Aces II by Mariak

Aces II

Mariak, Fox, Gay, Husky, Jackal, Wolf, World war six

A gay fox and his friends battle a jackal tyrant in World War Six.

NC-17: Gay Sex

In my nightmare they come for me out of the darkness. They wear conical caps and robes stitched from rags of many colors. Their throats are wrapped in iron chains.

They drag me through catacombs where broken statues stand sentinel and warped candles gutter in pools of liquid wax, where dust a foot thick lays in choking drifts like filthy snow amidst a lifeless forest of pillars and granite caskets. It's a kingdom of corpses and cobwebs.

There's a shrine deep in that place, a dais cracked and sundered and littered with bones. There's a picture on a pedestal that stands in a pile of ash, lit by more candles that are caged in skulls.

"The master," one of the strangers whispers, pointing a paw whose claw is curling and yellow. His dunce cap is askew, half hides the collie's sparkling eye and loans the collie's face a sinister slant. "He wants you back."

My gaze finds what he's pointing at, is drawn to it by an awful gravity. Part of me knows what I'll see, who I'll see.

The picture is of Rick and me, leaning on his Corvette. He's got his aviator's on and he's giving a thumbs up. His arm is around me and we're both young and happy, so young and free it seems we'll never die, and at least there in that frozen moment we never will.

The flickering flames seem to give the picture an eerie power.

"Soon," the collie promises.

On my twenty second birthday Rick and I sat on the hill, side by side on soft grass in front of his red Corvette. We both had our shirts off and I was looking up at the sky.

Cirrus clouds, I thought distantly. My brush swished through the wildflowers and the wisps of disturbed dandelions rose lazily into the air as if by magic.

Cloud watching seemed safe. Cloud watching seemed right, because if I looked over at the wolf while he was wearing nothing but shorts and sneakers the house of cards would collapse, the mask of hearts and clubs and diamonds would blow away in a hard-on, and I'd lose my best friend.

Sometimes I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I didn't choose to be this way, didn't ask for it.

I had a vision of a pale, caped figure clad in black, standing in the pouring rain with a great sword across his back and water streaming down the broad brim of his hat, surrounded by a world in which he had no home, no place where he belonged. "I am what I am," he says softly as lightning splits the sky.

I was what I was too. My blood was as red as any other fox's even so. I saw the same things with these eyes of mine and felt the same things when I touched them with my paw or they touched my heart. My exile was what was artificial, false...wrong.

If only the rest of the Solar System saw it that way.

"You're quiet today," Rick said, laying a paw on my shoulder. "You're not thinking of...of that, are you?"

I had told him about my eighteenth. "No," I said softly, trying to smile. "That's not it at all." I paused and our gazes locked. "What about you? You were there...you okay with it?"

His beautiful, mismatched eyes seemed to look through me. "Valric died. That was all."

Yes, that was all. The streets of Rune were loud with fireworks, it was snowing confetti, and my best friend the war hero was a stranger now. Twenty eight troops had survived the invasion of the palace and he had been one, yet a part of him hadn't made it back.

I felt like a coward, a civilian villain whose bachelor's degree had been a paper shield somehow strong enough to stand up to the lethal sword of the random draft, and I was ashamed. There were a thousand things I wanted to say, yet somehow, whether by instinct or intuition, I knew any of them would have been the wrong thing.

The silence stretched between us, there was nothing but the whisper of grass waving in the wind and bird song. The sun was warm and the world was saved, old Laser Eyes was dead and World War Five was over. That was all that mattered.

I woke up alone in the ghostly glow of starlight. The blanket I had wrapped myself in had slipped off and I was cold.

The glass of water on the small table next to the cot had a thin film of ice on the surface and the clock read 0800 in the red digits of time's bloody hand. I put my paws to my face to make sure I was real.

I spook myself sometimes. Sometimes I'm not sure whether I'm really there or not.

Taylor and I had wanted to stay together last night, yet both of us had known that was far too dangerous. There was the curiosity of others to consider. Curiosity is the echo that often starts an avalanche, that makes silk clad nobles wonder what's on the other side of an ocean, that makes scientists possessed with the best intentions wonder what would happen if an atom is split. Why would strangers not ask what a husky and a fox have in common other than flying fighter jets?

I missed him. I had other worries though.

I looked at the Bronze Cross, the medal glinting darkly by the water glass. It had gotten me into trouble already. At 0900 I had a briefing with an enigmatic member of the High Command, Admiral Brennan, whom I had never heard of let alone met.

The ship shivered around me suddenly and the stars beyond the window stopped their slow drift. Freestar's Lightdrive had begun a braking sequence. Mars couldn't be far now.

I put on my uniform, pinned the Cross to my chest. It felt strange to wear it. It was heavy over my heart.

The High Nine had created an ice moon in the orbit of Mars when Six began, christened it with the uninventive name of Coldhold. The technological logic behind this titanic construct eludes me, I'm not a scientist, yet I know it has something to do with reflective layers magnifying energy pulses into rays of apocalyptic power through charged mirrors and frozen lenses.

I caught a glimpse of this ultimate weapon from a window as I walked towards Transport. It was glassy and perfectly spherical, black and translucent on the night side, frostily crimson on the day one in the light that rose from the red planet. Beyond it the galaxy was a phantom hint of forever's face.

"This is bullshit. Let me take a shuttle," a huge bear uniformed like I was rumbled as I entered Transport. A few techs in grey jumpsuits stood around him, looking grim and small in his shadow. Huge machines rose around them in steely, glittering cliffs, an infinity of colored lights and a dizzying maze of gages and readouts loaning them a prismatic glint.

One of the techs, a German Shepherd, crossed his arms over his chest. I guessed he was their chief because of his stance and the shiny chevron on one shoulder. "Sir this isn't fucking Star Trek. The Transport creates low intensity, localized worm holes. Worm holes. You're not demolecularized or otherwise altered, it's just a rip between here and there."

"I ain't becoming no clone," the bear said, flashing his teeth. "You die when you get beamed, it's a copy that assembles on the other side. I want a shuttle. Better yet give me my jet, bastards."

One of the other techs, this one a mouse, raised his cuff to his muzzle, started speaking into it softly.

The blast door hissed open behind me. The tiger who entered Transport stepped around me as if I didn't exist.

Same uniform again. It was then that I realized both bear and tiger had a Bronze Cross. Aces.

"Quit your whining Shard," the newcomer purred, tail twitching. Every move he made was grace. He seemed to radiate authority, an imperious arrogance that raised my hackles. "It's safe. I've done it a hundred times."

The bear's ears went flat and he scowled at the techs. "You sure Walter? These fucks are speaking Chinese but I ain't so slow as I don't know a fast one."

"Sure I'm sure," the tiger said silkily.

The charge seemed to go out of the air and the engineers relaxed. The mouse touched his wrist and let his paw drop. There was an awkward silence, then the Shepherd noticed me. His tail gave the ghost of a wag. "Ah, you must be Lanter. Please tell me you're not afraid to Displace."

"I wasn't scared," Shard said darkly, looking at me for the first time. His gaze was like a hammer, a blunt assault. Whatever his opinion of me was though, he kept it to himself. I formed an opinion of my own as my eyes met his.

No, not dumb at all, I thought, looking back at him. Frightened of Displacers yes, grammatically challenged, yes...but he wouldn't be wearing a Cross if he was what he seemed at first brush.

First impressions, they say, last forever. They're garbage though. I'm sly enough to know it.

Maybe that was because I was what I was, that nothing is so simple when you live behind a mask. Assuming others are wearing them is automatic, a reflex, and though you can be wrong you're seldom surprised.

Walter ignored me entirely.

Again I drew no conclusions that lasted. The tiger's demeanor could mean he was hiding something, or maybe I was reading between imaginary lines. He could be as complex as a pharaoh's pyramid, or maybe he was just an asshole.

No way to tell. Not yet.

Actions, something whispered.

Yeah, actions. I fought a shiver, fought memories of Terran and the fall of my wall, Taylor fucking me in the showers and dreams of wolves and collies and corvettes. The last twenty four hours had shattered my world into a kaleidoscope of good and bad.

Just stand there, stand there with my Cross gleaming in the multi-colored lights of Transport, a fox in pressed fatigues who showed the world a vulpine of stone, an ace of steel.

The blast door opened a second time and a slender vixen ace with a bandolier appeared. The dark leather held eight long knives in oiled sheathes.

I stared at her with the rest, stared because she was beautiful and playing straight was second nature. She glanced at me, smiled a guarded smile. "You one of the new members of Team Alpha?" she asked.

"I don't know," I said, hiding my surprise. Team Alpha was a legend. That she had even suggested I could be a part of it was a compliment. "All I was told was that I'd be briefed by Brennan."

She held out a paw. "Cheryl, TA's captain. You're Lanter, right?"

I shook it and nodded.

"Your papers came in this morning. Apparently you impressed someone."

I didn't know what to say.

She laughed at the look on my face. "Don't believe everything you hear. You'll fit in fine."

Would she be saying that if she knew what I was? Probably not.

I tried not to feel bad about that, to let it get to me. Even if I became the best fighter pilot in the entire Fleet, in the history of aviation, most would still hate me if they _knew._Sometimes knowledge is power, and sometimes it's weakness. Cracking dams of ignorance can be dangerous, disastrous. Sometimes, the world isn't ready for what they're holding back.

The Shepherd checked his watch, cleared his throat. "Ah...if you'll all step this way please," he said, pointing at a great sphere of what looked like quicksilver. The sphere was perfectly still, sleek, liquid and statuesque. It emitted a faint hum.

We all gathered around it. Walter acknowledged me for the first time, his yellow eyes looking me up and down. "Don't fuck up rook. You know the game. We only have eachother out there. You better be as good as they say."

"When you step inside," the chief tech said, "you'll experience what we call swim. It's a psychological disconnect, you could say. You might begin to think a little strangely...reality might seem a little unreal." He paused nervously, maybe expecting a laugh, but the four of us remained silent. The other techs smiled dutifully. "Anyway, as I was trying to explain to Ace Shard, it functions as a door, nothing more. It just brings two points together."

"Better not be lying," the bear put in.

"Let's not start that again," Walter growled.

The Shepherd checked his PDA, seemed puzzled. "Shouldn't there be five of you?"

Cheryl shook her head. "He's late but he should be here soon. You can start the launch sequence."

The canine gave her a perfect salute, started hitting keys on a nearby console. I looked at the sphere with a sort of superstitious dread as it began to ripple and spin. I'd never taken a Transport before. I didn't trust it at all.

I didn't like the part about reality becoming unreal either. My hold on it isn't as firm as I'd like at the best of times.

Taylor showed up as the sphere slowed its spinning. The humming from it had reached a disturbing intensity, the space around it rippling like road tops in a summer heat wave. The wet mirages that wreathed it didn't exactly inspire my confidence.

"Sorry," the husky said, joining us. His eyes met mine and he nodded as if we had just met.

"So who wants to go first?" the chief asked as an oval door opened silently in the silver sheen.

I volunteered. I wasn't sure why. "Let's just get this over with."

"Excellent," the Shepherd said. He seemed pleased, like a magician about to unveil a new trick. "Just step inside. You'll be on Coldhold in no time."

I stepped inside.

There's silence in that place, silence as loud as the voices of typhoons or tidal waves. It's a catharsis of a sort.

Time is no river, no flow from then to here and now, to an unknowable when where the paw of fate draws blood from the stones of destiny and aligns the stars of life. The roads all meet and he knows why. It's not philosophy, it's logic lucid and harder than diamonds. Fact. The journey is the point, because the clones of God, they who have fulfilled life's ultimate purpose and reached the destination, can do anything but one thing.

Kings and Queens of All Is Won and Thus Lost, Emperors of Endings, they sit upon the Throne of Every Dream Fulfilled until the boredom grinds the mountains of their pride and arrogance to dust, until their curiosity is darkened like the tired, ghostly cinder of a dead sun.

Only then, when the sword of despair finally finds a divine heart, does the journey, the dream, begin again.

Rick picks me up, puts me down on the warm, red hood of the car, and I'm not thinking of cirrus clouds or masks anymore. The heat of the Corvette's engine is rising up around me. The painted steel is hard and so am I.

The wolf kisses me. It's the first kiss I've ever had and it's amazing.

I never really understood them, never knew why everyone thought they were so great. Suddenly, now, I know.

I'm wearing black basketball shorts. He pulls them down and nips my neck, then my chest. His warm paw finds my pulsing dick and I realize I'm panting, arching my back. He's firm against me and I can hear my heart pounding in my ears as summer's emerald vision narrows, fades until all I can see is him.

I unbuckle his belt as he strokes my hard on, watch his shorts slide down his thighs. I want him but I'm still afraid. I'd fought myself for six years, lived in the hell of what I swore wasn't denial. It couldn't end like this, I wouldn't let it, I-

Then his huge dick is out of his boxers and he's flipped me. I taste fiber glass and the tang of Armor All. The fox in the windshield's reflection looks back at me. _Say goodbye,_something inside whispers.

The wolf's erection is hot and wet, stiff against my ass. We're both breathing hard and I whine as I feel him slide in, thrust so far forward we almost get locked together. I bite my tongue as he rocks me, as he puts an arm around my throat and fucks me faster.

I know he's going to screw up, that he'll lose control and go too deep. Then he does.

I try to bite the Corvette as his knot slams into me. The cherry paintjob is slick and I put my muzzle against it. We're bound to eachother, trapped, and that's alright. The pleasure is a sweet sort of agony.

"Lanter-" he whispers.

I look back at him, kiss him awkwardly and lick his face. "Shh," I say.

We stay like that for awhile.

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