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."