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PROLOGUE

27 August 2282, Common Date

"Frontier command, this is Group Commander Paul Wallace of the ILS Marathon. Do you copy?"

The commander of the Imperial Lupine Ship Marathon, an explorer-class survey cruiser, was a strongly-built wolf of a dark complexion common to his family's lineage. The fur on his strong back, from the tips of his receptive, pointed ears to the tip of his fluffy, disciplined tail, was a deep charcoal grey that lightened gradually as it neared his chest and abdomen. Shifting in his recently starched uniform-it never felt quite right after being cleaned-he folded his arms casually across his chest as he waited patiently behind his communications officer for a response.

An ensign, a young brown wolf, walked up to the commander, his boots thumping dully on the polished fiber flooring of the ship's bridge, and handed Wallace a report on a computer tablet.

"The planet's environmental report just came in, sir. Oxygen content, ozone protection...Everything checks out," he said confidently.

Commander Wallace tapped the tablet's interactive screen with a blunted claw and scanned it quickly. With a slight node he remarked, "Very good, Warren. Inform Lieutenant Johnson he's a go on the recon team. Tell him to send situation reports as soon as they are available. Make it clear that they are not to make contact with the natives of any kind."

"Aye, sir."

Commander Wallace took his time to adjust his high collar, staring patiently at the communications computer. He knew full well that with the great distance of space a response would not be expected for more than forty seconds. Assuming they responded immediately, that is; but Commander Wallace had every reason to believe they would.

Moments later an audio reply rang out clearly over the computer. "Group Commander Wallace, this is Frontier Command reading you clearly. Go ahead."

The grey wolf cleared his throat. "Please put me through to Admiral Kent, please. Priority code zeta-five-delta."

"Zeta-five-delta" was a mission-specific coded designation for mission success. It was sure to grab the admiral's attention and, as the commander hoped, speed up the orders process. The military bureaucracy was thick enough with having to communicate through dozens of lightyears of empty space.

Before long a familiar, gruff voice broke the silence. "Paul, it's good to hear from you. It's been too long."

Paul Wallace allowed his lips to curl back briefly in a toothy snarl. Too long, indeed. He knew his superior was mocking him from afar, all too willing to remind him of his unfortunate duty assignment. Five months drifting in the blackness of space had become a taxing burden for himself and his crew.

The transmission continued without pause. "I trust you've found something interesting, or you wouldn't have given me the 'zeta' at this hour. Give me your full report at one time, Commander. I hate waiting for responses."

Commander Wallace tapped a claw to the screen on the tablet he held in his big paw, ensuring he outlining the points he wished to make and little more. "Sir, we will be sending you a full report in just a few minutes, and as future ones are made available. However, I knew you'd want to hear this as soon as possible, and I will be brief. We've discovered that planet NM453 is a class three world, home to an alien race that is physically similar to our own: Bipedal, canine, covered completely in fur, and sentient. They appear to be populating two of ten continents on the planet's surface and our preliminary estimates place their numbers at no more than 1.4 million in total. They are relatively advanced technologically, with flight-capable vehicles. None capable of leaving their atmosphere, however. There is no explanation yet as to why their population is so limited since it appears they've inhabited the planet for some time. We have not made contact with these creatures yet, but our research teams are studying them continuously. More importantly, sir, the surface shows significant agricultural development. Is that a good copy, sir?"

The climate-controlled air on the explorer-class cruiser felt thicker somehow through the silence that followed the wolf's brief. All around the grey wolf his crew busied themselves with their assigned tasks. His crew was the best there was in military and civilian intelligence and research, and the reason the Imperial Council had chosen them to fulfill their essential mission. His crew-his extended family-was the best trained in the Department of Naval Expansion and Exploration. And he was proud to be their commander.

"That's excellent to hear, commander." The admiral sounded genuinely encouraged. "Continue with what you're going and send me reports as often as you deem necessary. You are also authorized to make contact with these beings as you see fit, though command advises you to act with the utmost discretion. Your report will be examined by the Council in detail. I look forward to hearing from you in the near future. If you have nothing further I bid you good hunting, commander. Admiral Kent, out."

The comms computer flashed, then dimmed. The comms officer, a young arctic wolf, checked the status of the relay buffers and shook his head. "That's all there is, sir," he said. "The quantum relays are functioning normally. The transmission was cut from their end."

Wallace snorted irritably, shaking his head. "It seems the admiral had nothing further to discuss." Why should an admiral have to follow proper communications etiquette by waiting for a response? It was the middle of the night at Frontier Command, after all. He passed the comms officer the computer tablet. "Send this to Frontier Command. Priority level urgent."

"Yes, sir."

"Thank you, ensign. That'll be all."

Group Commander Wallace silently wished he could have seen a video feed as well. He wanted to see the admiral's face so he could better gauge the old wolf's mood more easily without the benefit of sight and smell to guide his impressions. But a video transmission was impractical when transmitting over thirty light-years of space. He paced the flight bridge with a deliberate stride, checking in with each of the deck crew as he took the long way around the deck to his station. As he passed he mentally assessed his staff. Ensign Glenn Madras operated the biometrics controls, his first duty assignment as a young officer, though he was skilled beyond his youth. At weapons control sat Lieutenant John Hunt. Commander Wallace had served with his father as a junior officer in years passed, but because John Hunt was a proud young officer determined to make a name for himself, he hated to be reminded of his father's legacy. Wallace knew that the weapons officer was less than thrilled to be floating through space on a non-combat related mission like this. Lieutenant Carter worked the helm; his mate was waiting at home with a young pup, expectant with another son. Ensign Scott operated the bridge's engineering station. Paul noted with regret that he knew each of them better than he knew his own son, now thirteen years old and home with his mother.

As he neared his command station he changed course, passing his executive officer.

"Michael, I'll need a word with you," he said in a hushed tone. "In my office."

"Aye, sir. Lieutenant Hunt," he called over his shoulder, "You have control of the bridge."

"Yes, sir."

Commander Wallace's office adjoined the flight bridge and was small but convenient. As he entered he bade his XO to take a seat after his door had closed with a hydraulic hiss. Lieutenant Commander Michael Shae nodded, but waited for his superior to take his seat before following suit.

"Mike, can you keep a secret," Commander Wallace asked.

The XO's tall ears perked in interest. "Sir, I'd certainly like to think so. It's been my job for eleven years."

The older of the two wolves pinched the bridge of his snout and glared at the computer tablets that had been stacked in the middle of his wide desk, probably by his personal aide. Yet more busywork to attend to...and much of what compelled him to speak so candidly with his second in command.

"I've been asking myself for months now why exactly I agreed to command this mission," he said tiredly in the privacy of his office. "I promised myself and Shauna that I'd retire after our last deployment."

Shae's brow furrowed with concern, but his commander continued without allowing comment.

"Don't get me wrong, this crew is the best in the DNEE, and it has been an honor serving with them." Wallace's tired eyes trailed across his desk to a photo he kept propped at the far corner. His wife and son were smiling with him in that picture; his arm was wrapped caringly around her, his other paw resting on his son's shoulder. It filled him with a profound sense of longing to be with his life-mate once again, a painful desire that grew the longer they were apart. It was natural for a wolf to bond strongly with his or her beloved, something that made marriage all the more taxing on military personnel. In fact, very few wolves in the armed services were mated because of the emotional toll it took.

Paul sighed. "I'm beginning to think that this was the worst mistake of my life. My son will be thirteen years old tomorrow. Once again my Shauna and I will spend our anniversary apart. I've come to regret every day that I am away from them."

Shae himself did not have a mate or a child waiting for his return, but he understood his superior's lamentation well. By every right, Commander Wallace should have retired years ago.

"Sir, I know I speak for the crew when I say we'll never think less of you should you chose to do so."

"Well, be that as it may it will soon be your crew, commander."

Shae's head tilted slightly. "Sir?"

Commander Wallace allowed himself to smirk despite himself. "I submitted my request for retirement to the admiralty shortly after leaving. With this mission successful I see no reason why it will not be granted upon our return. I specifically requested that you replace me."

Commander Shae's eyes raised in surprise, but the way he straightened his posture in his chair betrayed his obvious pride. "Thank you, sir. We had best make sure that this mission is as successful as possible."

This time Group Commander Wallace grinned openly. "We'd better, Mike. Now, to change the subject, what do you think of this new world?"

"I think our prayers have been answered," Shae said, allowing himself to relax a little, his tail swishing lazily behind him. "That is, provided we can find something to do with the locals...these aliens. I realize the Council isn't going to let a minor inconvenience like this get in their way. But still..." He let the open statement hand in the air for a minute, his square muzzle twisting as he bit a lip thoughtfully. "Doctor Banks is already having a field-day with this discovery. It's going to be impossible to keep him on the ship, you know."

Commander Wallace smirked to himself, but his executive officer's unease had reminded him of his own reservations with the true objectives of their mission in deep space. The health-even survival-of their kind depended on their success. But something didn't seem right about the implications. He had no doubt that news of their discovery would be enough to prompt an emergency meeting of the Imperial Council as soon as Admiral Kent felt it was necessary to inform them. It was out of his paws now, but Commander Wallace wasn't so sure he should have let this particular world's discovery been known in the first place. Surely there were other class three worlds out there that didn't contain sentient life.

You're fooling yourself, Paul.

"Tell Doctor Banks that a reconnaissance team headed by Lieutenant Johnson will be leaving for the planet's surface in the next hour," he said, staring distantly at the beautiful new world that hung outside his window. "He's free to join them. That should make him happy."

The younger of the wolves stood crisply from his seek and rendered a sharp salute. "Yes, sir," he barked and promptly left the Commander's office to seek out the civilian agriculturalist.