Swingin' on a star
During holiday celebrations, the moreau science ship Vandenberg receives a distress call, and the ghosts of the past come home to roost. The XO, a freeborn shepherd, must decide where his loyalties lie...
During holiday celebrations, the moreau science ship Vandenberg receives a distress call, and the ghosts of the past come home to roost. The XO, a freeborn shepherd, must decide where his loyalties lie...
Merry Christmas :) Here's a short, simple story set in the moreauverse, about the choices we have to make about the kind of people we want to be. Starting a tradition of "sappy holiday stories," here :D
Released under the Creative Commons BY-NC-SA license. Share, modify, and redistribute -- as long as it's attributed and noncommercial, anything goes.
Swingin' on a Star , ** ** by ** Rob Baird**
He could feel her claws slowly working their way through the fur of his belly. Black, like the rest of him; the shepherd was completely black except for the brilliant hazelnut of his eyes. They were closed now. He turned, and found his muzzle pressed into the crook of the fuzzy-furred husky's neck. His warm breath tickled her, and she gave up on his belly to push him back with a giggle. "Stop..."
"Make me." When he opened his eyes Kaltas was grinning at him, and he gave her muzzle a sloppy lick. "I didn't think so..."
"Maybe I'm just tired. After last night..."
The husky had lustrous, silvery fur that blended seamlessly into snowy white, like the shadows that toy in the billows of soft clouds. He hugged the fur against him, and the husky with it, and he grinned too. "Whose idea was that?"
Because in this case, it had been hers -- proper Dr. Rulkasavag Kaltas who had greeted him back from his shift by pouncing him up against the wall. Had they eaten at all, even, the previous night? No, and that probably explained why Jadhalatja was so famished. "Mine," the husky admitted, "but I think I have a good excuse..."
"Yeah?"
Now a little more demurely, she tilted her head, and chewed on his muzzle for a second. "Think it's that time again, Jadhich..."
"Yeah?" the shepherd repeated.
"What do you say?"
Like all dogs he was a bad liar; he couldn't help the way that his ears pinned, and her face immediately changed. "I..." He tried to salvage it.
"You want children too, don't you?"
"Yes. Of course. But... one step at a time..."
Kaltas licked his muzzle, and perked her ears hopefully. "We're not going to get any younger, Jadhich. Don't you think that time is now?"
As if she was old! As if either of them were old! Kaltas was barely twenty, and he was only ten years older. "Maybe it is..." He couldn't explain why he felt the way he did. He loved Kaltas madly -- as he had since they'd first met, six years before, when she was finishing her degree. "Well..."
The husky bit down hard on his nose. "Mark. It won't get better than now! I have my assignment for the next four years -- everyone agrees you're next in line to take command of the ship... you're never going to be more ready professionally. We have the space... everyone our age is starting to settle down, and here we are like two reckless pups! Yassuja!"
Rubbing the pain away from his muzzle, Mark Jadhalatja sighed. "I know."
"Then?"
"Can we talk about this at dinner?"
Kaltas growled, and shoved him out of the bed as hard as she could. She did not apologize, and she did not speak to him as he pulled on the smooth jumpsuit of his uniform. Narrowed eyes followed him, when -- with tail tucked -- the shepherd ducked out the door and into the ship's corridors.
NZsKnl Vandenberg had once been a military starship, and that singleminded focus was still evident in most of her fittings. But she was sturdy, quick and maneuverable, with engines more powerful than a half-dozen freighters of her size put together. It made for an ideal research ship -- so it was that she was bound for CLGS-35350, a yellow dwarf seven hundred light years distant, to investigate one of the rocky planets in the star's system. His seventh such expedition; his second as executive officer.
He enjoyed it! His parents, too, had been starfarers, and when he thought of what life on that freighter had been like, how exciting the opportunities had been, he felt a pang that he was not immediately willing to grant Kaltas' desire to raise a child the same way. What was keeping him?
"Morning, commander!"
A younger corgi -- Ekohaku, the chief science liaison from the Council -- had fallen in next to him, and he slowed in deference to her stature. "Good morning, jankita."
Eko grinned. "Did you sleep at all, comrade?"
"We didn't keep you up, I hope..." Eko cupped her big ears -- they were much more than pawfuls -- for emphasis. Mark coughed apologetically. "Really?"
"We thought it was one of you guys' drills! 'Testing the structural integrity of the... the bulkhead assemblies aft of frame seventy.' 'General quarters, general quarters' -- one of those things you make us stay in our rooms for." Eko stuck out her tongue.
"No..."
"Well, all hands were certainly a good job manning something, comrade," she teased him. "Any word from our friends?"
They were dead in space, at the moment, waiting to rendezvous with another starship transferring new crew to the Vandenberg. "Not as such, but I haven't gotten to the bridge yet. I have to walk slowly, jankita. You have short legs."
Eko laughed. Not that she could argue; she was most of a meter shorter than the Belgian shepherd. "Of course. Just wanted to know if we should plan more places for the First Night dinner. Rålurkashadat begins in less than twelve hours, comrade."
Rålurkashadat was, with the Incorporation Day that marked their first recognition as sentient, if not full citizens, one of two holidays the nakathja observed -- and the only one of the two they had created themselves. He'd grown up hearing the story: the first colony, hardscrabble and cold and lonely. How a handful of nakathja had been stranded there, and how at the last possible day, with the last of their food gone, they had been saved. Rålurkashadat.
Rebirth.
Eight days of commemoration and friendship and food. Eko, a freeborn nakath from the Confederacy, put a lot of effort into the celebrations. "The Sachek isn't due to dock for another fourteen hours," he told her. "I'm sure they have their own plans for the First Night."
"Very well. More for us, I suppose. You should probably eat up." And she nudged the shepherd playfully. "Keep your strength, right? And if you see Tallich, tell him I did everything he asked for the First Night."
"Of course, comrade!"
She took the next left, headed back into the civilian spaces, and he picked up his pace. The Vandenberg's bridge was very nearly in the center of the ship -- a floating metal sphere, isolated from the gravitational stresses on the rest of the hull. His pawprint unlocked the door, and he stepped into a bustle of activity.
"Officer on deck!"
"At ease." Jadhalatja made his way over to a young, eager dog who was still standing alertly. "Good morning, lieutenant. Everything well?"
"Yes, sir!" Lieutenant Tira nodded his head. He was special, in many ways -- one of the first crossbreeds, for his mother had been a Rottweiler and his father an Ibizan. One of the first of their officers never to have attended a human academy. If he was aware of the weight this put on his shoulders, he never really let on. He pulled a thin computer from his breast, giving it a glance and then handing it over. "Reports."
"Anything of note?"
"Not really, sir." Tira Rankalishada, whose name referred to his habit of tapping his claws against one another, now had those claws neatly polished, and resting flat at his sides. "Radiation advisory from the last transiting ship, and a report from the Ketthajo-Kødsar Soviet saying that the Sachek is on time for arrival. We should be picking them up in a few hours, I think."
"Very well..." Jadhalatja placed the computer into his own pocket -- he'd look at it when he had some time -- and saluted. "Lieutenant, I relieve you."
"I stand relieved!" Tira answered, returning the salute, and then dropped it with a grin. "Enjoy your shift, sir."
He would have plenty of time to sit, and ponder. For now, the black shepherd grasped the back of his chair and leaned against it, staring forward over the rest of the bridge. Alive with activity, and the screens that provided their link to the world beyond. It was a comforting thing.
Over the hours that followed he paged through the computer Tira had given him, and did not find much to surprise him there: they were in relatively peaceful space, after all. The local radiation was high -- they were near a major shipping lane, after all -- but nothing that was worth raising any alarms over.
Half a century before, the LCS Vandenberg had been just another carrier in the service of the Colonial Defense Authority, ferrying dropships full of well-armed marines to conflict zones hither and yon. The nakathja had stripped most of her weapons; what remained had not fired a shot in anger since... well, ever, so far as he knew. Not in his years, nor in Captain Tal Zahaja's years.
Now the NZsKnl -- Nahokat Zderunsudna Kanthshalehe, faster-than-light scientific research starship -- Vandenberg was a nakath-flagged ship, and no human marines ever saw her insides. Her superannuated stardrives had been torn out and replaced; her outline was painted in canine cerulean. She was the very first ship ever purchased by the Tarshosanja Soviet, and Mark Jadhalatja thought that he was very privileged, indeed, to be serving on her.
"Contact!"
His ears perked, and he straightened up. "Report."
"Contact designation Tango-One is an unidentified electromagnetic, bearing 2-8-0 declination 2-5, distance 1-9-0 thousand kilometers plus-minus forty."
"Go active on my authority. Range and fix."
The sensors operator nodded, and busied herself for a few seconds. "Aye, sir." Ordinarily the Vandenberg kept her most powerful systems offline, both to save power and so as not to seem like a threat. Lieutenant Kiro tilted her head, puzzling over the results, and then swiveled her chair to face him. "Tango-One is on a CBDR trajectory, closing from 1-7-6 thousand kilometers at four point two kilometers per second. Steady velocity. Intercept in just under twelve hours."
CBDR meant constant bearing, decreasing range: a collision course. Or, alternatively, two friendly ships meeting for a rendezvous. "IFF?"
"Civilian; transponder has it as a light passenger ship, the SS Vega-515. I can't give you telltales, though, sir."
For the most part, the Confederacy had come to accept the independence of its non-human citizens. That was not, however, a universal constant -- certainly it was not shared by all nations in the galaxy. Nakath ships traveled under public names that did not give them away. Vandenberg, for example, or Vega-515. "Comms, open an encrypted channel to that ship."
"Open. Request for two-way video, sir."
Mark grinned, and stood up again. "Onscreen."
The main viewscreen, which had been displaying a local map with the position of the Vandenberg marked, switched into a low-resolution hologram. Even with minimal detail, it was easy to see that they were not speaking to a human. "Hello, comrade," the speaker said -- "this is the Vandenberg?"
"It is." Commander Jadhalatja bowed. The hologram resolved into finer detail, and he could tell that he was speaking to a thin-boned collie with graceful features and keen eyes. "Inana Astugudja. You've traveled well?"
"Well, and too far. It will be good to feel some artificial gravity again." That, like running water, was still a luxury: only the Confederacy had truly mastered it, and many nakathja were too poor to buy Confederate ships. "We'll begin our synchro burn in about ten hours, and dock in burn plus four?"
Mark nodded. "We've already cleared your berth, captain."
"Good -- yassuja, the passengers begin to get restless."
The shepherd had done a few tours on nakath freighters without artificial gravity; he didn't know who he sympathized with more, the captain or his cargo. He nodded diplomatically: "Just a few hours more. The area is relatively clear -- we have a radiation advisory, so just check your monitors."
"Understood. We'll radio back when we begin to sync."
The link dropped, and Mark settled back into his seat. The captain of the Sachek was a good man, by reputation -- a longtime resident of Ketthajo-Kødsar, a colony that was very nearly entirely moreau. His mate was friends with Kaltas. Kaltas! Mark winced -- so much for introducing Astagudja to her. He could see how that conversation would go already: Guddich had a large family; one of them was already in school.
Mark wished he knew what moral failing it was that kept him from saying yes to Kaltas.
In the early days, when there were few free nakath and no safe havens, they had talked of zakhot: fear. And when they spoke of Alzakhot, The Fear, everyone knew what was meant. For the dogs, who had been raised as servants and property, it was a living thing -- fear that their independence was fleeting and ephemeral. Fear that they could lose everything. Alzakhot kept many of the first nakathja from having children.
It had been years and years since the Rebirth, though. There were still nakath in bondage, and most free nakathja still chose to live on Confederate worlds, but it did not seem reasonable to still be so zakhottha. Except that he could not shake the feeling that he was, indeed; that for whatever reason, legitimate or not, that was what kept him from wanting to bring pups into the galaxy with Kaltas, much as he loved the husky.
Captain Zahaja came onto relieve him, and he still had no good answer. Tal Zahaja was a big retriever; once his fur had been black, but his muzzle and most of his kind face had long since gone the color of snow on the hills of Ketthajo-Kødsar. "Uneventful?"
"We've made contact with the Sachek, sir," Mark said. "They'll check back in with us in seven hours."
"Nothing else?"
"Engineering shut the port generator down for repairs, but it should be back on in a few hours. And Eko told me to tell you that she did everything you asked for the First Night dinner."
Tal lifted his white-flecked ears, and smiled. "Oh, good. I'm glad to hear that. Last year, they didn't want to pay for most of it. I added in a little from our funds, this year. They should at least have a genuine alech."
"I look forward to it," Mark smiled.
"So do I. Alright, commander. I relieve you."
"I stand relieved, sir," the shepherd returned the offered salute.
"Only until you get back to your quarters," the captain chuckled. "Kaltas will have you back at attention soon enough."
Mark's ears went back again -- although Tal doubtless assumed this was only out of embarrassment. He wanted to explain further, but a shout cut him off. "Sir, message incoming!"
"What is it?" Tal asked.
"It's..." The nakath at the radio listened to his headset in silence. "It's a distress call, sir."
Mark felt his heart skip a beat, and from Tal's sudden tension they had both had the same first thought. "From the Sachek?" the retriever demanded. "Is it from the Sachek?"
"No, sir. It's being patched into the local network -- it's from about... thirty light years away, I think."
"Let's hear it..."
The radio officer switched the intercom on. "This is the freighter Newcastle_, just arrived reference buoy alpha-golf-alpha-alpha-6-9-2-2-5 drifting at seven hundred meters per second. We have a catastrophic failure of our faster than light drive and are losing power. I have thirty souls aboard. Twenty-two hours of life support before we must take to the escape pods. If you can hear this, please respond_..."
When the message repeated, Tal ordered it switched off. "Where is that buoy?"
"Reference for the transit point between the Lyran corridor and New Galatia, sir," another nakath answered.
"Neutral territory, then," the captain nodded. "Do we have any ships out here?"
"No, sir -- and Newcastle doesn't match any of the aliases in our database."
That made up his mind: "In that case, somebody else will pick it up."
Mark did not agree with this assessment; perhaps even Tal had not meant it sincerely. On the fringes of Confederate space the trade corridors were not always well-policed; a transit point like that might not see anyone willing to stick their necks out. He lowered his voice. "Are you certain about that, sir?"
"Even if they don't," the retriever replied, "it isn't our problem. Somebody will pick them up, or they'll go to the lifeboats."
"That's only delaying the inevitable, sir," Mark pointed out: "nobody's going to come out here. Not in time."
"You heard me, commander. It's not our problem."
"Yes, sir," Jadhalatja nodded. And then, quieter: "can we speak in private, sir?"
Zahaja lifted a white eyebrow. "Lieutenant, you have the bridge," he called out, and the pair walked to a tiny room that adjoined the command center. "Commander?"
Mark watched the door close. "The distress call, sir. I think you should reconsider."
"Why?"
"Because... because I know that we are not always on good terms with the humans, sir, but we have to leave our past behind if we're to evolve as a species. We can't carry this hatred with us forever. It's not our way. Imagine if there was a fight for leadership -- imagine if the deposed alpha continued to agitate against the new leader. Would that happen?"
"Never," Tal Zahaja agreed. "But they are not dogs. They don't see or understand things as we do. They're more primitive, commander."
"Yes... perhaps. But then we should be there to teach them -- yassuja, captain, if we let the ghosts of the past control us the humans have us in chains just as surely as if --"
"Watch yourself," the retriever snapped. "You forget your station, hakh alkhinun."
Mark lowered his ears, and dipped his head. "Yes, sir."
"I saw what they did to my father, and to my mother. They were never truly... whole. It's very easy for you to forgive them -- maybe one of these days your kind will have their way. But not now. I won't kill them, commander, much as I'd like to sometimes -- I won't kill a human. But nor will I go out of my way to save one of their number, and I won't have my ship put at risk for some foolish errand of undeserved mercy. Am I clear?"
"Yes, sir," the shepherd said again.
"Absolutely?"
"Yes, sir."
As he walked back towards his quarters, he considered what Tal had said, and tried to put it in its proper place. Tal Zahaja was hahk alikun -- "of the first." His parents had been barracks-born; had grown up in slavery, and emancipated themselves by force of will. Tal was born free, but clearly his upbringing still carried the scars of his parents' experiences.
Mark was hakh alkhinun, which meant "of the fourth." His parents had not known a corporate whip, and neither had his grandparents, or his great-grandparents. They were removed enough from servitude that they had visited on him a human first name -- something one of the earlier generations would never have countenanced. It had been the source of some embarrassment in his schooling: mocking, accusing him of human sympathies. Once he had found a collar adorning his locker, with a nametag made out for him.
But they had first gained their citizenship a hundred years before! Surely it was time to begin letting that go. A thousand years hence, would nakathja still be casting a sideways glance at the poor furless bipeds, hating them for the sins of generations long since in the ground? Wasn't that the whole damned purpose of rebirth?
The First Night of Rålurkashadat commemorated the End of Days. The mess hall was quiet; the heads of the nakathja were bowed.
Eko stood -- getting up on a chair, and recited the story as the others listened politely.
A survey ship, with two dozen souls aboard, bound for the next arm over and the promise of a new life. A world suitable for habitation, a world that could be terraformed into a safe haven for the nakathja -- who still thought of themselves with the human appellation moreau. A survey ship out alone in the darkness, its lights flickering as it jumped into orbit of its destination -- too close.
The first free dogs, salvaging what they could from the wreckage. Sending out a distress signal in the futile hopes that someone would hear it. Cutting the ship down into the walls of houses that were too drafty against the chill winters. Planting seed that failed to yield a sustainable crop. Living off their rations as the supplies dwindled, and they began to mark the days until starvation would consume them.
And then, at the End of Days, seeing the end of their meager stores, the radio lighting up. A message from an incoming transport -- crewed by nakathja. The Confederate government had ignored them -- but no nakath can ignore the suffering of another. And so they had come: three hundred of them, on a ship laden with supplies. And the First Ones had used the last of their food to help prepare a welcoming feast.
The next day the colony of Alsansi had been founded, and on the Second Night they would commemorate that. But for now, as Eko sat down again, they reflected on the sacrifices that had been made, and the privation of their ancestors. Eko passed around the alech, the symbolic metal bowl filled with tasteless kibble, and they took a few pieces and crunched on them thoughtfully, to remember how far they had come.
As the night wore on their spirits lifted; they shared stories, and Jadhalatja heard the sound of laughter from further down the table. Kaltas smiled, and squeezed his paw. "Love? You seem quiet."
"I... just thinking, Kalla," he said. "That first colony. It was a leap of faith, really. They couldn't have known..."
"No," she agreed, and she turned to lick his muzzle softly. "See how it turned out?"
Mark forced a smile, and when Kaltas went to speak to one of her friends he excused himself from the dinner and made his way out into the corridors of the ship. The halls were quiet; everyone who was not working was at the First Night commemoration. They would be lighting candles, now, one for each of the first settlers. They would say their quiet thanks to those who had come before.
The door to the engine room slid open before him. It was quiet, and the lights were down; the ship was effectively becalmed, unmoving with relation to the nearest buoys. "General?" he asked.
The Border collie had never exceeded the rank of major, in the Colonial Defense Authority, but everyone called her 'General.' They called her that over any nakath shortening of her name. Rulshega Runazrakana was never Kannich or Rulla. She poked her head around the corner. "Hello, commander."
"Do you have a minute?"
"For you? Always, janhata," she smiled. He had known the blue merle for years, since her muzzle was still a mottled steel-blue instead of the grey-white that now gave her a distinguished air of wisdom. "Is there a problem?"
Mark nodded. "Perhaps. We picked up a distress signal, a few hours ago -- just after I came off shift."
"Oh?"
"A human ship, it seems."
"Interesting," she said, although she was waiting for the explanation. "And..."
"Flight quarters, flight quarters!" a voice interrupted them over the 1MC, the ship's intercom. "Set condition two for recovery operations on the port flight deck. Secure all gold emitters. Set Zed aft of frame 1-2-4."
"Is that the Sachek?"
"Yes. After the passengers disembark we'll take the freighter to the next jump point. They're tanking off us."
"Fun." The Border collie flipped a handful of switches on her console, and reached for the phone on the wall. She listened carefully for the sound of the hatches dropping shut, her eyes fixed on a display board on which lights were coming to life. "Engineering, ready."
"Be here awhile," Mark realized. Under Condition Zed, the ship's hatchways were magnetically sealed shut. It was not considered safe or proper to traverse them without cause. "Well, they ought to have fun."
"I reckon," the collie agreed. "What was this about a human ship?"
"Distress call. They're adrift and need assistance. Captain Zahaja has made it clear that he doesn't intend to give it. They're... not our problem. And he's sensitive to... not wanting to put his neck out for humans. I suppose I understand, only..."
"Only they need our help?"
"Yes."
She leaned back, and watched her displays flicker. "But you can understand why he's hesitant. He's hakh alikun, commander. His father was at Kaiser during the Cold March. His barracks was half-emptied by the time they got to Royal Cliff."
"Ah, yassuja, I didn't know that..." The March had occurred during the evacuation of a corporate campus, in one of the interminable corporate wars. When the last ships departed without them, the company had forced the moreaus to walk three hundred kilometers to the nearest spaceport. "That was before he was born, right?"
"Yes. But he still feels it. Somebody told me he had a sibling, too. His mother was... used... experimentally. I'm not saying it makes it right, commander, only that... it's complicated for him."
"You're not that far from the barracks, yourself. Your grandmother was a soldier."
Rulshega nodded softly. "And her son. My father. But Runshana was the first, you know."
"I've heard." Supposedly Rulshega Runazrakana's grandmother was a celebrity, of sorts -- one of the first of the nakathja to have truly emancipated herself. "And what would she have done? She must've had the same experience -- the beatings, the privation, the discrimination. What would she have done?"
The old dog looked away from her computers. "She would've forgiven them. She never said it outright, not to me. But she would've. She felt that humans were flawed, but ultimately decent at heart. The same way she saw herself."
"And you?"
"What the captain says is law, Commander Jadhalatja. But I hope you can make him see reason."
"So do I."
"One step at a time, comrade..."
It took half an hour to get the Sachek aboard; when they secured from condition two and the hatches opened again Mark bid the collie farewell and picked his way through the corridors to the flight deck. There was no official party to meet them; they were all tired, anyhow, and the transition to normal gravity would be stressful. But he thought it would be good if they had someone. Besides, he wanted to see the newcomers who would be sharing space with them through the deployment.
The Sachek was an old starship, bought off Marathi grain merchants. Everything about her seemed ancient -- the paint had faded from her nose, courtesy of the stress of atmospheric re-entry, and Mark had the impression that it was going white about the muzzle, like Captain Zahaja or the General.
A ramp lowered; he waited, and finally the captain emerged -- moving unsteadily down to the metal deck of the Vandenberg's hangar. "Captain Astich," Mark grinned, and bowed heavily in greeting.
"Inana," Astich returned the bow. "It is kutun -- good to be with friends, particularly on such a day."
"The First Night dinner is over -- I suppose you took it yourself, on your vessel. But we've set aside places for you, for tomorrow. You brought incense?"
"We did. The pups will like it... I always liked the Night of Burning, when I was young..."
"Pups?"
More nakathja were starting to emerge, just as hesitant and wobbly as Astugudja. Mark's ears flattened. He had been expecting scientists -- professionals like Dr. Kaltas and her colleagues. These were professionals, too -- no doubt... but they were also civilians! They clutched heavy bags, a motley assortment of luggage. They wore every kind of clothing under the sun.
And they walked together, half of them with children tagging alongside. The pups were taking to gravity more sure-footedly -- capering, running circles around their slower parents. He heard their high-pitched chatter -- the infectious glee of children greeted with the wide ceilings and complicated machinery of an active hangar deck.
"Inana captain!" one shouted, and bowed so deeply the gesture was almost a parody. A young husky, with strikingly beautiful markings, his tail was constantly a-wag.
"Commander," Mark corrected, and dropped to his knee so that he could meet the husky at eye level. "Commander Mark Jadhalatja. Who are you?"
"Veshington!"
"That's a unique name..."
"My father gave it to me! Father says we're looking for a whole new planet -- is that true?"
The shepherd grinned, and ruffled the husky's ear. "That's true. The Vandenberg is an exoplanetary surveying ship. We're always looking for whole new planets."
"Father says we'll find a new home, where we won't have to see the humans anymore."
Mark cocked his head. "Have you seen one before at all?"
Veshington nodded swiftly. "I went to a human school!"
"Veshla didn't do well," announced another young nakath -- his sister, judging by the coloration they shared. "I did, but Veshla didn't like his science teacher."
"She smelled funny," the other husky protested. "It wasn't my fault."
"I liked Bethich," his sister shot back. "She even let me call her Bethich, instead of Miss Beth Parker. Veshla always had to --"
"Apologies, janhata," she was interrupted by an older figure. "Did they corner you? You know how children can be. I'm Dr. Rakkich -- planetary sciences? You're Commander Jadhalatja, aren't you? Alhakhnan goru."
"Chja nilatja, jananga. And yes," Mark said, and stood up again. They bowed. "I'm him. Second in command of the Vandenberg -- welcome aboard."
"It is a pleasure to be here." His children, deprived of a conversational partner, were already scampering off. "I worked with Rulkich on the Council, a few years ago. We're cousins, as it happens -- I hope she's here?"
Smiling, Mark confirmed that she was. "Kaltas might be asleep by now. The ship is set to Tarshosanja universal time."
"An adjustment..." Rakkich lifted himself onto his toes and stared past the shepherd. "I'm sorry -- Veshington is going to destroy this hangar if I'm not careful -- I'll see you around?"
"Indeed."
There were more of them -- at least twenty children and adolescents. Mark shook his head -- they'd need a teacher, then. And what would they teach? That humans were not to be trusted? That they were racist, backwards primates? That they smelled strangely? Or would they say that their creators had been... what was it? Flawed, but ultimately decent?
On the Second Night of Rålurkashadat -- the Night of Burning -- they would light incense, and offer contemplative prayers to the smoke. It was supposed to symbolize the founding of the colony, and the way the first colonists had burnt the last of their Confederate possessions. The way they had severed all ties to their homeland, to start anew.
Only they hadn't burnt everything. Mark Jadhalatja had still served in a human military. Kaltas had learned from human professors. They even named their young after them -- wasn't Veshington some Confederate military figure? Or a religious icon? Some human worthy of veneration, at least. No, if he was to be honest, then he owed something of that honesty to the pups...
He jammed his paws into the pockets of his uniform, and made his way back to the bridge.
"Captain Zahaja."
"Commander," the retriever nodded.
"Might we talk, sir?"
"About?"
Mark took a deep breath. "The distress call, sir."
"The matter is closed, commander."
"With respect, sir. May we speak in private?"
The old retriever curled his lip, and raised his voice. "You can say it here, Jadhich."
Flattening his ears, Mark glanced about to see that the bridge was slowly coming to focus on the pair. "Sir, I think that it might be best if we --"
"Say it here, or do not say it, commander," the man ordered sharply.
So he chose his words carefully. "We need to act, sir. There are children aboard, now. We owe it to them to show that we can rise above our past and --"
"And what? What, commander? Extend a paw to the humans? Pull them up, so that they can throw us over the edge? You're soft -- deluded by them. I know you served in their army -- what did they fill your head with?"
He splayed his ears further, and tried not to let the words get to him. "I served honorably, captain. They taught me many things. Many things that have helped us. Helped our people."
"You don't serve slavers honorably, hakh alkinun. You wouldn't know that -- but I would. They're miserable animals and if you think I'm going to put them first, put them before our people, before the Enlightened -- no. Never."
"I'm not saying put them before us. I'm saying they're sentient beings, just like us, and we --"
Tal Zahaja snarled. "They are not just like us! Sentient beings just like us would never have skinned us for pelts! Would never have starved us and kicked us out in the cold -- never have denied us food, have made us their slaves, have used our bodies to their carnal, filthy ends! They do not deserve our sympathy. It's Rålurkashadat, commander -- remember? Remember the day that recalls the time they left us to die?"
"As you are doing now, captain," Mark pointed out, as levelly as he could. "As you are doing now."
"It's not the same," the retriever snapped; his teeth were fully bared now. "For you to even compare the two! Get off my bridge, you traitor."
"I'm not. A traitor. I have served you for --"
"Have you? Or were you serving your naked masters? They can't be forgiven. I won't forgive them -- you and your soft, safe judgment -- where were you when my father was on the March? Where were you? Where were you?" His voice was a terrifying bellow.
"You are living a century in the past. You are opening old wounds just to enjoy the sight of blood. Captain, these are people, and we --"
He ducked to avoid the blow that followed, and as he straightened two hundred pounds of retriever barreled into him, knocking him to the floor. "No!" Zahaja roared. Mark raised a paw to push him back, and felt sharp pain as the retriever's fangs sunk into his arm. He jerked it away. "No they are not!"
The shepherd kicked as hard as he could, dislodging Zahaja enough that he could shove the other dog to the deck. He was halfway to his feet when Tal tackled him again, and his head struck a console sharply, sending stars through his vision. None of the bridge crew intervened. Mark staggered back to his feet, and this time he was ready for the charge -- catching the older canine and using his momentum to send him crashing to the ground.
"Captain," the shepherd panted.
Zahaja pounced, and again Mark swung him into the deck. The dog was a fierce fighter -- but he was also forty years older than the shepherd, and showing his age. It took him longer to rise. Still, his resilience caught the shepherd off-guard -- when Zahaja threw a punch Jadhalatja countered too far, putting himself off-balance. Suddenly he was back on the deck -- there were paws around his throat. He struggled -- twisted, biting down on whatever he could. Tasted blood, and heard the retriever yelp in pain.
Abandoning restraint the shepherd swung as hard as he could; his fist connected with Tal's muzzle, and the retriever drew back uncertainly. Mark followed through with the weight of his body, forcing the other dog to the floor. Grabbing him by the shoulders, he slammed him roughly down again. And again. And again -- until suddenly Tal's paws dropped from the shepherd and he held them up in a gesture of surrender. His muzzle fell back, baring his throat.
"I -- I submit," he whispered, surrendering with a raspy pant. As if a switch had been flipped Mark sat up, the aggression gone from his body. He would not help Tal Zahaja back to his feet -- that was a little too far. But after a few seconds the old dog managed. He had to lean on the console for support, and blood ran freely from the bite on his arm. "Lieutenant. You know what to do..."
"Sir," the officer of the deck, a youthful dalmatian, nodded. "Noting a change of command in the ship's log for 0430."
"You should get to the sickbay," Mark added, softly. Tal sighed, glanced towards the deck where a few drops of blood had landed, and slowly limped for the door. "Lieutenant Altekja, tell me how my ship is doing."
"Now hear this," the lieutenant was speaking into the intercom. "Inana Tal Zahaja has transferred command of the Vandenberg to inana Mark Jadhalatja, effective immediately. Section heads now provide readiness reports to Captain Jadhalatja."
Captain. That was a strange thing to hear. "Do we still have that distress signal?"
"Yes, sir."
"What's the synchronization cost?"
"One hundred and thirty kilometers per second, sir."
The shepherd ran the numbers in his head. "Alright. Lieutenant, lay in a course and engage at flank speed."
"Aye, sir." The young dog's ears were still slightly flat. Probably, Mark thought, the first time he'd seen two nakathja at each other's throat. "Bringing us about."
He called up all the information they had on the Newcastle, which was not much. A civilian-flagged light cargo ship, with limited passenger capacity and a crew of eighteen. Unarmed -- at least officially, but was that something they could trust?
"Course laid in, captain. Synchronization in forty minutes."
What were the odds? The odds were not, after all, good that the ship was actually setting a trap. But now that he was forced to make the decision, he felt a little of Tal Zahaja's hesitation. His first command decision would be, implicitly, to put the lives of everyone on the Vandenberg at risk -- children included. Regardless of the probabilities, it wasn't exactly an auspicious start.
He watched the numbers count down towards synchronization -- the point at which their relative velocity would match against the stricken Newcastle and they could approach safely. With fifteen minutes to go, the shepherd took a deep breath.
"Lieutenant. Take us to condition one and prepare the ship for incoming."
The dalmatian turned, and Mark could clearly see the flicker of nerves on his spotted face. But we're a science ship. "Sir?"
How old was he? How old could he have been? Fifteen? Sixteen? Jadhalatja padded over, giving him a pat on the shoulder. "We'll be alright, jananga. Switch to the 1MC, why don't you?"
"Aye, sir," the pup nodded, and handed him the handset.
Eight years since he'd heard the words meant sincerely; he'd never had to say them himself. The shepherd set his jaw. "Attention all hands, this is the captain speaking." A pause, too long, while he steeled himself. "General quarters. General quarters; all hands, man your battle stations. Go up and forward on the starboard side; down and aft on the port side. This is not a drill: set condition one-sierra throughout the ship. Defense grid, man all batteries and set alert condition alpha. Zed in five minutes. I say again: this is no drill."
It was done. He gave the handset back.
When she had been a proper military carrier, the Vandenberg had been armed with eighteen point-defense lasers and five linear cannon for ship-to-ship fighting. But now she was a deep-space survey ship; most of the weapons had long ago been removed. Six century-old defensive batteries and a handful of improvised countermeasures purchased from one of the corporations. Battle stations -- it was to laugh.
Lieutenant Altekja turned about in his chair. "All stations report manned and ready, sir. The defense batteries are online. Are you really expecting anything, sir?"
"No." And, on second thought, he went back to the intercom. "This is the captain speaking. We've received a distress call from a cargo ship in neutral territory. Nobody else is around to help them... so we will. We will because at this time, more than ever, it's important that we be here for those who need us. Irrespective of species, of history, of anything else. On Rålurkashadat, this is our opportunity for rebirth." More pragmatically, he finished: "We shouldn't encounter any problems, but I'm taking all necessary precautions. Man your stations and report any anomalous indications to the bridge immediately."
The heavy sound of hatchways closing punctuated the silence that followed. "Condition Zed is set throughout the ship."
"Synchronization?"
"T-minus nine minutes, captain."
He couldn't help fidgeting. The Newcastle was a civilian ship, and there were no conflicts that would warrant anyone laying a trap for random freighter traffic in the corridor. But if anything were to happen... his eyes went to the situational awareness hologram, a legacy of the Vandenberg's military days. It was empty. It needed to remain empty.
"T-minus five minutes to synchronization."
"Calculate our jump trajectory. Bring us as close as you can to the distress signal -- I don't want to spend more time there than I have to."
The navigator piped up. "Already done, sir. We can definitely get plus-minus twenty. That's second-res; third-res would take another two hours."
Mark nodded slowly. "Second-resolution precision will have to be good enough, then." It was starting to come back to him -- combat operations, like he'd practiced on his final starship, the cruiser Manila Bay. He still remembered the look on Captain Isaacson's face when he announced that he was resigning his commission. The first time a human had ever seemed... disappointed to see his departure. He'd just met Kaltas then; she was pulling strings with the local soviet, trying to get him a position on a nakath freighter.
"T-minus two minutes."
"Ready us for the jump."
"Aye, captain." Blue lights came up in the bridge. "All hands, stand by for FTL transit." The officer of the deck waited, watching his systems display. "Done, sir. Engine room reports the reactor is at 120%. Ready final sequencing."
"Synchronization?"
"One minute."
He gripped the edges of his seat, and waited until the engines had stopped firing and Lieutenant Altekja reported they had been synchronized. "Start sequence, lieutenant."
"Motivator unlocked. Full power in fifteen seconds. Trajectory!"
"Clean," the navigator called back. "Crosscheck?"
"Clean," confirmed the dalmatian. "I-board?"
"Zero," came a voice from behind the shepherd.
"Power in tolerance. All checks good. We're ready, captain."
"Engage," Mark ordered, before he had a chance to decide otherwise.
The lights dimmed and his stomach dropped out for a fraction of a second. Then, without ceremony, the lights came back. "Jump complete. All departments report ready. We came in nineteen over."
Nineteen thousand kilometers off the mark. Not bad, for an instantaneous trip of thirty light years. "Get that ship on the radio."
"Working on it. Frequencies open, sir."
"Attention Newcastle," Mark Jadhalatja spoke up, switching to English for the benefit of the human ship. "This is the ZKN Vandenberg. We're responding to your distress call."
The response was immediate, if slightly scratchy. "Vandenberg! Oh, thank god!"
Problem one solved. Jadhalatja ordered the Vandenberg secured from general quarters, and had Lieutenant Altekja bring the research ship alongside the wounded freighter. This took two hours, which was long enough for the bridge crew to discover a new wrinkle: the Newcastle was too badly damaged to maneuver, but even if she had not been the freighter was too tall by twenty meters to fit into the Vandenberg's flight bay.
"We'll need to send a boarding party." Lieutenant Commander Alsan Runara concluded, and didn't look happy about it. "We can fit all of the evacuees into only one boat, if they're agreed, but we'll still have to get over there, first."
Tal Zahaja, who had experience piloting the lighters that they used for ship-to-ship transfers, was still indisposed. "I'll take it over, then," Jadhalatja offered. It had been a few years, but even that was better than nothing -- and it meant he would not have to impose on the recovering Zahaja. "Get spaces ready for refugees. I don't know how long we'll have to keep them aboard, after all..."
The Newcastle was an ugly thing: squat, with a huge cargo bay that gave it a squat, deformed look. Half the lights were off, and it was spinning aimlessly; it took nearly half an hour to align the Vandenberg's lighter to the human vessel's docking bay. By the time they touched down, and the mechanical grapples secured, Mark had a headache from the concentration that had been required.
Her captain met the shepherd on the ramp -- a dark-skinned woman wearing a business suit that would've been suited more for a boardroom back somewhere on Earth. When she saw Mark, her eyes widened. "Did the company send you?"
"The company?"
"Orion. Orion Mining and Processing. You're company dogs?"
"No," he said. Rebirth was not off to a particularly good start. "My name is Captain Mark Jadhalatja, of the science ship Vandenberg. We're Commonwealth-flagged."
"Independent? Oh, boy." A man next to the human captain shook his head. "Boy, boy, boy. This is just perfect."
"Is there a problem?"
"No, I'm sure you're good dogs."
Lieutenant Satar, one of the Vandenberg's most accomplished nurses, slid next to Mark and dropped his voice, switching back to nakath-rukhat. "Orion still owns a lot of nakathja," he explained. "They were one of the strongest voices against permitting the Commonwealth's establishment. Our crew won't be happy about this, either..."
"They'll get over it," Mark told him, and spoke in English again. "Look, whether you like it or not, your ship is in trouble and I'm offering to help. Not because we're with your company -- because it's the right thing to do. We're all equals here."
"That's a matter of opinion," the human man grunted.
"I'm not certain I'm comfortable leaving my passengers and crew with you," the woman went on. "I'm sure you were well-trained by your previous owners, but... I'm not sure we'd feel... safe."
Jadhalatja tapped his foot in growing irritation. He hadn't slept for more than a day; his body still ached from what Tal Zahaja had done to him, and his head was a thudding, smoldering wreck. "Captain, let's take a walk. Where's your bridge?"
The bridge was deserted. The lights were dim, and flickered intermittently; most of the system panels had gone dark. "The motivator of our jumpdrive... failed catastrophically," she explained. "We had to scram the reactor to keep it from going critical."
"You can't fix it, then?"
Silence.
"What's your name, captain?"
"Melissa Eason."
"Captain Eason," Mark tried. "You've been aboard the Newcastle long?"
"My first command." Another light flicked and went out; half her face fell into shadow.
"The Vandenberg is mine." He tried to smile. "I know this probably isn't a good start. But I don't see that you have many options. You're in neutral territory -- we didn't even hear any other radio chatter. How many provisions do you have, in the lifeboats?"
"A week's worth." Eason tapped at her control panel, trying to bring it back to life; the screen refused to stay lit for more than a second at a time. "Maybe more, if we... draw straws."
"Then you don't have a choice. The Vandenberg was designed for deep-space operations; we have plenty of supplies. We can take you aboard for as long as it takes to carry you to the nearest planet. Or your destination, as it were -- where were you going, anyway?"
"Lee Station, in the Poole system. Orion owns most of the system -- exclusive rights to the asteroid belt. We even..." Eason trailed off, and finally sighed. "We even bought a thousand units of new AGMC moreaus to work the mines..."
"I didn't need to know that, exactly," Mark pointed out; she knew that, of course, but had realized too late to keep from finishing the sentence. "We're not yours, you know. We're free people, like you."
"I've worked around a lot of moreaus. I never thought there was much free about them."
It was almost as though the human didn't understand how offensive she was being, and the shepherd let it roll off his fur rather than fight back. "Now you know differently. I'm offering to help you of my own volition. You need that help."
"Maybe." The human clearly resented the admission, and Jadhalatja knew that she would've been far less hesitant facing a non-moreau. "It's just..."
"You know, it's a big universe. It would be easy to say that it's big enough for the two of us, but I don't think so. I think it's too big, captain Eason. I think it's so big that we can't face it alone."
On the bridge of the dying starship, with its lights going out one by one, the human captain looked acutely aware of her vulnerabilities. Finally she gave in -- or gave up -- and her shoulders drooped. "Alright. Th... ah. Thank you for your help, Captain Jathatath... la..."
"Jadhalatja," he corrected gently. "You would've done the same for us, I know."
"Do you?"
"I'm trying to teach myself that it's true. One step at a time, captain Eason."
With three hours of air remaining, they powered down the last of the Newcastle's systems and tagged its location and drift for recovery. There was no point in leaving the radio on, broadcasting the availability of a freighter waiting to be salvaged. Thirty humans, reeking of their characteristic human scent, filed into the bay of the lighter, taking as much of their own ships' cargo as they could manage.
On the Second Night of Rålurkashadat they were to burn incense, and offer commentary on the accomplishment of their independence. This is for alishir_, the last of our ties to our enslavement._ Eko would say that, and the nakathja would murmur their agreement, and the incense would rise to the ceiling. This is for our future.
Mark pulled Eko aside, and ordered her to put out another thirty places for dinner.
The mess hall was packed -- full to overflowing, really. The cooks had needed to work overtime. At the last minute, a few of the humans had volunteered to help -- though what they provided was strange indeed. Whole birds -- something called a goose -- and a strange substance that looked like water-soaked kibble and was apparently called stuffing.
"Odd rations," Mark pointed out to Melissa. He was trying to break the ice.
"It's not. Not rations, that is."
"This isn't what we normally eat, either." Although he couldn't help licking his lips in anticipation. "It's a special time for us. Our most important festival."
"The same." Eason stepped back, to let a pair of nakathja through -- carrying a pot of traditional bone stew between them. "Tomorrow would be Christmas, on Earth. We should've been spending it on Lee Station, but I suppose that won't be happening now -- so we can spare the food."
"A holy day for you, isn't it? I know a little about Christianity."
"Do you?"
"Ye have heard that it hath been said: thou shalt love thy neighbor, and hate thine enemy," the dog nodded. "But I say unto you: love your enemies; bless them that curse you, do good them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use and persecute you."
"They teach you that?"
"No. I learned it by myself. Many things I was exposed to, among your kind. Jesus Christ had many wise things to say. Kasha di dhanhata ghankalasova, zada si dhansakh ka alans ghantednag. First be reconciled to your brother, and then come and offer thy gift."
"That is..."
"That is from the Sermon on the Mount. We can't live a virtuous life consumed by suspicion and hatred. We call this festival Rålurkashadat -- 'rebirth.' I like to think that this must be what rebirth means. If there is a god, we do their bidding only in love for one another."
Melissa Eason nodded; a slow nod. Thoughtful. "Of course."
He pulled out a seat for her, and she took it carefully. "Kaltas! Kalla, this is captain Melissa Eason. Her ship is the one we found. They're miners. Dr. Kaltas wrote her dissertation on Echevarran spectroscopy -- useful in mining, I think."
"Y... yes. A... pleasure, Dr. Kaltas..." the human murmured.
"Try the raltura," Kaltas said, and offered across the table a plate of the little crackers, spread with a paste of organ meat. Too rich for everyday consumption -- though Mark took a few of them himself -- but certainly more palatable than the stuffing they were offered in exchange.
At least the goose, if somewhat salty, was enjoyable. The humans, if he watched them, seemed to be relaxing a little. By dessert -- slices of kiruhul, made of lard and dried cherries -- they almost looked at ease.
"Captain."
Mark twisted, and found himself looking up at Tal Zahaja. The retriever held out a tray of kiruhul. It was tradition for the elders to do this -- to show that they could still provide for the pack. Mark used his chopsticks to remove a small piece. "Inana Tal. You're well?"
"Better," Tal Zahaja inclined his head. "Our guests?"
"Safe. They've shared with us their food."
The old dog's eyes slid from Mark to Melissa Eason, who was watching the nakath conversation with puzzled interest. "It is good," Tal finally decided. "It is kutun, to eat with friends."
"Kutun," the shepherd agreed. The word had no adequate translation into English; it meant a thing that was proper and good and just in and of itself. A thing whose very goodness was sacred.
"You did the right thing, Jadhich." Tal Zahaja, whose right arm was bandaged, took a deep breath and held out the tray to Melissa Eason. "Please," he said in English. "What is ours is yours also."
Long afterwards, after the kiruhul, after he had licked a dish of 'apple pie' clean, after the dancing, he tapped gently the door to his quarters, opening it.
"Hello, janhata," a soft voice greeted him. Half a second later warm arms circled him, and when he reciprocated he found Kaltas had changed out of her uniform and neglected to replace it with anything at all.
"Kalla," he sighed happily, and licked the husky's face until she nuzzled forward and into his neck.
"You've had a long day..."
"A good day, though." He nosed at her ear, lapping warmly. She was so beautiful, the husky; so perfect. He was the luckiest dog in the history of the nakath -- as lucky as the first colonists, hearing their distress call answered. Another gentle nibble, sniffing at her fur to draw her scent in.
He unfastened the magnetic clasps of his jumpsuit, pulling it off with the grain of his fur -- it slid easily and he stepped from it to embrace the husky again, pulling her in close until their fur melted together, black on silky silver. Her fur yielded to his warm touch, and he walked her carefully back to the bed they shared. It was neatly made, and he decided then and there that they would have to fix that little problem.
"I'm sorry for snapping at you yesterday," the husky murmured to him; her arms were intertwined snugly behind his back, like she couldn't bear to give him up. "I was just... I was tense."
And it was his fault. He shook his head. "No, no, don't apologize..."
"But can I make it up to you anyway?" The way she tilted her head was exceptionally coy.
"Maybe..."
Kaltas laughed, and pushed her mate down and into the silky sheets. He lifted himself up on an elbow to watch her. For a moment there was pain, a dull ache as his bruised body adjusted -- then he found that he could distract himself entirely in watching her graceful form. The playful wagging of her tail, for one. The glint in her sky-blue eyes...
She settled down on her knees next to the bed. Her paws, warm and soft, fondled the shepherd's sheath, and she stroked his fur lovingly -- heedless of the little sigh the gesture drew from him, and the way he grunted quietly when she cupped his fuzzy orbs. "Jadhich," she murmured. "What do we have here?"
Her eyes, full of devilish mischief, flicked from his face to the few inches of slick pink flesh jutting from his ebony sheath. "Have to find out. Unless you're still full from the Second Night dinner. All that kiruhul..."
"I saved room," she laughed, and bent down, tilting her head so that she could kiss softly up along the top of his cock. Mark shuddered and groaned at the warm touch, lifting his hips up as more and more of his bare shaft slid free. When he was fully erect, stiff and eager, she switched from those gentle kisses to warm laps of her broad, soft tongue.
"Kalla... ah, alansharuk Kalla..." he gasped to her.
"Jangan," she purred right back. Mine. My love... The slow laps of that tongue started to stretch wider, to blanket him in silky heat. And then, as he shuddered in pleasure, she took him into her muzzle, suckling gently. Every touch, every twitch of her tongue sent a jolt running through him.
Her tail was wagging as she saw what she was doing to the shepherd, and steadily she began to move faster. Rocking her muzzle back and forth, her tongue slurping wetly as she bathed him in hot, hungry strokes. Mark shut his eyes and forced himself to stay still -- not to thrust against the husky's sharp fangs, for sharp they were indeed.
Warmth flowed into the fur of his groin with her soft panting and he opened his eyes to find her muzzle buried deep in his crotch. Pressure rippled over his cock as she swallowed around him. His groans were beginning to become more tense -- she was so skilled, and so insistent, and so plainly hungry. He wanted to give her what she wanted -- wanted to fill her hot little muzzle. She grasped the base of his length, squeezing his half-formed knot and he hissed sharply.
"Kalla..." he managed, fighting for breath. "Anshar, slow a bit..."
"Slow?" The question was muffled and made indistinct; he had her mouth rather thoroughly stuffed.
Better ideas occurred to him. "Mm. No... get up here..." Mark slid his paws beneath her shoulders to pull her back onto the bed, and she snuggled up to him obligingly. He grasped her plush, rounded rear and squeezed. Thoughts of the night before filtered into his head -- getting her up against the wall, pounding into the husky until they were both howling...
Now things were slower, though; more intimate; she seemed to understand. She lapped at his neck, and suckled softly on his ear while his paws caressed her and his foot pressed her thick-furred thighs apart. "Jadhich..." she sighed his name when he guided himself to the husky's sex, his tip starting to slip inside as her slick walls opened up around him. "More..."
With a sated, primal groan he gave in, pushing firmly -- his cock sliding into her easily, filling his mate as he had countless times before. The pressure on his ear deepened as she took him in, and then released with a grateful moan when their bodies were snugly fitted together -- each completing the other.
He paused to enjoy it as long as he could manage, until he couldn't resist any further and began to thrust. Kaltas arched with him, a fluid, slow rhythm animating the couple as they moved together on the soft, enveloping sheets. The shepherd's length worked steadily into her, through the growing resistance of her clasping folds and the steady swelling of his canine knot.
All the tension of the day was fading, replaced by a soft, warm glow that smoldered and sparked hotter as he let his pace continue to build. He needed it, needed to be sunk to the hilt in his willing mate, their bodies locked as intimately together as they possibly could be. Mark nipped and bit at her muzzle, drawing little gasps and muffled squeals from the husky.
His husky. There could be no other. The thought made him shudder with delight; his next buck was sharp and forceful and as his knot worked with effort into her, sinking into place with a wet pop. He dragged himself back slowly -- not wanting to -- wanting to stay with her forever, joined to the lovely silver canine...
"Don't," she whispered to him when he plunged into her again. His knot strained against her taut lips, and her inner muscles clasped and squeezed and pulsed around his appreciable shaft. "Don't tie with me, Jadhich..."
He pulled away and thrust into her shakily -- knot working a fraction of an inch deeper. "Why?" he managed, half-consumed by the desire to do just that. She would feel so good when he knotted her, letting him claim her body totally in those final hot, fierce moments when they --
"G-going into heat, love... if you don't want..."
Growling, pumping his hips smoothly, he let the thought percolate. He -- didn't? Except... except that there was nothing more that he wanted in all the universe. "No," he said, his voice rough, shot through with primal desires. The shepherd lowered his muzzle to pin her ear against a pillow. "I do." The admission was hot; urgent.
"Jangan?" Her ears perked hopefully; he felt the flicking wag of the husky's heavy tail. "A family?"
"Yes," he gasped, with another unsteady thrust. Grinding into her heavily, trying to stuff his thick knot all the way inside. Even in the heat of the moment there could be no doubt as to his sincerity. "Kaltas I -- you were right it's time -- we need -- we -- "
"Jadhich!" Her paws were on him then; her moan was soft and low and crooning. "Mark -- tie with me, then... please..." Strong legs wrapped him up -- squeezing him -- tugging him in with his frantic thrusting as each stroke grew shorter and shorter. Struggling to finish its goal... stretching her wider around that solid, hot bulge...
It happened in a sudden rush -- the pressure yielding as he sunk past the resistance of her body to settle deep inside and he grunted with the shock of it. "Kalla," he groaned headily. He tried to thrust again and all it did was jerk their pinned bodies by where they were joined, sending electric sparks of pleasure up his buried cock. But he couldn't help the attempt and he did it again, his hips shoving the husky down and into the mattress.
He was so deep inside her -- just like you were meant to be, he thought; don't hold back now -- and he strained as his short, fevered humping worked for the little bit of purchase he could get. That inexorable end had a new purpose now, he realized with a thrill. Sparking new life in his lovely, perfect mate... together... "Jangan," Kaltas cooed. "Fill me, love... give me your pups..."
The shepherd groaned and stiffened with the order, and before he could react pleasure was sweeping over him in heavy, swelling waves. He pushed into her urgently as his cock throbbed and jerked. His hot seed, thick and virile, jetted into her in a warm, sticky torrent. He came into her like he had a hundred times before but now -- now --
Now as he flooded her he could see the tense, needy look on the husky's face, with her ears drawn back and her muzzle open in a desiring gasp, and it was all so much more important. He bucked with every surging, warm spurt until his strength deserted him and he fell forward and onto the dog, arms hugging her tightly, gasping his love for her into Kaltas' pinned ears.
The husky stroked him soothingly, and he dimly felt her voice... somewhere... in time to the wandering of her paws while she petted him. "Kalla..."
"Mmhm," she agreed. "Jadhich, what changed?"
And he did not have an answer at first, except that as he lifted his head to look at the husky there was nothing, nothing that filled his thoughts but his love for her. "Because... because the universe needs it..."
"Children?"
"Our children," he nuzzled her. "The lessons we can teach to them... the things they'll do for the future... Kalla, I should've known before..."
The husky smiled, and licked at his face until it was dripping and he had to beg her to stop. She curled against him tightly, protectively, and when they slept it was as too bodies pressed so close that they might as well have only been one.
He had been drunk on her, and on the excitement of the day before, but when Jadhalatja woke he found that he had no regrets. Kaltas was already at work -- he had slept until it was very nearly time to go on duty -- but he was already planning for dinner. Dinner and -- well. He'd have to make sure the job had been done properly, wouldn't he?
For nothing about the future was set. They all had their choices to make; their paths to forge. It was not naïveté that had bade him rescue the Newcastle, but conviction -- the same conviction he would teach to their young. The same conviction that would put the very stars at their fingertips...
"Captain on deck!"
"At ease. Status report?"
"All systems are nominal, sir."
"Excellent." He took his seat. "Plot a course for Lee Station, in the Poole system."
"At first-res... done. Eighty k, sir."
"Do it, then. We need to drop off the humans before we get back to work..."
"Yes, sir. And, sir -- about that?"
Lieutenant Tira pointed him towards the ready room that was built into the sphere of the bridge. Inside, one of the humans was waiting. He did not wear a business suit, or a flight uniform -- indeed he seemed like a pup, probably. Or barely an adult, wearing a t-shirt and denim pants. "Hello," Mark said, as warmly as he could.
"Hello, sir. Mr. Jadhalatja?"
His pronunciation, for a human, was passable. "That's right. You?"
"Luís Martin, sir. I was wondering..."
"Yes?"
The boy stuck his tongue into his cheek, and pondered his words. "We're headed to Lee Station, I guess Captain Eason told you?"
"That's the Vandenberg's next stop, yes."
"I was wondering if I might stay aboard for awhile. Sir. I -- I know that I'm young. But... I'm trying to go to university, and I need to save up money for it for... awhile... I can work, though, sir. I know about planets -- I was raised on a frontier colony, and then on freighters."
Mark cocked his head, and tried not to look too skeptical. "But why the Vandenberg? You're not exactly..."
"One of you? No. But I can speak a little, and I'm a quick study."
"You can speak rukhat?"
"Yes, sir. Passably. My... my grandfather was nakath."
The shepherd blinked. "You don't look like it."
"It's complicated. A long story."
Jadhalatja laughed -- it would have to be. "Well. I suppose you'll have time to tell it. I'll talk to our personnel department and find you a bunk. Welcome aboard."
"Really?"
"You have to ask yourself at some point -- what do you want to be? Do you want to be the kind of man who reflexively says no to a stranger? Do you want to be the kind of insular, clannish man who says something like 'but you don't look enough like me'? Or... or would you rather be something else? Something more? I think... I think we owe it to ourselves to be something more. I hope you'll make for good crew."
Stranger things had happened, hadn't they? Luís seemed earnest, at least -- and wouldn't it be something! Nakathja had served on human starships for two centuries -- wouldn't this be the first time the tables were turned? Yes, and that was rather exciting. To say nothing of a human asking to come aboard...
And it had almost not happened. They had almost kept going; had almost left the humans to their fate. Had almost given in to their fears, and the clinging ghosts of their memories. The way forward began with a decision. To embrace the unknown, and the promise of new friends. To celebrate the diversity of the universe. Not to call for peace on earth, but to live it.
So he would.
One step at a time.