thus could not get full closure.

Peering back, Regnath put on a warm smile. He was getting better at doing a human smile, “Hows my Imperial Hero doing?”

There was a weird tone to his voice that Abel was able to pick up on. A small misalignment of pitch. Though Regnath never suspected his son to be a rebel, there was no doubt that he didn’t quite believe the official story he was told about Abel’s time away. Abel, the little brat who kept questioning his alien teachers, a loyalist agent of the Empire on a secret mission?

Something didn’t add up, that much was obvious, but just as Abel could not talk to Regnath about Glass, Regnath also could not ask about this mission without getting told it was a classified affair that even his ministry position did not grant him credentials for.

“Think I’m getting arthritis,” Abel joked as he rubbed his metal limb.

Regnath snorted and patted his paw on the leather seat next to him, “Been awhile since we had breakfast together.”

“We had it two days ago,” Abel swung up onto the stool. There wasn’t much for Abel to do this month, his courses were all automatically granted top grades on account of his service. He was originally going to attend classes just to keep the rumors of his mission a secret but word had managed to spread and people began to ask a lot of questions. As a result, he had a lot of downtime.

“Far too long,” Regnath snapped his jaws at a slice of bacon, tearing it away.

Abel sighed, staring down at the meal. The bacon was soft and slightly undercooked while the fried eggs had a liquid yolk. Just the way he liked it.

“Hey,” Abel snapped out of his stupor after a heavy paw rested on his shoulder. Regnath was looking down at him with worry, “I know you can’t talk about what happened but...well, if there’s anything I can do to help...”

“Thanks,” Abel sighed. “Did you watch the coronation?”

“Haresh the IV...” Regnath curled his muzzle up and growled, “...young prick hasn’t so much as fired a gun and they’re saying he’s a soldier Emperor?”

“Not fond of him?

“The Empire has survived worse but thrived under far better,” Regnath shook his head and popped a filter pill before taking a sip of his coffee. “I just hope whoever is pulling his strings knows how to deal with the war. So far the King of Earth has been told mostly to do as we please with matters, which works out for me, I guess.”

There had been very little news about the war since Abel got back. Propaganda had been cut almost in half on television, replaced by reruns of bland Regulian sitcoms and dramas. Either things were going well or were going very bad.

A sharp ping rang out from Abel’s pockets and he reached in, pulling out his datapad.

Abel, I read about Moses in the bible. Quite an interesting figure.

The message was from Brolath. Abel kept his emotions calm and looked over to his father.

“Dad, I need a favor.”

“You’re probably making a mistake,” Rorgh took a drag on his cigarette and exhaled, letting the smoke drift up into the cold air of the Duchess’ domed garden. The Lupiad was wearing a white uniform with a cloak of soft, blue fur trailing across his back.

“Yeah, I know,” Brolath parroted Rorgh’s actions with his one cigarette, “but I need to try.”

“I’m glad you trust me, Captain, but...”

“Am I still a Captain?” Brolath asked.

“Doubt Proclath is gonna make it,” Rorgh shrugged. “Three weeks since his surgery went south with no news, might even be dead already. Doubt whoever replaces him will even know who you are, hell, you might even get promoted.”

“The Claw,” Brolath frowned. One downside of Proclath falling into a coma was that he no longer had an inside source for the Regency, which was slowly starting to pack up its things and turn off the lights. Proclath’s botched surgery seemed almost too convenient. “You think the new Emperor is their choice?”

“The Guard higher-ups don’t tell Lupiads like me anything,” Rorgh smiled. “Besides, I’m a concubine now and just between you and me, I think I might be a daddy soon.”

“Congratulations on tying the knot,” Brolath chuckled.

“That was terrible, Captain,” Rorgh shook his head. “Jokes don’t suit you.”

“I’ll stick to painting then,” Brolath sighed and rubbed at a sudden ache in his side. His burns had healed well and his fur grew back, but there was still pain lurking deep within his nerves. “Think I’ll use my vacation time and paint a bit here on Earth before heading back.”

“I could always hook you up with a new job here in Eurasia.”

“No,” Brolath shook his head, “I think I’ve cleaned up everything I can here, the rest is up to fate. I need to head back to Regulus Prime.”

“Before you do...” Rorgh flipped out a small, golden container and slid off its cap. He dropped his cigarette into it and shut the container, “...someone wanted to talk with you.”

Rorgh whistled over to an ancient tree with a gnarled trunk as thick as a tank. A slight figure emerged from hiding behind it, pale and furless.

Holding a stuffed lion in his hands.

“Leon,” Brolath froze up. Part of him wanted to rush to the human but the other was afraid of being too aggressive, pushing him away once more.

“Security arrested him and was about to deport him back to the Autonomous Zone but we interfered and got him set up safely in a palace suite,” Rorgh closed his eyes and patted Brolath on the shoulder. “Don’t fuck this one up.”

With that, Rorgh stepped through the darkness of the garden just as a flurry of snowflakes began to fall from the environmental controls. Leon slowly approached, snow crunching under his shoes. Leon was stiff and his expression hard to read.

“Leon, I...” Brolath caught his voice in his throat. There were so many things he wanted to apologize for but any attempt at beginning them seemed hollow to Brolath. He meant them, he really did, but he didn’t know if he could ever express it properly.

The Regulian looked down at the ground, at the snow piling up around his feet.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said.

Sighing, Leon reached up and stroked Brolath by the cheek, “Rorgh told me you were playing at being the hero, no?”

“No,” Brolath sighed, “I wouldn’t call it that. I don’t even think I really managed to help anyone.”

“You destroyed a dangerous weapon, you saved your informant...” Leon paused, “...I was skeptical when I heard you enslaved that one rebel but Rorgh showed me his emancipation papers and the tax paid.”

“It’s not enough.”

“And that favor you called in...” Leon blinked, “...that shocked me...”

“I was cruel to you and treated you like an object, a slave,” Brolath grimaced. “My culture was my excuse but...none of that makes up for that.”

“You hurt me, I won’t deny that,” Leon sighed and stroked Brolath’s muzzle again.

“I know I hired you for company but I grew to care about you and that’s...why I have so much regrets.”

“My dear lion, I am a prostitute, you know this.”

“Yes,” Brolath gulped. “I deluded myself.”

“I told you before that I care about you as well, outside of business,” Leon smiled and shook his head. “Perhaps I’m a fool for doing so and an even greater one for returning but...”

Leon squeezed the stuffed lion with his hand.

“Well, how about we see where this goes?” Leon twirled around and pointed to the stars beyond the dome. “Care to show me Regulus Prime?”

Brolath gently grabbed Leon’s hand and adjusted his finger to point at the correct star, “I’m afraid the same thing will happen.”

“If it does we can call it off and consider it a brief dalliance,” Leon smiled. “But if it doesn’t...well, I think it’s worth a try, don’t you?”

Brolath shuffled next to Leon, who rested his head on the muscular Regulian’s shoulder and sighed.

“You might be making a mistake,” Brolath closed his eyes and rested the side of his face atop the human’s short hair.

“Then lets make mistakes together.”

Abel sat in a dark corner of a bar counter in a dingy bar in a dark corner of the French Quarter of New Orleans sipping at a pint of pale yellow beer. The place was empty, even the bartender seemed preoccupied with abandoning his post 0n the regular, leaving Abel to self-serve himself as long as he left the cash on the counter.

Why not New Orleans? Abel’s last trip there had been a bust, all business and not fun business as it turned out. There was no sense hanging around at home and doing nothing, might as well try to make up for lost time. Besides, it was on the way to Argentina, Abel’s biological father was awestruck when Abel got in contact with him and although he didn’t know how to receive this news, he offered to meet.

Abel tried to invite Gure along but his friend was not returning his calls. Hada’s disappearance lined up with the rumors of Abel’s activity and there was no doubt Gure pieced it all together. There was no point in blaming him for not replying, Abel figured he would have done the same if things were turned around.

Closing his eyes, Abel lowered his head.

It didn’t make it easier though.

Asha, Lashar...I wish you were still…

There was no denying how alone Abel was. Though he had his family, there was only so much they could do to comfort him. He needed friends...and his lovers...but they were all gone.

The TV above the shelf of liquor flicked on suddenly and a newscaster began to speak.

“The Vulpeculan Republican Resistance has announced a treaty with the Regulian Empire. In exchange for recognition of the autonomous Republican government of Beta Vulpeculae and the cessation of the planetary slave trade; the VRR will recognize the authority of the Empire as a vassal state.”

Abel slowly lifted his head, his metal hand clenching his pint glass firmly. The news was impossible to believe, but there it was. Video footage of Vulpeculans shaking paws with Regulian officials. The raising of the VRR flag alongside the Regulian banner.

What the hell is going on?

This should have been good news to Abel. The VRR fought for their rights and although they didn’t get everything, they got some form of a compromise and a rather generous one in the form of stopping the slave hunters on Beta Vulpeculae.

But why was this happening?

“Cute, isn’t it?”

Jolting, Abel looked to the side. A black Vulpeculan was sitting there, having silently crept in and blended in with the shadows of the dingy bar.

Atay.

“Wait, here comes the best part!” Atay pointed at the screen with a devilish grin.

An idol of the Regulian Emperor was handed to a Vulpeculan with well-trimmed fur. If it weren’t for the identifying label on the broadcast, Abel would not have recognized him as Common Felo, a Vulpeculan Prince who renounced his titles in the name of the VRR and had let his fur grow long and shabby.

Abel’s stomach tightened as Felo bent down and pressed his muzzle up against the feet of the idol’s feet.

Only the most reactionary of Regulians still took part in the Imperial Cult and it made Abel sick to see someone with such rebellious convictions do it.

Atay on the other was laughing, his narrow maw open wide as he howled.

“You gotta love it, huh?” Atay choked. “There’ll be a Civil War on Beta Vulpeculae come next month and they’ll have to deal with it, not the Empire! Such is the price of autonomy!”

“And you’ll snatch up some POWs as slaves I bet,” Abel stared at the Vulpeculan firmly, waiting for the Claw to make a move.

“Yes, of course, but we are serious about ending the active slave trade there!” Atay held up his paw, palm out. “Honest!”

“We?”

“The Claw, of course. Our choice of Emperor is on the throne now and we intend to embark on some intensive reforms!” Atay reached across the bar and grabbed a bottle of cheap bourbon along with a glass. “Really, you should be thanking us.”

“What abomination are you replacing it with?”

Atay tilted his head to the side, “Why so suspicious? Grand Inspector Thalath might be a Regulian, but the Claw is one of the most equal-opportunity employers for second class races in the Empire, it only stands to reason we might want to improve their lot.”

Their lot, the words repeated in Abel’s had. Atay needs to look in the mirror.

“Breeding camps,” Atay poured the bourbon into the glass. “I’ll just say it, we’re going to breed more slaves and there will still be volunteers of course to become slaves. There’s no point in kidnapping people anymore, a waste of resources when we already have all the slaves we need to make more.”

There was no more disgust in Abel’s bones for him to react with. The Empire rotted all within it and the Claw was no exception. There was no way to meaningfully reform the Empire, not when so many of its elites still had a Bronze Age mentality.

Abel took a long sip of beer and quietly put it down.

Atay wants a reaction. He wants to tease me. I don’t know why, aside to be cruel, but that’s what he wants.

“What do you want?” Abel asked flatly.

“To thank you! You helped us ascend to power, after all!”

“No I didn’t.”

“Yes, yo-oh!” Atay slapped the counter and pointed at the screen. “Here it comes!”

An alien planet appeared on the camera with massive towers lined up in neat rows beside a massive train network larger and more detailed than anything Abel had seen. Everything was still, the world looked frozen.

“The Regulian Empire has achieved total victory!” an announcement rang out.

Cheers erupted outside, echoing throughout the city and penetrating the bar’s thick walls.

Scenes of still Lacertans lying on the ground, some clutching their young, panned across the screen. There was no sign of any gunfire or explosions. It was as if they had all just died suddenly.

Abel’s skin chilled.

No.

Slowly, Abel turned his gaze back to Atay. The Vulpeculan blinked his golden eyes, a small grin forming on his muzzle.

“You helped us, Abel. More than you could ever dream of.”

We destroyed it. How…

No, he’s trying to trick me, he wants me to confess to destroying it.

“We know you destroyed the prototype, but that’s okay,” Atay swirled the glass and took a sip. “But you still helped Dr. Meyer escape with a copy of the research documents. Nothing that the Imperial Scientists couldn’t reverse-engineer.”

She must have downloaded the backups when she was at the computer…

“All for the love of her Lupiad husband, eh?” Atay lifted his glass. “True love if there ever was any, willing to commit genocide.”

The broadcast went on to explain more, parroting Atay’s words. The bioweapon had been loaded up on bombs that were launched into Lacertan homeworlds and once they were released, they would self-replicate until they filled up the entire atmosphere.

“Bound to be some holdouts but...” Atay blinked, “...they won’t last long.”

Abel couldn’t move, couldn’t so much as say anything as the TV proudly displayed corpses of Lacertans.

Part of Abel’s brain feared the moment he might see his loves on screen.

It was impossible for them to show up there, they were gone, but still…

“There are some parts of your story that confuse me...” Atay pinched the bridge of his muzzle, “...you were held captive by Lacertans at one point, yes?”

Slowly, Abel brought himself to nod.

“But they were all wiped out in a bombing run by the Duchy? No survivors?”

“No.”

“When the marines picked you up at that dacha, they reported you smelt a bit reptilian...but that was several days after your captivity. A bit strange, don’t you think?”

“Wouldn’t know,” Abel kept himself still, “just a dumb human who can’t smell shit.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” Atay rolled his eyes, “tell me, have you noticed a change in the smell of the air on Earth?”

“What are...”

Abel’s eyes flicked to the screen as a Sirian scientist began talking about the bioweapon. The horror of such a weapon was described in plain detail, there was no hiding that it could be used to assassinate whole species and easily customizable to include new ones as a last resort in case of unrest.

The host of the news program, a human, had a brief flicker in his eyes. A horrific realization, and his chest grew still as he held his breath for a good minute before finally breathing very carefully.

“There are no Lacertans on Earth anymore,” Atay said. “And you should tell any of your rebel friends that they should accept our new reforms and behave, or else...”

Sighing contentedly, Atay looked around the empty bar.

“Well, there will be a lot of free real-estate if we have to liquidate humanity. Would be a shame.”

“Ha ha ha!” Abel laughed heartily, putting on a wide grin.

“What are you-”

“You’re fucking hilarious!” Abel pounded his fist. “I just realized how fucking insecure you are. You got a wife, kids, but you still gotta put on this edgy act to feel powerful in the shade of the Empire!”

“We’re in control, Abel, not-”

“You know I killed Frontus right? Used a much nastier prototype of this weapon on him,” Abel suppressed the dread in his mind at remembering how he died in favor of his bluster. “So why haven’t you killed me?”

“We-”

“Hell, he tried to kill me! You guys wanted me dead until you realized you could use me to get the bioweapon, but now you don’t need me, so what’s the deal? Why can’t you kill me?”

“We don’t have any need to kill you.”

“Hasn’t stopped you before, hm...” Abel rubbed his chin with his prosthetic hand, “...perhaps you don’t have authorization to do so? So instead of just offing me, you come on down here, rub your dick while sneering like a villain about how much power you have, when in reality you’re just middle-management!”

Atay lowered his muzzle, staring at Abel with angry eyes.

“Oh yeah, I hit the nail on the head, didn’t I?”

Abel chugged the last of his beer and stood up. He stepped towards the exit but not before patting Atay atop his head like he was a dog.

I might be pushing it…

“And for the record,” Abel opened the exit doors and pointed back at Atay. “Humanity will always find a way to free itself from oppression. Nothing has changed.”

Slamming the doors behind him, Abel exited onto the streets of the French Quarter.

Abel only managed to walk a single block before his adrenaline faded and anxiety began to crawl at his heart. He took out his datapad and looked at the last message he received from Brolath.

Moses’ people are free now, they have gone on the Exodus into the desert.

Relief washed over Abel’s heart. Whenever he felt anxious, he looked at that message. It was hope.

Asha and Lashar had taken him from the battlefield after that explosion. They nursed Abel back to health in the same dacha that they had rested at before.

“It’s a bit selfish of us, I know but,” Lashar whispered, rubbing his naked body up against Abel’s side, “before we die, we wanted to spend more time with you.”

“If it’s too much...” Asha whispered, pausing.

“No,” Abel smiled, feeling Asha’s smooth scales wrap around his cock. The pain from his bandaged-up stump was unbearable but Abel knew this would be the last chance to spend time with them.

The last chance before Abel had to say goodbye. Lashar and Asha insisted that they would die, there was no chance at survival, and for Abel to accept this.

Abel did not.

Brolath deserved the credit though. An old case of his involving a former lover had revealed the existence of something called the Exodus Project, a clandestine colony ship shrouded in mystery whose mission is to voyage as far past Regulian space as possible and found a new civilization free of Regulian influence, where all species are equal.

Regnath was the next key. When Abel asked for him to clear a shipment from all inspections, his father did not even question him. He made it happen and it all went off without a hitch.

Atay was wrong about a lot of things, one of which was that the Regulian Empire had succeeded at committing a total genocide of the Lacertans. Asha and Lashar were safe on the Exodus ship, wherever that was, and so were other Lacertans.

And when it’s ready to leave, I’ll join them.