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The Mirror Universe reveals a few of its secrets. TJ makes First Contact.

I guess it's time for something like plot development! And also time for TJ to be a good otter, because TJ is always useful at being a good otter. We learn a bit more about the mirror universe, and some hints of things to come! Patreon subscribers, this should also be live for you with notes and maps and stuff.

Released under the Creative Commons BY-NC-SA license. Share, modify, and redistribute--as long as it's attributed and noncommercial, anything goes.

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Tales of the Dark Horse, by Rob Baird

S6E2 "...And Curiouser"

Stardate 67436.7

Theresa Hatfield pointed with a very sharp knife at the plate in front of her guest. "Eat. You can eat. I'm not going to poison you."

It looked like an ordinary salad, topped with slivered almonds and lightly fried pieces of halloumi cheese. Whatever was on Theresa's own plate had clearly, at one point, been alive; warily, May took a vegetarian option. "Not that I don't appreciate your hospitality..."

"It's a salad," the doe said, her face hardening. "Tomatoes. Lettuce. Almonds."

And hunger had begun to gnaw at the Akita. She took a bite, chewing carefully. The food was delicious--far better than the Dark Horse could manage, and a decided improvement over typical Star Patrol rations. It tasted freshly grown, even.

"The cheese is artificial," Hatfield continued. "Made from the frontal cortices of juvenile Yara. Did you know they had such large litters? It's an evolutionary adaptation, apparently."

May held her fork in place, buried in the salad, fixing the other captain in a stare.

The doe smiled, showing teeth. "Kidding, of course. We also have a sense of humor in this universe, Captain May. Does that surprise you?"

"I haven't had much chance to appreciate it." The Akita raised her paw into view, so that the compliance band about her wrist caught the light. "You seem to have other methods of persuasion."

"And they didn't work, did they? So I'd like to try something different. I'm sure you learned at the War College the same thing I did: we are all animals. At the end of the day, animal instinct is the only shared language. Fear and pain shout the loudest, I've always found. Haven't you?"

"I was not taught that, no." She did, at least, think Hatfield had been telling the truth about the halloumi, and returned to eating it--eagerly; there wasn't much point in disguising her hunger. She thought a day and a half, possibly two, had elapsed between reporting aboard the Agamemnon and Hatfield's request for a private dinner.

"Bizarre. Well, you're still an animal... but we're thinking ones, aren't we? Civilized ones. You want to return to your ship, and you want your ship to return to your own reality. Correct?"

The Akita entertained thoughts of exacting revenge on Hatfield, too--perhaps on confronting the entire Federal Planetary Union, which seemed far less kind than her own government. But Dr. Beltran would caution against interference, she figured. "Yes," she answered; it was simple and accurate.

"Do you know what I want?"

"Power?" she guessed.

The thin, sardonic smile that curled the dog's lip had apparently been hidden slightly too well by a bit of romaine. "Exactly! You do understand us. And now, I will share a secret with you. There have been, we think, perhaps a half-dozen intersections between your universe and the real one in the last few decades. We've detected them as artifacts in novas. If you haven't, I can only assume it confirms our theory: it's easier to cross into our world than to go the other way."

"I've never heard of anything like that. Perhaps you're right."

"And before you, there was only one instance of artificial technology crossing over. Twenty years ago. It was a single ship, and it exploded before we could collect any information beyond the phrase: 'Star Patrol.'"

"You knew about us. Did you know that when you found the Dark Horse?"

"No. Clearly," Hatfield scoffed. "I would've had your ship impounded before you could run away, if I'd known. You see, the details are highly classified. I had to barter some extremely valuable cargo to get access to the sealed records. The Guard considers information about your parallel reality priceless. Technology, even more so."

"You must know yourself that war breeds a certain kind of innovation, captain. I'm not sure our weapons would impress you."

"Your weapons? No. But according to our readings, your hyperdrive is at least four or five times faster than ours. Irene reported to me that your Ulver is as advanced as our models, despite being two centuries old. What's aboard the Dark Horse would be..." she couldn't even think of a word for it, apparently--simply grinned, and licked her muzzle.

"It's not yours to have."

The grin dropped. "I thought you might say that. Either way, you can see how we are... opposed, can you not? That much seems obvious. You want your ship. I want your ship. We can't both have it. No?"

"No."

"Don't be an idiot. See, this is where you don't actually understand us. Your ship itself is just so much metal. And some slaves who are likely to be quite obstinate, and systems incompatible with my own. I need the schematics--the science behind those systems. Nothing more. There's an outpost above Ankiyana V, conducting research into these multiple worlds and trying to prove they exist. I can't promise you that they'll have what you might need to return--but they're your best option. Help me find your ship, and I'll make sure you have complete access. They'll send over whatever data you need."

Without even noticing it, she'd polished off the salad. May let her fork clink against the plate. "Why would I give it to you? What would you do with it?"

"Think of the hyperdrive alone. The Union is sprawling. It takes too long for ships and information to travel from one sector to the next. That's why administration is so decentralized. The regional governors have direct control of their territories. Fear is what keeps those systems in line. With effective FTL travel, we could establish the kind of simple bureaucracy that would allow the emperor to maintain control. No more bloodshed."

"You seem rather dedicated to pain, though." She raised her paw, gesturing to her wrist. "Again, I can't help but notice..."

"But we could be better. We could be enlightened." As if to demonstrate, Hatfield meticulously sectioned off a slice of steak, and gracefully slid it onto her fork. "That's what you could teach us, Captain May. That could be your legacy. You could help bring us into a new era."

"With you at the helm of it. You'd be the most powerful person in the Guard, at least."

Another careful, dainty bite accompanied her reflective pause. She swallowed. "It would, indeed, require a certain steady hand. But such is the nature of progress, don't you suppose? I can't think of anyone better."

***

Dave Bradley was the first off the shuttle; he found Captain Ford waiting for him expectantly at the bottom of the ramp. "Welcome. I hope the turbulence wasn't too bad making your way over here. They warned me it would be rough."

"Not too bad. Parnell said she didn't know what the fuss was. She told us that any halfway competent pilot with a reasonably maneuverable ship could manage. She's not the bragging type."

Jack nodded. "I'm beginning to appreciate that things are not quite--ah. Dr. Beltran, welcome to you, too."

The leopardess glanced around at the desolate landscape, broken only by the outlines of the compound they'd landed in front of. "I suppose I am thankful. Commander, Sabel says the shuttle will be kept in standby. He intends to remain here, in the event we need to depart quickly."

"Right. Let's be off, then." Jack pointed towards the gate, and led them towards it; he was still trying to decide how best to explain the situation he and Ciara had found themselves in. "As I was saying, things aren't quite what I'm used to. Their ships are slow--five or six megajärvi at most, and even less on larger vessels. Speaking of which, is there any news about the captain, Dave?"

"No. And I should warn you, sir, that the executive officer of the Agamemnon appears to be, ah..." Dave decided it was best to get the pain over with; the pilot would be adaptable. "It appears to be you. I don't know how to explain the coincidence, but it was definitely a dark-furred coyote named Ford. Your build, your height..."

"Jonathan," the dark-furred coyote named Ford confirmed. "I was asked about that. We definitely have found our share of coincidences, too. Dr. Beltran, I don't know what means for diplomacy, or non-intervention, or... whatever..."

The guards had cleared them through the gate with singular haste. Felicia focused on taking in as many details as made themselves apparent: the rank insignia, the language; what the compound's organization might have suggested about the society's hierarchy. "Coincidences are not especially surprising, Captain Ford. I believe we should expect more of them, as I explained to Commander Bradley. We must simply evaluate each new encounter uniquely."

"Yeah." The coyote figured she'd be learning on her feet shortly--as they all had been doing for the past few days. "Anyway..."

They were outside the briefing room where Ciara and Jack had been working with the Resistance's commanders, trying to learn as much as they could about their new environs. The door slid open. Ciara was waiting inside. So was General Beltran, whom Felicia regarded with dawning awareness. "I see."

For her part, General Beltran--the Scimitar of Radavah II--eyed the other leopardess skeptically, paying particular attention to the woman's dress. "Please at least spare me the indignity of learning you're a courtesan in your reality."

She was speaking a standard Terran dialect, not Felicia's native Mughtela. The leopardess filed that away for reflection--later. Now, she had a job to do, and she tried to recover quickly. "Diplomatic officer. I represent the Terran Confederation in the Rewa-Tahi sector."

The general didn't seem impressed. "The 'Terran Confederation in the Rewa-Tahi sector' is exactly one warship, and a single person held captive on another, hostile vessel. Ciara tells me you want our help to get that one back. What do you offer in return?"

"In return?" Dave asked.

General Beltran ignored him, continuing to stare at her counterpart. "Didn't you say you're a diplomat? Are you prepared to negotiate, or not?"

"General Beltran believes--"

She silenced Jack's attempts at clarification with a glare. "I can speak for myself. Your ship would be the most powerful in our fleet. You offer me the opportunity to go on the offensive against the Union. We'll finally be able to strike back."

"Based on a preliminary explanation of the Dark Horse and its armament," Jack was finally permitted to explain. He and Ciara had, under mounting pressure from the general, kept their descriptions of the ship's weaponry as vague as possible until they could receive guidance from their own--somewhat less fanged--Felicia Beltran.

That one held her ground against the general's narrowed eyes. "You propose to involve us in a trans-universal conflict. We will need more information than your desire for an 'opportunity,' general. That, too, is part of negotiation."

"The stakes," Jack said quietly.

In the centuries since achieving FTL flight, the Union had expanded rapidly. In the beginning, it had been a federal system, with Earth its homeworld and the constituent planets preserving some sense of autonomy. Then they had encountered the Pictor, and decided the alien threat was simply too great to be countenanced.

Military conquest brought the Pictor to heel, and the Nekal--and the Nizari, the Dereans, and a hundred other species that the Terrans recognized as members in more or less good standing of their own Confederation. The Planetary Union ruled with an iron fist. Efforts at secession or revolution met with brutal reprisals.

The Reforged Link operated along the Union's frontier. "I, also, was a diplomat," General Beltran said. "Before I realized the Federal Planetary Union could not be saved through diplomacy. We'll be stronger together--taking the chains they used to control us from Earth and instead bringing our worlds together cooperatively."

They'd won a few military victories, including one in the Radavah system that cost the Earth Guard a number of capital ships and convinced several Uxzu prides to commit their resources to resisting the Union before it could fully expand into Uxzu space. There was no Dominion to speak of, only scattered clans.

"We could bring them together, too. They're a martial people--they'll rally to a show of strength. You're going to help us be that show of strength. Your ship is an unknown quantity for their strategic planners. It gives us the initiative. It's only logical that we strike when we have the chance."

It wasn't the kind of appeal Dave expected from Felicia Beltran--indeed it was not the kind of appeal Dr. Beltran enjoyed hearing in her own voice. Both of them could appreciate, at least, that it was something Maddy might have listened to. "Where would you strike?" Commander Bradley asked.

The general rested her paws on the conference table, which crumbled into sand that promptly reformed itself into a glass-walled cube, with a map of the galaxy suspended inside. Glowing markers appeared as she talked: "Communication relays. Depots. Shipyards. Barracks, so deep in Union space they think they're invulnerable. Destroying them illustrates their weakness. I'm partial to this perunite refinery, personally. Crippling their military production buys us time, and it's undefended."

"A civilian installation?" Felicia asked.

"Some 'civilians,'" the other leopardess hissed, "are simply military assets without the decency to wear a uniform. These are among them: cronies, businesses loyal to the Union and profiting from the oppression they enable. They're collaborators."

All four Star Patrol officers listened uncomfortably to that. Beltran took it upon herself to respond first. "Be that as it may, General Order 12.7 outlines the definitions for a 'civilian,' and those would still qualify."

"Are you really that obsessed with regulations? The future's at stake." The resistance leader rolled her eyes. "Fine. The communications hub at Nara is well-protected, but we should be able to infiltrate it, with sufficient adaptations to your ship's systems. Does that allay your concerns?"

They needed one another's help, so despite his misgivings Bradley stepped in. "How much 'adapting' are we talking about?"

***

Mitch looked at the work order she'd been given, torn between curiosity and dismay. The engineering department proposed adding new control units to nearly every system on the ship--readying it for life in its new environment--and her background in old electronics made her an obvious choice to help.

Petty Officer Mike Cooper was a bit lost, too: he understood the Abyssinian's expression. "You want me to tell the LT it can't be done?"

"It can be done. I'm just trying to imagine doing it without spec sheets for the modules we're trying to emulate. It's going to be a lot of manual testing."

"They want it done in 48 hours," Cooper reminded her. The panther was no more enthusiastic about the deadline. He was supposed to be the Dark Horse's computer technician, and it seemed like every new challenge made him less and less certain he even knew what a computer was. "The LT says they're sending somebody to help."

"They better know their stuff. Why are we hardening the deflectors against subspace radiation?"

Captain Ford, who'd been listening quietly, cleared his throat. "You won't like the answer, but it's--"

Cooper and Mitch Alexander were both staring at the Abyssinian standing next to Jack, her tail lashing slowly. "What." Cooper's voice was flat; it did not rise to being the question it so clearly needed to be. He tried again. "What?"

"Corporal Mitchell Torres is apparently something of an antique hardware specialist," Jack introduced her in as clear a fashion as he could, and indicated the Dark Horse crew. "Petty Officer Cooper is responsible for our computers; Spaceman Alexander is our sensor operator, but, also... uh, something of an antique hardware specialist."

Torres arched her brow. "You don't have a last name?"

Mitch failed to suppress the twitching of her own tail. "You do?"

Jack cleared his throat again. "Mr. Cooper. Lieutenant Hazelton asked for an assessment. Is this doable, or not?"

The panther took the computer with their work order on it back, scrolling quickly with his thumb. "Yes. Probably. Mitch, uh--Spaceman Alexander? Uh--this one--says it's doable. Just difficult."

"Get to work, then." The coyote, who would not have minded staying to watch the three felines, could not afford to spare the time: similar proposals needed to be prepared for every one of the smaller ships embarked on the Dark Horse.

Mitch shook her counterpart's paw hesitantly. "So you do electronics?"

"Nah, I'm a salvager. Pretty okay, though. I made this." She pointed to her eye, which seemed to be at least partly cybernetic--although the robotics were so subtle it required effort to notice. "It can resolve microscopic detail at about twenty centimeters. Better than my old eye."

"What happened to that?"

She grinned at Mike Cooper's question. "Long story. I lost it in... battle. Sort of."

"Between yourself and a bad idea?" Mitch guessed. The other Abyssinian winked her artificial eye. "What was the idea?"

"Disabling a security system by shorting it with a heliolytic capacitor. Turns out those laser drivers were definitely not just meant to detect an intruder. We got in, though! And it was my first time with that kinda circuit. Eager to take a look at what you've got for me..."

"We'll tell you if it's going to blow up," Mike promised.

He was more wary of Torres than Spaceman Alexander, who was beginning to see unsurprising echoes of herself. As they made their way towards main engineering, she gave in to her curiosity. "Why do you have a last name, anyway?"

"My parents gave it to me. I didn't ask. Convenient now, though, right? You have to have at least one person here who'd want to talk about 'the two Mitchells Alexander.'" She stuck her tongue out.

And Mitch found that, now that the shock had worn off, she did not mind the stranger's attitude. "We have several. Do you go by 'Torres'?"

"Not to my friends. I go by 'Mitchell.' Or 'Mitch.' You're gonna tell me that's too confusing and I've got to pick a new one?"

Mitch snickered. "Wouldn't hurt. 'Michelle' is too close. 'Mitsy'?"

That got her a disapproving scowl. "I don't think so."

"'Michael'?"

Petty Officer Cooper coughed. "Not traditionally a woman's name, that one."

"Fuck tradition," Mitch teased. "Mike is sensitive to that for other reasons. But it would trade one confusion for another. Just think on it, okay?"

***

Tactical officer's log, stardate 67437.2

Commander Bradley has ordered the Dark Horse ready for battle at the earliest opportunity. That means facing off against the Agamemnon again--or, maybe, for the first time. I doubt we've seen anything close to her full destructive potential. This is an... intriguing challenge.

Staring at the specifications of the Agamemnon, Leon Bader felt that he might be coming close to an epiphany. Of necessity, the warship had some tradeoffs. The additional armor meant she carried significantly more mass, and her engines weren't powerful enough to make up for that.

Where the Dark Horse was overpowered for her size, and comparatively weakly shielded, the enemy battleship had staying power but limited maneuverability. It explained, as far as the shepherd was concerned, why her particle weapons were mounted in turrets, and why she had so many missile batteries.

On the quiet bridge--it was only Bader and Siraj Ahmed, manning the CCI station--Leon worked through a few different scenarios. He lost himself in them, thoroughly that the sound of Ahmed calling 'captain on deck!' was the first time he noticed that the door to the bridge had cycled.

One of the three visitors was definitely David Bradley. "Commander. Dr. Bel--you're not Dr. Beltran," he realized, with a start. Beltran had never given him quite that fierce of a glare--and she never wore a uniform, let alone one with obvious light-armor plating.

"At ease," Bradley said. "General Beltran is the leader of a resistance group that's fought with the Earth Guard before. She knows the details of the Agamemnon. I thought perhaps you could tell her where your thinking is at. Sergeant-Major Carvajal is one of her tacticians."

He didn't recognize Carvajal, a white-muzzled vixen. The other, of course, he knew. General Beltran? Well, Leon decided, if the first officer accepts this, I can't look too surprised. Deference to authority kept the shepherd from understanding the significant degree to which Bradley still did not, in fact, accept the general's appearance. "Yes, sir. Where shall we begin, ma'am?"

"Do you think you can destroy that ship?"

"We can certainly disable her. Destroy... that's tougher."

"'Certainly,' you say?" The glint in her eyes was telling. "Commander Bradley, your crew continues to deliver. Explain, ensign."

"The shield design relies on multiple emitters--presumably so that they can be adjusted when the turrets are firing through the deflectors. I've identified a location where a well-placed barrage would be able to collapse them long enough to knock the targeting array offline by targeting the auxiliary power node just forward of the array."

He magnified that part of the ship--data interpolated from the records of their own Agamemnon--for Beltran to examine. "Why not target the thrusters?"

"I considered that. But there seems to be a flaw in the power distribution network--"

"Exactly!"

"--And if we damage the engines at the wrong moment, it could cause a cascade failure that might discharge the phase cannon banks into the ship. Velion contamination would be... extreme, to say the least."

"Exactly," the leopardess repeated, words glittering with the danger of unsheathed claws. "Eliminate the crew, and you don't have to worry about the ship."

"As I explained to you," Dave said--entirely for Leon's benefit--"those weapons are prohibited under intergalactic law. I'd like to avoid committing war crimes while we're here."

General Beltran scowled. "Wars are terrible, Commander Bradley. Ending them quickly saves more lives in the long run--and I doubt the crew of the Agamemnon would be happier to be obliterated by a simple reactor explosion. They're dead either way, aren't they?"

"Laws are--"

"Empty pacts if we're not alive to appreciate their majesty," Beltran cut him off. "We make our own law. Defeating the Union takes priority. You can't neglect the opportunities you have to do that."

"Even still, ma'am, the subspace damage could be tactically complicating. We don't know how it would interfere with our systems--particularly our hyperdrive. We shouldn't find out in the heat of battle. In my opinion, ma'am."

She leaned forward, almost imperceptibly, as if investigating Leon further. "At least that's a sensible objection. If you come up with an alternative, I might even be impressed."

"I'm still working on these simulations. It all depends on the information we have, ma'am. If I had more detail on the shield generators, we could adapt our particle weapons. I understand from the last staff meeting that we're already doing the inverse of that. Right, sir?"

"That's correct. Do you have any more details that might help, general?"

"I didn't bother stealing that information when I defected. We never expected to have a warship like this, commander. Before now, the appearance of a battleship like that, and her attendant squadron, would've met immediate defeat. You're going to help us turn the tide."

Bradley scrupulously, carefully ignored most of what she said. "Who would have that data? Where could we get what we need?"

The leopardess thought about it. "Nara, the communications hub. You could get aboard with a small team--it's fairly unguarded. In the disruption of the attack to follow, nobody would notice your infiltration. You are capable of performing commando raids, aren't you?" She looked straight at Leon. "You seem like a good soldier."

"With blueprints, I could put a plan together. Sabel, myself, Smith, Commander Kamyshev... a guide might be helpful, too, ma'am. But we could do it--if you'd like the option, sir."

Dave and Leon were rapidly coming to opposite conclusions about the general, and both were aware of it. "The option, yes. Give me what you can on the Agamemnon first. Walk Sergeant-Major Carvajal through your assumptions and try to clean them up a bit."

"And let her know how we can help you, ensign." She turned to follow Dave off the bridge. "How is your tactical officer still an ensign, anyway? What kind of ship are you running?"

"A powerfully armed one," Carvajal concluded, when the two had left. "For its size, your reactor output is impressive. What's the maximum coherence of the beam generators?"

"Our dispersion is under 2% at effective range. It goes to 23% if the confinement is set to its narrowest aperture, but that's still a 1.5 centimeter beam at 500 kilometers."

"You have a scalpel. My God, that's incredible." The vixen canted her head, comparing the details Bader showed her of the Dark Horse and the mirror Agamemnon. "You need to incorporate the ablative sublayers when you're modeling penetration, though, sir."

"That's actually a question we've had. I got a look at the battleship's exposed hull, and we used that to estimate the composition, but..." He magnified the view for her inspection. "You're saying we weren't conservative enough?"

"I was, sir. Now I'm saying your work is inspiringly thorough... let's see the Agamemnon again?"

***

"So what do you, like... do, exactly? Sensor operator, right?"

"That, and a bit more." The two Abyssinians were sharing a workbench, and the occasional glimpses Mitch saw of their reflection now more amused than perplexed her. "It's called CCI: computers, communications, and intelligence. I run the radios, coordinate the ship's systems, and help process sensor data for the weapons officer or the helmsman if they need it."

"You're commissioned?"

Mitch snorted, and tapped her rank insignia. "Spaceman. I don't think they'll ever even keep me as a petty officer, let alone anyone you gotta salute. I wouldn't salute me. Would you salute you?"

The other feline's laugh was very telling indeed. "No. Right, let's try booting the module now. I think I have it reconfigured for your power system."

A promising light began to flash on the device's face. "Seems so. The diagnostic will take a minute or two." She started it, and watched to make sure the subroutine didn't immediately crash. "We'll see. What about you? Is this your job?"

"I have a knack for getting mixed hardware workin' together. The general thought I had promise as a scavenger when they captured the freighter I was on. It's almost like being back on Clearwater, just without the guards."

Mitch tilted her head, feeling her tail curl with the matter-of-fact tone in the statement, and her counterpart's briefly darker expression. "Guards?"

"Right... I keep forgetting you're not from around here. Clearwater is a prison planet in the Nekal sector. It's home to a lot of political exiles, like my family."

"I know where it is. I grew up there. My family runs some of the tourist traps--a prison world, really? With all those beaches?"

"Easier conditions to run the work camps, I guess, you know? And with all the water, you can't run very far. You're saying it's different for you?"

"It's very, very different." The door to the lab hissed open, revealing her friend, Travis Wallace. "Teej. What's Clearwater like?"

The otter--ordered to help harden their systems against extremely banned subspace weaponry and having opened the door to find Mitch joined by her identical twin and supervising a tray of disassembled, flashing electronics--had expected nearly any question but that. "Uh. I dunno. Pretty? Warm? Boring as hell."

"Any prisons?"

Without the benefit of context, he was utterly lost as to why any of it even mattered. "No. You know that. You know I got sent off-world, didn't I? I was on Raven Island for two years."

He'd been sentenced to stay there even longer before taking the option to enlist in the Star Patrol. Mitch grinned, and waved him further inside. "I know, sweetie. C'mon in. This is Mitsy."

"The fuck I am!" The other Abyssinian had already become familiar enough to give her a shove. "Mitchell Alexander Torres, salvager extraordinaire--at your service."

"Michael," Mitch suggested. "Mitt. McKenzie."

"You call this one 'Mitch,' huh?" she asked TJ, who was not entirely certain what to make of having two of the cats to deal with.

"He calls me plenty. All depends on the circumstance. What's up, Teej?"

"Yeah. Uh." He handed the Abyssinian he knew a data crystal. "Specs from the LT. So you can program the... whatever this is. Is this some kind of... subspace detector?"

"A chronodynamic resonator," Torres said. "We generally use them to detect cloaking devices. It's a Nerithian design, with some of my own modifications."

Neither he nor Mitch had ever heard of 'Nerithians' or what such a design might have implied. The otter wondered what that meant for the Tempest, although he supposed Mitch was already considering how to mitigate the risk. It wasn't what he'd been sent to deliver, either. "With the shield generator specifications, you think you can adapt our deflectors to the phase cannons, though, huh?"

"Nice guess!" She sounded genuinely appreciative. "You guys are all so clever."

"Shot in the dark. Mitch is the smart one. I'm just, like, a cute face."

"Liar," his friend muttered.

Torres prodded her. "Naw. He is cute. Don't let her insult you," she added, for TJ's benefit. "You are cute."

"He's the assistant engineer. He knows our systems better than... probably Lieutenant Hazelton, even. Definitely me; I just know more old stuff. As a hobby."

The Abyssinian nodded. "Well, then it wasn't a nice guess. It was a smart deduction. Yeah, I think we can modify your shields. It won't be completely effective, unfortunately, but we can get 'em to take maybe ninety percent of the impact. It's a start."

"And I think our hull will keep out the hard stuff," Wallace mused aloud. "Sensitive electronics, though... I'd better get to work with the LT on that. Neat idea, dude. You said it's your own modifications?"

"Yeah. Getting to run off Union power specs. Patching it up from spare parts after firefights. We have to do a lot of that, where I'm from."

He'd spent the first part of his shift listening to Shannon Hazelton, the chief engineer, explain what they knew about the Federal Planetary Union's technology. Most of it was destructive, and highly advanced. "Yeah. No offense, but like... you guys seem pretty vicious."

"Something about survival of the fittest," she answered, patently unconvinced by the rationalization. "To me, you all seem too laid-back. I'm just trying to imagine Clearwater without shock collars."

TJ and Mitch, of course, were just as bewildered by the alternative Torres presented. "This is why we gotta get out of here, Teej." Even without doppelgängers, Spaceman Alexander found the universe unsettling. "Can't believe I'm saying I look forward to tangling with the Pictor..."

"Fuckin' A, dude, same." The otter shook his head. "You two gonna be here a while? Want me to cancel our dinner date, Mitch?"

"Maybe. Or bring it here, I guess."

He didn't mean 'date' literally; the otter was just playing up swapping stories after their shift over the ship's dubiously edible rations. Torres, missing that, looked between them. "Wait. Are you, like... a thing? You two?"

"Not really. Sort of. We're old friends," Mitch explained.

Neither her nor the otter were the type to settle down, really; TJ was just fine with that summary. "Plus, like, partners in crime. We've known each other for years--delivered in the same hospital, even, I think, back on Clearwater."

"You were actually born there? Huh."

Mitch, seeing the opportunity for a bonding experience, grinned. "Yep. He's one of us, too. So you can borrow him if you want. Right, Teej?"

Travis understood from this, at least, that Mitch was getting along well with her alternate self. And that this, probably, was a good sign. "You think I think you're interchangeable?"

She stuck out her tongue, teasing him. "No, I just think you wouldn't turn it down. If you were smart," she added, sotto voce. "I guess page me after your shift. See if we're still working, yeah?"

After he left, Torres gave her a sideways look. "Sorry if I stepped on any toes."

"Nah. Teej is cool. You'd like Teej. Should get to know him."

"I wouldn't mind that," the cat admitted.

Mitch had the impression her mind was elsewhere. "Is there, like... a 'but' or something?"

"No. Just... this ship. Everything I see about you guys, it's... it's wild, man. Not like I'm saying I hope you get stuck here, but..."

"Please don't sabotage the resonator."

Torres snickered, her mood abruptly lifting. "Don't worry. They've never let me work on a cruiser before. I want to see how well it performs, at least. Then I can sabotage you."

***

"It's been four days, with no sign of your ship. I wonder where they might've gone," Hatfield drawled. "What do you think, Commander Ford?"

The coyote considered his words carefully. "They're probably hiding, and trying to gather information on us."

His captain smiled. May had seen her share of threatening smiles, but none were as superior--nor as predatory--as Hatfield's. "That would explain the intelligence report. Yes, Jonathan, I know it's 'classified.' Who do you think Madison May is going to tell? Hm?"

"Nobody. Unless we want her to," Ford added; Maddy had the impression he might've been doing so for the doe's benefit.

"Exactly. You see, Madison, our operatives detected some sort of intrusion into our data grid. Some unknown user is reading the Union-wide news. That's not illegal, of course. The Grid is public. But it is strange how the signal came from a few parsecs away... and then they disappeared for a while. They're back now, and they seem very interested in learning all kinds of fundamental details about the Union. Where its borders are... how many ships there are in the Guard..."

May saw a faint, nearly hidden twitch of Jack Ford's ear. He was watching Hatfield carefully--he wants to know how much she's going to let on, the Akita felt. Hatfield was holding something back. "You must be certain it's the Dark Horse. Why can't you just use that to trace their location?"

"We did. It's being proxied across a different node each time, now. Your crew is smart. I admire them, Madison. I'm not your enemy, remember? But I also know that you won't cooperate. And they won't cooperate. So where does that leave us?"

Maddy, who tended to think on her feet, did her best to approximate the logical mind of someone like Dave Bradley or Dr. Beltran. Obscuring their connection to 'the Grid'--which must've been something like the Terran Confederation's own META network--was smart. Who would've figured that out? Mitch, probably.

But she's only been in this universe three days. Is she good enough to have figured that out so quickly? How long would it have taken her and Dr. Schatz to figure out a way to hack in and cover their tracks if I asked them to do it? Hours, probably. And, brilliant as the two were (as they all are, May thought; Hatfield got that one right), they were presumably up against the whole of the Guard trying to track them down.

And failing. That made them very lucky, indeed. Or they had help. "Why do you think they won't cooperate? Just because they've made contact with the Resistance? Because they're learning about who you really are? Because--"

Hatfield scowled and tapped her arm. As May gritted her teeth against white-hot pain suddenly searing her nerves, the doe leaned across the table. "Because I think they're stubborn," she hissed. The pain faded, finally. "Like you. I know you wouldn't send them a message if I asked. Would you?"

"I might. Just not the one you wanted."

Before she could manage even a tortured smile, Captain Hatfield switched the compliance device back on, turning up the intensity until May found it difficult to see straight--let alone talk. "Maybe a recording of you screaming--how does that sound?"

"Captain, I thought we'd agreed that we'd take a gentler--"

Ford yelped, and she heard the coyote make a little choking noise and go sprawling. "Are you going to argue with me, too? Obviously 'gentle' didn't work, did it? And you... you, May--you're no smarter than that black-furred idiot. I don't need you to send a message. All I need is for a message to be sent."

Something about the pain generator they'd fixed to her changed the way she perceived its absence: May didn't even enjoy a sense of relief when the doe switched it off, only a dull awareness that she no longer felt as if she'd been set on fire, and that she was panting. "What... what do you expect me to do, then?"

"Nothing. Bridge, this is the captain," her voice changed tone abruptly, from sneering to cold and imperious. "Set a course for the Zereyev system at maximum speed. I'll be there in ten minutes. I expect a full tactical report."

"What's in the Zereyev system? Reinforcements?"

"Oh, God, no. Don't be foolish." She tapped the control on her arm and Maddy heard a groan from the coyote on the floor. "There's a mining colony on the second planet--fifty million people or so. They're not particularly loyal. Do you know... I actually think they probably ship perunite ore to the Resistance? I'm not sure where the depots are. What about you, commander? Grace us with your tactical acumen."

Ford sat up slowly, dragging himself into his chair. "I'm... ah, I'm afraid I don't know either, ma'am."

"Well, then. I guess we'll have to destroy the planet. That seems like the easiest way. Obviously, we'll put out a Grid warning--give them 48 hours to either turn over the new ally I'll accuse them of sheltering or to evacuate before we glass the surface. How many anti-ship missiles do we have left, John?"

"Nearly a full complement." He noticed her glare, and flattened her ears, adding quickly: "about four hundred, I think."

"Plenty, then. They'll probably stop trying after the first dozen, anyway."

Maddy found the captain had turned that focused expression back on her. "You're expecting the Dark Horse to intervene."

"If they're less than 48 hours away, yes, that's exactly what I'm expecting. Your little team of do-gooders could never stand to be responsible for fifty million dead civilians. Could they? And then you'll explain our deal to them, and everyone can go home happy."

"They won't. A threat like that will only harden their resolve to take you down."

Theresa feigned a disappointed frown. "You mean the only thing I'd get out of this is destroying a treasonous colony and reminding the Rewa-Tahi sector that they're not allowed to step out of line? How terribly unfortunate."

"It won't get any closer to what you want."

"Of course it will." Hatfield laughed dismissively. "I promised I'd be on the bridge, didn't I? Take this one back to her quarters, Jonathan, why don't you? And make sure she eats something. She's losing her edge."

***

TJ liked Lieutenant Hazelton--and the Dark Horse, and the crew--but truthfully he'd joined the Star Patrol for selfish reasons and he was perfectly willing to accept that, too. It had been an opportunity to shave three years off his jail sentence, for one. And, although he'd finished his minimum time in the service, the deep-space mission to the Rewa-Tahi sector was an opportunity to play around with plenty of interesting technology.

Their scout ship, the Tempest, was a prime example of that. Shaped like a flattened bell, her smooth, piscine curves were out of place next to the angular Dark Horse, and her computer systems were more powerful than nearly anything else in the regular fleet despite being much older than the otter himself.

And Travis--some lowlife never-amount-to-anything from Clearwater--got to be there, working on it. He was in the engine bay, with a maintenance hatch open and a new module hooked up. That was the brainchild of Mitch and... Mitch-prime? What the hell am I supposed to call her? The rules of the mirror universe were a bit strange.

He wondered if he had his own counterpart: maybe some succesful businessman? Or a settled father working in an office job. What would the opposite of 'me' be like, anyway? Or were they truly opposites? These questions had seemed to perplex Shannon Hazelton when he described the appearance of the second Mitch; the otter, though, found them rather fascinating to contemplate.

"Coming along?" a voice asked.

TJ looked over to see a feline head poking around the corner. "Just finished hooking it up, dude. Next step is, uh, givin' it some juice and seeing what happens."

"Nice. I'll help."

"Yeah, sure thing--appreciate the offer." The Abyssinian was wearing civilian clothes, and with the light of the hangar bay framing them through the open door he couldn't quite make them out. "Which one are you, by the way?"

"The bad one."

"Okay. But... which one are you?"

"Torres." Although, now that he heard it, even her laugh seemed oddly familiar. Maybe the Dark Horse crew was too strange already for their mirror counterparts to be completely opposite. "Nameless Mitch sent me over to check on the work."

"Where is she?"

"Waiting outside the hangar bay. She said I should 'get to know you.'"

"Oh." It was not exactly in line with Star Patrol security best practices, but he had to assume Mitch had gotten to know the other cat herself well enough to trust her. "That sounds like her. Well, here, I'll make a space."

Torres closed the hatch, and sat down in the area he cleared out next to him. "Holy shit. These connections are beautiful. There's almost no contamination."

"High-quality tools." From the way she was staring at it, he realized her robotic eye must've been delivering some impressive magnification. "They're not Star Patrol issue. I brought my own."

She took the microbridger he handed her and examined it the same way she had his handiwork. "Fuckin' wild, man. But, like, don't give the tools all the credit. I built some crosstalk redundancy into the module, but fuck me if we'll need it. You want a job with the Link?"

"Not really. Looks okay to start it, though?"

Torres nodded. He brought up a holographic panel to track the diagnostics. When it started printing data, she shuffled a bit, and rested her muzzle on his shoulder to watch the readout together. "Is this right?"

Turning so that he could see her even out of the corner of his eye brought their noses very close together. "Is what 'right'?"

Her paw waved through the hologram. "This power setting. The filter must be misconfigured. You're getting errors in the normal band."

Travis swiped through a few other screens, and shook his head. "No. It's fine. This is normal. The HF dissipators take care of it."

He felt her blink, her lashes teasing his fur. "Your output is stable enough you can track variance at that frequency?"

"Stable? No, this is bad. For us. The Tempest has a main reactor, like, fifty times too big for her, or something like that. There's filters everywhere to clamp interference like this on the main systems. You want to see precision, take a look at what Barry made to interface with the encyclopedia thingy."

"What?"

"The encyclopedia we picked up from the alien monster ship." Mitch was better at telling stories; she'd have to learn it from the other Abyssinian. "Startup diagnostics are done. I think we're good."

She scooted back to take a seat with her back against the wall, and indicated that he should join her. The otter checked to make sure his tools were switched off and did so; the floor wasn't that uncomfortable, and she was close enough to make for good company. "So."

"Yeah?" he asked.

"So... tell me about Mitch. You like her?"

"We're best friends, yeah. I guess you're getting along, too. Right?"

"I think. She said you 'got in a lot of trouble' back on Clearwater. I guess she meant that the two of you did."

"She didn't, nah," he said, without any malice. "'Cause she can talk her way outta stuff, I guess. We salvaged a couple ships. Cleaned up the parts and sold 'em. I finally got caught when I borrowed a fusion reactor from a derelict freighter. I was gonna give it back after the concert, but... whatever. Y'know. Fuckin' cops. They didn't know Mitch was with me when I boosted it. But after I enlisted, she did too. So we could, like, still hang out."

"Do you like it on this ship?"

"Yeah. The LT--that's Lieutenant Hazelton, chief engineer--is pretty chill. And we get to see a lot of cool shit. Clearwater's, like, laid-back and all--I mean, mine is--but... boring. Why do you ask?"

"This place is just so different. It's wild. Have you met the general?"

"The one who looks like our Dr. Beltran, right? No. I haven't talked to her."

"She's, like... scary as fuck. So stay away from her if you can. It's a totally different vibe from here."

"I can't imagine Beltran being 'scary' at all."

"No, I bet you can't. I like that about you. You're all... friendly. I don't see much of that." She had turned to face him, and he saw the way her tail curled and twitched in his peripheral vision. "It's nice to be able to relax."

"Yeah. That makes sense. I hope you're able to, y'know?"

"Oh, I have. So far." She craned her head forward, until her nose was only a few centimeters from his. His head tilted questioningly. "I was checking how much time we have left on the next diagnostic."

"And?"

"Maybe half an hour or so."

Despite having learned the answer, she hadn't withdrawn. "So you want to learn more about us, then, right?" he asked.

"All depends..."

Her scent was not quite the same, from what the otter could tell of it. The light in her eyes was a bit different--less, oddly, in the cybernetic one. But he thought he knew the look she was giving him well enough that when he leaned closer to kiss her, the Abyssinian wouldn't pull away.

And, indeed, the next thing he felt was her arm circling him, pulling TJ into a tighter embrace. Her lips parted when his tongue prodded for entry and he slipped into her hot, soft muzzle, tasting her, catching her rough tongue to the sound of counterpointed gasps.

"Depends on what?" He muttered the question, and kissed her again before she could answer.

And when her slim, sinewy body slid down the wall, he followed along until he was over her, with her arms looped around his neck. "Depends on what kind of lessons you're offering..."

Their lips met in a fiercer, hotter contact brooked by the way she clung to him. A moment later her leg had hooked his waist, and TJ found himself pressing against her hips--the warmth tantalizing through the layers of her clothing and his own. And, as she squirmed and ground herself to meet him, their uniforms did just as little to hide his tented erection.

"This is a long-range ship, isn't it?"

He nodded.

Torres thrust upwards, precisely teasing his trapped cock with a subtle, rhythmic pressure until he groaned and pushed back. "So there are quarters, I take it?"

"Yeah. They're small, though."

She pushed him away, and tugged the edge of his uniform jacket deliberately. "How flexible are you? Because I feel like I could be..."

"Like, morally?"

"Like..." Torres trailed off, rose to her feet, and in one, sinuous ballet slipped out of her tunic. A fluid wriggle of her shoulders, and some nigh-imperceptible movement to unfasten a hidden catch, let her bra fall free next. "If you tried that?"

He already was, dragging his claw up the jacket to open it and shrug it from his lean torso. His own undershirt followed with a bit less elegance, although from her grin the feline didn't really seem to mind. "The crew rest area's... there."

TJ pointed. When she turned to see, he gave her rump a grope that had her purring deeply, stepping with deceptive grace from her pants as she took the few steps to the bunks. 'Quarters' oversold it: it was a little alcove, cramped for a single person. "Maybe you lead," she suggested.

The otter had his uniform trousers halfway off--definitely off enough that she could see his bare shaft now. Her wicked smile was decidedly encouraging; he stripped from the rest of his clothes, and rolled his way onto the cot. "There's... enough space. I think."

It left Torres with only twenty or thirty centimeters of headroom. She straddled the otter, her body flat atop his. "Well, this is fine," she decided. And he did have enough freedom of movement to feel her fur under his claws; he took generous advantage of the opportunity presented. "Makes it easier to get to know each other."

"Right. First contact."

With a knowing giggle, she lowered her head to kiss him, her body shifting as she did so, each adjustment bringing them a little closer. Her tongue lapped at his lips when she pulled away. "It works the same, right?" she asked him teasingly.

As her hips settled down, the slick warmth teasing the underside of his pinned cock was almost audible. The otter definitely heard the volume of his hissed oath, and wondered briefly just how good the Tempest's soundproofing was. "I think it does. Better find out, though."

She kissed him again and he felt her raise up, and the pressure of her paw slipping between them to seek him out. The feline angled him up, guiding the tip of his length to moist heat that was just as sudden engulfing him--gripping at the otter as she lowered herself, sinking more and more of him into her body.

It definitely worked the same. No surprise to either of them, judging by the moan she spilled into TJ's lips before resuming a hungry kiss. Her hips rocked in a steady, deliberate pumping movement, each bringing him a little deeper until he was finally hilted, and her throaty purr filled the alcove.

"Fuck," he groaned, and echoed it as she began to move. He tried to distract himself from the ruddy feline's warmth, the way her tight folds stroked him as she rode his cock, and despite his best attempts it was impossible not to compare her to all the times he'd fooled around with Mitch Alexander.

Not that she felt slicker, or tighter--the texture of her insides as he spread the Abyssinian open was decidedly familiar. Her gasps sounded the same. He certainly knew the touch of her claws at his shoulder. He expected to hear her purring catch right at the end, when he started to twitch and she knew she was being filled, but--

Not yet! He forced himself back from the edge. The tempo: yes, that was different. Eager and insistent as she'd been, Mitch Torres took him in a slower, more fluid dance. He was used to a demanding, almost aggressive pace: this was easy and rhythmic, and all the same his climax edged closer with every thrust.

She gasped and halted. He'd bucked up sharply, driving in hard, and she fell forward to pant with her nose pressed to the otter's own. "You close?" she asked it rhetorically--or mischievously, perhaps, since when she got her wits back she pushed down firmly to sink him all the way inside, her waving tail batting against his tense legs.

"Closer than I'd like," he admitted.

Torres wriggled her rump in his crotch, shifting back and forth, teasing him by prodding his cock against her walls. Mischievous, he decided. Her grin bared her fangs, and she gave him a wink. "Well? Show me how you do it here, then."

He shoved his hips up, grinding roughly, and was rewarded with a pleased gasp. But she was still grinning, so he took her slim waist in both paws and began to thrust in earnest. His need for release asserted itself quickly, then--but he was gratified to see the grin fade into something deeper and primal before he lost all sense of control.

"Fuck--yes, just like that"--and then her words broke into hoarse pants and ragged purring as he pounded himself to the finish line. And then there it was, pleasure swelling up in him, and then there it was--she stiffened, the purr frozen in her throat the moment he rammed to a halt and flooded her with the first spurt of his slick, potent warmth.

Instead of more purring, sated and encouraging the way Mitch might've done, Torres followed it with a groan and sank onto his chest. She squirmed on him as he unloaded his cum in jerky hitches, even as it started to overflow from her and the feline's shuddering squelched his seed messily into their fur.

It didn't really matter. He'd pumped so much into the Abyssinian that her sleek pelt was inevitably going to have wound up stained. TJ just savored his peak instead, slowly relaxing; slowly loosening his hold on her haunches while the last wet pulses drained into her.

"Pretty successful?" he asked. "For first contact?"

"Worked just like I imagined." Her lips found his impulsively--she was, TJ had to admit, an extremely good kisser. Enough so that when she stopped, despite the way he was still buried inside her, he thought her taste might be what he remembered most. "I guess we're not too different."

"Not surprising."

"You're not the ones who get pregnant, right? That's still my job."

"Yeah. Though in our universe, it would still take a cat to do that. I was just trying 'cause it's fun."

She snickered, rolling her hips lazily to tease his gradually softening shaft. "Good. I think I might have to do this again, TJ."

"Gimme, like... a bit..."

"No." Her voice darkened, and the smile dropped into something more hesitant. "Mitch--your Mitch--thought I should get to know you. I don't know that I had to... pretty clear from her and Mike and Ms. Munro. I feel like I knew already."

"Knew what?"

"I... want to apply for asylum. On your ship."

"What?"

"I want to go back with you."

***

"Battle stations!"

May was forced to admit that she saw a little of herself in the doe's tone. She did not see nearly so much of her ship, though, in the angry red lighting and and the curt barks of the bridge crew. "Shields and weapons standing by, ma'am."

"This will be close." Hatfield leaned back lazily, looking at the surface map plotted on the viewscreen. "It might take a few hours for the news to start reporting my ultimatum and the Dark Horse to notice it... how alert do you think they'll be, Madison?"

"Alert. The name of your ship will get their attention."

"And the threat?"

"We don't respond to those. I told you that."

"Right. Right," Captain Hatfield repeated, dragging the word out and smirking. "Well, then. Tactical: isolate grid 125 and magnify. Thank you. The top right. What is that?"

It was a tight, geometric cluster of buildings, with three maglev lines converging in the center. "The tertiary Narendra refinery, captain. It's a significant depot for the nearby reprocessing station, with a workforce of about three thousand."

"Fragile?"

"Standard construction, ma'am, designed to resist the winter storms. If it looks overbuilt, it's because it's also where some of the worker housing for the main complex is located."

"You didn't really answer my question, Lieutenant Murphy." She twisted her head, glancing over her shoulder at a cheetah who withered under her condescending stare. "Do we need to figure this out for ourselves?"

"I'm not--"

"Target the refinery. All forward batteries, fire one salvo at maximum power as soon as you're ready."

May flinched, watching the energy pulses impact a few seconds later and the screen cloud with smoke and debris. "Direct hit. Significant damage to the larger structures. Switching to an interpolated view now..." Beneath the smoke, one of the buildings had collapsed completely, twisting the connected maglev line into something nearly unrecognizable.

"Captain, we're being hailed from the surface. It's the governor's office."

"Ignore them. Lieutenant, I don't intend to forget your failure to provide a functioning tactical analysis for me. Continuous fire, please--until I no longer have to stare at a reminder of it."

"Yes, ma'am."

Hatfield gave May's clenched left paw a gentle pat. "I think you're right, Madison. Your crew won't respond to threats. I might even have offended them if I gave an ultimatum without the proof to back it up. I really should apologize to you."

"Don't bother," the Akita growled.

"That's the only the tertiary refinery, did you hear? There are thousands of targets just like it, and plenty of opportunities for Lieutenant Murphy to redeem himself. I wonder how long until someone interrupts us..."

Maddy set her jaw, steeled herself against the imminent activation of her compliance device, and growled again. "They won't. Revealing yourself to be a murderer won't compel my crew to do a damn thing except avenge your victims. It's never done anything else. You're not a big enough bully to change that. Don't flatter yourself."

"You expect me to believe they'd really be that stubborn?"

"They don't have the word 'principles' in your universe?"

Finally, Hatfield switched the bracelet on--though only briefly, and May managed to keep from even gasping at the pain. "Of course we do. The principle of keeping our word. The principle of enforcing our rule against anyone who would challenge it. What else do you call that?"

She pointed to the viewscreen. Almost nothing remained standing of the complex. Sustained fire had reduced it to craters, filled with molten debris. "Where I'm from? A criminal act. My crew won't see it as anything different."

"And do you have an alternative to suggest, Madison?"

"Give me a shuttle and I'll return to the Dark Horse, and we'll find our way back without you. And you can quit while you're ahead. You won't have to explain to your masters why you destroyed so much valuable infrastructure with nothing you can use to topple them like you so clearly desire. You can keep on being the miserable little--"

A brief flash of intense, burning heat silenced her. "Alright. You've stopped being funny. Don't tell me to quit while I'm ahead. What do you suggest I do about the refinery, hm? I can't very well look weak to these traitors."

"You said it yourself. They're traitors. You've punished them. That's all they have to know, isn't it? Maybe you can even... even get a confession from the governor. Won't the Union appreciate that?"

Hatfield chuckled, and once again patted the Akita's paw. "They just might, at that. Well, I suppose I'll think it over. Take her away, Ford. I'll have that call put through to my ready room, if you don't mind," she added, raising her voice to address the communications officer. "Something tells me it'll be more fun to spend some quality time with him."

Madison let herself be led away by the coyote, whose grip at her wrist was tight and rough. He stayed silent in the lift, and on the walk to her quarters. On previous occasions he'd stopped there: opening the door and shoving her unceremoniously through. This time, though, he followed.

"I'm... I'm glad we didn't have to do anything worse."

"I notice you didn't do much to stop her."

Ford's ears swept back a few degrees. "You see how well she listens to me. She's feeling you out, though. Theresa... she thinks you have promise, as an ally."

"To her? No."

"I know. She's... becoming a bit... erratic. Convinced that bringing the Reforged Link down will see her elevated to... emperor, for all I know. It doesn't make sense. The acts of cruelty are part of that."

"You don't agree with her?"

"The resistance movements are just terrorists. If your crew doesn't see that, she's wrong about how smart they are. But that doesn't mean that no price is too high. Or that... that you'll help. She, uh. She knew your crew wouldn't listen. She knows your psychology--knows how Star Patrol brains work."

Maddy's head tilted. "What are you getting at?"

The coyote lifted her wrist, and busied himself with the detention bracelet secured around it. "Did Theresa tell you we've encountered the Star Patrol before?"

"A ship, yes, two decades ago. Destroyed with all hands."

"No. There've been at least two ships, and a few survivors. None recently, but she showed me the records. They were all... resistant to interrogation. 'Principled.' I told her you'd be the same. She was amused by the word."

"Did she think I'd be different?"

"I don't know." He let her go. "I've turned it down. I imagine you'll be able to pretend otherwise, and give her a good show. I don't know what your crew will do, but... hopefully we'll find a way to not have you meddling in our affairs. You're not meant to be here."

"The survivors you mentioned. Could they be rescued?"

"The last died years ago. If they're still alive, it's at a classification level well beyond what I'm aware of, and they'd need constant medical intervention. None lasted more than a few weeks, as far as I know--our universes are fundamentally incompatible, down to the cellular level. Theresa just refuses to see that. Or that your kind will never cooperate. But we're not all like her, Captain May. You need to get back before it's too late."

"And you can help me?"

"I'll do what I can, but it's all so... risky."

"It might have to be, Mr. Ford. Jonathan?"

"No, no. Call me Jack. Theresa doesn't let me use that, but..."

Risk-aversion was not something she'd come to expect from her own Jack, but she decided to take the small win. "Jack, then. Let me know if... if you hear anything I might be able to use, will you? Apparently we're running out of time."