FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Leader and lover

Chapter 1

"Exiting cryo in T-minus ten seconds."

The flat expressionless voice of the AI reverberated throughout the dimly lit cryogenic chamber, rebounding off the titanium plates and struts that made up the room, deep in the bowels of the ship. The lights flickered slightly as the ship diverted power towards warming up the pods. All that could be heard was the almost silent whirr of the Tachyon translight engine that powered the ship and made tons of welded titanium and ceramic mobile. The eggheads who had designed and maintained the engine back home had promised that it would be silent.

Apparently not.

Then there was a loud sibilating hiss as the AI, Decadent, pumped warm air stored in tanks throughout the pods. A slight whitish gas, water condensation due to the almost freezing temperature, swirled around the room, lending it a mystical, almost arcane atmosphere. Through all this noise, another sound was heard.

The sound of people. People breathing.

Michael coughed and hacked, his lungs trying to clear itself of the substance that coated it. It was a self-oxygenating mixture, designed to provide oxygen for the body while it was in cryosleep without the need for muscular movement, allowing the ship to be completely depressurized without fear of asphyxiation of it's inhabitants. It didn't excuse the fact that it tasted like rotten milk and had the consistency of phlegm. Someone had made a mistake in the mixture when they first produced it, dammit. Why couldn't it have been peppermint flavored or something?

Michael's body thought it was drowning, and was trying to get oxygen. His lungs, which had not seen activity for the better part of four months, began trying to draw in precious oxygen, although it didn't need it. It was simply an illusion played on the body, what people who had just woken from cryo called Air Drowning. It wasn't at all dangerous in reality, but the feeling of absolute fear, as though your life was really in danger, was a reflex that could not be stopped. This was one of the reasons people hated going into cryo.

Michael coughed with all his might, and spewed some of the mixture in his lungs out onto the glass window in front of him. It was a dirty green color, tinged with red. Specks of blood from inside his lungs. A common sight, but the sight of your own blood always made people afraid. The time when the ship doctor was busiest was always just after release from cryo, when everyone was worried his or her lungs were damaged in some way. His eyes were still not open, and he clawed blindly in front of him, still thinking he was drowning, hoping to find something to cling on to, a lifeline. His hands hit something hard with a dull thud.

Jesus! Where the hell am I?

His fingers felt the unyielding material in front of him. It was smooth, and had a feel of plastic. He pressed his hands against it, hoping to push it out of the way, but it resisted his attempts. Suddenly, he felt his eyes spring open, and a blurry world came into view. He could see fog spraying down, and feel it brush over his body, and in front of him was a transparent something. It was splattered with the mixture from his lungs, and Michael could see smears where he had dragged his hands through it.

Goddamit, it's glass! I'm in a cryo pod! But where?

Michael was at the stage everyone went through when they first exited cryo and their brain saw it's first real activity and input in weeks or even months. The sense that you were lost, that you had amnesia, that you couldn't remember where you were from or who you even were.

Michael. My name is Michael, also known as Mikey, Lance corporal in the Army of the United Confederacy of Colonies. I have two brothers, one on the ship with me now. What's the name of the ship? The ship I'm on?

He couldn't remember_._

Um, UCCS Ardent? No. Ascend? Doesn't sound right. Ascendant! That's it! UCCS Ascendant, mark two Scimitar cruiser, serial number UCC21435. My brother's name is Mannuel, Corporal. One step ahead of me. He always was an ambitious bastard.

Michael almost cried with relief as he felt the memories slowly flow back into his brain like a waterfall. He could remember everything! Who he was, where he was, his family, his friends, and...

Raymond

"Don't think about him now! Bad time! Bad time!" he muttered, chastising his mind for thinking at such an inappropriate moment. He was still sealed in a cold titanium coffin with a bad view and seemingly no way out.

If I'm on a ship, that means there's got to be an escape lever somewhere. All those safety auditors, can' t even rest unless the toilet seat has an emergency release switch.

He fumbled about blindly, feeling for a lever he could pull. In retrospect, pulling a random lever in a completely alien place was probably a bad idea, but the thought never crossed Michael's mind. All he needed was to get out of this tomb now and get some fresh air. He flailed about, feeling the edges of the window, every square inch of the interior, looking for something he could pull, pull and get out.

There was no lever.

"Ah....! Don't do this to me! I have claustrophobia for pete's sake!"

"Releasing pod doors."

The smooth, monotone female voice made Michael freeze, no pun intended. He glanced all around, looking for where the voice had come from. He realized it was the ship's AI. He also realized he was leaning against the window.

Crap.

The cryo pod door opened with a hiss, and fresh air filled his lungs. It was all Michael could do to savor a lungful after months of recycled air before he was falling out onto the ground. His head made contact with the hard metal grate at his feet with a thud that sent shockwaves travelling up his spine. His vision was still blurred, but he could make out the vague shapes of other people emerging from the pods, both male and female. Some still lay in their respective pod, unable to summon the energy to move. A few others stepped out coolly, this being just another awakening in their countless list of many.

And then there were some like him, who flopped out onto the ground like a limp rag and lay there, too weak to move. He could see some of the kinder ones who were already active helping out those who weren't. He pushed himself up on both hands, and suddenly vomited. His stomach was empty from the long months in cryo, the only nutrition gained from a liquid injected into the veins before sleep, and he brought up nothing except air, mucus and the vile self-oxygenating mixture. Those strings of liquid trailed from his mouth and nose, sticking to the grate in front of him.

Gotta get up. Don't want to look like an idiot.

He was weak from the months of inactivity, his muscles limp and soft. He knew he would have to do some exercise in the gym soon, or all his hard earned muscles would atrophy, and that would not be welcome. He pushed himself up on both hands, the hardest pushup he had ever done. He trembled from the exertion, his muscles straining. He needed help! Why wasn't anyone helping him?

"First time in cryo's always a bitch, huh?"

Michael looked all around him for the source of the voice, but all he could see were blurred figures. The voice seemed familiar somehow, like a dream after you've woken up, where it's on the edge of your thoughts but you just can't seem to recall it.

"Hey Mikey! You still alive?" He felt a hand shake his shoulder, and the slapping of bare feet on metal. Raising his head, which seemed to take a momentous amount of energy not befitting such a simple action, Michael could make out a pair of feet in front of him. His vision faded in and out, and he groaned.

"Damn dude, you're sure having a bad time. Sure you didn't leave all your muscles in there or something?" Michael felt a hand turn him over. The lights at the ceiling blinded him, and all he could see was a featureless silhouette of someone leaning over him. He tried to raise a hand to shield his eyes from the light, but found that he could not move.

"Michael!" The voice sounded concerned now. "You've got to get up. Use your muscles, come on!" The silhouette vanished from his view and he heard the same voice calling out. "Someone! I need a hand here!"

I recognize that voice. Who is it?

A few more people entered his vision, staring at him. Another voice, female this time, muttered. "Yeah, first cryo exit syndrome. Had it once too, a while back."

A hand launched out, butting the woman who had spoken, and a third voice emanated out. "Yeah, I remember you were immobile for the better part of half an hour. Gave us all a scare." A laugh.

The voice...The voice. Raymond!

Michael gave a small grunt of realization. The onlookers however, took it as a sign of the syndrome.

"Yeah, he can't speak. He can only grunt. Happened to me too."

"At least we know he's still alive."

"What, you can't see him breathing? You should get your eyes checked."

Wait....Raymond. Lieutenant Raymond!

Michael shot to his feet so fast you thought someone had put a translight engine up his butt. All the onlookers gazing down on him recoiled in shock from his sudden ascent, some even taking a few steps back. Michael heard a female squeal.

"Lieutenant Raymond sir! Fit for duty sir!" Michael snapped a pose and saluted, which would have been convincing if his legs weren't trembling so much from the strain.

"He's a zombie!"

"Shut up moron! At least he's respectful. I like that in my zombies."

Michael's eyes focused on the man in front of him. Lieutenant Raymond's handsome face slowly came into view. He possessed the wolfish characteristics like the rest of his species, and his fur was a shiny black, slightly matted from the condensation of the pods. He possessed the graceful air and fluid movement of a professional soldier, one who is used to battle and never shies from it. His dark green eyes bored into Michael's, seemingly reading his every thought. He swallowed.

"At ease, soldier. And no," he pointed at Michael's shaky legs, "you haven't convinced me. Maybe you'll be fit to fight wet tissue paper eh?"

"Uh, yes sir." Michael nodded emphatically.

"Come on Mikey, don't be so serious. I'm your commanding officer and all that but I prefer to think of all of you as family. Not bad, huh?"

"Of course sir."

Raymond poked a finger into his chest, all formality dropped. That slight force almost caused Michael to topple over, and he grabbed onto the edge of his pod for support.

Damn, I'm hungry. I need food, bad.

"You drop that 'sir' shit with me. At least, when my commanding officer isn't around. She isn't, is she?" He glanced around furtively, but the commander wasn't there. She had likely gone to the showers already

"Understood sir...I mean, lieutenant. Or Raymond. Something." Michael gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. Raymond smiled and tossed him a towel from a bundle hanging on a rack.

"There. Clean yourself off. Then go and hit the showers. Commander Anita wants us dressed and ready in ten."

Michael gratefully accepted the towel and rubbed himself all over with it, wiping off most of the liquid that covered him. His body still felt shaky and weak, and he trailed along in the wake of his Lieutenant and the rest of his buddies. Suddenly, Raymond turned and pointed at Michael.

"And Mikey," he gave a grin, "call me Ray."

Michael couldn't hide a tiny smile

_ _