FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

She found him in the fourth sparring chamber she went to. The chamber was filled with trees and ferns, forming a clearing, a mat of plush grass speckled with small pink flowers. The force field surrounding the perimeter was active, preventing anyone from entering the clearing and stopping anyone - and anything - from getting out. Trillian was in the center, a short energy sword in one hand, a sword breaker in the other, clad in a pair of black cotton trousers and a pair of old work boots that were scuffed to hell and back. He was naked from the waist up and she tilted her head when he started circling, weapons raised in a ready position she did not recognise. He had a lattice of thin, silver scars across his back and shoulders, and rows of what appeared to plugs of some sort marching down to the base of his tail either side of his spine. A creeping sense of horror descended on her as she realised the scars were from regular floggings, each lash tearing away fur and opening wounds deep enough for the follicles to never recover. The tiny, thumbnail sized sockets in his back - and the base of his neck, she saw - she could not figure the reason for and nor, she realised, did she want to know.

She settled onto a bench at the periphery and watched a bipedal droid with four arms stride into view and size him up. It was bottle green and yellow, its cowling thick and its movements smooth and predatory. It had a sword in each hand and stood taller than him. She watched the two clash with fascination. She had never seen him fight before and she was intrigued, so she kept her peace and watched as their blades spun and danced, sparking as they clashed. Trillian ducked and wove his way past the droid's whirling blades, swinging his sword around in a cutting, downwards arc that sliced through an armoured hydraulics line at the machine's ankle. It swung around and he blocked with his sword breaker, the droid's blade getting trapped in the teeth as Trillian twisted his blade sharply. His muscles bunched and flexed as he struggled to match the droid's strength, but he managed to yank the sword free, using the momentum to awkwardly spin away from the other three swords it wielded.

A line of metallic crimson opened up down Trillian's right arm and blood pattered to grass. Angelica gasped, her hand going to her mouth. She hadn't realised the weapons were not blunted as practise blades often were. The wound across his bicep didn't phase him though. He simply snarled and unleashed a torrent of practised jabs, slices and kicks to the droid. The droid parried efficiently, compensating swiftly for its hamstrung leg and lost sword, limping in and out of Trillian's reach. He lodged the tip of his blade between the shoulder and torso plating, driving the blade deep. Something whirred and clicked, and the droid staggered back, its weaponless grip swinging up and grabbing Trillian's wrist. It jerked the sword free of its shoulder joint and charged bodily at Trillian. The air rushed from lungs as he rolled away.

Angelica stood up, feeling a compulsion to go to him, to protect him from the droid, but the force field held as she pressed her palms flat against it, trying to break through. She watched the droid stomp awkwardly across to the prone tiger, its swords ready to stab down, to run him through. He rolled out of the way, kicked up onto his feet and pounced, his teeth bared, a low growl rumbling through the air. He landed against the droid as it tried to recover from its attack and stabbed the seams of its neck armour with the sword breaker. A panel popped and he tugged at it, ripping the protective collar free and tossing it to one side. The droid swung around and Trillian renewed his grip, his thight muscles burning with exertion, his arm aching and his fury boiling over into a feral frenzy as the droid dropped its swords and started to pry him free.

He lodged the sword breaker into a shoulder, disabling its upper right arm and thrust the tip of his sword into the top of its thigh armour. There was a metallic groan and the sound of something shearing off within the thigh armour, and the droid lurched to one side. He pushed forward, shifting his weight against it and it toppled slowly over on crippled legs. The two landed hard, but Trillian clung on, his hard, silver nails digging into the metallic cowling as it continued to try and pull him free. With his hands and feet busy holding him in place, he lunged down dowards the droid's neck and sank his teeth into the hoses and wires, letting a deep rooted instinct take over. He bit down hard, squeezing the hoses flat between his teeth and waited for the droid's movements to fade to nothing. It gradually stilled, its tight grip around his waist and torso going slack and falling away, allowing him to breathe easier. The droid's inner workings went silent as gyros, gears and hydraulic pumps lost power and shut down.

Trillian released his grip and pushed himself up onto his haunches, kneeling on the broad chest of the droid, panting, gathering his thoughts. He wiped the hydrualic fluid away from his mouth with the back of his hand and looked around, spotting Angelica standing infront of a bench, a look of bewildered horror on her face.

He frowned. ''Shit.'' He muttered and stood up.

He wasn't expecting anyone to turn up. It was early in the morning - or late at night, however one looked at it. He preferred exercising in the wee hours because there was less chance he would be disturbed, allowing him work out any pent-up aggression he had from the day's activities without judgement. He flexed his fingers, his nails retracting and flattening, and checked his wetware. The Synth nanites had really gone to town on him since the Ranger had been picked up by the Daglia. The amount of adrenaline coursing through his system on a daily basis had fed them fat and put them into overdrive. He took advantage of their activity and ordered them to seal up the wound on his arm and ease the cramps in his over-worked muscles. He padded over to a control panel embedded in the arch that stood between two of the trees and dropped the force field.

''What brings you up here at this hour, Your Grace?'' He asked, turning a gaze upon Angelica that glowed a golden brilliance and pinned her to the spot. He studied her, noting the way she fidgeted, her lips twitching ever-so-slightly. ''You can speak freely, you know. I'm off duty and I assume you are, too.''

While he waited for her to form her words, he walked over to the downed droid and retrieved his weapons, sheathing the sword in a loop at his hip and sliding the dagger into the pouch at his thigh that was sewn neatly into his trousers. He walked back over to the control and requested that the broken droid be taken away.

''I wanted to ask something.'' She hesitated, glancing at another droid entering through a door at the back of the chamber. It was smaller, squat and was covered in hazard stripes. She recognised it as one of the station's maintenance droids. It latched onto Trillian's broken sparring partner and dragged it away for repairs.

''One day... when you get a chance and aren't busy, would you come back to Thymion? As a guest?'' She asked. She continued to fidget nervously as he tilted his head slightly, gauging her mood.

She had seen just how broken the Ranger was on her last trip across to the Hope's Blade. In space, its matte black hull hid the damage well. But in the harsh lights of the shipyard, the destroyer's wounds were visible. It's armour was rippled, dented and torn in places. There was a dull grey patchwork of scrounged metals sealing the hole where a missile battery had been and the green rad plates, the gills that helped regulate the ship's overall temperature, were crusted thick with carbon scoring and dust. The Ranger was in a sorry state, as was her crew. She wouldn't be surprised if Trillian declined the invitation. He had been backed into a corner, protected his crew as best he could and had felt compelled quit his job as a result of everything that had happened.

''I think I could manage that one day. Might be nice to see your world with a different perspective. Y'know, without being surrounded by hyper aggressive warships.'' He finally said, his voice bland, his expression carefully neutral.

He was still sore about what had transpired and most likely would be for the rest of his life, she figured. She nodded sadly. She couldn't blame him for holding some semblance of a grudge. She felt his gaze boring into the top of her head as she stared sheepishly at the grass at his feet.

''Shit happens. It may be difficult to move on and the memories will keep you awake at night for some time to come, but it gets easier. But only if you allow yourself to adapt to the changes. Don't let what happened to you hold you back.'' He said, ''It's time to move on. You have a world to rebuild. It's going to be hard work, but if you keep at it, your efforts will bear fruit eventually.''

She nodded. He didn't sound angry and the fleeting glimpses of his mind she caught told her that his voice was tonally flat because he was getting tired. She flexed her wings, forcing herself to relax. She had Tuven's offer of help and also had her free will back. It was more than what a lot of other people in the galaxy had, she knew, and she would make the most of it. She looked about herself. There were dark grease stains trailing through the grass in the clearing where the droid had had a hydraulic hose severed and a light smattering of mettalic red where it had managed to cut into Trillian. There was a sword embedded in the trunk of a tree and a spear standing tip-down in the grass. Both were smeared with oil and blood, chipped and scuffed with vigorous use.

He caught her looking and shrugged nonchalantly, ''My sparring partners keep breaking. I hope management doesn't start charging me for repairs...''

A small smile spread across her lips, amusement dancing in her eyes. She padded past Trillian and entered the clearing, gazing at it in wonder. For a personnel-only place of combat aboard a space station, it was just as beautiful as the more public areas. She stopped in the middle and started running through a series of stretches.

''One last spar?'' She asked, trying to keep her voice from going into a sheepish whisper. He gave her a long look, watching her movements, continuing to gauge her mood. Then, as way of explanation, she said, ''I can't sleep and figured a bit of exercise might help.''

''One last round then I have to leave. I have to be up and presentable in four hours.'' He said and re-entered the clearing.

She settled into a fighting stance he didn't recognise. He studied her posture for a moment, the position of her feet, where her hands were, the cant of her wings...

''You sure about this?'' He asked.

''Don't worry about hurting me. You can't.'' She replied.

''I am aware of that.'' He replied blandly, a flash of irritation racing through him. He settled into a fighting stance of his own, hands raised, feet apart and waited patiently for her to make the first move, his mind clear of all thoughts.

They stood facing each other, locked in position for a few minutes and he saw Angelica's resolve start crumble at the edges.

She frowned at him, ''Well?''

He didn't reply. He waited on her. He had no idea what fighting style she preferred or if she even used an existing one, so he wanted her to throw the first punch. Her patience broke and she jabbed at him. He rolled with the hit, moved in with a low kick to the ankle and they started exchanging blows, tentatively at first, but then faster, more calculated. Angelica flitted back, making a downwards strike with her left foot to deflect Trillian's palm. He staggered forward, regained his balance and danced back out of her reach. He had been fighting defensively, ducking and weaving, deflecting where he could and rolling with whatever hits she landed and taking advantage of the momentum as he learned her chosen style.

She crouched at the edge of the clearing opposite him, her wings spread, her hair falling in her eyes as she looked at him warily. After testing the water, seeing what he could handle, she had used more and more of her strength. She pursed her lips, feeling a new level of respect for him. He knew that he couldn't hope to match her power, neither physical nor psychic, so he had adjusted tactics and she had found out the hard way just how fast and calculating he was. The amount of hits he was willing to take just to get the upper hand was astonishing and, truth be told, a little frightening.

He was back in a defensive stance, his eyes narrowed, focussed solely on her, his breathing hard but measured. Angelica debated on whether to continue. He was wearing down, she was not. He was already injured and tired when she had come into the sparring chamber and she had no idea how long he had been 'exercising' for. She pursed her lips. He had a funny way of exercising. She studied him. He wasn't about to give up and call it quits and she realised just how stubborn he was. For the first time since the fight started, she felt something from him. He was testing her. Testing to see whether she was going to put him on his backside to win the sparring match or whether she was going call it quits out of fear of breaking him.

She surged forward and he tried dodging, but she had amped her speed up and Trillian found himself laying flat on his back, winded, his mind reeling from the impact. The pressure of the air that had moved ahead of her as she had launched herself across the clearing had stunned him before she had grabbed his arm and thrown him to the grass. She bounced back, watching him carefully, wondering if it was a ruse. He had used a lot of feints in more ways than she could count against her and so she wasn't entirely sure if he was using the moment to his advantage. He raised his hands, waving her off and rolled to his knees.

''I'm done. I ache all over and I have a meeting to attend in a few hours.'' He pulled himself upright and nodded to her, ''You're good. But I recommend you study the more commonly used fighting styles. That knowledge might come in handy later on.''

''I will. Thank you.''

He excused himself and left the sparring chamber. He had some prisoners to sign over to the captain of the Warrior, the battlecruiser that had re-routed to Firmament after receiving Trillian's message. It was time for a shower and some sleep. There was no way he was going to have one of his last impressions on a fellow officer being that of a dishevelled wreck.

~~~~~~

Trillian stood at the broad window overlooking the repair bay, the morning's meeting finally over. All it had been about was the general state of his ship and how the repairs were coming along, and how much life the refurbished sublights had left. It was enough to get them home, he had been told, but no further. The Ranger was still crawling with maintenance and repair droids, arc light flashing at the tips of their manipulator arms, their overseers sitting in control booths amongst the thick scaffolding that held the destroyer fast in a sturdy cage. It was a sorry sight and he lamented that this was most likely the image his memory would conjure whenever he thought about it. He looked further down the length of the repair bay. There was a Connaru frigate docked behind the Ranger undergoing major drive repairs and behind that, the sleek, matte black form of the Warrior, the armour plates across its back butterflied and held in place with a series of cables thicker than a Tenglaari death trooper was broad. The Warrior had sustained some damage during a fight with a Sterwil allied dreadnought, a well placed gauss cannon pummeling and shattering the battelcruiser's shields and breaking through the armour.

Ten people had died, twelve seriously injured and the Warrior had lost its lights, environmental systems and fabricator power along with a heatsink cluster. Captain Harrison had picked up Trillian's message about requiring an escort back to Blackwell and she had answered, deciding at the last minute, rather than limp home alone, she would divert to Firmament, get some repairs and the two lamed ships would return to their home together.

Harrison padded silently across the promenade towards him. The manticore was still in her battle armour, her helm tucked beneath an arm. Her whole crew had spent the last week living off their armour's life support whilst the Warrior was in transit to Firmament.

''I have some good news.'' She announced, a smile splitting her face.

Trillian turned to greet her, ''Oh, and what would that be? That Gensu's been keel hauled around the Tartarus Ring?''

She smiled, relishing the thought, ''Not quite yet. He's been found guilty of treason.'' She pursed her lips then added, ''Well, he's guilty of a lot of things, but it was easier to roll it up into a neat little package, so he got slapped with the treason ruling, since that's what it all amounted to. Grand Admiral Steelfang and Grand General Vinetail's investigations found that he's been skimming money off the top of Shadow Stalkers funds to cover his back. Protection money for the Kurvan Collective to keep the Royal Itanna Special Investigations Unit off his back, among other things. He was apparently selling people's identities - powerful people, like politicians and beaurocrats, to less than savoury folks. Blackmail, slander, identity theft, fraud, industrial espionage, bootlegging, trafficking... are you okay? You look a little glazed.'' She said as she counted off on her fingers.

Trillian scrubbed at his face with both hands and leaned against the railing that ran across the window, ''You're joking, right?''

Harrison shook her head, ''Nope. High command put out the news to all Shadow Stalkers ships and personnel announcing why Admiral Gensu has been stripped of his rank and arrested. Steelfang and Vinetail have been sending out official letters to those who served under him and those currently still in his fleet.'' She cocked her head, ''You should have got your message a week ago. You have been reading your messages, haven't you?''

Trillian hunched his shoulders. He hadn't touched that particular inbox since he had recieved a less than polite confirmation of his resignation from high command, fearful of what else might turn up. He said as much to Harrison, giving her a succinct run down of everything that had happened. She listened with interest, nodding as he spoke. He finished with a heavy sigh, his gaze fixed on the Ranger.

''I've been offered a place in the Ancillary Fleet.'' He added.

Harrison looked out at the battered form of the Ranger, her brow creasing in concern, ''You don't have a ship.''

''I am aware of that.'' He replied blandly. ''But I've handed in my resignation and it's been processed. I have just enough funds to get to one of the outlying breaker's yards and procure something small. I've already reserved a spot on a passenger ship to go look at a corvette. It's a retired sensors corvette, Tenglaari build. It'll do. Assuming my haggling doesn't offend the current owners.''

She chuffed in annoyance. ''Fool. You should have checked your messages.'' She admonished. He gave her an odd look. He had known Harrison for years. He knew that tone of voice well. They had enlisted in the Shadow Stalkers around the same time, been in the same classes and served on the Vindicator together, one as tactical officer, the other as navigation.

''I assume the good news doesn't end with Gensu's arrest and sector-wide disgrace.''

''Both Steelfang and Vinetail held a meeting to deal with the sudden influx of retirement and resignation letters incurred by Gensu's behaviour. And we know it was incurred by him, because everyone who quit is under Gensu's thumb in one way or another. Including you.'' Her expression darkened and she looked back out of the window, muttering, ''Sending a destroyer into hostile territory to do a sensor corvette's job. The very pinnacle of stupidity, especially for someone with ulterior motives...'' She looked back at him, ''High Command want you back. They've asked everyone to re-think their resignation with a promise of three month's downtime to gather your thoughts and to recuperate. After that, if you're still adamant you want to quit, then they won't try to stop you. Gensu did an awful lot of damage, Trill. An awful lot. I suggest you read those messages. Each one was tailored to the individual. You're a good man and a good captain. And there's no way in the eight Hells that I'm letting you leave me alone with Captain Jersteph without a fight. The man does my head in.''

Trillian's lips thinned as he suppressed a smile. ''You realise I never got officially ranked as a captain. This was a test run, to see if I could handle it. Don't know if you noticed, but I stuffed it up in a big way.''

''No. You did what you had to to save your crew and ship. Again, read the messages. Things will become a great deal clearer.'' She paused, rubbed her chin thoughtfully and added, ''Thymion might be interested to know why a destroyer was sent to do a corvette's job, too.''

Trillian's mind worked through her words, trying to decipher her meaning, ''It was a set-up? If he wanted us dead, he could have just sabotaged the damn slipdrive. Much easier and cost-effective. We've used so much fuel in the last few years that if the Ranger wasn't headed for the scrap heap, she'd need a new set of rad plates, batteries and crystals. He's had us running around like blind fools-''

Harrison halted his growing tirade with the flat of her palm, ''Calm.'' She crooned gently, ''Go read those messages and I will you meet for supper tonight at nineteen-hundred hours at Lucky's Diner. I can tell you how your little mutinous wretches are settling in and you can tell me about your thoughts on your inbox's contents.''

She sauntered away before he could speak. Once she had disappeared from view into the crowd of station staff and milling ship crews, he pulled himself away from the window and headed back to his hab suite to do some reading.

~~~~~~

Trillian paused just in the threshold of the door when a young voice called out. He turned around and peered back into the corridor beyond, watching a young Tuven loping towards him, a pair of mail bags slung across his back. He padded to a stop and rummaged through the pack at his right and produced a small package, vac-sealed and littered with various stamps, the boldest being a priority order.

''I have a package for Trillian Spears, captain of the Shadow Stalkers mercenary warship, Ranger.'' The youth panted.

He took the package and tipped the young postal worker with a couple of credits. He gave his thanks and watched the Tuven bounce happily back down the corridor, no doubt eager spend the tip. He backed into his hab suite, locked the door behind him and started undoing the seals on the package as he walked across to the armchair near the viewscreen. He settled down and pulled a long piece of thin, braided silver cord from the sturdy box. He looked at it, studying the glossy sheen and silken feel. It was a victory braid, the highest commendation an officer could get and wondered why he had been sent one. He pulled the accompanying letter out of the box, wondering who he was to give the braid to and stopped short.

The letter was hand-written on parchment and signed by both Grand Admiral Steelfang and Grand General Vinetail. The only other name he could find was his own. His heart pounded in his chest as he read through the letter, forcing himself to pay attention instead of glaze over and let the words become meaningless. It was a letter of commendation and it was addressed to him.

Captain Spears, Trillian T, commanding the deep space destroyer, Ranger.

In recognition of your valour at the Battle for Firmament, you have been awarded the full rank of warship captain and you and your crew a monetary bonus for great efforts in the face of overwhelming odds.

Your names and your ship are forever secured in military history and will be upheld as an example of how a warship should react in defense of allies under siege.

Excellent work, Captain.

Come home safe.

• Grand Admiral Sirrus Steelfang.

• Grand General Ash Vinetail.

Trillian put the braid and letter to one side and picked up the next letter, this one typed out on a sheet of folded flimsy. He unfolded it and started reading, his gaze sliding to the coiled braid on the coffee table.

Captain Spears, Trillian T,

Your letter of resignation has been recieved and processed by former Vice Admiral Gensu. I and others in high command are offering those who are resigning as a result of Mister Gensu's behaviour and decision making, a second wind.

Read carefully and think about this meticulously_._

You have been awarded a victory braid for very good reasons.

Your rank as a warship captain has been secured.

All of this is a result of your actions at Firmament and I lament the idea of losing another competent officer due to another's incompetence, which is why you are being given this chance to recind your letter of resignation and stay enlisted with the Shadow Stalkers. If you attach the victory braid to your dress uniform, your letter of resignation will be rendered null and void, and disappear from the databanks.

If you do not attach the victory braid to your dress uniform, then you can follow through on your plans to retire and pursue whatever path you have chosen for yourself without challenge.

Again, Captain Spears. Think on this carefully.

We will see you for the Ranger's decomissioning ceremony when you return to Blackwell.

Sincerly, Grand Admiral Steelfang. S.

He swallowed a dry lump in his throat and sank back into the plush chair, staring blankly at the open box, the braid and the letter of commendation. His gaze slowly drifted to the sheet of flimsy still held tight between forefinger and thumb until it came to rest on the drifting spots of bright lights outside. He watched the distant ships going about their business, ferrying workers between the shipyard and waiting starships, shuttles taking visitors down to Ilya, and damaged and repaired ships coming and going from the cavernous shipyard hangars. Then his mind started moving again, his thoughts reforming slowly and doubt settled in his gut. He felt indecisive and he hated it. It felt as if the rug had just been pulled out from beneath him again.

He thought about everything that had happened, about his messages sent back to Blackwell in the interim and his fear of checking his inbox once Gensu had recieved his letter of resignation. The lynx's reply had effectively written Trillian off as being useless and incapable of doing a simple job. He frowned at his reflection in the viewscreen and replayed his rather one-sided conversation with Harrison. He picked up his datapad, connected it to the Ranger via a secure link set up specifically for the crew and delved into his inboxes, searching for messages sent by high command. Four hours slipped by in silent, intense reading. His mood had shifted multiple times; going through grim, mildly amused, curious and finally landing on angry.

He rose abruptly from the chair and started pacing, his hands at his back, his thoughts bitter. He thought about what he should do, weighing his options. He trusted both the Grand Admiral and General, knowing they would keep their word. He knew full well that to go back to Blackwell with the victory braid looped around his shoulder would make his letter of resignation vanish into thin air, as if it had never existed. On the other hand, he had been offered a place within the Ancillary Fleet. He just needed a ship and crew of his own...

He paused, turned and looked at the viewscreen. A massive, purple hulled carrier sailed slowly by, it's expansive hull crackling with bright, violet energy, a war tug guiding its path. A trail of purple escort ships followed closely on the carrier's heels. An Undervilde task force had come for re-supply and repairs. His thoughts clicked together, falling neatly into place like the pieces on a large, confusing puzzle.

He already had a ship and a crew.

He scooped the braid off the table and headed into the bedroom, opening the wardrobe door. Inside, his dress jacket hung on a thick, padded coat hanger. He looped the braid around the left arm and affixed its ends beneath the green flap of the eppaulette. He wondered if he was doing this just to spite Gensu or if he was doing it for himself.

''I refuse to let a flea-bitten scumbag put my nose out of joint again.'' He muttered to himself, closing the door. He discarded his ship suit, grabbed his regular clothes off the back of the chair in the corner of the room and pulled them on; worn leather trousers, a thick smartweave longsleeve shirt in burgundy and a heavy brown tailcoat that looked as if it had seen better days. He put his old work boots on and left for the neighboring hab deck. He had something to explain to the Thymions before he met with Harrison