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This is the final chapter of Of Wolves and Foxes. Tomorrow I will post the epilogue, so don't go disappearing on me just yet!

CHAPTER 20

"Neon Frontier Command, this is the reconnaissance ship Vista. Do you copy?"

"Roger that Vista. Reading you loud and clear."

"A civilian shipper has reported a large concentration of military class vessels in Sector November Two-Nine. Are there any scheduled war-game maneuvers for today, command?"

"Did they collect sensor data, Vista?"

"Roger, command."

"Send the sensor data now, Vista."

"Transmitting now."

The channel was quiet for several long minutes before a new voice broke the silence. "Vista, this is the Security and Surveillance Office at the command station. Have you made any contact with these ships?"

"That's a negative, command."

"Good. Remain out of near sensor range and continue monitoring their motions with long-range scanners. Report any developments to this office immediately."

"Understood, Frontier Command. Vista out."

***

Captain Reginald Palsy, commander of the ILS Mourning Son, made little effort to disguise his disapproval of his commanders' actions. Or rather, inactions. His broad, square muzzle had been pulled in a perpetual frown for days now. He was sitting calmly in Admiral Royce's office, his arms folded across his chest just enough to give a subtle air of derisiveness. Military personnel of all ranks quickly develop their ability to broadcast attitude without being overtly insubordinate, and senior officers rarely prove to be exceptions.

The Second Fleet had been hanging in space, suspended in time for over a week. News had arrived earlier that day through back channels that reported the near destruction of the Third Fleet. The fleet was captured and Admiral Schneider and his senior staff-those that survived-had been placed under arrest, pending trial for treason. Now it was Royce and his followers that were on the run: A fleet without port, warriors without a nation. So here they huddled like rats on a sinking ship, clinging to a vain thread of hope that all was not lost.

Admiral Royce was angry as well, his nostrils flared and temper stretched thin. Captain Palsy found himself taking pleasure in that fact, if nothing else.

"He specifically disregarded my orders, the worthless fool," hissed Royce through gritted teeth. "He was not to wage a war on his own, damn it," he snarled to Admiral Philips, who nodded slowly and deliberately.

"The strength and speed of their reinforcement wasn't something we anticipated," he said smoothly, to which Royce snorted scornfully.

"That doesn't excuse the recklessness. He attacked a force too strong to justify the risk, and look what he's done! Our effective fighting strength has been severely decreased because of it."

No, thought Palsy. It's been crippled. And what was more, news of the major loss had discourage their unit commanders from fighting on. How many had already surrendered under promises of mercy? Palsy could never know so long as the Second Fleet was under strict communications silence.

"Sir," he ventured, "perhaps if we attempt to communicate with one of the republican commanders in the reserve fleets we can-"

"No!" shouted Royce slapping his desk with a palm so hard he winced visibly. "There will be no external transmissions until we receive word from the Ursans. We can't risk detection without support."

Palsy's frown deepening into a sour scowl that made Royce bristle. The captain was well aware of the situation. They were still technically in Lupine space, straddling an imaginary boundary established by on old treaty between the great wolf and bear empires decades before. Admiral Royce had sent envoys to the Ursan ministry under orders to all but beg for aid in this fight against Emperor Charles. Palsy already knew that none would come. Since the official cease-fire following the "War for the Great Expanse" the bears had become isolationists, refusing to get involved in any way with Lupine affairs, be they internal or external. He was sure that Royce new this. But the fool was beholden to dragging this out as long as possible.

Admiral Philips' opinion on the matter had remained cryptic at best, saying only what needed to be said and little else. Palsy was certain the white wolf felt the same as he did, tired of pretending there was a chance in hell that something more could be done to revive the rebellion. Philip's detachment angered the captain to no end.

Palsy snarled, "Admiral Royce, the crew is starting to grumble and ask questions, and we can't continue feeding them the same lies."

"So," was the admiral's blatantly uncaring response. "They'll wait another week if I order it."

"Respectfully...sir, we cannot. You expect the crew to believe the emperor is dead and we're fighting a small loyalist insurrection. We cannot hide the truth from them for long. Morale is low and the communications blackout has raised suspicions that we're no longer supported. Fresh supplies are short and we have exactly zero avenues of resupply. My command crew is demanding explanations that I cannot give them, and I know for a fact the fleet commanders are doing the same." He glared expectantly at Admiral Philips, the fleet commander, who glared right back at him and said nothing. Palsy snorted at the white wolf in disgust.

Admiral Royce huffed moodily. "As far as the crew is concerned, captain, the emperor is dead. It is their duty to the new republic to bear adversity like wolves, not like pups," he snapped, stray particles of saliva dotting his desktop.

By now Reginald Palsy was beyond the realm of patience...or discretion. "Sir, with all due respect, the emperor is very much alive and very much in control. I believed in our cause as much as you do, but the war is over. We are floundering in space with nothing left to die for but an empty dream. And I don't intend to ignore my responsibility to protect the lives of my crew, especially over a failed cause."

Captain Palsy might as well have punched the admiral in the jaw. Samuel Royce fumed, his paws curling into tight fists as a feral growl escaped from somewhere deep in his chest. "I wouldn't make insubordination a habit, if I were you, captain," his snarling breath dripping with venom. "If you refuse to obey my orders I will replace you with someone who will."

There was a long silence as the two wolves stared each other down. Captain Palsy caught sight of the admiral's paw straying dangerously close to his personal sidearm. The quiet was interrupted, however, by the scream of a blaring siren.

"Attention: All crew to general quarters! This is not a drill! Repeat: All crew to general quarters!"

Without hesitation the experienced wolves jumped from Royce's office and ran the short distance to the command bridge, dodging frantic crew members as they did. Captain Palsy wasted no time in barking to the bridge crew for reports and issuing orders in the same breath.

Group Commander Bufort, the Mourning Son's executive officer, stood from the captain's command post. "The Navarre jumped in only moments before, sir," he said, taking up his own designated position. "She's hanging off starboard about two hundred clicks."

"And her fleet?"

"They're not on scopes, sir."

Palsy was no fool. He knew the First Fleet would not be far from its flagship, least of all now. "Tactical. What's her status?"

"She's in a stand-down condition, sir. I'm not reading any weapons or shield activity."

The captain frowned incredulously. There was only one logical reason why her commander would fly into an enemy fleet unaccompanied and ill-prepared for war: He had a trump card.

"Commander, raise shields but keep weapons on standby," Palsy commanded. "Commander Bufort, open a channel."

"Aye, sir."

Admiral Royce stepped forward. "You're not going to attack them? Their shields are down!"

Captain Palsy, not about to let the admiral run his bridge, cautioned the officer with an angry scowl.

"Rebel ship Mourning Son. This is the ILS Navarre, Captain Morrison speaking. You are ordered to stand down and prepare to be boarded by imperial troops. Your cooperation will be seen as a gesture of good faith to His Majesty Emperor Charles."

Palsy, still facing Admiral Royce, said loudly, "This is Captain Palsy, commander of the Mourning Son. I know very well you are not here to make a cordial offer of terms, Captain Morrison."

The look on Admiral Royce's face seemed to suggest he'd said precisely what the admiral wanted him to say, while silently warning him to choose his next words carefully. The captain scowled hatefully.

"The emperor has authorized me to extend you this offer: Stand down immediately, surrender all vessels, and discharge all personnel. In exchange all junior crew will be absolved of all charges. All senior crew members will be treated with the utmost respect and your cooperation will be taken into account during your leaders' treason trials. These terms are extremely generous, captain, given the circumstances. I suggest you advise your commanders to act rationally."

Quiet murmurs circulated across the command bridge.

"What does he mean 'treason?'"

"I thought the emperor was dead..."

"...This can't be right..."

Captain Palsy's mouth opened to speak, but Admiral Royce beat him to the response.

"Captain Morrison, this is High Admiral Samuel Royce. Your offer is soundly rejected. End transmission." The channel was terminated. "Tactical, arm all forward batteries and fire on that ship! Now!"

"Tactical, you will disregard that order," barked Captain Palsy.

The tactical officer hesitated, his eyes shifting from Royce to Palsy.

"You will follow my order, lieutenant," snarled the admiral. "I said fire upon that ship!"

Sirens began blaring around the command bridge. The tactical officer's attention fell to his controls.

"Sir, ships are starting to materialize on all sides," said the tactical officer. "Dozens of them. They've surrounded the fleet, sir! Weapons charged!"

Royce rounded on Admiral Philips. "Philips, order the fleet into defensive action! Get to your command station!"

Captain Palsy stepped between Admiral Philips and doorway, baring the white wolf's path to the fleet command room. "No!" he howled so loudly that Philips actually stopped dead in his tracks. "Disregard that order, Admiral Philips. Tactical, you will stand down."

Royce pushed his way up to Palsy, showering the captain with spittle as he screamed in his face, "What makes you think you can issue an admiral orders, captain?"

"We're done here, sir," he fumed, matching Royce's snarl with one of his own. "The war is over!"

"Not until I say it's over. I said charge weapons!"

The tactical officer was visibly shaken by the conflicting orders. Palsy didn't wait for the young officer to make up his mind and jumped at Royce with such speed the admiral had no time to reach for his sidearm before Palsy had unsheathed it and leveled the pistol at its owner's chest. Royce glared daggers at him, but didn't move.

"Sir, the fleet commanders are requesting orders," said the communications officer, he voice full of tension.

"Order them all to stand down, ensign," said Captain Palsy, his eyes and weapon trained threateningly at both admirals. "Admirals Royce and Philips, under title seven of the Naval Martial Directive I am hereby relieving you both of your commands. Security! Escort them to their quarters. They are now under house arrest."

For a long, quiet moment nobody moved a whisker.

"You have all been lied to. I have lied to you. The emperor is not dead. There is no invading force of foxes." Heads turned to one another uneasily. "You have all been used as accessories to high treason, and this," he motioned toward Royce, "is the architect."

The bridge crew stared, eyes wide, save those few that Palsy knew were in on the conspiracy. The captain saw every mix of emotion imaginable in their faces; fear, hate, angst, shock, confusion, and betrayal. He could fault none of them for their mistrust and uncertainty.

It was the tactical officer that dissolved the silence. "Powering down weapons, captain."

The comms officer turned to her controls. "Second Fleet, this is the ILS Mourning Son, you are ordered by the fleet command to stand down. I repeat, you are ordered to stand down."

A pair of marines from the rear of the bridge looked indecisively toward one another. In a brief moment a silent agreement was passed between them and they stepped up to Admirals Royce and Philips, one behind each. The tallest of them putting a firm paw on Royce's shoulder.

"Sir, you're going to have to come with us," Lance Corporal Burns said in a deep voice. "We can do this the easy way-"

With a howl, Royce brushed off the marine's paw and swung madly at him with a hard left hook. The marine expertly deflected the blow, using the admiral's momentum to knock him off balance as his partner, Private Novak, shoved a stun-gun into his unprotected side. A zap and a scream left the large, muscular wolf on the decking whimpering like a child. Every eye on the bridge was wide as they watched the marines half walk, half drag Royce into the hallway, a faint stench of urine following close behind him.

"You too, Philips," said Palsy, motioning toward the hall with the pistol.

The white wolf's paw hovered an inch from the grip of his pistol that hung at his hip. Admiral Philips' lips pulled back threateningly, his jagged fangs flashing as white as his fur. Slowly, his paw retreated and Palsy stepped up to disarm him.

Motioning to his engineering officer to come near he pressed Philips' weapon into his paws. "If he moves...shoot him." The engineer nodded. "Commander Bufort, get another security detail down here ASAP to escort Admiral Philips to his quarters."

"Aye, sir."

Breathing deeply, Captain Palsy moved to his station. Pressing buttons he simultaneously gave directions to the comms officer to hail the Navarre.

"They're requesting a response, sir."

"Wait one," he said, opening the fleet-wide network. "Fleet call, fleet call. This is Captain Reginald Palsy. I have relieved Admirals Philips and Royce of their duties and have assumed command of the Second Fleet. All units are ordered to follow any instructions given by the Imperial fleet."

Palsy pointed to his comms officer, who nodded.

"Navarre, I apologize for the delay. We had an issue with command authority."

"Captain Palsy, this is Admiral Scott Banks. I wish to speak directly with Admiral Royce."

"Admiral Royce has been relieved of his command, sir. As of now I am the fleet commander." The door to the command bridge hissed open and another pair of marines marched in, securing Philips' under both arms. Captain Palsy matched the white wolf's hateful glare measure for measure as he was escorted off the bridge, saying, "I've placed Admiral Philips and Admiral Royce under arrest for willful endangerment."

When Admiral Banks spoke next, Palsy could feel his distrust and suspicion through the transmission. "I see. You will be boarded immediately."

Nodding resignedly, Palsy brushed a paw across his forehead and groaned. "The fleet is yours, Admiral," the defeated wolf said evenly. "Our ships are standing down. You are free to board."

***

The two marines that escorted Royce through the upper decks of the Mourning Son soon found themselves dealing with an uncooperative captive. The furious wolf pulled sharply at the tight grips they each held at Royce's elbows, the admiral's wrists cuffed together behind his back.

"Palsy can't do this! He's no right to take my command."

"According to regulations," retorted Private Novak, "He can. And he did...sir."

"You're making a fatal mistake," Royce growled angrily before pulling his weight sharply forward, breaking Novak's grip on his arm.

Lance Corporal Burns, easily bigger than the prisoner by a sizable measure, barked furiously and jerked Royce's cuffed arms up sharply. The unnatural twist to his shoulders made the admiral wince. He submitted reluctantly, flashing a toothy sneer at the marine, who simply glared in reply. The three wolves reached the admiral's personal quarters without further issue. Pressing Royce's chest flat against the wall of the hallway, Corporal Burns instructed his partner to search the room for weapons. Finding none, Novak unlocked the cuffs and pushed Royce inside, sealing the door behind him.

Pressing a paw to the controls the giant wolf said gruffly, "Manual security override, authorization Lance Corporal Burns."

"Door locked."

The two Marines assumed positions outside in the hallway as Burns made a quick call, informing his superiors of the situation. They would send replacements in no more than two hours.

"I never thought I'd be arresting an admiral, least of all him," muttered Novak, adjusting his lithe frame casually from one boot to another.

His partner shrugged, a light grin pulling at the corners of his muzzle. "No, I guess not. But I never liked him anyway."

Inside his quarters Royce rubbed his wrists, howling vengefully into the empty room. His enemies had won over him. Out-maneuvered and out-manipulated him at every turn. He was a disgrace now, a prisoner of the emperor. He'd be made to stand trial for all the empire to see, ridiculed, mocked, and humiliated. He would not allow it! He was High Admiral Samuel Royce, gods damn it! He would submit to nobody like a beaten pup so long as he lived.

Rounding a corner and trotting into his bedroom he leaned over a short dresser and removed a mirror from the wall. This he dropped to the floor, ignoring the sharp sound of shattering glass. He cared only for what was behind it: A small lockbox set into the wall. Pressing an access code into the digital lock he flung the hatch open and dug frantically inside. From papers and small boxes of valuable mementos his paw finally closed around cold metal. Breathing deeply he pulled a small pistol slowly from the depths and stared at it long and hard.

There was no way in hell they would take him alive!

***

Sarah had mixed feelings about her new job at the Rehab Center. Sure, there were many aspects she loved, like working to help her fellow refugees. But there were others she wasn't thrilled about, namely the many hours of staff meetings that came with the job. Master Ergasia, Director of Occupational Skills and Education, had almost instantly taken a liking to her, though Sarah wondered secretly if it was little more than professional curiosity. She treated her like some kind of novelty to be studied...or exploited, and Sarah was quickly appointed a counselor. Every day she would interview refugees transferred from medical to the "academy," as they called it, and was profoundly amazed from the first day she had began.

The academy was huge and not unlike the universities she'd seen on the telenet at home. There were classrooms, dining facilities, dormitories, and every service and amenity necessary for their students-thousands of them! An assistant to Master Ergasia had given her an initial tour of the school when she first arrived several days before. As they had walked the grounds casually, a warm sun shining peacefully down on them, the fox described for her just how the education process worked. Refugees were first interviewed and analyzed for background information, such as skills and previous training. This was primarily where Sarah would be working-Master Ergasia had been adamant about stressing how invaluable she expected Sarah to be in this field. They would then be sent to class once they knew a little more about what career path an individual student would be better suited to follow.

"It's unfortunate to think that most of them will probably be stuck doing menial labor for the rest of their lives," the guide said. She seemed to remember his name was Pernathius, but she was too embarrassed to ask. "The simple fact is that most are not capable of handling highly skilled professions in technology, medicine, or things along those lines. We're keeping an eye out for promising students, though. Our hope is that their descendants will meld perfectly into society, but we really don't expect this generation to have an easy time doing so."

Sarah nodded solemnly.

Following counseling, the students would be taught to read and write the Vulpine language through a psycho-kinetic interface similar in theory to the link she'd shared with Bothios. Sarah shivered at the thought. When Pernathius told her to step into the contraption so she could "experience the gift of literacy," she almost screamed.

"Are you serious?"

The fox smiled and assured her there was nothing to fear. It was very safe. Steeling every ounce of resolve she had she eventually submitted to the treatment, allowing Pernathius to sit her in a soft chair, slip a crown over her head, and adjust a small screen to eye level. In total, it took less than twenty minutes of flashing lights and nauseating mental assaults that left her head spinning. When she was finished he instructed her to write the entire Vulpine alphabet-all thirty seven characters-on a board, which she did so without a second thought. The amazement didn't end there. He removed the translator chip she still had attached to her temple below the ear and was given a list of words, followed by a paragraph.

"Read," he said simply.

And she did, top to bottom with very little difficulty. When she was finished she looked up, shock and amazement showing brightly on her face. He grinned, a flick of his ear telling her she did well.

"Sarah, good much!" he said as he reached up to replace the translator. "Work speak in while."

She stared at him curiously, and his smile only broadened as he finished setting the small chip to her head. He laughed again.

"Thought you would be confused, Sarah. I probably should have told you that this technique will only give you basic information," he pointed to the device behind him. "It's one thing to memorize phonic sounds and associate what different strings of characters and syllables may mean. Being able to integrate that knowledge is another matter entirely. Your brain doesn't understand how to put it all together. It would be like giving you the parts to make a clock, then telling you to put them together. You might know what each part is and what it does, but not how they all work together. That level of integration can't be downloaded. It has to be developed. You'll get there. It will just take work."

In the days that followed, the vixen was briefed and trained on proper interview etiquette and techniques, learning what to look for and how to interpret responses to even the simplest questions. But she dove right into it and quickly became a favorite with the staff. She could speak Lupine fluently and unassisted, making her unique among the staff. What helped far more than language, she knew, was her ability to relate to her patients and their culture, understand their past pains, and offer hope for the future. This aspect of the job she loved more than she ever believed she would. At first she worked with a supervisor hanging over her shoulder, but after only a week she was approved to be alone with the new students. It was difficult at times, especially when a particularly problematic case came before her.

Earlier that day she had been interviewing a pretty young vixen with a particularly distrustful air about her, and Sarah was launched into one of the more emotional sides of counseling. Her master had been a depraved wolf that abused the fourteen year old on a constant basis in a sexual matter. The interview inevitably broke down half-way through with the young vixen crying piteously, overwhelmed by the stress of the meeting and strange new environments. Sarah tried desperately to console her, but in the end the counseling session was never fully completed.

"I feel like I failed," she told Master Ergasia afterward as she submitted her report.

The aging fox frowned and shook her head, saddened by the unfortunate interaction. "These things happen, Sarah dear. It's never easy to look someone like this in the eye and believe there's anything that can bring them hope and happiness. It just takes time...and maybe more direct methods. I'll recommend she be sent to a psychiatric ward."

Sarah remained depressed after that for the rest of the day; half-blaming herself, half-blaming the wolf bastard that would stoop so low. She was still in a funk after work as she rested quietly in her small apartment in the city the academy staff had set her up with.

Her thoughts turned to Scott. She hadn't seen her beloved wolf in two weeks. She wondered how he was going, if he was alright, and if he was thinking about her. Sarah kept him in her thoughts often, lamenting how she had no way of knowing when-and if-she would ever see him again. She wished she could say with confidence that it was a sure thing; that he'd come back to her again, alive and well. But there was always that painful doubt in the back of her mind. Jessica once lived with that fear before she and Scott were mated; when he was deployed to distant reaches and unknown missions.

Sarah was rudely jolted to reality when her door chime rang out loudly. Irked, but curious, she stood and opened her door. She was surprised to find Ionious standing in the hallway.

"Ionious? What are you doing here?"

He flicked an ear politely. "It's good to see you, Sarah."

"I'm sorry, Ionious," she said, smiling. "I'm just surprised to see you here. Would you like to come in?"

The fox held up a paw dismissively. "No, no. That's alright. Actually, I came here because Scott Banks asked me to show you someone." A slight smiled found his muzzle at the statement.

"Scott? Someone?" So he was alright. But why would he want to send Ionious to introduce someone to her?

"That's right," he said. "You'll need to come with me, though." She followed him to the end of the apartment complex's long corridor and to the lift, listening to the old fox as he talked. "Scott told me the young fellow was rescued from a ship several days ago. When they brought them to our Center we rushed him through the medical examinations and ran a few tests."

"Is he okay?"

Ionious nodded. "As far as we can tell he's perfectly healthy, though a bit scarred and anxious. He's a very shy sort. I suppose that's not very unusual. But he did talk fondly of Scott."

Sarah shook her head, lengthening her stride to keep up with him as they stepped into the main lobby. "I'm sorry, Ionious, but why do you need me to counsel him here?"

He stopped suddenly, turning toward her. "I don't need you to counsel him, Sarah. Not specifically, anyway. I brought him here because young Aaron is your son. We checked your DNA. The match is unmistakable. I'm afraid that his father died not too long ago in an industrial accident."

"My son," she mouthed, her voice below a whisper. "How could it...how could Scott have..." She shook her head disbelievingly. How many years had it been? Fifteen...at least. There must have been a mistake. "Where is he," she found herself saying quietly.

He led her around a corner into a lounge that was set apart from the main lobby, a more private area set aside from the typical paw traffic. There were two foxes there, one Sarah instantly recognized. Bothios was standing behind the second, a much younger red fox sitting slightly hunched, his paws fidgeting nervously. When Bothios saw Ionious and Sarah he put a paw on the child's shoulder and pointed toward them with the other. The young fox turned his head quickly, his ears falling back as his eyes widened a little and his tongue flicked out to lick his nose nervously. He gasped sharply when his stare fell on Sarah, and the vixen saw recognition dawn in that young face. He stood up timidly, his tail hanging lifeless to the floor.

Sarah approached slowly, cautiously. Her mouth felt dry, her paws numb to the touch. She glanced sidelong to Ionious, the fox understanding her apprehensiveness easily.

"It's absolutely real, Sarah. Aaron is your son."

Licking her dried lips she looked back to the shy creature before her, now barely out of arms reach. He looked up to her, trembling slightly. She was at a complete loss for words as she stared down at him. He was a handsome young fox; an attentive, intelligent sort of light to him. Her eyes watered, stinging with salty tears: He was just as she'd imagined he would be.

Her silent stare made the youth uncomfortable and worried, and he whimpered lightly, "Mother?"

The sudden brake in silence broke the tension and Sarah fell roughly to her knees, pulling her child into a tight hug as tears fell freely from her cheeks. He returned the embrace, nuzzling happily into his mother's cheek fur with his own, not caring that it was wet. This must have been what love felt like. Even though he'd never met her before now he felt as though he'd known her for his entire life.

"I'm so sorry," she said over and over again. "I'm not going to let you go again."

Looking up without breaking the hug-she wasn't sure she could pry the youth off of her if she wanted to-she regarded Ionious with a soulful smile. "Thank you so much," she said.

Ionious shook his head. "Don't think me. Thank Scott. Without him it may have been weeks before we matched the DNA samples. By the way, he wanted us to give you this."

Bothios stepped up and handed Ionious a computer pad, who passed it to Sarah. The vixen had to reluctantly free one paw to take it.

"What is it?"

"I don't know. He said it's private. Just press your paw to the screen and it should open for you."

She nodded. Mother and child eventually released one another. Ionious and Bothios left the pair together after saying final goodbyes and wishing them both the best, but not before Bothios gave her a special flick of his ear.

"It looks like you'll be needing a family suit from now on, Sarah. I'm very happy for you. Please take care of yourself, okay?"

Without saying much to the other, mother and son walked unhurriedly to Sarah's apartment. She asked if he was hungry, to which the youth shook his head with a deep yawn. The vixen put him in her bed, watching quietly as he quickly fell asleep in the warm, soft blankets. She didn't want to leave something she'd lost once before, a part of her afraid that he'd disappear if she left him alone.

Taking the computer tablet into the living room she tapped the screen and the thing flashed to life. It was a letter, written by paw in Scott's unmistakable scrawl.

"My Dearest Sarah,

If you're reading this it means that Aaron is your son. I asked Ionious to confirm this for me, and I have every reason to believe he'll do everything he can. I sincerely hope that it's true. After fifteen years you deserve to know what's become of your son and daughter. Aaron seems like a nice young fox. Intelligent, too. Just like his mother. He needs your love and affection, even more than I do.

I'm afraid that your daughter was not so fortunate, Sarah. I was informed a few years ago that she had died of a childhood illness that was never truly identified. I wanted to tell you. I know now that it was wrong not to. I never wanted to hurt you, and I knew that you feared for them terribly. How could I have tortured you further? I hope you can forgive me.

I miss you terribly, Sarah. I'd love to promise you I'd see you soon, that I'd hold you close to me and tell you I'd be yours forever. But I can't. Our people come from very different places. I wish with every breath that our lives could be lived happily together, but I can't say that they will. I would abandon my home and command in a heartbeat if I though it could be different. If you came with me-if ever allowed-you'd never be respected as you deserve. I will not have you freed from slavery only to bring you right back into it. I love you too much to let that happen. Besides, Aaron needs you to protect him now.

I will try and come back to you, Sarah, if even for a brief while. Believe me when I tell you I'll do everything that I can, even if it takes ages. I love you, Sarah, with all my heart and soul.

_Your loving wolf,

Scott"_

With shaking paws, Sarah set the tablet aside and drew her knees to her chest, fighting the urge to whimper and moan. She knew that if she started she wouldn't be able to stop. She hugged herself tightly, the embrace proving to be a poor substitute for the soft warmth of the creature she desperately longed for. Her heart was torn between joy and sorrow, hope and despair, as she feared her love may never return. How did Jessica live with this sickening dread every time Scott left? The vixen remembered consoling her friend often, but never truly appreciated her sorrow until now. It was heart-wrenching.

Picking herself up, she padded softly into her bedroom, hugging herself tightly. By the time she was sitting beside her sleeping son, she was sobbing. She scratched Aaron's soft ears lightly with a caring paw and the youth sighed contentedly in his sleep. He was so peaceful, so beautiful in her eyes, and-for reasons that couldn't be explained-she felt connected to him, like she'd known him for years.

"I love you, Aaron," she whispered, planting a loving kiss to his little nose. "Thank you, Scott," she said softly to the wolf that had brought her son back to her.

Now all she wanted was for him to bring back himself.

***

Scott walked at the lead of an armed Marine escort, curving his way authoritatively through the bowels of the Mourning Son. The wolf knew he struck an imposing figure as he marched very purposefully, an arrogant and unyielding swagger to his stride. Ship's personnel would virtually trip over themselves to get out of his way. Maybe it was the armed patrol that followed close behind him rather than the rank he wore on his shoulder. Regardless of the reason, Scott couldn't help but feel a little hypocritical. When he was a junior officer years ago he both feared and loathed the influence and arrogance of admiral officers, taking every opportunity to stay as far away from them as possible. Now, years later, he wasn't just an admiral, but the First Fleet admiral, no less. There was one thing that he realized from this position, too: An admiral didn't have to try being intimidating. It just sort of happened that way, and Scott realized that he didn't like it.

Reginald Palsy trailed just behind him, his military uniform and rank striped from him. He was certain the only reason he wasn't in chains now was because of his earlier concession to surrender without bloodshed. Admiral Banks had spoken to him privately shortly after arriving, and Palsy had insisted on his honor that except for a few select leaders, the crew was not involved in any treasonous conspiracies. Against his better judgment, Admiral Banks had determined to trust his word, however conditional that trust would be. All command authority he had would be revoked, his freedoms limited to the crew decks if not under escort, for the duration of their voyage. Following its conclusion he would be turned over to imperial investigators for trial. Palsy had agreed quickly to the conditions, knowing he could never get a better arrangement.

Looking over his shoulder, Palsy was reminded of that. The former admiral Philips, paws bound, was roughly shoved forward by a Marine. For a moment the two disgraced wolves made eye contact, Philips' icy stare glaring with silent hatred before he looked away, defiant even in his captivity. Palsy couldn't say he felt any sympathy for him.

As Scott neared Samuel Royce's quarters, the two guards standing watch snapped to attention and saluted crisply.

Scott returned the salute, asking, "How long has it been since you've seen him, corporal?"

"Approximately forty minutes, sir," said Burns smartly, his eyes planted firmly forward and chin high.

"Go ahead and bring him out, Marines."

"Yes, sir!"

Lance Corporal Burns unlocked the door and Private Novak stepped quickly inside. A faint but peculiar scent poured into the hallway as they did so, one that Scott recognized instantly. A scent he'd hoped to forget. It took only a moment for the marine to return, his face shocked and tense.

"Sir, Admiral Royce is...um...he must have-"

Scott pushed his way into the room, his gaze instantly falling on a computer desk that faced him from the far corner. There was Royce, slumped limply over the top, his head and shoulders covered in blood that dripped dully onto the carpet. A crimson pattern dotted the wall behind in a grotesque display of a desperate fool's final act, a pistol clutched loosely in one lifeless paw. Scott growled angrily. Gods damn that bastard! Turning he leveled a dangerous glare at Private Novak, who dipped his nose submissively in shame. Scott shook his head and trudged into the hallway.

"Admiral Royce killed himself," he said bluntly. Palsy and Philips exchanged surprised glances. Stepping up to Philips, Scott scowled. "Your boss has blown his brains all over government property, Philips. Sergeant, kindly removed his cuffs and get him a mop."

Philips' eyes widened and he opened his muzzle to protest indignantly, but was silenced by a hard shove. Scott watched as he disappeared into the quarters, pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly.

"Royce probably just saved the imperial government a very costly court battle," he thought aloud. "Too bad so much information died with him. I'll call Imperial Command myself and tell them what happened. I'm sure the emperor will be very disappointed."

And he was. Emperor Charles spent several minutes snarling angrily as Scott listened, quietly nodding into the video feed.

"I wanted him alive, admiral. We still don't know exactly how far this conspiracy extended, and Royce (damn that dog to hell!) buried it so deeply that not even his closest accomplices knew exactly who was doing what. He was the key. And now his brains are splattered across a wall! How could this happen?"

"Royce apparently kept a pistol in his quarter's lockbox. The security detail that placed him under house arrest either failed to search it or didn't know it was there. I should have ordered him into the brig immediately. I take full responsibility for this, Your Highness."

The emperor sighed heavily, shaking his head. "Don't be ridiculous, admiral," he said after a second. "The bastard is dead. I suppose I should be grateful for that, at least. You recovered an entire fleet...in one piece, without firing a shot. That's far better than I ever could have asked. I owe you a great deal, Admiral Banks."

The praise filled the wolf with pride, but he bowed humbly.

Charles smiled. "You make a terrible admiral, my friend. You're far too modest."

Scott smirk was cynically. "I guess I'll have to work on that."

"Don't bother, Scott, because I'm firing you."

Scott rocked back like he'd been slapped in the face. "Fired, sir," he asked, a sudden sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Relax, Scott," he said warmly. "I have a different kind of job in mind for you. That is...if you want it."

Scott squinted hard, his ears perked up, intrigued. "What kind of job, sire?"

***

"I'm pretty sure this one is hers," said Bothios with a deep yawn that showed off rows of sharp little teeth. "I haven't been over for a visit since they moved her and her son to a larger apartment just the other day. If it's not theirs, it'll make for one terribly embarrassing mistake, I think."

There was a sly smile on his drooping face, and his companion felt guilty for bringing him out at this late hour.

"I really appreciate you doing this for me, Bothios," said Scott. "I know it's late..."

The fox waved a dismissive paw, only to bring it up to his nose to stifle another yawn. "It's nothing, really, Mr. Ambassador. I'm sure either Ionious or I will need to call in a favor in the future."

Scott nodded, grinning happily. "Consider it a big IOU then." He stuck out a big paw and Bothios took it, wincing sharply as Scott squeezed it just a little too tightly. "Sorry."

The fox gave his paw a functions check, finding everything okay. "Well, I won't keep you any longer. I know you're dying to see each other."

There was a knowing gleam in the fox's eye. Scott nodded, glancing to the apartment door, a look of agonizingly suppressed desire and enormous longing in his grey face. Bothios said his farewell as he turned to leave. The wolf didn't hear it, his attention focused elsewhere entirely. He pressed the call button with a shaking paw, a little white light on a small status panel flicking on. Scott stared nervously at it for an incalculable length of time that dragged painfully on, and his doubts started to quickly mount.

What if this wasn't her apartment? What if she wasn't home right now? What if-

The solid door melted away and disappeared suddenly, and as the wolf looked down into a pair of blurry amber eyes his weary mind was silenced. Her soft, black-tipped ears were canted back slightly, eyes only half-opened and heavy lidded. He had probably woken her. It was the middle of the night here.

"Sarah," he said softly, the name so light on his breath he was sure she didn't hear him.

But her ears perked up sharply, and the vixen looked up, a cutely confused expression on her soft features. He loved the way the velvety bridge of her nose creased as she squinted. But it smoothed out quickly as her brow rose in surprise, her lips parting as she gasped.

"Scott?"

He grinned like a fool, his arms opening wide as Sarah jumped into him, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding on tightly. She whimpered and whined softly into his ear, lovingly rubbing the soft fur along his neck and under his chin with her muzzle as his paws traced slow circles on her back and shoulders. Scott breathed in her sweet, earthy scent; the welcoming sensation of smell, the press of her warm fur against his, intoxicating to his mind.

"I missed you so much," he whispered into her long ear, easily picking the small creature up in his arms and carrying her into the living room. The door closed behind them, protecting them from prying eyes. This was their time together...only for them.

"Oh gods, Scott," she said softly. "I don't think I can let you go ever again."

He licked the top of her head tenderly, her ears falling back as he did so, her breath becoming short and raspy

"You won't have to...for a little while, at least." She looked up at him, searching his clear blue eyes. "I've been appointed the Lupine ambassador to Vulpa, so I'll be living on your home world for a few years, I hope."

Sarah smiled, her face so calm and at peace. "That's not long enough...anything short of forever would end too soon."

Scott caressed her cheek with a paw and she closed her eyes, nuzzling its soft leathery pads. "Is Aaron here," he asked, his eyes scanning the room as if expecting to see him there.

She nodded, her lips starting to tremble as a tear formed at the corner of her eye. "He's asleep right now," she said, voice cracking with emotion. "He's so beautiful, Scott. I just...wish I knew what to do for him..."

"Don't worry about it, Sarah. I know you'll be a great mother. Besides, he seems like a good kit to me."

"He is, Scott. He is. But he's had a really hard life. I can tell he has...so shy and quiet." Then her chin fell a little. "I don't think he should see us like this. Not yet, at least. I don't think he'd understand."

The wolf frowned. "No, I suppose not."

He lifted her chin to his and brushed her cheek with the back of a paw. She sighed and purred contentedly at his touch, rubbing his broad nose with hers. A sly grin forming on her lips when she pulled back.

"We'll just be sure not to wake him then," she said seductively. Her sidelong smirk widened and her full, bushy tail swishing alluringly behind her. Reaching up she took his paw in hers, dropping it from her face and insistently pulling him deeper into the warm confines of the apartment. "Tonight will be only for us."

Scott stared at her in shock as he followed her without resistance, the vixen's lustful display catching him off guard. He'd never seen Sarah behave like this before; so forward and domineering. It was...exciting. His tail wagged uncontrollably under its own mind as logic and reason quickly gave way to urges more primal. He stopped abruptly in his tracks, and the vixen was jerked to a halt, her paws still firmly clasped around his.

"What's wrong," she asked, suddenly worried.

The wolf sneered down at her, a shallow growl escaping his throat as he grabbed her around the waist, hoisting the vixen into his arms like a cub again. Sarah yipped in surprise, then clasped a paw to her muzzle, her eyes straying to a near door. Scott smirked like an unruly child caught in the act of a mischievous caper. Sarah giggled playfully, wrapping a paw around his shoulder for stability and curled up to plant a long, wet lick under his chin and nipped the soft flesh with her teeth before leaning back, a single ear canted coyly to the side. In a long, solitary silence their eyes saw only the other's. In that long moment they shared a mutual connection, the wolf and the fox knowing without any doubt in their souls what the other wanted. And each were fully willing to give it freely.

Scott took a gliding step forward, his attention never wavering from the beautiful creature cradled in his arms. "I'm ready to love again," he whispered, his breath tickling the sensitive hairs in her ear. "I love you so much, Sarah."

Her small button nose touched his, the coolness contrasting wonderfully with the warm of their bodies.

"I love you too, wolfy. Tonight, I'm all yours."

The wolf smirked at hearing the cute pet name. Jessica used to call him that. Somewhere in his mind's eye he thought he could see his late wife smiling happily, content in knowing her love was ready to live again, even if for someone else. Scott knew he could never forget her, his mate, the mother of his child, even if unborn. He could accept that. Life was about having something, someone, to live for. This was what he had forgotten years ago. And now, as he prepared to give himself to the vixen he loved so dearly, he was whole again.

"No, Sarah," he spoke softly, shaking his head. "I'm yours, just as you're mine. Every night. Every day. No matter what happens."

Nuzzling and rubbing, their passions mounting, the fox and the wolf found the low bed, seemingly without sight.