Shooting Star

Among the thousands of systems claimed by the Regulian Empire, there exist several stars not on any official records of ownership. The only evidence we have of these anomalies are reports by merchants and explorers being accosted by royal ships and turned back.

This reporter tried to reach out to the Regulian Imperial Family for comment, but in typical regal fashion, we received a courteous, simple, yet somehow threatening statement from Prince Areth, 20^th in line to the throne and Minister of Public Affairs:

“Regarding your inquiry to the so-called “Forbidden Zones," I cannot confirm nor deny any existence of such systems. However, if they were to exist, they would be considered an Imperial Secret and undue investigation or any publication of such locations would be worthy of prosecution."

-An excerpt from The Sirian Times article, “Forbidden Zones: the Galaxy's Great Secret."

It was the end of a long day, a hard day, and worst of all, an unprofitable day. Debt was growing and time was running out, but at least I had food and water.

Reclining the seat, I put my feet up on the steering wheel, enjoying the last minutes of white sunlight as it vanished far, far off behind the distant mountains. Between there and here was a canvas of patchwork and nonsensical biomes painted across the land. Rolling hills, sweeping grasslands, miniature deserts; ending right below the cliff my vehicle was perched atop. Give the Planet (For we were given no name for it.) that much, it had spectacular, even impossible views.

A chill breeze swept across and I shivered, cracking open a beer can.

“To my health!" I shouted, raising the can before lifting it to my lips and letting the foul, watery brew enter my mouth. Sirian piss...what I wouldn't give for a good Earth beer, or some vodka.

Rubbing my free hand across my short, buzzed hair, I leaned my head back and looked at the first stars of the evening, dotting the darkening blue sky of Planet.

Perhaps one of those is home.

One of them was moving, slowly tracing the skyline. A shooting star! Somehow, despite everywhere I'd been, from coast to coast of Earth, to planets light-years away, I'd never seen a real shooting star before! The beer was catapulted from my hand, down the cliff, as I scrambled for my binoculars and pressed them to my eyes, scanning the sky for it.

There it was! Bright white and gracefully making its last, fatal journey across the sky. It was beautiful, but very sad as well. Perhaps a small trace of it would land on Planet, stuck here forever like us.

I wish my debts will be taken care of.

Superstition becomes a part of your life on Planet, whether you believe in it or not. It's always better than the alternative.

But my wish would not come true, I knew this right away. The star grew larger, burning brighter until it almost looked like a small sun, until it suddenly vanished. When my vision cleared, I saw something in the sky, white, metallic, and heading to the ground.

“What the hell?"

Focusing in on the blurry object as its free-fall grew more rapid, I tried to discern what it was. A meteor, most likely, or some junk from a passing ship.

Then I saw it: a faint triangle on the spine of it. A wing.

With that, it fell into the pine forest to the south-east, past the dust-lands and through the tall-grass. I didn't hear it land and if it weren't for the flocks of birds fleeing the trees, I would have thought it a hallucination brought on by tainted dog alien beer.

It was no hallucination. It was quite possibly the biggest score of my life.

Flicking on the radio, I listened for chatter while putting a cigarette of redweed in my lips and lighting it. I let the acrid smoke fill my lungs and instantly felt my focus grow.

The radio had the usual, sparse talk from various junkers like me. Most people didn't like to give away their scores, so it was usually used more for weather, warning people about bandits, or arranging drinking parties; but something like this could not be ignored, if someone else saw it.

I heard the magic words, in Lupiad, which I knew very little of, but it was clear enough, “BIG SCORE IN THE FOREST!"

That was it. There was no time to do this the safe way, in minutes, a swarm of jackals would on their way and they would not be keen on sharing.

Tossing the smoke away, I reversed a few feet, held my breath, kicked the truck into drive and slammed the accelerator.

My stomach rose as we were launched into the air. The world slowed enough, thanks to the redweed, for me to casually glance over the edge of the truck at the world below me. This was a dumb move for anyone riding a normal vehicle, but I was riding a Regulian Desert Hauler, designed for speed, cargo, and for the vast desert dunes of Beta Vulpeculae.

The grav-stabalizer didn't hurt either. With a twist of a knob, my descent slowed and the angle of my fall evened out.

It still shook like a bitch when we landed though, but we were in once piece and most importantly, I was still in the damned thing. Throwing off the seat belt (Believe me, it's a lot safer with it off here.), I grabbed the microphone and spoke, “This is Skinbag, anyone got visual on the goods?"

The chatter did not seem to care one bit about my question, save for one Lupiad, the same who broke the news and spoiled the whole thing, who seemed to be growling increasingly incoherent Lupus curses at me. I ignored him and switched on some music.

“AY YAO YAO YAAOOOOOOH!" The high-pitched shriek of the Vulpeculan singers, if you can call it that, gave way to an intense electrical guitar solo. Fitting music for a chase.

The dustlands were coming up and with no time to put up the canvass roof up, I strapped on an old pair of motorcyclist goggles and slammed on the gas, kicking up heavy clouds of sand.

Hidden in the clouds to my left was the black silhouette of another vehicle, blasting through in the same direction. With my left hand on the wheel, I groped under the seat and got out my caravan special, broke it open and loaded it with two shells and put it on the passenger seat. Couldn't think of anyone better to ride shotgun with.

Veering slightly to the left, my fellow junker's vehicle became more clear: it was a garishly decorated Earth Jeep with Christmas lights wrapped around the top. Working Christmas lights at that. I knew who it was right away.

“Ebi!" I shouted, waving a hand.

The passengers were now clear as day. Ebi, a tall, black-skinned man from former Nigeria, was in the passenger seat wearing a metal soldier's helmet and stroking a long, bolt-action hunting rifle. Manning the wheel was his current squeeze, a gold-furred member of the dog-like Sirians; he didn't take his eyes off the road.

“Pawel!" He exclaimed in return, waving with one hand but making sure not to loosen his grip on the gun. We were almost close enough to shake hands at this point, “You made a deal with the devil to get that truck."

“Not the devil, just a snake."

“Hah! If you're not careful he'll have your ass."

“We'll see, bro!" I flashed a quick salute to my rival, “May the best man win!"

Ebi grinned wildly, “I'm the best man, Pawel."

Shrugging casually, I put my hand on the gear shift and said, “May the best truck win, then!"

The gears ground as I switched and the truck leaped forward, overtaking Ebi. Laughing, I waved back at him as he was left behind in the dust.

Ebi was a good rival. He didn't cause trouble if you didn't cause trouble and he played fair. He was never far from a gun but I'd never seen him use one.

Which made the ping of a ricochet off of my side view mirror all the more surprising.

It didn't take long for me to see the real shooter. It was kind of hard to miss the floodlights piercing through the dust-clouds straight towards the left side of my truck without any signs of slowing. I pumped the wheel to the left, swerving and urging the vehicle forward. I grabbed my shotgun and leaned the underside of it on the door-frame. Lowering my head, I waited for the fateful moment when I'd pass the driver seat.

I saw him aiming a needler at me and fired, spraying buckshot into his door and causing it to fall off. I left the driver behind, swerving to the right, towards the tall grass and the forests beyond it. The plink-plink-plink of needles hitting the side of my truck repeated the whole while. In the rear-view mirror, I saw nothing but the glare of my assailants floodlights.

I recognized him right away when I saw him. A solid gray Lupiad who fancied himself a lone wolf, so to speak. Ran into him once before: caught him robbing a Sirian junker of his scrap and his virginity and decided it'd be fun to help myself to his unguarded cache; being that he was 'tied up', I was able to get away with quite a score while he clumsily tried to chase me, still attached to his victim, screaming at me in Lupus.

Must have been him on the radio, I thought, putting the shotgun down and un-holstering my Beretta, I should have put a bullet between his eyes back then. Should have helped the Sirian out.

Flicking on the radio, I shouted, “Hey, Wolfy! Can't you see the decal on the side? This vehicle is protected by Sirth! Turn back before there's trouble!"

I got a response. I could not understand it, but I gather it was something along the lines of, “I am going to slit your throat right after I cum in your ass." But then, I didn't know more than a few words of Lupus.

“Kurwa!" I cursed as reeds of grass slapped against the windshield. Just the grass, then the meadow, and then the forest. All I had to do was lose this degenerate Lupiad, who clearly, let the outside of his vehicle rust and decay while upgrading and fine-tuning his engine, because he was gaining on me, fast.

Plink! A needle slammed into the steering wheel, right above my left hand. You don't see needlers much back home, but they're a favorite of alien nobility as a self-defense weapon. Useless against anything with armor but they do a fine job of puncturing organs on un-armored targets like me.

Thankfully, my Beretta was just as good at ruining his day. I craned my left arm back, firing the gun blindly back at him. He took no heed and kept on gaining, until he was right next to me.

Snarling, with a thick glob of drool dripping from his fangs, he aimed the needler at me and I met it with my gun.

Click.

We both cursed and he pawed a clip of needles and started forcing them in violently. I'd never fired one before, but it looked like he was about to break the damn thing. Between the lashes of the grass outside, I caught a glimpse of the side of his truck door. There was no decal.

“This vehicle is protected by Sirth. You know who that is, right?" I asked, fishing for a spare magazine but finding none under the seat. It must have shifted during the jump.

“Fuck Sirth!" He growled in English, “I fuck you!"

“You're not my type, Wolfy!" I looked to the Beretta. Cursing, I realized my mistake. It was jammed, not empty. I made mistakes like this, ever since I got put here, ever since my memories of my time in the service fogged, I had to keep my head clear. Clearing the jam, I held the wheel with my knees and lined up the sights with both hands at the angry wolf, “And you're not protected."

Howling, he punched the back of the needler and it beeped, a familiar noise when it has been successfully primed. He lowered the needler to me and I lowered my gun…

And fired at his tires.

After the third shot, the rubber peeled like an orange and the truck strafed violently to the left before hitting something and flipping over, sending the Lupiad flying. I guess he didn't take good care of his tires either.

I laughed. Partly because it was a victory, but partly because I was trying to sound natural. I was not alone.

He must have thought I was too busy with the bandit that I didn't notice him jump into the flatbed at the back. He thought he was being very smart, hiding under the canvas there and he must have thought I would never have noticed his bushy, red tail dart under there.

Probably wanted to wait for me to get to the site and then, when I loaded up the back he'd spring forth and tear out my throat. He'd take the score, the truck, and perhaps even my corpse with him. There were a lot of desperate people out in the wilderness, and when you're hungry enough, all of a sudden you start to respect the sapience of other aliens less and start to view them as any other prey.

Humming casually to myself, I maneuvered the truck through the last towers of grass and into the meadow before the woods. With my right hand, I wrapped my fingers around the shotgun lying on the passenger seat, keeping my eyes on the bulge on the canvas in the rear-view mirror the whole time.

I gently placed my thumb on the hammer for the one barrel that was still loaded. Still whistling, I slowed the vehicle down to a crawl and in one quick stroke, swung the shotgun back, cocked it, and pulled the trigger…

FSSSS.

Sparks flew from the barrel but there was no bang. A dud.

Kurwa!

I threw the shotgun to the side and reached for my pistol, but it was too late: the stowaway leaped out from the canvas and the deathly thin Vulpeculan collided against me, slamming my head against the wheel. Reeling, I had somehow managed to open the door and roll out onto the dirt.

Once again I reached for the holster, but in a flash he pounced on me, jumping from the slowing truck. Thin jaws gave away to reveal long, thin, and sharp fangs, and they were quickly shooting towards my throat.

I wrapped my hand around his throat, holding him back. His teeth snapped madly and drool sprayed on my face. His breath was rancid, if he had even ate anything recently it was certainly rotten. It didn't help that Vulpeculans already had a musky scent that could easily become unpleasant if it wasn't taken care of.

I spent all my strength in holding him back. I couldn't choke him without giving away some of my strength, I couldn't grab my gun nor could I punch him in his nose, for my other hand was busy swatting away his attempts at clawing my face.

Vulpeculans were smaller and weaker than most humans, and most people usually have contact with them as slaves or some other kind of servant. It's easy to forget that they came from the most primitive planet in the Empire and those who were not born to be slaves were hunters or warriors. The one on top of me was not a friendly fox who dressed you in the morning, wagged his tail when you praised him, and was secretly in love with you as part of your delusion to justify owning him. This was a starving, desperate creature and the fact that he knew death was around the corner if he didn't take me down, made his strength almost supernatural.

I couldn't beat him, but I was not about to let him turn me into lunch. I'd hold him at a stalemate for hours on end, even if I meant he showed a second of weakness. I had to live as well.

But then I felt my elbow buckle and the teeth grew closer to my face. Sensing his victory, his tongue lolled out happily, the tip of it lapping against my forehead. Like a desperate animal, I tried to snap at it, a last ditch effort to hurt him, but he wised up retracted it, snapping his jaws in anger.

Bang!

The Vulpeculan collapsed and I immediately shoved him off me. Blood poured out of his chest through a small hole and he violently convulsed for a few seconds before abruptly halting.

I looked behind me and saw a familiar Jeep with an equally familiar rival proudly sitting in the passenger seat with his rifle.

“You owe me a headstart, Pawel," Ebi said, slamming the bolt back and sending a steaming shell flying. “Thirty seconds."

“Deal." I gasped, flashing him a quick salute, “Thanks Eb..."

The squeal of tires interrupted my thanks and they were off, leaving behind a trail of dust in their wake.

Ebi was a fair man and he did save my life, so despite having no real means of making sure I stayed, I stayed and counted.

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

I got back in the truck, it having stopped not too far away.

8.

9.

10.

11.

12.

There was a rustle in the tall reeds, not far back. I pulled out the Beretta, keeping my eyes on the back.

13.

14.

15.

16.

17.

Bursting from the reeds was a gray Lupiad covered in cuts and wearing ratty, fresh blood-stained clothes. His gaze was trained on my truck and I knew right away who he was.

“I FUCK YOU!"

Wolfy charged towards my truck, fangs bared and growling heavily.

18.

19.

20.

I fired a shot. The Lupiad slapped his cheek and fell to the ground.

He didn't have his needler and I had very little desire to go over to him and check to make sure he was dead. I didn't know him very well, but I could tell he was the kind of person who would fake dead just to have a chance to overwhelm you. I was also about to lose out on a big score, so had little desire to waste precious bullets.

21.

22.

23.

24.

25.

26.

27.

28.

29.

30.

Wolfy didn't move the whole time. I started up the truck and slammed on the accelerator, leaving both him and the Vulpeculan behind me.

* * * * * *

It was dark by the time I got to the crash site but it didn't matter. The naked impact crater and the wall of several fresh tires marks told me everything I needed to know: I was beaten to the score. It was gone.

All I found was a seat with some soft, synthetic covering on it. Stitched into the top was some words, but it was in a script I didn't recognize. Vulpeculan, perhaps? It was rare to see a free Vulpeculan outside their noble palaces on their home planet, let alone one with a ship, but if they crashed here they wouldn't be free for long. If they were lucky, they'd be ransomed off to their families using one of Sirth's or another gang boss's contacts. God help them if one of them was female. This was, I assume since they did not exactly hand out tourism brochures here, a male-only penal colony and most people here haven't seen a woman in ages, let alone a Vulpeculan noblewoman.

I was gay, and not just prison-gay, so it didn't matter to me. If I wanted a Vulpeculan man, he was friendly and reasonably priced at Flint's bar.

Unfortunately, I found myself at Flint's without enough credit or cigarettes to pay for him but I had enough for a few drinks. After the excitement of today, I needed something to keep me calm. I ordered from Flint, a brown Equuleian, who immediately poured me a frothy mug of beer. I tossed two cigarettes on the counter which Flint swiftly held up to his large nostrils, flaring them as he inhaled, and, satisfied they were legit, tucked them away under the bar.

Two tiny hands rested on my shoulder, the claws gently prodding at my skin, “Pawel! Did you come here to see me?"

I peered back at Red, my favorite man at Flint's. He was a very typical red Vulpeculan but he had a way of projecting his slim body to make it seem exceptional, rather than the standard body type of his species.

“Sorry, lost a big haul tonight. Only got enough for a few beers."

“This one's on the house." Red's muzzle shot forward and gave me a quick peck on the cheek. His sweet, musky scent was a welcome one after having tangoed with that mangy fox in the wilderness, “Next time, okay?"

“Promise." I said, stroking his soft tail as he sauntered away.

Vulpeculans were the first alien species I ever met face-to-face. I was fifteen and I grabbed my grandfather's rifle, a few packs of Russian MREs my crazy brother ordered online, and rushed into the woods to join the Lesser Polish Resistance. The invasion had landed in Africa and the aliens were striking Europe from there, from the sky, and from space itself. To the south, country after country was overwhelmed, with many officially surrendering while the people continued to fight. These aliens were monsters, as far as we could see. They leveled entire cities and when they landed, they took the form of beast-men. You can understand a hated human nation invading, even at their worst, but these creatures were impenetrable. Did they want to kill us all? Enslave us? Eat us? We didn't know and did not accept surrender as an option, no matter what the government thought.

I ramble. I have been doing that a lot since landing on Planet. I am sorry.

I got separated from the resistance not even a day after meeting them. I was alone in the wilderness and took shelter in a rusted, old communist-era steel mill. Rain began to fall and I took shelter in a run-down trailer. When I entered, I could smell despair in the air. Huddled in the corner was a Vulpeculan soldier, fur coat soaked and matted with mud. He was cradling his head in his arms and...not crying, for that is something unique to humans, but clearly sad.

Despite all that happened, I couldn't bring myself to shoot him or even capture him. He was young and scared, just like me. I sat next to him and wrapped my coat around his shoulders. He didn't fight back and I held him close to me, nuzzling my nose against his cheek. We laid down and slept together. I didn't wake up until the next morning and by then he was gone and I was alone with nothing but the tender smell of his wet, sweet musk lingering behind.

I'm not sure where I was going with this. I'm sorry, I tend to do this lately. Maybe I was trying to say that I can see the aliens as both people and monsters. Or maybe I was just trying to say Red reminded me of that Vulpeculan. Maybe I just want to focus on the memories I still have, rather than the ones they took away. Perhaps it's just the beer talking.

I took a chug of beer, shuddering as the bitter, Sirian brew washed over my tongue. I didn't have time to enjoy the burn of alcohol before I was interrupted again, this time by two people who were much more unpleasant than Red.

The massive, green-scaled Lacertan slithered towards my seat, talons clacking against the plank-wood floor. An evil glare flickered in his jade eyes. Silently walking in front of him, dwarfed by the giant lizard, was a tiny Procyonid with black and white stripes and a black mask around his eyes. Somehow it was the satisfied smirk on the Procyonid's muzzle that irritated me more than the predatory lizard. Sirth. This wasn't his bar, so he was clearly here on business and that business involved me.

“Pawel Lis." The Procyonid said, pulling out a piece of paper from the pockets of his brown trousers and scanning the contents. “You have one week for the next payment on your Desert Hauler."

“Yes, Chik, I know." I said, sipping my beer.

“I speak for my master, Sirth. Address all your statements to him." Chik said, motioning towards the Lacertan behind him.

Sighing, I stared back at Sirth, locking gaze with his intense, green eyes. “I apologize for the delay, but I will have your payment on time."

Sirth hissed and leaned down towards his slave, pulling one of his pointed ears towards his muzzle and whispered. Sirth knew how to speak Regulian, I could tell, but I think his kind thought speaking anything but his native tongue to be beneath him. You can't get anywhere in life thinking like that.

But then, it was me who owed Sirth money, and not the other way around, so I couldn't really talk.

Chik proudly translated, “My master would like to remind you that you're the collateral on the loan." He paused, clearing his throat, “I speak for myself now, I can assure you that Sirth is a very kind master and would consider you a fine prize to have. If you were to admit defeat now..."

“I have no intention of doing that. I will have the money on time."

Both of my 'friends' turned their heads toward the entrance, as did Flint and everyone else in the bar for that matter.

Were it not for the slender, orange and white muzzle, and an equally orange tail with a black tip sticking out from it, you'd have thought that the Vulpeculan standing in the entrance was a pile of laundry someone dumped there. The Vulpeculan's body was wrapped in a dusty, brown jumpsuit and their head had a veil wrapped around it and goggles over their eyes. A black scarf was around their neck, caked with dirt.

And as the Vulpeculan undid the veil, I saw what all the aliens were smelling. All Vulpeculans were slender and feminine, but this one was exceeding so. She removed her goggles, revealing her bright, emerald green eyes, a rarity for a Vulpeculan. Finally, she unzipped the front of her jumpsuit just a tad, revealing the top tip of her flat, white furred breast, which seemed to make the aliens gasp. The humans were entranced still, but her lacking any sort of cleavage like a human woman dulled the scandal of it for them.

“Shit." Flint grumbled. “This is going to be trouble."

He was right. This girl didn't know what she was getting into, or perhaps thought she did but had no idea just how bad things could get here.

Sirth hissed something into his slave's ear.

The Vulpy padded slowly into the bar, her long, leather boots tapping on the floor as she did. She looked around confidently, perhaps with a bit of arrogance as she raised her nose the whole time.

“I'm looking for someone strong and resourceful." She announced, to the murmurs of the crowd. “To help me find someone."

She walked further into the bar and all eyes were on her. Wet noses were sniffing desperately at the air behind her.

“If you were to help me, I would be grateful." She paused as if expecting the lusty jeers from the patrons. “And there would be a big reward."

She paused, staring directly at me with her green eyes. Perhaps I stood out because I was one of the few who was not paying her much attention aside from pained worry for her safety. I tried to make my facial expression clear, that she needed to get out of there immediately, but there was no telling whether she understood.

A cold nose pressed against my ear, and I just about punched Chik in the face before restraining myself as he whispered.

“If you were to acquire her for Sirth's bar, I think your debt would be considered square."

Flint's ear twitched, “Not in my bar, Sirth."

The Vulpy jumped forward with fright. A white Lupiad's nose was pressed square against her rear, a sick grin on his lips. She cast one last glare at me, twitched her tail violently, and then quickly began to walk out.

“Not in your bar, Flint." Chik sneered. “She's leaving."

Two aliens, the Lupiad who got fresh and a blonde-furred Regulian with a thick mane and an ugly scar across an empty eye socket. Trouble had found her.

I remembered that Sirian that the Lupiad bandit had assaulted and felt guilt. I should have helped out back then.

I finished off my beer and jumped off the stool.

“Make sure to bring her back in one piece."

“I'm not bringing her back to you."

Sirth let loose a raspy laugh and Chik chuckled his response, “Ah, a hero, hm? Very well, go! But make sure you get the money one way or another."

Flint merely nodded and said, “No weapons. You're doing the right thing."

My weapons were shut away in a footlocker in the Hauler. Flint didn't stand for weapons in his bar, neither did Sirth or any of the other establishment owners. The Planet was violent enough and respecting the rules of order in the bars and brothels was the closest thing we had to a law here. Perhaps if she had stayed, Flint might have laid down the law on those two, but it could have sparked a riot.

I threw open the door, finding myself in a dull, dark field. I could barely make out the vehicles parked around the bar, let alone the dirt tracks on the ground. It was dark now and I was at a disadvantage compared to the aliens, and a gust of wind slapping a cloud of dust in my face didn't help.

My eyesight adjusted and I saw the mane of the Regulian move from behind a truck to the right of the bar. Hunching down, I crept towards the truck, being careful not to make a sound on the dry, almost sand-like dirt ground.

The voices of the aliens grew closer. They weren't saying much aside from describing what they presumed she'd like them to do to her. She didn't say a word, which concerned me.

Planting my back against the truck, I lifted my head and peered through the passenger window. I was surprised to see her standing her ground as the two aliens circled her, like a wolf circled their prey. She was confident, or at least oblivious.

The Lupiad was scrawny for his species, I could see his ribcage sticking out in sharp contrast to his shrunken stomach. Lupiads were fierce fighters, but they were nothing compared to the physical power of a Regulian. A normal Regulian would be about 300 pounds of muscle, dwarfing all but the most physically excellent humans in a fight, and this one-eyed one looked to be in prime shape.

I would have liked to take the Lupiad down first, just to even the numbers, but there was no way I could have won in a single fight against the Regulian. My memory of my time in the imperial military was foggy, I don't remember much about it except that I ended up here after it all, but I remember we were taught how to take down a more physically imposing species with hand to hand combat, But for Regulians, we weren't taught any cheap tricks, I guess they didn't want us to get any funny ideas about fighting our overlords.

Still, I knew that like any other alien with a large muzzle, they had a glass nose.

Swallowing, I waited for the Regulian to circle around close to the truck. As soon as his bulk passed to the left of the window, I followed and swung around the truck behind him. I whistled, which caused him to turn his head.

His claws reared back in a swipe, but my uppercut was quicker than him. I caught him straight on the nose and he landed onto the ground with a crash. I didn't have long before he'd get back up, so I charged past the woman and stopped in front of the Lupiad.

We were taught some key weak-points of Lupiads. Unfortunately, this one seemed to realize exactly where I'd strike and he was a guarding his nose with his paws. Likewise, he seemed to know that I'd strike at the joint of his legs next and was stepping side to side quickly. He would have made a good boxer, were it not for his claws.

There was always his groin. It was not a graceful way of winning, but it would be a method. Still, kicking there would leave me open if he were to grab my leg.

I swung a few feints at him, which he reacted to with lightning-quick reflexes. If I had thrown a real punch, he would have blocked it, grabbed and grappled me. He knew how to fight. This wasn't going to end quickly.

“Get out of here!" I growled at the Vulpy, not taking my eyes off of my opponent for a second.

If she were to escape, this wouldn't be a bad way to die. At least I'd have done something right for a change. Best of all, that snake, Sirth, wouldn't get his money.

But better to live. It was time to fight really dirty.

Lupiads were obsessed with rank. They were lovely, personable people, so long as you made it clear you were beneath them, or they were convinced you were above them. When a Lupiad met someone of equal rank or ability, that was where conflict broke out. Their government couldn't stop such fights from happening, so they created a list of dos and don'ts for all fights and they tended to follow such things religiously, even when caught up in the heat of the moment. If you broke such a rule, you would be branded as a caste-less and no laws applied to you. Someone could stab you in the back and as long as you could prove they acted dishonorably in a fight, you'd be in the clear.

Thankfully, we were not on Lupus and I was not a Lupiad. I only had to follow Flint's rule and that one rule was no weapons.

The wind stilled and I kicked up a thick mound of dust straight into the Lupiad's face. He cried out, rubbing at his eyes in a desperate attempt to clear his sight. I sprung into action and threw a kick at the joint in his leg. My boot caught it and the sound of a heavy crack, followed by his scream let me know that I aimed true and that he wasn't getting back up.

Panting, I swung my head back. The Regulian was slowly staggering to his feet. I needed to get out of there.

The Vulpy was still there and still carried no expression on her face.

“Come on!" I yelled, grabbing her by her gloved paw. “We need to go!"

She complied as I pulled her away, dragging her towards the Hauler. The bar was still rowdy as I passed it, but no one else came out to bother us.

I crawled onto the flatbed and leaped into the driver's seat. She quickly followed and go in the passenger seat.

I whipped out my keys and began to start up the ignition. “There's a footlocker at the back, the combination is..."

She stopped me by reaching down the breast of her suit and pulling out an ornate, golden needler with a long, round magazine on the top with precious jewels encrusted into it. Despite the luxurious appearance, it was clearly a standard duelist's needler and just as deadly.

“I could have handled them." She said bluntly, leaning out the side window and taking aim.

“You're welcome." I said sarcastically, kicking the Hauler into reverse and spinning out of my parking spot.

“I did not mean that to be rude, I appreciate your help." She said, moving her aim to the side. I caught a glimpse of the Regulian charging towards the vehicle and immediately switched gears and slammed on the accelerator. “In fact, I was looking for a man like you."

“A man like what?"

“Trustworthy, resourceful, and strong." She said, pulling herself back in the truck and relaxing her needler at her side. “I could have picked any one of those peasants, but I wanted one that I knew I could trust not to give in to their base urges."

“And how do you know I'm not one of them?"

“Because..." She leaned forward, sniffing at my shoulder. “I can smell your intentions and your base urges are subdued."

“Whatever you say." I said. I guess that was her fancy, Vulpeculan way of saying she knew I was gay.

“So, are you interested in my job?" She whispered, tail thumping against the seat with excitement. “I didn't want to cause a riot so I kept the details of the reward to myself."

“What kind of reward?"

“Your memories..." She said, causing my heart to skip a beat. “And a way off this planet."

I slammed on the brakes, nearly flinging the both of us out of the Hauler. I turned and looked her straight in the eye. She had a wry grin on her lips. She knew that she had caught me and I couldn't say no. She was clearly a rich Vulpy and rich Vulpys could be as tricky as the foxes they resembled, but if she was lying, she would be trapped here too. She must have an escape plan.

“Tell me more."