On the Right Path

Despite all of the lovely infrastructural advances that Earth's 'benevolent' overlords introduced to the planet, global plane travel was still fairly similar to before the war, at least from what Abel understood from people he talked with who lived before it. Unless you could afford a private lift-copter, which Abel's Father considered an extravagance despite his position in society; you still got shoved into a giant, aluminum tube and strapped into uncomfortable seats for hours on end.

Only difference, Abel supposed, was that back then the planes probably didn't smell quite so musky, as two hundred fur-covered aliens tended to do to enclosed spaces they were stuck in; that and there likely wasn't the threat of a sudden orbital strike from Lacertan ships.

The strike earlier did hit Earth. It was a mass of scrap metal about the size of a cannonball, flung towards Earth by a mass driver from a Lacertan spaceship, probably around near Procyon. Thankfully, by the time it made impact in the South Atlantic, it had been shattered into small pieces by the planetary defenses and created merely a small wave.

The plane was mostly non-humans, as expected, with Abel and two of his fellow shooting club members being the most obvious exceptions. Hada was the more subtle of the two, staring out the window from behind dark shades while headphones were parked over her ears; she was dressed in a black leather jacket and jeans. She was a free human, raised under the same program as Abel and adopted by a family of Regulians as well, and she didn't give any hint that she was anything more than that.

Gure on the other hand, seemed to be doing all he could to stand out. He was attracting stares on the plane due to the fact that he was dressed in a burgundy overcoat with white, frilly cuffs and had an ivory, satin shirt with a black vest atop it. Somehow, he had managed to carry a silver cane aboard the plane, the perks of being a member of the select elite. He was dressed like a member of the Gentleman's Congolese Republican Army, one of the stranger rebel groups out there, of which he was neither a member nor Congolese, but was wearing their strange choice of clothes in solidarity after it was reported they lost a battle against the Kingdom of Earths armies.

Feeling a little bored by Hada and not exactly wanting to be seen too close to Gure at the moment, Abel connected his laptop to the plane's Extranet connection and rang up a call using Hotline, a messenger app.

While waiting for the call to process, the program showed a cartoon Lupiad wearing nothing but a white shirt, frantically connecting analog lines on a switchboard before triumphantly giving Abel a thumbs-up.

Regnath's face popped up on the screen, staring straight at the camera and making the Regulian look rather goofy, like a housecat sniffing at a camera.

“Abroth!" Regnath sighed and adjusted himself, tilting his face to the right a bit to make his visage on the screen look a bit more dignified. “You're alright! I heard about the strike and-

“Abel."

“Abel, yes, okay! I'm just glad you're okay!" Regnath peered back, towards the doorway leading to the kitchen. “Yin! He's alright! Get over here!"

A bundle of black fur darted past the doorway and soon Yin was at Regnath's side, leaning the chin of his black muzzle on his master's shoulder. Abel could hear Yin's tail beating against something out of view excitedly, “Master Abel, I was so worried! We shouldn't have let you leave on this trip, I'm so sorry we didn't stop you, it won't happen again! I swear! I swea-!"

Regnath reached behind the Vulpeculan. Yin shrieked, his fur standing up on ends and Abel caught a glimpse of Regnath's paw wrapped around Yin's bushy, black tail.

“STOP!" Yin yelped before breaking off into a string of Vulpeculan curses. He punched Regnath on the shoulder, which the far larger Regulian merely laughed off. “YOU KNOW I HATE THAT!"

“That's why I'm doing it!" Regnath released his grip on his servant's tail. Yin immediately began brushing his hackles and mussed up fur on his tail down.

Gure leaned over and waved at the screen, “Regnath, how are you?"

“Gureth!" Regnath exclaimed, flashing his predatory attempt at a human smile. Hada coolly swung over and waved silently at the screen as well. “Hadrath too! Ah, I'm so relieved you kids are keeping my son company!"

Quietly, Yin slipped behind Regnath and pulled up the Regulian's narrow tail, rubbing the tuft of it in his palm and smirking at the camera cheekily. Regnath did not seem to notice, or if he did, he didn't care.

“Yeah, yeah," Gure brushed imaginary dust off of his frilly coat, “don't you worry, we'll keep him out of trouble."

Hada wrapped her arm around Abel's neck and scruffed up his hair, “This little pervert wanted to visit a brother in the Quarter first thing after getting into town but we told him his dad wouldn't approve! Had to slap him across the face before he'd listen!"

“Fuck off!" Abel pushed Hada aside, who laughed confidently and took a sip of the cup of scotch she ordered. Flustered a bit, Abel addressed his Father on the screen. “She's full of shit, Father, I never-"

Regnath was covering his face with his meaty paw, trying to hide his laughter. When he managed to compose himself a bit, he leaned forward to the screen and whispered, “Son, it's quite traditional for a Regulian around your age to visit such a place for their first mating."

Gure and Hada were silently staring at Abel's reddening face, grinning wildly.

“Why, I remember my first time..." Regnath leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin, “...a Lupiad girl, oh, that bushy tail of hers hid a butt that just wouldn't qui-"

“STOP!" Abel shouted.

“Son, you're not a virgin, are you?" Regnath sat up straight and Yin looked a bit shocked, eyes wide at the thought. “I know you humans tend to be a little shy about the subject but I thought with all your trips to the city that you'd have..."

Regnath unconsciously made a circle with the fingers of one hand and rubbed the rim of it with his other hand's index finger. The implication of the gesture, as accidental as it likely was, was not lost on Gure and Hada. Gure began laughing maniacally while Hada covered up her giggle with her palm.

“I can transfer some money to your card. Yin!" Regnath patted the Vulpeculan on the shoulder. “Research a list of reputable businesses in New Orleans!"

“DAD, NO!"

“Son, I'm just doing what any good Regulian father would do for his cub," Yin handed a datapad over to Regnath and the older Regulian began thumbing through it, “are you into men or wo-"

“Mandatory news broadcast incoming!" a robotic voice cried out within the program. “You conversation will be over in five seconds."

“Aw man!" Gure hissed. “This was getting good!"

“Sorry father, I-" Abel looked to his fellow humans, brothers and sisters in arms against the Regulian overlords and he felt a little anxious about professing affection towards Regnath, “-I'll see you later!"

“Yin, send him the lis-"

Abruptly and obnoxiously, like all mandatory news broadcasts, the chat came to a screeching halt and the stream was replaced by a green and blue circle on a black background, the Kingdom of Earth's flag.

The all-too familiar visage of the Regulian's favorite local propaganda reader, Marcus Fong, appeared along with his Regulian handler/co-anchor, a slim and oddly sensual female wearing a blue pantsuit, human in original design but adapted to the Regulian frame.

“This just in! An orbital strike has just occurred off the coast of Africa!" Marcus pressed back his round glasses. Sweat was pouring down from his greasy, neatly combed hair and down across his eyes. “Regulian orbital defenses have once again saved us from total destruction from the Lacertans!"

“And who dragged us into this war?" Hada muttered.

“No casualties have been reported but the Kingdom of Earth's Disaster Relief Squad is on standby should they be needed!" Marcus stammered and leaned forward to blatantly read off of the teleprompter hidden behind the camera. “A reminder: the Disaster Relief Squad is always accepting and in need of new recruits! You too can help the Empire win this most just war from the comfort of your home planet!"

Smiling and dripping of venom, the Regulian, the true power behind the broadcast, shifted her eyes towards the camera. As far as Abel was aware, they had never given her name on the show, she was merely a nameless extension of Regulian authority.

“In other news: in response to a successful petition made by concerned citizens of Earth, Propaganda Minister Shalth authorized an investigation done into war-time atrocities during the Reguliam Empire's liberation of Earth from its corrupt warlords. Some of the results have been released and they are quite surprising, Marcus?"

Without missing a beat, Marcus began announcing the results in all their bias-warped glory, “The study has been found that 65% of wartime rapes and sexual assaults were committed by Vulpeculan soldiers, without the knowledge of their superiors."

“They're scared now," Hada pulled out a badge from her coat pocket, showing off a small tri-color of green, white, and yellow. The flag of the VRR, the Vulpeculan Republican Resistance, which chose the green as a symbolic tie between human resistance members, who could correctly see the color, and the Vulpeculan rebels, citing common ground in the fight against the Regulians. “Divide us and they'll rule forever."

“The findings are quite shocking, I must say!" the female Regulian nodded slightly, “and it seems that the feeling is quite universal."

The camera flickered to show a woman of middle-age with slightly graying hair. A red double-decker bus puttered on the road behind her and she spoke with an English accent.

“I used to think that we had some common ground but to hear something like that, it's just horrible!"

An old man was next, wearing shades and a flatcap. He was in front of a long beach and his voice was dubbed over with an English narrator.

“Those fucking scoundrels! To think, to think they'd do such a thing! I just-" the old man retched and spat, “I won't let any of those animals near my Granddaughter!"

The camera flashed back to the two news anchors. The female Regulian coolly flashed her green eyes at the camera.

“Incidentally, the report declared that humans themselves committed the second-most acts of sexual assault during the liberation."

Abel scoffed. It was a nasty little trick they were pulling. Chances are the study was slightly accurate but in a very Regulian manner. Regulians, Lupiads, and Sirians were not barred from being officers like Vulpeculans and as a result were more likely to kidnap and take a human as a slave, which naturally, did not count as rape to the Regulian mind.

“Uh oh!" Marcus Fong nervously pulled at the collar of his shirt. “I, uh, I hope you don't think we're all like that!"

“Fear not, Fong, the report declared that humans were a mere drop in the ocean compared to the Vulpeculans. All other species were incidental to the main findings of the report."

“These dudes sicken me," Abel grumbled and reclined in his chair, “how much you think they pay that Fong guy? Probably gets paid a lot to figuratively take barbed cock up the ass on live television."

“I feel sorry for him," Gure said quietly.

“I don't," Hada spat, “people like that? They're worse than the Regulians. I'd rather trust one of the cats over them."

“I know what you mean," Gure sighed, “but what about us? We're the pampered, adopted children of Regulian nobility. You think other people think of us that way?"

“Vulpeculan parents here," Hada snorted and nodded. There weren't a lot of rich Vulpeculans on Earth, let alone free ones, but Hada had lucked out and gotten adopted by a Princess who had moved to Earth as an envoy to the Kingdom of Earth, “and Mom hates the Regulians more than me!"

The news broadcasters vanished and a propaganda ad started playing. A succession of men and women from across Earth were showcased in front of derricks and oil refineries.

“I'm an oil driller from Alberta."

“I'm an engineer from Arabia."

“I'm a logistics coordinator in Texas."

A pool of black oil began spreading across a dried, dirt field.

“The Imperial Marines might be the most feared soldiers to the Lacertans, with their guns and ships. But we're out here every day, pumping and refining oil that creates plastics, reserve fuel, and mechanical lubrication."

The field suddenly burst into flames.

“We've been burning dead dinosaurs before the Regulians even knew the Lacertans existed."

“I'm doing my part."

“I'm doing my part."

“I'm doing my par-"

The screen suddenly cut out, showcasing the Earth flag once again. The flag slowly began to fade away, replaced entirely by black and only the ripple of cloth showed that it was still a flag on display, but a very different one. To Abel's surprise, even the television screens mounted on the back of the seats were showing the same thing, despite Abel having turned his off.

A loud beep rang out on the plane and the pilot began to speak.

“We, uh, we can't stop this broadcast, the controls are not responding. Watching this is a crime, dissemination of information broadcast in it is a crime. Loose lips sink ships."

A gray eyeball flashed onto the screen.

“Only through the embrace of logic and all its virtues can the galaxy be saved."

A cheerful pastoral scene appeared, at first only showing humans happily walking in a field of grain. Automated machines were slowly plowing through the field, harvesting the grain while the humans were enjoying themselves.

“Why toil for the flawed elites?"

The humans walked up to a picnic table by an idyllic cabin. A Lacertan with bright, green scales was waiting for them with a pitcher of beer and began pouring it out into glasses for his human friends.

“Why fight hopeless wars for distant rulers?"

Other aliens joined them at a table until the entire known galaxy was represented. A gray Lupiad, an absurdly scrawny Sirian, a bushy, brown Vulpeculan; a proud but friendly looking Regulian, a happily servile Procyonid, a towering Equuleian and a loud, boisterous brown Ursine. All of them grabbed a glass and were exchanging stories without conflict.

“Peace in the galaxy can be achieved through voluntary acceptance of the value of logic, derived from a central, singular authority. One without flaws or petty emotions."

All of the beings in the broadcast were now in a small field, facing a large, square computer terminal with four tall screens on its sides. The steely, gray eye was plastered on the screens and the beings all bowed slightly before it, forming an oval shape around the computer as the camera panned up.

They looked just like the gray eye logo, with the computer being the pupil.

“Only through Logos can peace be achieved."

Brolath shifted in his bed. The Regulian had a habit of using the window of his apartment as a cue for when it was time to wake up, by observing how dark it was. Now that he was in space, which he hadn't ventured into very often, he found himself having difficulties getting out of bed. There was no morning in space, after all.

Only when Brolath was unable to head back to sleep at all did he finally get up. He headed off to the shower and let its hot water wash over his body. It was an unpleasant sensation, getting his fur wet, but only a true lout would neglect his personal hygiene.

Stepping out of the shower, Brolath slapped his palm against a button on the wall and a tall vent began blasting his body with hot air. He brushed his fur as it dried, applying a light later of gel to his mane and other hair that would be visible over his clothing.

After a quick brushing of his teeth, Brolath slipped a pair of brown trousers on along with a red shirt, which Brolath had just finally gotten used to accepting as a color. The headaches had long passed and he was starting to find a bit of pleasure in seeing what objects he owned were actually a different color than what he was expecting.

“Captain!" a voice called out, Rorgh. “Get your ass over here!"

This had not been a very enjoyable pleasure cruise. Brolath was feeling a bit more confident after dominating that slave but the sensation was starting to wear off. He wanted something more, he could feel it in his heart.

I'll buy a souvenir on Earth, Brolath thought as he swiped his claw along a datapad. He had been very busy the other night, browsing erotic photographs and videos of humans and was starting to understand some of the popular appeal behind them. Their hair, in particular, intrigued Brolath, all the different lengths and colors, along with their styles. A Regulian's mane came in many shapes but humans seemed to have them beat.

Granted, Brolath had some hesitations. The male humans, or men as they were called, had only two nipples and their penises seemed to always be outside of their sheathes, while the females seemed to always be a second away from visibly carrying a litter with how inflated their tits were. Brolath presumed it was some kind of fetish, the humans showing off their virility and their fertility, and he couldn't deny that he was intrigued by their physiology.

Someone who will be loyal…

“Captain, if you're giving your barbs a rub, knock twice and I'll give you five minutes!"

“I'm coming!" Brolath announced and slid open the bathroom door.

Rorgh was waiting for him at the dinner table. The Lupiad's eyes were baggy, a consequence of having spent most of the trip gambling, drinking, and whoring. An acrid, bitter smell wafted through the air and Brolath's nose traced it to a round, white mug that Rorth's fingers were clutching. A black fluid was floating in the mug, it looked like sewage.

“You look like shit, Captain," Rorgh lifted the steaming mug to his snout and lapped up some of the liquid. There was some strange writing on the side of the mug, it looked like human writing.

“What are you drinking, Adjunct?" Brolath inquired as he sat down at the table. Documents were strewn across the table along with photographs of people of interest, including but not limited to Claw agents and humans of interest. Despite the ease of digital storage, when it came time for briefings like this, the Guard preferred to print things out. It was a tradition of sorts.

“Coffee, it's from Earth," Rorgh said and placed the mug back on the table. Brolath was about to speak up but Rorgh rolled his eyes and interrupted him, “I know, I know! It's poisonous to Lupiads, but I don't care! I'll swallow another filter pill, by the Emperor!"

“Is everything on Earth poisonous?" Brolath sighed and covertly looked at the datapad underneath the table. Searching up “Coffee," and “Humans," Brolath found a picture of two humans sipping the drink at some kind of bar. They were smiling, showing off their teeth, and Brolath wasn't sure what the mood of the picture was suppose to be, it looked like they were about to rip out each other's throats with their square teeth.

“Not at all! They've got some damn fine food over there, perfectly edible without filter pills too! Make sure you try beef when you're there, oh, and fried chicken!" Rorgh rustled around with some of the photos. “Has the Emperor ever had fried chicken? I bet if you bring some back you'd get a promotion!"

“It sounds unhealthy, I'd rather not give him another heart attack," Brolath's hackles raised as he realized what he said and cleared his throat, “I know not what I speak. Ignore me."

Rorgh slapped his forehead, “I don't know what the Emperor sees in you, honestly. You're not much of a spy."

“Neither do I," Brolath instantly regretted saying that. He didn't want to look weak in front of the Lupiad and although their species had proven their loyalty to the Empire in the years past, Brolath still had to preserve Regulian dignity and stoicism, “but I keep accomplishing missions, so I suppose I'm doing something right."

“The Claws going to eat you alive," Rorgh groaned and slapped a photo on the table, showed a positively slimy looking Vulpeculan, entirely black from head to toe, “shall we begin?"

“You're been to Earth, haven't you?" Brolath swished his tail. “What's it like?"

“Captain, I'm not a tourism representative and I know what's bouncing around in your head right now," Rorgh lapped up some more coffee, “you'll find plenty of humans who want you to fuck them."

“What are you-?"

Rorgh's nostril's flared and his ears twitched, “I'm sorry, but being a Lupiad comes with certain advantages, two of which are enhanced hearing and smell. The fact is, I have been smelling your hormones seep out from under your bedroom door and heard you moaning human names. You've gone onto the Skinweb, haven't you? Nothing to be ashamed about, Captain, just keep your mind on the job."

Brolath growled lowly and cleared his throat, “Actually, I was just asking to get a clear picture of the local technology level and the culture."

“Shit, uh, sorry!" Rorgh's ears lowered. “Well, uh, have you ever been to Beta Vulpeculae?"

“Yes," Brolath remembered sand getting in his nostrils and spending days without sleep trying to get a lead on VRR activity. It was a miserable experience but he had managed to capture a VRR Lieutenant and bring him before the Emperor in chains.

“Well, imagine that but with less sand, a lot more grass and trees, and there's fossil fuel burning cars everywhere. The air's all thick with soot from those and well, uh, us bombarding the planet for several months," Rorgh sighed, “humans are more varied than Vulpeculans even, they had almost 200 sovereign nations before we annexed them, each with their own culture."

“Anarchy," Brolath remarked.

“The humans don't seem to think so," Rorgh slipped a piece of paper from beneath the pile of documents and slapped it on top. It showed a map of the continents of Earth, “most are rather nostalgic for the period. Some rebel groups even fight for their own former independent state or believe the planet should be a loose confederacy of nations."

“I don't understand," Brolath traced his claw along the shoreline of a continent the paper called North America, “unifying Regulus was the best thing that ever happened to us and bringing the Lupiads and Sirians into the fold brought mutual stability to both of us. We bested them and showed our supremacy, just like when we annexed the Lupiad-Sirian's!"

Rorgh's long muzzle twitched a little bit, “Back to the mission..."

“You won't find anyone on Regulus wishing for the days of Pride warfare, that's for sure!"

Ignoring Brolath's rambling, Rorgh continued on, “Another gas attack was reported on Earth, in Paris," Rorgh tapped a section on the map and then pulled out a pen, marking the city down. “This time, only Regulians were effected"

“Was anyone hurt?"

“The Baroness of Paris was stricken with a chronic itchy nose along with ten of her guests, but otherwise they'll survive," Rorgh tapped on a photograph showing a male human with short, brown hair and pale skin. “This was the prime suspect, a deliveryman for the Exquisite Food Imports company. His fingerprints were found on the gas bomb."

“Was the prime suspect?" Brolath rubbed the fur hanging from his chin.

“Dead now. The Baronesses' private security apprehended him before he could escape but..." Rorgh opened his maw wide and pointed towards his rear-most molar, “...cyanide capsule hidden inside a false tooth. He died minutes after."

“I'm going to assume it's not normal business practice for Exquisite Food Imports to equip their employees with suicide pills. I think it's safe to assume though, that this individual was the culprit."

“Agreed, but unfortunately we still don't know who was pulling his strings."

Rorgh pulled out another picture of the human, lying naked on a metal slab, skin pale with death. His body was covered in strange tattoos: one looked like the propellers of some kind of experimental airplane, another looked like a sickle that was crossed with a hammer, and there were countless others that were completely alien to Brolath.

“What's the meaning of these tattoos?"

“Most are associated with pre-invasion-"

“Pre-liberation," Brolath corrected."

Rorgh sighed, “Pre-liberation extremist political groups. Incompatible ones at that. The rebels on Earth are believed to be trying to form some attempt at a unified front so I don't think it's too unusual to see something like that."

“Or it's a misdirection, perhaps?" Brolath stared closely at the photo, looking over the vibrant gold of the hammer and sickle along with the bright red flag beneath it. All the other tattoos had a fresh quality to them. “I do oil painting as a hobby, you know?"

“By the Emperor, yes, I know!" Rorgh wrinkled up his snout. “Please don't start talking about it again!"

“I don't know much about tattoos but I know a thing or two about paintings and I can tell when paint is old: it starts to fade and crack. I can't imagine tattoos are an exception to this rule," Brolath waved his paw over the picture of the dead human. “All of these tattoos look fresh, I'll bet he got them all this year."

“So we're dealing with a freak here? That's not exactly news."

“Tattoos..." Brolath crossed his legs. Tattoos were not common in the Regulian Empire. Some Western Regulians, with their shorter fur, would get tattoos on their body, but most other species, barring humans, saw no inclination to get them only to have them covered up by their coat of fur, “...do you think a tattoo artist would do this many at the same time?"

“Hell if I know. I don't understand the human fascination with getting paint stabbed into their flesh."

“I would think a reputable tattoo artist would do this in stages, if not for the integrity of his art but for the health of his client. All of these tattoos look equally new though and have flat colors, they're bold but not very dynamic. Either the artist is a sympathizer or involved in this plot."

“That's a pretty fucking big stretch, Captain!" Rorgh sighed. “What if he's just a stupid tattoo artist who doesn't know what he's doing?"

“Any relatives?"

“Uh..." Rorgh shuffled around the papers and squinted his eyes as he scanned a document, “...looks like he has a mother that's still alive. He was living with her until a few months ago, when he moved to the Duchy of Europa."

“Where is she?"

“Looks like a trailer park in..." Rorgh's mouth opened slightly, quivering a bit as he struggled to pronounce the word, “...Louisiana."

“Have the authorities questioned her yet?"

“The area is a little bit lawless, it's not quite under rebel control but a good citizen of the Empire would be lucky to walk out of there with only an ugly look shot at them," Rorgh put down the document and looked Brolath in the eyes, “so naturally, the Ducal Guards have not conducted an interview with her and considering her name hasn't been redacted in our case files, I'm assuming the Claw haven't brought her in either."

“Sounds like we've got our first assignment. She might know a thing or two about the suspect, perhaps even where he got those tattoos?" Brolath curled the tip of his tail. There was always something a little exciting about the beginning of each investigation.

“Are you serious? Captain, we're supposed to meet up with Minister Shalth as soon as we arrive."

Brolath waved his paw in dismissal, “Adjunct, the Minister is a busy man. I have his profile here: he's busy with his role in the Claw, his government duties as Propaganda Minister, and I know for a fact that he travels regularly; he's quite the aficionado of ancient human cultures. On top of that, the Emperor never told him we were coming, so we've got some time to spare. How far away is Louisiana from the space elevator?"

“It's on the other side of the fucking planet."

“No matter, duty calls, Adjunct!" Brolath closed all of his tabs on the datapad and waved it. “Start making the travel arrangements!"

“When did you get so gung-ho?" Rorgh grumbled as he pulled out his own datapad and started tapping away. “You couldn't even talk to a slave without stammering before!"

“And Adjunct, how about you pour me some of that coffee?"

“Are you alright?"

“Sure," Brolath shrugged, “I'll take a filter pill."