Chapter 1

Last Revised: November 11, 2001

Chapter 1

A wolf light fighter, Fang class, drifts slowly over the battle-scarred valley, searching for something. Then it suddenly changes course and moves towards a heap of rusting metal on the ground. Right above the heap, the ship halts its progress and a lance of energy strikes its target, scattering debris in a wide circle.

No sooner has the ship discharged its weapon than a sharp crack can be heard and the ship tilts to one side, smoke billowing out of a nacelle. The ship angles lazily to port, then plummets towards the ground, plowing nose-first into the loose soil and burying the ship's cowl in dirt and rubble.

For a long while nothing happens, then movement can be seen through the canopy. The pilot stirs in the seat, shakes a heavily helmeted head, then reaches up to eject the canopy and crawl out of the destroyed fighter craft.

The lone, suited figure slowly circles the downed ship a few times, surveying the damage, realizing that it's beyond repair. The engine nacelles are ruptured, the hull's cracked and bent, the life support system's leaking. The pilot opens a compartment behind the cockpit and removes a large backpack that is quickly settled between narrow shoulders, then reaches back in and lifts out a rifle.

Another sharp crack, and a small hole appears in the hull's outer ceramic skin. The pilot quickly drops the rifle.

"This is an AG-3 military rifle," a bodiless voice is heard stating. "It fires a 7.62 millimeter copper covered lead slug at more than twice the speed of sound. It was enough to down your craft, it was enough to make that nice little hole you see in front of you and it's enough to make a very ugly hole through at least four or five of your people at one time. I suggest that you move away from that rifle and sit down by that tree to your left."

The pilot walks the fifty meters to a lone tree, removes the heavy pack and leans it against the rough bark before sitting down.

A short distance away a small bush, too small to hide anyone, starts moving, rising up into the air, revealing a tall, thin human with brown hair and glasses. The man puts the bush down then walks over to the downed craft and picks up the discarded rifle. With a practiced movement he removes the accumulator and checks it. Then he inspects the rifle before he casually tosses it into the cockpit. He takes out a set of binoculars and scans the horizon. Satisfied that there are no other craft, he approaches the pilot. Stopping a few meters away from the pilot. He tosses the accumulator over to the seated figure, which catches it in both hands and seems to peer intently at it. "Who sent you out to die?" he asks, puzzled. "As you can see, that accumulator is broken. You only have enough power for one very low-powered shot, yet your rifle was rigged to show a full charge. Besides, I thought that your people had learned not to use those old Fang fighters for recon missions." The human unslings his rifle, then sits down on a nearby rock. "You can consider yourself my prisoner for the time being." Upon hearing those words, the pilot nods. "I'm Anthony. May I ask who you are? And please remove that helmet. There's nothing wrong with the air here."

The pilot slowly reaches up to grasp two clamps and twist them. A small pop can be heard as the helmets seal breaks, then the helmet lifts, revealing a face covered in white fur with red and brown splotches, a broad muzzle and tufted ears on top of its head. "I'm Rrsh'Dhana of clan Rrn'Sshah," the alien says in a quiet, resigned voice.

"You're not a wolf," the human says, puzzled. "So why are you flying a wolf fighter?"

"It's customary for our people to go out and prove ourselves when we come of age," the pilot explains. "I joined up to fight here."

"I see. Young and foolish," the human states. "Well, we better get going. It probably won't be healthy to stay here tonight. Bring your pack and follow me." The pilot shoulders the pack and follows the human. The man stops by the bush that he hid under earlier and brings up another, somewhat larger pack from the hole. He shoulders it and starts trudging along a narrow trail without bothering to look behind himself, certain that his prisoner is following.

They walk in that manner, the human leading and the alien pilot following a few meters behind, for almost an hour, until they reach a wide, slow-moving river. The human points to a log. "You can sit over there." Then, as the pilot sheds the heavy pack and sits down, the man, still without looking at the alien, starts removing branches from a large heap, eventually revealing a small boat.

The man grabs his pack and stows it in the bow of the boat, then walks over to the pilot and grabs the pilot's pack and stows that, too. Then he pushes the small boat into the water. "Have you ever been in a boat before?" he asks the suited alien.

The pilot gives a headshake and mumbles, "No."

"Well, there's a first time for everything. Climb aboard and sit down on the packs," the human commands, gesturing. The pilot gingerly climbs on board and makes an unsteady way forward, obviously not used to a boat's movements in the water. As soon as the pilot is seated, the human jumps aboard and pushes off with an oar, moving the boat into the faster water in the middle of the river. Then he settles himself on the seat, the tiller held loosely in his left hand.

After a few minutes of drifting silently down the river, the human opens a case in the middle of the boat and take out a cup and a Thermos bottle. He opens the bottle and fills the cup with a hot brew before placing the bottle back in the case, not bothering to close the lid. Taking a sip of the brew, he notices the pilot staring at the cup. "There's another cup in the case if you want some tea," he offers. The pilot carefully moves towards the case, then goes down on one knees in front of the case to lift out the bottle. "There's a box of sugar beside the bottle. You may want to add some," the human adds as he notices the alien's grimace upon tasting the brew. As the pilot settles down in the bow again the human breaks down his rifle and starts cleaning it.

"Are you certain that is wise, disarming yourself like that?" the pilot asks, pointing to the dismantled rifle.

"There are only two things in life that you can be certain about," the man replies. "Death and taxes. Since there haven't been any taxes since the war started, who knows about death?" Then he continues in a more serious voice, "That suit you're wearing slows you down, there's a seat between us, the boat isn't stable enough for you to jump, and, anyhow, I'm betting that you can't swim this river. And even if you did, where would you go? Besides, if you were planning to run, you would have done so much earlier."

"Someone will come and rescue me," the pilot says, trying to sound confident but failing.

"By now, you know as well as I that you were sent down to die. And that is another reason why you haven't tried to escape," the human states. "You probably weren't warned not to fly low enough for us to get a clear shot at you. Your rifle wasn't properly charged, and I'm quite certain that the rescue beacon in your suit isn't any better off, either."

At that the pilot gasps. "How did you know? There's no external indicator for it on my suit."

"I didn't know, but thank you for confirming it," the human replies casually. "I assume that it failed just after you activated it?"

"Yes," the pilot replies, dejected. "But why would they do this?"

"The wolves care only about themselves. They probably just wanted to know if there was any activity in this area, and they just happened to have an old fighter that none of their own pilots would use. They probably thought it would be a nice joke to send a non-wolf to die."

"What happens now?"

"Well, tonight a group of upgraded Fang fighters will attack the valley we just left, and fire upon any heat source that they find. You should consider yourself lucky that I brought you with me. As for what we'll do with you, well, that remains to be seen."

"Would they really fire upon me?"

"Why do you think that your beacon doesn't work?"

"Oh."

 

A few hours pass while the boat drifts on a slowly widening river, the boat slowly gaining speed as it heads for the ocean. The alien, after having finished another cup of tea, curls up in the bow and is soon asleep, lulled by the gentle rocking of the boat.

 

"Wake up!" The sharp voice and the shaking as the boat runs aground wakes the pilot from a deep sleep. Looking around, the groggy alien sees that it's almost dark, and that they have beached near another strange looking boat. "Wha... Where are we?"

"The ocean. Here we change transport," the human says as he jumps into the water and drags the small boat ashore. "Pick up your pack." The pilot stoically obeys and climbs out of the boat, then stands there watching as the human first lifts out his own pack and the case, then drags the boat a good distance up to some trees before upending it. Then he shoulders his pack and rifle and gathers the case in his arms.

As they climb onto the deck of the other, larger boat, the pilot notices that a layer of wet sand covers the deck. "What's the sand for?"

"Thermal insulation. It's kept wet by a small pump. It's crude, but it's enough to hide this boat if they don't know that it's here," the human explains. Then he lifts a hatch and lowers first his pack, then himself down. A moment later a weak light is visible. "Hand down your pack, then come down yourself."

As soon as the pilot is down in the cabin, the human rushes to close the hatch. Then he lights an oil-filled lamp and switches off the dim electric light. As the warm glow of the oil lamp fills the boat, the pilot starts to look around. Near the hatch there are a lot of ropes going up through holes in the deck. There are cabinets on every wall, a table with benches at the rear, cooking implements hanging on the wall above some sort of stove, and a door leading forward.

The human notices the pilot's furtive glances and says with a slight flourish, "Welcome to my humble home." Then he opens the door, revealing a narrow corridor. "The first door to the right is a toilet. The one directly opposite is a shower. You can use it if you want to, but the water supply is limited and the water isn't very hot. The door at the end of the corridor is my sleeping quarters and is, of course, off-limits. The door to its left is to an unused cabin. You can use that. Why don't you go there and get out of that heavy suit." The alien looks towards the pack. "If you have any clothes in your pack, then you can take them with you, but leave the rest here for now."

The pilot quickly digs out a bundle from the top of the pack and then hurries down the narrow corridor, stopping only to peek into the bath and shower before entering the cabin at the left-hand side.

 

After freshening up and a change of clothes, the pilot returns to find the pack in the place it was left and the human busily cutting up meat and vegetables. "Sit down at the table," the human says, while tossing the food into a pot of hot water steaming on the stove. "Dinner will be ready in a few minutes." The man turns around and stares at the pilot who's now wearing only a simple coverall. Then he takes off his glasses and wipes them with a towel before putting them back on the nose. Noting the pilots slim, feminine build, wide hips, a pair of small human-style breasts, digitigrade feet and fluffy, spotted tail, he finally ventures, "You're female, aren't you?

"Yes," the pilot admits. "You didn't notice before?"

"No. That bulky flight-suit that you were wearing hid such details very well. Besides, I've never seen any of your people before. It's also well known that the wolves don't have female fighters," he replies. "That's most likely another reason they sent you. They probably figured that, being both non-wolf and female, you weren't any use, anyhow."

As soon as the water in the stew pot starts boiling, the human turns down the heat to let it simmer, puts a kettle with water on the other burner and start taking out dishes and spoons. "Can you use spoons like these," he asks, "or do you have a better one in your pack?"

She picks up one of the spoons and look at it. "This should be fine," she replies, putting it back down.

The water in the kettle boils, the human puts it aside and dumps a few leaves into it, then he resumes stirring the contents of the stew pot. A few minutes later he turns off the stove and lifts the pot on to a bracket mounted in the table, then sits down opposite the pilot. "Do you have any device to test whether our food is safe for you to eat?"

She looks over to her pack, and when he nods, walks over and starts rifling through the contents. She opens a box marked with a green circle only to find that it contains a lump of melted plastic and a few broken circuit boards.

"I see," the human says dryly. "Another of the wolf jokes. Do you tolerate the same food as they?"

"Yes, mostly," she replies. "How so?"

"I had the pleasure of transporting a rather obnoxious wolf pilot a while ago. His pack didn't survive the crash, so I had to experiment a little bit. I may have tested a few of the items that he reacted to a few times more than necessary, but I did manage to bring him back alive." A shadow of a smile touched his face for a short moment. "There's nothing in this stew that he reacted to, so it should be safe," he states and starts ladling it out, a large portion to himself and a small portion to her. "Eat. If it stays down, then you can have more."

They began eating, she taking small careful bites and he quickly taking large spoonfuls. She hasn't more than half finished her first small portion when he's finished with his. He walks over to the stove where he takes the Thermos bottle and empties the now cold contents into the sink. Then he rinses the bottle and puts a sieve over the opening and pours the contents of the small kettle into it. "How's the food tasting?" he asks as he turns his attention back to the pilot.

"Strange, but I think that I can get used to it," she replies, then takes the ladle and helps herself to a slightly larger portion.

"Fine," he says. "You eat all you want. I need to get the ship under way." Then he climbs up the ladder and out the hatch. She's finishing her second portion when he comes back down. Instead of just closing the hatch, he grabs the sidewalls beneath it and lifts the whole section up. Then he starts pulling on a rope and a shudder can be felt in the ship. He grabs a panel on the side and swings it out, revealing a steering wheel with ropes going from it and into the wall. "Nice, eh?" he says. "A stealth sailboat. The ropes here control the sails. No need to go up and be visible to a thermal scan. Most of the metal in the boat is placed below the waterline so it's not visible on radar, and since the boat doesn't need an engine it's almost silent, too." He takes out a set of night vision binoculars and stands up on the ladder to peek out through a small window.

"Just because it doesn't have any metal above the waterline doesn't mean that it can't be detected on radar," the pilot states.

"You're right," he replies, "but only if there's no other distortion of the signal. You probably only used your radar to track craft in the air." She nods so he continues, "But you see, on the ocean even a wave can reflect a signal, so they must use a filter to clean it. That filter removes the weakest reflections. And since I also prefer not to cross large open stretches, staying instead close to islands, that makes it almost impossible to track me." He makes a few adjustments to some of the ropes, resulting in a creaking sound and then the sound of the ocean rushing by slightly faster. Satisfied, he brings the bottle over to the table and sits down. "So tell me. Why exactly did you join up with the wolves in this little war?"

"We usually try not to get involved in wars," she began coolly, "but since they claimed that your people had massacred their ambassadors upon landing, most felt that your people needed to be taught a lesson."

"It figures that they would claim something like that," he says, scowling. "There are just a few things you should know. One, those so-called ambassadors were shot down while they were busy blasting their way into a fortified building that holds most of this planet's gold reserves. Had they managed to steal that they would have destroyed the basis of our economy. And second, they started their 'lesson' by destroying most of the world's political centers from orbital bombardment, killing more than a hundred million people in a few hours." And when he sees her shocked expression, he continues, "Yes, it's true. Your people should check the facts before you decide to join a fight. But tell me, are there any more of your people up in orbit?"

"No. Just the wolves, as you call them," she replies, somewhat confused. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh, nothing."

He goes back to check the course and make adjustments on the ropes, then picks up her pack and places it on the table before sitting down on the bench again. "We better check your pack for other surprises," he says. "Start unpacking it." She starts unpacking, placing first a few bottles, then packs of dried food on the table. He picks them up and feels them, and noting that one is heavier than the others breaks it open. Seeing that it only contains food, he break open the next, revealing that the package had been opened and hollowed out, leaving just the shell. "Seems like someone likes this stuff," he comments dryly, pushing the other light food-packages aside, not even bothering to examine them. The next item appears to be a shelter made of a semitransparent fabric, which when unrolled reveals that the bottom has been ruined with long gashes. The small stove has a broken valve, and the sleeping bag contains fungus. "Didn't you check your survival equipment?" he asks the increasingly enraged pilot.

"Yes! I checked it every day. They must have switched it during the briefing right before I launched," she replies, embarrassed.

Going through the rest of the equipment reveals that only some clothing and the first-aid kit, in a transparent box, are undamaged. Those are put aside and the rest is put back into the pack. Then he takes the pack up the steps and out onto deck where he throws it into the ocean.

After that they settle down, she on the bench, he alternating between the bench opposite and the stairwell to check the progress. "You can go and get some sleep in the cabin," he tells her.

"No need," she replies. "I slept on the small boat, so I can't sleep now."

"You should try anyhow," he suggests. "The first rule of a soldier is to get as much sleep as possible, because you never know when you'll next get a chance."

"Maybe. But I know where I will get to sleep next," she says, her voice heavy with resignation. "One of your horrible prison camps."

"Another wolf lie," he quickly counters. "Yes, we have prison camps, but we do not torture prisoners. All get enough food, and they get the opportunity to exercise and talk freely with other prisoners. We do set out guards, but they are there mostly for the wolves' own safety."

"Their safety?"

"Yes. The camps are picketed by people who lost their families in the bombardment. The last wolf who tried to escape didn't last more than a couple of minutes. And I think the rest of the prisoners heard what happened to him. After that incident there haven't been any more attempts from that camp. But I'm not certain that I should send you to one of them. I don't think that you would be safe in a camp filled with frustrated, bloodthirsty males."

She just shudders at the thought.

 

The rest of the night goes without incident, and when the sky begins to brighten to a new day, the man moves the ship close to a cliff overhang and drops the anchors. Then he goes topside to furl the sail. "You can come up for a few minutes if you want to," he calls down the hatch, and soon she comes topside to get some fresh air. As he works with the sails, she walks around on the deck, looking here and there, the claws on her bare feet making little clicking sounds when she steps on one of the few exposed pieces of wood.

"Aren't you worried that I'm going to jump over board and swim ashore?" she finally asks.

"No," he says. Then he pickes up a small scrap of wood and throws it into the water. The wood is quickly whisked away by the strong current. "I can't swim in that water. Can you?" She just shakes her head. "I thought not. It's time to go below," he directs, holding the hatch open for her, then climb down after her.

"What are you going to do now?" she asks.

"Sleep," he replies. "You can sleep if you want to, or stay up. Just follow two simple rules: One, be quiet, and two, stay below decks. Other than that, I don't care."

"Aren't you afraid that I'm going to do something to you or the ship?"

"No," he replies. "You need me more than I need you. Without me, you probably won't last long on this world." Then he heads for his cabin to sleep.

 

Sometime during his sleep, a sound disturbs him. When he surreptitiously glances towards the door, he sees a figure standing in the doorway. He pretends to sleep, and soon he hears the door close again and then the door to the other cabin open and close.

 

The next night, it's nearing midnight when he suddenly lowers the sails and drop anchors. Then he starts unpacking a strange tube.

"What's that?" she asks.

"This---" he replies, brandishing the long tube. "This is a lamp. Nothing more." Then he opens the hatch and climbs out onto the deck. The next few minutes she can hear a low, rapid clicking sound interspersed with periods of silence. Then he climbs down the ladder, closes the hatch and stows the lamp.

"Can I ask what that was all about?"

"You can ask, but I'm afraid that I can't answer. Military secrets and all that, you know," he replies, then pours himself a cup of tea before he gets the ship under way again. "You're getting bored, aren't you?" he suddenly asks, noticing how she looks around in the small room. She just nods. "Well, I guess this is as good a time as any to start the dreaded interrogation," he says with a shadow of a smile on his face, then opens a cabinet drawer and take out a small cassette recorder. "Why don't you just start at the beginning, with who you are, where you came from, a little bit of species background and how you got here. Anything that you don't think would be considered secret, that is. Or anything that you think is secret if you feel like it." The last is said with the same shadow of a smile again flickering across his face.

She starts speaking, hesitantly at first, about her home, about her family, then about traveling out to prove herself, joining up as a fighter pilot and finally about her first and only mission. She speaks all through the night, only pausing for a sip of tea now and then, or when he changes cassettes or batteries in the recorder.

 

A few nights later he again stops the ship close to midnight and takes out the strange lamp. This time he stays up on deck for a long while, the mysterious low clicking again sounding in periods interspersed with periods of silence. When he comes back down, he carries a notepad filled with symbols. After stowing the lamp, he disappears into his cabin, staying there for a long while. When he returns, he hoists the sails and gets the ship moving again.

"What was all that about?" she asks, "or is it still a secret?"

"I just received a message about you, or rather, your species," he replies. "A few nights ago, I asked for some background information on your people, and I just received it. I haven't studied it all yet, but so far your story fits. Honourable, good fighters but knows when to stop, a little bit about your customs. Oh yeah, there was also a warning about claws."

"What? These?" she asks, holding up her hands and expressing a wicked-looking set of claws.

"Yes, those," he states. "I guess that message verifies your story."

"But how?" she asks, plainly confused. "How can you get a message when all long range radio is jammed?"

"Remember the lamp?" he asks. "It is very directional. I just point it at a place where another person with a similar lamp is hiding, and then use a set of codes based on long and short flashes of light. He reads the message and repeats it back to me to make certain that there are no errors, then he flashes it onwards to the next person, until it reaches its destination or to a person connected to what's left of our ground-based telephone system. Simple, really."

"But won't the wolves try to intercept the system?"

"They have tried a couple of times. For that reason the bases are moved every few days, and the locations are only known to those who need to know. I only know of a few of them, and only where they will be for the next few weeks. Not that the wolves can break the encryption of the coded messages even if they managed to intercept them."

"They can't? But they're just sequences of short and long flashes. They can't be that difficult to decode."

"The flashes aren't really the code; just the carrier, something like the carrier wave of a radio transmission. But we scramble the contents of the important messages. We may not have real space flight yet, but there is one area that we are better at than the wolves, and that is computers. We can build computers that fit in a pocket and still have more capacity than the navigational computers of one of their fast attack ships. And when we use computers, we can use new codes for every message, and even scramble the message with two or more systems if we need to. No, there's no way they can break our codes."

"But if you have such powerful computers, how come you don't have craft capable of winning this war?"

"We weren't building military spacecraft when the wolves came. And it's very difficult to retool factories to build them when everything is being bombarded."

"But they stopped the bombardment a long time ago. That should be enough time to do something."

"No. Even under good conditions it takes time, and we first need to develop the technology. We have some wrecks of downed craft, but even then it takes time to study and adapt the technology to our use."

"And now you have yet another ship to examine."

"If you mean your fighter, then no," he states. "There was no way for us to send a recovery team before the wolves sent a group to raze the area. Not that it matters; we have more than enough of the old Fang-type fighters. Why do you think that they have upgraded models?"

"Oh."

"Yeah. We shoot them down faster than they can launch them. That's why it's become a stalemate," he explains. "We can't reach them up there, and they get shot to very small pieces if they try to come down."

 

A few nights later the ship is anchored in a small bay.

"Shall we go up and take a look at the skies?" he suddenly asks, then heads up the ladder. She follows, wondering what's going on. When they look at the stars they can see the slowly moving light of the large ships in orbit.

"What is happening?" she asks, then she sees it: A brightly glowing light rising on a pillar of smoke on the horizon. "What is that?"

"That?" he asks, then states, "That is the beginning of the end." Then he goes below decks. She follows him down.

"The end of what?"

"The end of the war, and quite possibly the end of a civilisation," he explains, his voice even more emotionless than usual. "That plume was an intercontinental ballistic missile carrying several nuclear warheads into orbit."

"WHAT?"

"Yes. Just that. This war will now end, one way or another," he says, sitting down heavily, placing his elbows on the table and supporting his head in his hands. "Tomorrow night we'll know which way it ends. Now, I'm tired." Then he rises heavily and walks forward to his cabin.

Night again, neither says anything. In time they climbs up to stand on the deck and look at the stars. At first nothing unusual can be seen, then they realize that that's just it. No ships can be seen maneuvering up in orbit. Nothing. Then, something like a shooting star appears overhead, sweeping across the sky, moving impossibly fast, suddenly splitting up into smaller fragments.

"It's beautiful," she says. "What is it?"

"That was a spaceship breaking apart and burning up as it entered the atmosphere," he replies. "I really hope that none of your people were up there last night."

"Why? What happened?"

"We know from our analysis that the wolf ships have a critical flaw. Last night more than a hundred missiles from around the globe simultaneously boosted nuclear warheads into orbit. Then they all exploded. The electromagnetic pulses from the blasts destroyed the ships' electronics. Without their computers, those ships are now dead hulks drifting in slowly decaying orbits, their crews doomed to die a slow death of asphyxiation, exposure, or if the ship wasn't in a stable orbit, a quick and fiery death like we just saw," he explains, then he goes below decks.

She quickly follows, demanding an answer, "How do you know all that?"

"When I shot down your ship, I was on my way back from dropping off the crew that was to check and reprogram the missile we saw lift off. In a way I helped kill all those thousands of beings up there. Now there are no ships up there that can carry you back to your world."

"You said that it might be the end of the civilisation, too, but how?"

"No," he replies. "I said that it might be the end of 'A' civilisation. I never said which one." Then he walks heavily towards his cabin, walking as if the weight of a world is on his shoulders. When he gets to his cabin, he just slumps down on the bed and falls asleep without even removing his glasses or covering himself with the blanket.

 

He wakes to find something weighing him down. Carefully opening his eyes, he finds the female draped across his chest and on top of a blanket he can't remember covering himself with the night before. Reaching out an arm he gently touches her face, letting his fingers run along her broad muzzle, caressing her cheeks, touching the tufts on her ears, marveling at the feel of her soft fur and muted, feline scent. Then, as he hears her breathing change, he pulls his hand back, ashamed of his actions, of touching her without asking. Seeing that she is waking up, he shifts his body, casually nudging her, but pretending to be asleep. With slitted eyes he watches as she gets up, stretches, then smooths down the blanket before quietly leaving the cabin and closing the door.

After he has showered, he enters the main cabin where he finds the Thermos bottle filled with freshly brewed tea, food already on the table and Rrsh'Dhana, as he recalls her name to be, sitting by the table and pretending that nothing has happened.

That day is spent in silence; he walking about and doing his tasks almost in a daze, and she watching, worried.

 

During the next two weeks he grows ever more withdrawn and silent. And each morning he wakes to find her sleeping either on top of him or next to him, and each morning he gently caresses her until she begins to wake up, only to pretend that he is still asleep while she sneaks out of the room.

 

Then, on the third week, he switches on an until-then unused radio to listen for messages. The pattern now changes to him sitting in front of the radio all day, while she takes over the cooking and other day-to-day chores, but still no one mentions what happens every morning.

 

On the fourth week a message suddenly comes through the radio: "The Phoenix has risen."

He turns off the radio, then mumbles, his face ashen, "My God, they did it. They did it." Then he sits down on the bench next to Rrsh'Dhana.

"What did they do, and what is the Phoenix?" she asks, puzzled.

"The Phoenix is the end of the wolf civilisation," he replies. Then, as he notices her puzzled expression, he continues. "The Phoenix is an ancient myth; A bird that built a nest, and then burned itself in it only to be reborn out of its own ashes. It is also Earth's first real spaceship, cobbled together from parts scavenged from ships we shot down early in the war. It has just returned from the wolves' home planet, where it delivered a barrage of nuclear warheads that exploded above their homeworld, blasting every single piece of electronics with deadly electromagnetic pulses. For all intents and purposes the wolves no longer have any working technology."

"They did that without any warning?" she asks, horrified.

"No. They sent one message when they entered their system, identifying themselves as the United Earth battle cruiser Phoenix, and that they had one-half a planetary rotation to surrender unconditionally. Then, if the wolves didn't surrender, they were to send another message just before detonating the bombs. Quite a simple message, too," he says, taking a short pause before continuing, "Those that sow the wind will reap the storm. You sowed war, now reap destruction." Then he added in a quiet voice, "Since it's back so soon, I assume that the wolves didn't surrender."

"When did the ship leave Earth, and how did it get past the blockade?"

"There was no longer any blockade. It took off as soon as we were certain that the ships in orbit were destroyed."

"Impossible!" she exclaims. "It's impossible to travel that fast. No computer can interpret hyperspace with the accuracy needed to travel at such a speed."

"If we can build a pocketsize computer with the same capacity of the computers used on a fast warship, imagine what we can do if we build a computer the size of a small room," he states. "And God forgive me, I helped design that ship's computer. I helped them blast an entire civilisation back to the Stone age."

Then he gets up and walks back to his cabin where he falls into a troubled sleep, dreaming of a world in flames, a world where aircraft suddenly drop from the sky and transport tubes jam, trapping their hapless passengers inside. A world where medical and emergency equipment all fail, a world where the last broadcast ever heard is an alien voice condemning them all to a life of misery. Then in the middle of the dream, a voice, then a soft touch intrudes, and he calms down, drifting into a heavy, dreamless sleep.

 

This time, when he awakes he finds her, seemingly asleep, beside him, her head resting on his shoulder. As he reaches out to caress her, as he has done so many mornings, his hand is suddenly caught in hers. She holds his hand up against her muzzle and her tongue flicks out, gently licking his fingers. Then she leans over and her surprisingly rough tongue licks his cheek.

He rolls onto his side, grabs her around her waist and rests his head against her chest, then he starts shaking and soon he's crying, releasing all the pent-up emotions. Sorrow from losing friends and family, anger at the wolves for killing them, frustration and helplessness for not being able to stop it, shame for what he has done towards a whole world---all of it pours forth. He lies like that for one hour, two hours, all the while she strokes his head and shoulders, caressing him and whispering encouraging words until his weeping stops.

 

When he next awakes he finds himself alone. Looking about and feeling like he just found something precious only to lose it again, he rises up from the bed and opens the door, and meets her in the doorway. She pushes him back and down on the bed, then climbs in beside him and throws her arms around his neck, holding his head against her soft chest. His arms embrace her, then slowly begin to stroke the fur on her back, slowly increasing in speed and intensity until his arms roam her back almost feverishly fast. She pushes him on to his back, then leans over and start licking him from his cheeks and downwards, while his hands shift to caress her head and shoulders, desperately seeking the warmth and closeness that he has denied himself since the war began.

 

The next morning, she awakens to find herself alone in his cabin, and a new sound in the ship. Curious and somewhat apprehensive she pulls on her jumpsuit and makes her way aft. There she finds the table set for breakfast, but no sign of the man. More disturbingly, the hatch is open and she can see sails billowing in the wind overhead. When she climbs out onto the deck, she finds that all the sand has been removed and plates the sand must have been layered on stacked to one side. The ship is moving quite fast through the water, almost dancing in the waves now that it no longer carries the heavy sand, leaving a wide trail of foam and bubbles. She finally notices him, standing in the bow of the ship, now and then getting sprayed with seawater as the ship hits a larger wave. She walks up behind him, her toe claws clicking quietly on the wooden decking. Caught in his own thoughts, the first he notices of her are two furry arms around his waist, then a snouted head resting on his shoulder, her hot breath caressing his throat. They stand like that for a long while, neither wanting to break the silence.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" he finally says.

"Yes," she mumbles, a soft purr in her voice.

Chapter 2 Part 1 - Ice Breaking

Last Revised: January 20, 2002

Early morning.

A man is working at the docks, stacking open crates outside a warehouse when a ship glides silently towards one of the piers. The man stares at the ship as if dumbstruck, then rushes inside the warehouse to grab the telephone. He quickly dials a number and begins speaking; "Henri? It's me, Arthur."

...

"Yes, I know that it's early, but this is important. Tell the major that the White Lady is docking."

...

"Yes, of course I'm certain! I may be old, but I'm NOT blind."

---

The ship glides slowly, silently towards one of the piers, at all, thin man at the helm. "Rrsh'Dhana, come up here, we're about to dock," he suddenly calls down the open hatch behind him.

"I'm coming." An alien, looking like an anthropomorphic version of a white lioness with red and brown spots and the tufted ears of a bobcat, soon follows the soft voice. She, for the creature is female, joins the man by the steering wheel. "There's no one at the docks. I thought you said that this was a busy place."

"It normally is," he replies, "but it's still early. Give it an hour, and this place will be chaos."

"Is there a reason that we arrive at this hour?" she asks. "It seems like you planned it, when you anchored so early, yesterday."

"I have somewhat of a reputation here," he responds, grinning slightly, "and part of it is that I suddenly appear out of nowhere. I see no reason to upset anyone by doing something that they don't expect of me." Pulling on a rope, he lowers the sail and the ship loses speed as it glides the last few meters to the pier. As the ship touches the old tires serving as fenders, he grabs the end of a heavy rope and jumps ashore to drop it over a bollard. "Throw me the rope at the bow," he shouts as he walks along the pier. She throws the rope to him, and he drops it over the second bollard, then climbs back aboard.

---

"Ahoy the ship!" a voice can be heard shouting.

"Someone must have finally noticed us," the man says as he puts down his cup. "I wonder who it is?" He hurries to the hatch and climbs a few steps to peek over the edge. "Well, what do you know," he mumbles to himself. Then he adds to her, "I think you should come up on deck with me," before he climbs the rest of the way up the ladder.

Somewhat apprehensive, she climbs the ladder to join him. As she moves to stand beside him, she sees an elderly man in green camouflage fatigues standing on the pier.

"So, Anthony, that's the mysterious passenger you mentioned in your last message, eh?" the man on the pier asks.

"Yes," he replies. "Major, let me introduce you to Rrsh'Dhana, an ex Fang-pilot that I picked up a while back." Then he turns to her. "Rrsh'Dhana, let me introduce you to Major Thomas Hinchley, the local busybody and nuisance, most well known for his unwillingness to get up early in the morning."

"Hmph. Well, we expected you back a few weeks ago," the major responds. "Did something happen?"

"No, not really," Anthony replies. "I just needed a rest. Besides, I didn't think that it mattered, after I saw that the missiles worked."

"Yes, they worked all right," the major says. "So, what are your plans for today?"

"Mostly restocking. I'm running low on a lot of stuff. Other than that, nothing much."

"In that case, you won't mind me borrowing your passenger for the day, then?"

"That depends on your plans for her," he replies.

"I need to ask a few questions, that's all."

"In that case it's probably OK," Anthony says. "You go with the major and have fun then," he says as he gently urges her forward. "I'll come up to his office when I have finished my errands." As he climbs back down the ladder, she jumps down to land gracefully on the pier and follows the major to a rather battered car.

---

"So, the Iceman seems to be melting, eh?" the major says as they drive up the hill towards a cluster of drab looking buildings.

"Iceman?" she asks, perplexed.

"Yes, that's what we call him around here," the major explains. "He sometimes jokes but I think that it's just because it was expected of him, because I have never actually seen him smile before. And he absolutely never let anyone get close enough to become a friend."

"Oh? Have you known him for long?"

"I met him about a year into the war. That was when he got the nickname, actually," the major explains.

"What happened?"

"He was arriving on the White Lady just as a group of Fang fighters decided to do a little strafing run here, but instead of jumping into the water like everyone else, he dropped the sails, picked up that rifle of his and started shooting as if it was just target practice." The major shudders at the memory." He shot down one of the fighters and probably damaged another before our own fighters came and chased the rest away."

"I wonder what made him like that?" she asks as they pull up in front of a building.

"I really don't know," the major replies, "and I'm not certain that I want to know, either." Then they exit the car and enter the building, he holding the door open for her.

"Is there anything that you can't eat?" he asks.

"I don't know," she replies. "I can eat just about the same as the wolves, as you call them... Why do you ask?"

"We'll probably be spending the day talking, and while I don't know about you, I can't go all day without something to eat," he replies. Then he picks up the phone and speaks into it; "Henri, could you please bring us a pot of tea, two cups and some cakes to my office, then hold all but emergency calls for the day." Then he waves his hand at a group of deep chairs around a table. "Take a seat."

She sits down in one of the chairs and curls her tail around her legs. "What did you want to talk about?"

"I assume that Anthony questioned you about the wolves while on the boat?" She nods so he continues, "He'll probably drop off the tapes at the office later. But what I really need to know about is who is out there; customs, rules and all that. We have some information that we gleaned from a wolf ship, but we don't trust any of that. We can't afford to make any mistakes right now."

---

Late afternoon.

The door to the major's office building opens and Anthony enters. "Good afternoon Henri. Are they still busy talking in there?" he asks the sergeant at the desk.

"Yes," the sergeant replies, "they've been talking all day. They barely had time to take a break for lunch."

"I wonder what they're talking about..."

"Since you'll find out anyway, it probably won't hurt to tell you," the sergeant says. "They're talking about which other species are out there and interstellar politics. You know, the boring stuff about how not to start wars."

"I see. Has there been any talk about what we are to do with her?"

"Not really," The sergeant replies. "She's too useful to be sent off to a prison camp, but on the other hand we can't just let her run around unsupervised, either."

"Well, I have room on the boat, and won't be going anywhere for a few days. I can keep an eye on her for that long at least."

"Oh? Any particular reason that you want her to stay with you?" The sergeant grins as he asks.

"Only that she's a better cook than I," Anthony replies. "It's probably time to interrupt them now, especially if they've been in there the whole day. You know Edith will be cross if the major wears himself out." Then he walks over to the inner doors and disappears inside, where he finds the major and Rrsh'Dhana sitting at the table, discussing some point on a drawing. "Good afternoon," he says as he approaches them.

"Oh, it's you," the major says, grumbling, "I thought I told Henri not to let anyone in."

"You probably did, but he knows better than to argue with me," Anthony replies. "So, how's it going? Learning anything useful?"

"Some," the major replies, indicating a stack of papers, all filled with sketches and handwriting.

"Looks like enough for one day if you ask me."

"I don't," the major counters. "So, why are you here now?"

"I'm here to tell you that it's time you called it a day," Anthony replies, "and if you don't, I'll tell Edith. You don't want that to happen, do you?"

The major shakes his head in resignation. "No, I don't want that." Then he gathers up the stack of papers and stands. "I'll drop these off with Henri so that he can fax them to HQ, then I'll go quietly."

"Don't let his easygoing manners fool you," Anthony whispers to Rrsh'Dhana as they leave. "He's one of the best intelligence officers around. He only has one flaw, in that he sometimes tends to forget that he's not young anymore. He's really lucky that he has someone like Edith because she won't let him overtax himself. He may grumble about it, but he knows she is right."

"If you say so," the alien whispers back as he closes the door behind them and they walk down the stairs. "

"I do say so, yes." Then they walk down the hillside until they reach the main street. "Feeling hungry?" he suddenly asks.

"I wouldn't mind something to eat," she replies.

"Good. In here," he directs, opening and holding the door to a café for her to enter. Inside, there is a counter along one wall, a few booths along another, and a few pool tables on the floor. Anthony directs Rrsh'Dhana towards one of the booths where she sits down, her tail slipping into the gap between the seat and the backrest. He then goes up to the counter to order, returning with a tray filled with plates and glasses a few minutes later.

---

"Who let that furball in here?"

When Anthony turns his head he sees a large man with short hair, brand-new uniform and polished boots. "I let that furball in," he replies. "Now, go away and let us enjoy the food, thank you."

"No," the man states, clearly spoiling for a fight, "this table is reserved for heroes, not civilians with pets!"

"Yes, I know this table is reserved," Anthony replies in a neutral voice, "but you're wrong about it being for heroes; it's for hunters. Besides, since you don't look like either a hero or a hunter, I guess that you won't need it." He then turns back to his meal and continue eating.

"Why, you..." the soldier exclaims as he advances towards the table, only to be grabbed from behind by two other soldiers. "Let me go, I'll crush that scrawny wiseass!" he yells as they drag him back.

"Are you nuts, Lou?" one of the soldiers holding him back ask. "That's the Iceman."

"Yeah," the other says. "You should have seen the two wolves that he brought in a while ago. I could swear that they had bite marks. The rumour is that he's certifiable." The voices die down as they drag their comrade away.

"Bite marks?" Rrsh'Dhana asks.

"Oh, that," he replies. "The wolves had a run-in with a pack of wild dogs. I just never bothered to correct the rumour. And a good thing that was, too."

"Why do you say that?"

"I would never be able to take on that big soldier," he explains, grinning mischievously. The rest of the meal is eaten undisturbed.

---

"Where's the ship?" Rrsh'Dhana asks as they nears the docks, and the ship is nowhere to be seen.

"This way," he replies, leading her around one of the larger warehouses. There they find the ship sitting high and dry on rails. "I had her pulled up so that I could go over the hull," he explains, pointing to all the barnacles on the lower part of the hull and keel.

"Her?" she asks, perplexed.

"Yes. Sailors throughout the times have almost always considered a ship female. She's gracious in the water, and if you treat her right will take good care of you. Ignore her and what she says at your peril."

"But a ship can't speak."

"Oh, but it can. Listen carefully to the creaking sound in the hull, the flutter in the sails, the sound the water makes as it rushes past. All these sounds tell you something."

"You know," she says, "I think the man at the cafe was right. You are certifiable." Then she climbs the ladder up to the deck of the ship.

---

A week later.

"Are you going to spend the day with the major again?" Anthony asks as they are eating breakfast.

"No. He said that I could take the day off," she replies, "but I have a suspicion that you already knew."

"Guilty as charged. I talked with the major yesterday and he agreed to let you have some free time."

"I take it you have plans for today?"

"Yes," he replies. "I'm tired of seeing you in that coverall. It's time to do something about it."

"Really?" she asks as she grabs for one of the straps holding the coverall up.

"Not that way," he replies, grinning. Then he gets up and heads for the hatch. "Come on. It's time to go shopping."

"Well, if it isn't the iceprick and the furball." A voice from behind taunts them as they are about to enter a shop.

"You know Rrsh'Dhana, I never asked you how good you were at unarmed combat," Anthony whispers as they turn around to face the same soldier asthey encountered a week earlier.

"I think I can hold my own," she replies in a hushed voice. "Why?"

"Nothing. It's just that he insulted you, and I'm not enough of a gentleman to defend your honour."

"You want me to fight him?" Rrsh'Dhana asks,incredulously.

"Yes," Anthony replies. "He's a bully, pure and simple. I've been hearing things about him this week. He is a coward and the rest of hisplatoon blames him for the loss of one of their comrades a while ago. Just take him downany way you like as long as you leave no lasting damage." Then he adds almost as anafterthought; "A broken bone or three don't count as permanent."

"If you say so," she mumbles. Then she walks up towards the soldier. The fight, if it can be called that, ends almost before it starts as the soldier throws a punch that she side steps with ease. Then she spins on one leg, the other sweeping out and connecting behind a knee, pulling the opponent's leg out from under him. As he struggles not to fall her leg flashes out again, this time connecting with his ribs with a loud cracking sound, throwing him back to land in a crumpled heap.

"Ouch! That must have hurt," Anthony comments as Rrsh'Dhana rejoins him.

"Not yet," she replies, "but I'll feel stiff tomorrow since I didn't have a chance to prepare myself."

"I wasn't talking about you," he says, "but if it helps I could give you a rub or something later."

"That sounds nice. But won't this fight lead to problems later?"

"I don't think so. Not only are you still listed as a prisoner of war, and prisoners are protected by law against assaults, but you're also our only reliable source of information about who and what is out there. He also threw the first punch, even if he missed. He'll be very lucky if the military doesn't at least throw him out with a dishonourable discharge," he explains. "But now it's time to spend some money." Then he leads her to the store and opens the door to let her enter first.

"Good morning. How can I help...? Oh..." The woman minding the store just stares, dumbstruck.

"We were thinking of buying a few sets of clothes," Anthony says. "That is, if you can make the necessary alterations."

"Of course I can make alterations," the woman states, her professional pride winning over her surprise. "What were you thinking about buying?"

"A couple of casual outfits for day-to-day use, an outfit for parties and such, and anything else that you can think of as long as it isn't too expensive," he replies, then hands her an official looking paper. "Here's a military requisition form. Try to spend as near to the budgeted amount as possible."

The woman takes one look at the form, then grins. "We don't see too many of these forms here, but it looks real, so I'll try my best." She grabs Rrsh'Dhana by the hand and drags her towards the inner recesses of the shop, all the while mumbling, "Who ever got you that coverall? It looks like a sack, and the colour! All wrong for you! What size do you use in underwear? Where, oh where did I leave the scissors?"

Anthony, satisfied that Rrsh'Dhana is in competent hands, sits down on a chair by the exit, picks up a magazine and starts browsing.

---

It is a much-changed Rrsh'Dhana who returns to the front of the store almost two hours later with the storekeeper in tow. "How do I look?" she asks, turning around so that he can get a good look at her from every side, the skirt of the white summer dress billowing out around her and her tail sticking out through a hole among the pleats.

"You look great!" he exclaims. Then he points at the bag she is carrying. "Is that all?"

"Oh no, there's more," the shopkeeper replies. "The rest still needs to be altered. I should be finished with them before closing time, 6pm today."

"Great. We'll be back for them then," Anthony says as he and Rrsh'Dhana exits the shop.

"Where are we going now?"

"I thought that we might go and get something to eat at the café," Anthony replies.

---

"Excuse me mister, ma'am?" A young soldier is standing next to the booth, obviously nervous.

"Yes, what is it?" Anthony asks.

"Is it true what the rumour says, that you sent Lou to the hospital, mister?" he asks Anthony.

"No," he replies. "Rrsh'Dhana here did it."

"Really? Great!" the soldier exclaims. "In that case, my buddies and I would like to buy you the next drink." Then he waves to a group of soldiers standing in the other end of the room.

---

A month later.

THUMP! THUMP!

The sounds wake Anthony and he spends a few seconds listening before he shakes Rrsh'Dhana awake.

"What is it?" she mumbles, still sleepy.

"There's someone up on deck," he replies as he gets out of bed and pull on a pair of jeans and a sweater. "Get dressed and come with me." As he enters the aft cabin, he can hear that whoever is up on deck has also moved aft and is now knocking on the hatch. "Who is it?" he shouts up the hatch.

"It's me, Henri"

Anthony unlocks the hatch to let him in, grumbling, "What is so blasted important that it can't wait 'till morning?"

"We need Rrsh'Dhana now. Where is she?" Henri asks, then, "Ah, there she is," as she enters the aft cabin.

"What's going on?" she asks.

"There is an unknown spacecraft in orbit," Henri explains.

"Above us?" Anthony asks.

"No. It's in stationary orbit above what's left of New York, but the people at the American HQ are afraid of goofing it up, and passed the task of contacting it to us because of Rrsh'Dhana."

"Where's the major?" Anthony asks.

"He's over at the bunker, and that's where you two should go, too," Henri replies. "Now come with me. I brought transportation." Then he hurries up the ladder. They follow him up on deck, Rrsh'Dhana first and Anthony last. On the pier they find Henri already seated in a big, blue van. They quickly get into the back seat and Henri starts the engine and gets the van moving.

"Where is the bunker?" Rrsh'Dhana asks as they head out of the small town.

"Sorry, but that's classified," Henri replies, then he throws a black cloth back to her. "I'm sorry, but I have to ask you to put this on."

---

A few minutes later they pull off the main road and onto a narrow side road that leads them to a hole in the face of the mountain. Henri stops the van, rolls down the window and hands some papers to a guard that suddenly appears. The guard takes a quick look at the papers, then peeks into the van before he hands the papers back and waves them on.

"You can take off the blindfold now," Anthony whispers to Rrsh'Dhana as the van rolls to a stop in a small parking lot inside themountain.

Henri shows his papers to a guard and they continue past heavy doors and into a corridor. As soon as they are inside, the guard follows behind them and the doors close with a dull boom.

"Welcome to the bunker," Henri says as they walk down the corridor.

"What is this place?" Rrsh'Dhana whispers to Anthony.

"It's an old NATO command center," he replies in a hushed voice. "It was built to withstand a near-hit from a nuclear device, so should be able to withstand some conventional bombardment. We didn't tell you about this because you didn't need to know about it. This place is provisioned for several months, has its own power source and even air-filtration. The tunnel back out is sealed and will continue to be so until we know who is up there and their intentions. The same goes for every other similar complex around the world. Please do not speak about this place or what you see in here to anyone without express permission from me or the major."

"Oh."

"Yeah, that sums it up quite well. Luckily, the wolves didn't know about them when they started their bombardment."

Then they pass another set of doors, a new corridor and yet another set of doors before they finally enter a large room. Rrsh'Dhana can only stare at all the screens, consoles and maps on the walls. On one wall there is a map of the Earth, with sections in various colours; red, yellow, blue and green. A voice speaks up; "France reporting DEFCON 3," and a section of Europe changes from yellow togreen.

"That means France has its personnel in the bunkers and that its missiles are ready for launch if necessary," Anthony whispers to Rrsh'Dhana.

"Ah, there you are." The major, together with another officer, appears out of a doorway. "Rrsh'Dhana, this is colonel Hawkins," he says, indicating the other officer who just nods. "Come with us; we're ready to begin as soon as we have a link to Edinburgh."

Then, as on cue a voice issues from a speaker; "Relay to Edinburgh, and from there to NATO radio established."

"We'll be communicating through a transmitter some whereon the coast of Scotland," the major explains. "A simple safety precaution. It's far from any population, and the terrain is quite inhospitable if anyone should attempt a landing." They all enter a room that is equipped like a small sound studio. They sit down at a small table. "You can put on one of those headsets," the major tells Rrsh'Dhana as he grabs a set for himself. "There are two buttons on the cord; the green will let you transmit, and the red one is an override that stops everyone from transmitting. Only use that one if you really have to. If someone else is transmitting, the green button will be dim and will not work. But for now, just stay silent."

"I understand," Rrsh'Dhana says while fumbling with a headset obviously never meant to fit someone like her. "But why isn't Anthony usingone?"

"I don't plan to do any talking," Anthony replies.

The major grabs a microphone in the middle of the table; "We're ready to begin now," he states loudly. A technician on the other side of a window can be seen pushing a few switches and a red lamp lights. Then he turns towards the window and give a thumbs-up signal.

"Record this message and broadcast it on the selected channels," the major says into the table microphone, then grabs the green button on the headset and speaks calmly; "This is Major Thomas Hinckley of the United Earth Armed Forces calling unidentified ship in Earth orbit. Please identify yourself and state your intentions." Then he releases the button. Grabbing the table microphone he speaks again; "Let that message repeat for thirty minutes or until we get a reply."

"What if we don't get a reply?" a worried Rrsh'Dhana asks.

"We are transmitting on every channel that the wolvesever used and a few that they never used but their equipment was capable of using," the colonel replies. "You did mention that it was standard to have at least one crewmember learn the dominant language of the destination, right?" Rrsh'Dhana nods, and the colonel continues, "There is the possibility that they do not have anyone who speaks English up there, so if they don't answer in thirty minutes we'll broadcast a similar message in German, French and Italian. If that message doesn't result in a response, then it's your turn to broadcast. If that doesn't result in any answer, then I'm afraid that we may have to consider the ship to be hostile and take action."

"You mean, shoot at it?"

"Possibly," the colonel replies, "that ship is currently over what's left of New York. We lost more than three million lives in that city alone. That is why I am here, to make the decision whether or not to attempt shooting it down."

"I just wish we had any sort of visual of the ship," the major says as he pours himself some coffee. "Then we might have some idea of who we're dealing with."

"We have trouble focusing ground based telescopes on the ship, and we lost just about every satellite during the initial assault," Anthony whispers to Rrsh'Dhana. "That was how we managed to stop the bombardment. There were a few satellites in a polar orbit that we managed to shift into one that intersected the battleships. We only destroyed one and damaged two others, but that was enough to force them to withdraw to a safer position."

They settle down to wait. Five minutes pass, ten minutes, fifteen minutes and still nothing. Then there is activity in the control booth and the technician speaks into a microphone, "We are getting a carrier signal. Shall we patch it through?"

"Yes, but run it through the limiters first," the colonel replies. "The filters remove anything above fifteen thousand and below twenty-five Hertz. They also block sudden volume changes. Just in case they try something funny," he explains to Rrsh'Dhana.

A hum fills the room, then a few seconds later, a voice erupts from the speaker, in accented but still understandable English, "I am Rrsh'Ghanar, Clan chieftain of the Rrn'Sshah. I have come to retrieve my daughter, Rrsh'Dhana, whether she be alive or dead."

The colonel starts shuffling and digging through a large stack of papers and the major looks thoughtful. Anthony looks at Rrsh'Dhana who looks resigned.

"Is it really him?" the major asks.

"Yes," she replies, "That sounds just like him."

"Any advice?" The question comes from the colonel, and is directed to Rrsh'Dhana.

"Let him land, but first challenge his right to make demands. He won't respect anyone who backs down."

"I can do that," the major says, a determined look on his face. Then he grabs the transmitter button on his headset and states, "Let me get this straight. You want us to hand over someone who, if she is alive, would be a prisoner of war, and do that while we still have not received a surrender from the opposition? No, I don't think so."

"I demand that you return her!"

"You are not in any position to make demands," the major explains, his voice calm but firm. "We shot down a fleet of warships. I doubt that a single ship would be much of a problem."

"Can you at least tell me whether or not she is alive?" The voice that now issues from the speaker is more subdued.

The major looks at Rrsh'Dhana who nods. "Yes. We have her in protective custody. I assume that you want to meet her?"

"Yes!"

"Very well," the major says. "Tell me, do you have a shuttlecraft, or is your ship capable of atmospheric reentry? And if so, are either capable of a vertical take off or landing?"

"No, this ship is not equipped with a shuttlecraft, but it is capable of reentry and vertical takeoffs and landings."

"That will do since we are a little bit short on shuttles these days," the major says. "I will now give you a set of vectors for an atmospheric reentry and landing. Please follow them precisely. Deviations at any point will be considered an act of aggression and treated accordingly. The same goes for unannounced reconfigurations of the ship, such as opening hatches or bays. You will be contacted again when your ship is on the last vector on the list." Then he continues by reading out a list of vectors and speeds from a sheet that the colonel picked out of the stack on the table.

"We should have approximately three hours before he lands at the nearest airfield," the colonel says. "That will give everyone time to freshen up."

Chapter 2 Part 2 - Endings and Beginnings

Last Revised: February 3, 2002

"There's a problem between you and your father?" Anthony asks Rrsh'Dhana when they're back on the ship.

"Yes," Rrsh'Dhana admits, "but I would rather not talk about it." Then she sits down on the bed and Anthony can see that she is shaking.

"Nervous?" he asks. She only nods. "I know just the right thing to make you relax," he says, then sits down behind her and starts brushing her back. She starts to relax visibly after a minute, and lies down on her belly after another minute, giving him easier access to her entire back. He doesn't stop until she's almost asleep. Then he bends over and kisses her on the neck before he starts rummaging in a cabinet, pulling out a large, flat bag.

"What's that?" she mumbles as she sees him zip open the bag and remove several blue garments.

"It's a uniform," he replies. "I haven't worn it in a while, though. It didn't feel right." He quickly dresses in the somewhat rumpled but clean outfit, then sits down beside her again and starts stroking her back and tail with his right hand. She soon arches her back in pleasure, then rolls over on her back and is about to put her arms around him when he grabs her and pulls her into a sitting position to hug her.

---

It's still dark when they step onto the tarmac at the airfield. The major looks at Anthony's uniform for a moment before acknowledging him with a nod. After waiting a few minutes, Rrsh'Dhana moves closer to Anthony, slipping a slender, fur-covered arm around his back, seeking comfort. He puts an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. The colonel notices, but after glancing at the major, who discreetly shakes his head, decides not to comment. Then, a quarter of an hour later, just after the sun has begun rising, they hear the whine of powerful engines and see a dot on the horizon. As the dot moves closer it splits into one large and four smaller dots. Then two of the dots peel off, leaving only three. The large dot resolves itself into an alien spacecraft as it comes closer, and the two smaller dots resolve into A-10 tank-killer airplanes. The A-10s separate from the steadily slowing spacecraft to gain altitude, and begin circling. The large ship is now moving slowly, almost crawling forward until it is directly above the lighted pad on the end of the runway. There it slowly descends until three spindly looking legs touch the ground. The whine of engines fades, then dies off entirely. The lights on the craft shut off one by one until the only ones left are two slowly blinking lights on the tips of the slender, swept-back wings. A door opens on the side of the fuselage and a staircase glides out from beneath the doorway. Two soldiers in full body armour and large, visored helmets rush down the stairs and take up positions on either side of the staircase. Finally, a large male of the same species as Rrsh'Dhana, wearing a flowing cape over skirt and breastplate reminiscent of a Roman soldier's uniform, appears in the open doorway. He walks slowly down the stairs -- metal-capped boots making clacking sounds as they touch each step -- taking time to get the overview and adjust the cape for best effect, before he approaches the group.

"I am Colonel James Hawkins, United Earth forces, second in command of the European theatre," the colonels states, then points to the other humans in turn. "This is Major Thomas Hinchley, and lastly, Anthony, who had the honour of capturing you daughter."

"I am Rrsh'Ghanar, Clan chieftain of the Rrn'Sshah. Now return my daughter to me," the last obviously an order, not a request.

"No." The single word refusal coming from the colonel stuns everyone. "I'm afraid that we can't do that yet," he continues. "You see, there is a distinct possibility that we are at war, and if so, then we can't return her."

"HA HA HA! You must be joking, human. What is to stop me from just taking her with me?"

"Only two things," the major replies. "The aircraft circling above and the snipers stationed around us."

"And those are supposed to stop me?" the imposing alien blusters, amused.

"Yes," the major states, calmly. "The wolves also thought, wrongly, that their body armour was adequate, and as for the aircraft, just watch." He then takes out a small radio and speaks a few quick words into it. A few seconds later one of the circling aircraft goes into a shallow dive, passing above the group, aiming for an old building near the outer fence. The aircraft's gattling gun gives off a muted roar and the building disappears in a cloud of smoke and debris. "Feel free to send one of your soldiers over to investigate the remains of the building, but I can tell you that it was made of heavily reinforced concrete," the major says as the smoke clears from the ruins.

"Of course, we don't want to keep you away from your daughter, and you'll want to make certain that she hasn't been mistreated. We'll let you speak to her alone for as long as you need, then we'll continue our discussion over breakfast. Just don't do anything that might annoy the snipers," the colonel says, glancing, first towards a copse of trees, then towards a tall building. Then he points to a building before continuing, "We'll wait for you over by that building there." Anthony reluctantly releases Rrsh'Dhana, then the humans walk over to the mess hall, leaving Rrsh'Dhana alone with her father.

"What was all that about?" Anthony asks as they walk towards the building.

"Politics, I'm afraid," the colonel replies. "We're very vulnerable right now, and we desperately need to get the message across that we can give out a lot of grief if we're pushed."

"This is totally off the record and top secret," the major interjects, "but the Phoenix is undergoing repairs and won't be flying anytime soon. Not that it matters, since we don't have enough warheads for another barrage, either."

---

A few minutes later Rrsh'Ghanar, together with Rrsh'Dhana, joins them by the mess hall. "There are issues?" he asks.

"Yes," the colonel replies, "but why don't we discuss them over a meal?"

The major opens the door and precedes the others into the hall. Seeing what is set out on the table, he turns towards Rrsh'Dhana and says, grinning, "Could you please leave some of the smoked salmon this time?" Rrsh'Dhana seems to take it as a dare and promptly dumps half of the salmon onto her plate.

"Now, what was all this nonsense about a war?" Rrsh'Ghanar asks between mouthfuls as he samples the food.

"Yes, that," the colonel replies. "It all depends on Rrsh'Dhana's situation. As I understand it, she joined the wolf forces to 'prove' herself. Some sort of tradition among your people?" Rrsh'Ghanar nods, and the colonel continues, "The question here is whether or not she joined after the war started, and if so, did it with your people's approval."

"I fail to get the point..."

"If she joined without official approval, then she can be considered a mercenary, which is something we can accept. Not like, but accept. But if she had the support of your leaders, then that would indicate that your people are not in a neutral position, but are in fact actively supplying personnel and aiding the wolves' war effort. By our conventions that is tantamount to a declaration of war," the colonel explains. "Of course, since we have recently finished one war, we're not particularly interested in beginning another."

"Of course," Rrsh'Ghanar responds, nonplussed. "No, the choice of going out and where to go is up to the individual. It is not something we try to interfere with, though. But if I had known what she had planned, I would have locked her in her rooms. She really needs to learn to get both sides' version before joining a fight." He then helps himself to more of the salmon before speaking again. "I can understand why my daughter likes this --- 'salmon' you called it? Quite an interesting taste." He then turns towards Anthony. "I find myself intrigued by you, human. The only obvious reason I can see for you to be here is that you were the one who captured my daughter. You wear a uniform different from everyone else, with no signs of rank upon it, but the officers treat you as an equal. Why is that?"

Anthony looks at him for a long while. "I'm here because Rrsh'Dhana has been in my care since I captured her. And this uniform? It was once the parade uniform for the Royal Norwegian Air Force. I don't display any rank because my unit no longer exists. Call it... a tribute to dead comrades."

"You must have a strange story to tell," Rrsh'Ghanar comments, prodding for more information.

"No." The single word is spoken with a surprisingly cold, flat voice.

"No? Not a single glorious moment in a war that has lasted for so long? There must be at least one moment of bravery, of heroism in that time?" he asks, prodding for more information about his daughter's captor.

"There is nothing glorious about war," Anthony replies in a steely voice. "There is no bravery or heroism either; only desperation and fear." Then he gets up from the table and walks over to a window.

Rrsh'Ghanar follows him, still intent to know more. "But I must know your story, for it belongs with Rrsh'Dhana's story. How else can her journey be weighed if not everything is known?"

"No, you don't want to know my story," Anthony states, then turns around to face the large alien. "But you're not going to stop asking, are you?" The coldness of his voice, and the look of his eyes devoid of any emotion stun the alien. "So be it," Anthony declares after a brief pause. "What do you want to hear?" The last isn't really a question because he immediately continues, "The bombardment started the day after my wife gave birth to a son. I know that because I spent two days and a night digging through the ruins of the hospital, hoping against all odds to find them alive. Then I spent another day digging a grave for two. But that isn't what you want to hear, is it? No, you want glory and courage. On the third day after the bombardment the wolves came. We were a small country, but when they landed we rose in resistance, more than a hundred and fifty thousand of us, armed and crying out for revenge. The carnage that first day cannot be described. They killed us by the scores, but we didn't die alone. They, too, died as we shot down their transports with rockets and fought their soldiers in the mountains, in the forests and in the ruins of cities. There was no glory then, only desperation. Ten men died capturing a single plasma cannon, then a hundred more died defending it. There was no courage then either, only desperation and fear. I could tell you about the wolves' desperation when they realised they were trapped, that no transport could retrieve them, but there was no glory in that, either. I could tell you about finding an old friend crushed under wreckage but still alive, begging for help that we could not give. I could tell you how he smiled as I put my rifle to his head and shot him, ending his suffering, but there was no glory then, either, only sorrow. I could tell you about when the combat helicopters came to aid us, but the fighting was so widespread and disorganised that they couldn't separate friend from foe. There was no glory then, either. The fighting ended a week later when our allies finally got air superiority and could fly in troops. I could tell you about the years afterwards spent traveling at night, hunting for wolves that managed to get down onto the surface, but there was no glory in that, either." Anthony then turns and walks stiffly out the door, and no one in the room tries to stop him. A moment later they hear one of the cars outside crank and drive off.

"Damn!" The exclamation comes from the major who rushes over to a telephone in the corner. There he quickly dials a number and speaks a few quick sentences before he hangs up. "Let's just hope he doesn't do something stupid," he mutters.

"Isn't there anything we can do?" Rrsh'Dhana asks, worried.

"No, I'm afraid not. He has a private war to fight," the major replies. "We guessed that he had been in the Norwegian battle but he never spoke of it, so we never knew exactly what he went through. No wonder he never let anyone get close."

"It wasn't the largest of the battles," the colonel interjects, "but with the long distance to the major powers, and the other three invasion forces, it took time before we could send enough fighters to win air superiority there. That prolonged the battle significantly."

---

Morning.

Anthony wakes the next morning to find himself alone and fully dressed in his cabin. He sits up with a low groan, then unbuttons his rumpled jacket before shambling off to the small bath. He splashes water in his face to wash the sleepiness out of his eyes before staggering to the rear cabin. There he starts rummaging through cabinets for something to fill a stomach that has not received any food since early morning the day before, not noticing the sound of the door to the forward area opening. Slim, furry arms suddenly embrace him from behind, then a broad muzzle rubs against the side of his neck.

"Whew! You stink!" Rrsh'Dhana exclaims, then releases him from her embrace.

"And a good morning to you too," he replies.

"Morning?" she asks, "It's almost noon. What were you really doing yesterday?"

"I went for a walk," he replies. "But what are you still doing here? Shouldn't you be on your father's spacecraft, heading home by now?"

"Yes, she should." The deep voice of her father comes from the corridor. A door creaks open and he steps out of the small guest cabin. "But I have finally learned that there is no use arguing with her," he adds dryly. "She can be even more stubborn than her old father." He looks around, nodding approvingly, "Nice ship you have. Small, but tidy."

"It's large enough for me," Anthony replies. "It needs to be tidy. Anything that's loose can be a danger in bad weather."

"I can very well imagine. That must have been difficult for Rrsh'Dhana," he offers grinning. "She never did manage to keep her rooms tidy back home."

"Father!"

"Just teasing you," he retorts. "What is that on the wall there?" he asks, pointing to the rifle hanging in its brackets.

"That---" Anthony replies, "that is the rifle I used to shoot down Rrsh'Dhana's fighter." He then unlocks it, checks that it is unloaded and hands it over. "Here, take a look."

"Strange weapon," Rrsh'Ghanar mumbles as he turns it this way and that, looking down the sights and trying the grips before handing it back. "Why do you use this weapon when you could use a plasma rifle?"

"I know this weapon," Anthony replies as he starts breaking the weapon down. "I can disassemble and reassemble it again in less than a minute while blindfolded. It may not have the reach of a plasma rifle, but at close range it can even penetrate the chest-plate of wolf body armour. It was built to function under any condition, from arctic to desert, but most importantly, this weapon doesn't have an accumulator that must be recharged periodically."

"A weapon capable of penetrating heavy body armour, eh?" Rrsh'Ghanar says. "I must try this weapon sometime."

"Maybe we can arrange a trip to the shooting range some day," Anthony replies as he finishes reassembling the rifle. Then he hangs it back up and locks it into place before he resumes his search through the cabinets.

"Are you looking for something?" Rrsh'Dhana asks.

"Yes," Anthony replies. "Something to eat."

"Oops, sorry," She says. "I was by yesterday to pack my clothes and I was hungry. I should have restocked, but..."

Anthony just rolls his eyes and shakes his head before he turns and walks back towards his cabin.

"Where are you going?" Rrsh'Dhana asks.

"To shower and to put on some clean clothes. Since there's no food onboard, we might as well go out and eat."

---

"So tell me, how did the talks go after I... left yesterday?" Anthony asks as they sit down at the hunters' table at the café.

"After Rrsh'Dhana finished chewing off my tail, you mean?" Rrsh'Ghanar replies. "We came to an understanding, yes."

"May I ask what you agreed on?"

"Nothing much, really. We get upgraded computers on some of our ships and your people get to borrow a flight of sixteen of our long-range in-system fighters. We will also send a full crew, both pilots and technicians, to help you train your own crew. In addition to that, we'll let you borrow a couple of large shuttles for a while to help you set up a spaceport on your moon."

"Very generous of you," Anthony says. "And all you get in return are the fastest ships in the known universe. But why a spaceport on the moon?"

"Actually, we also got a promise that your people wouldn't sell the technology to anyone else for at least ten years. My clan owns a large shipping operation and we'll use any advantage we can get. As for a spaceport on your moon, there are many reasons for that," Rrsh'Ghanar explains. "Freighters won't need to be atmospheric-capable or need a shuttle to unload, and goods destined to other parts of the solar system won't have to be freighted in and out of the steep gravity well of your home planet. And then there are the military reasons. Fighters stationed on your moon can be launched anywhere much cheaper and quicker because of the lower gravity, and finally, there will no longer be any reason for any ship to enter orbit around the Earth, minimising the risk of a sudden bombardment."

"Sounds sensible enough when you put it that way," Anthony comments. "But it still sounds like we got the best part of the bargain."

"Well, there is one more thing," he admits. "I also managed to get an exclusive contract on such Earth-type delicacies as salmon, coffee, tea, and a few other luxury goods. The entire deal is subject to approval by the council, but with the samples that we'll be bringing back I doubt that it'll be overruled."

Just then the woman from the clothing store enters, sees Rrsh'Dhana and waves at her. Rrsh'Dhana stands up and prepares to leave the table. "Could you excuse me for a few minutes, please?" she asks.

"Of course," Rrsh'Ghanar says. "Go ahead and talk to your friend." They both watch as the two females disappear into another booth, talking and giggling. "Now that she is out of earshot I have a few things to discuss with you," Rrsh'Ghanar states. "While waiting in the small cabin, I noticed that the bed there looked as if it hadn't been used for a while. Now, my people don't like to sleep alone, so I can understand it if she decided to share your bed. But if she tells me that you ever tried to take advantage of the situation, I'll rip you open and feast on your entrails."

"You're welcome to try," Anthony calmly replies. "Just don't try to bite off more than you can chew."

"You think that you can take me?" Rrsh'Ghanar asks, bemused.

"I have survived for three months with your daughter," Anthony replies. "Fighting you can't be that much harder, can it?"

"Probably not," Rrsh'Ghanar replies, grinning with amusement instead of a threat. "She can be quite strong-willed sometimes. She takes after her mother that way." Then he continues in a slightly more serious voice, "What are your plans for the future?"

"I don't have any plans, really," Anthony states matter-of-factly. "I never thought that I would live to see the end of the war, not with me working as a wolf-hunter for so long."

"Wolf-hunter?"

"Yes. After the battles there were a number of wolves loose on the surface, and they sometimes sent down saboteur teams. Not to mention one or two pilots that survived being shot down. We couldn't let them just run around, so we began sending out people in the areas where we suspected they were hiding. A lone hunter could more easily search them out than a large group of soldiers. Some of the wolves were actually relieved to be found."

"Sounds like dangerous work."

"It was," Anthony replies. "Most hunters lasted less than a year. Since it was so dangerous it was volunteer-only work."

"Any immediate plans then, if you don't have any long-term?"

"The boat still needs a lot of repairs; that has first priority. Some of the decking has been leaking since it was scarred by a plasma lance from a fang fighter that got too close. A lot of smaller things," Anthony replies, then shrugs. "Other than that, I'll probably help on some reconstruction project somewhere."

"And how are you doing financially?"

"Not too bad," Anthony says. "Wolf-hunting paid quite well, and I don't need much, living on a boat. Why do you ask?"

"I feel that I owe you for taking care of my daughter for so long."

"No need to," Anthony says. "It was a pleasure having her around. Besides, she's a better cook than I."

"You really like her, don't you?"

"Yeah. She helped me get through a rough period. I'll really miss her company."

"Don't worry," Rrsh'Ghanar says. "We'll be back in a few months with the fighters, and then we'll be staying for a while." Just then, Rrsh'Dhana returns and the discussion turns to the food they're eating.

---

4 months later.

A slender, female figure carrying a large bag walks slowly through a snow-covered street towards the docks. Seeing a man in a doorway, she stops for a moment to ask directions; "Excuse me, but do you know if the White Lady is in and where she is docked?"

"She's at the far end of the docks, as she has been for the last two months," the man answers without turning to see who is asking.

The female, heartened by the news, picks up the pace as she turns the corner around the warehouses and begins the long walk along the docks. As she nears the ship she can see light from a porthole and she increases the pace yet again, almost running the last few meters to the ship. She quickly climbs onto the deck and makes her way aft to the hatch, which lies open. Noticing the smell of cooking wafting up into the cold winter air, she gently sets her bag onto the deck and stops to listen for a moment before silently lowering herself down the hatch. "Is there enough for two?" she asks as she hugs from behind the man standing in front of the stove.

"Rrsh'Dhana!" the man exclaims. "Of course there is enough for two. Or at least it will be if you release my arms so that I can add some more to the stew." As she releases her hold on him he turns around to take a better look at her. "You look great," he says, grinning, then hugs her close. As he releases her again he reaches out to stroke her left ear, which sports a single, plain gold ring. "What's this?" he asks.

"It's a memento of my journey," she replies. "Do you like it?"

"Sure," he replies easily, "but won't it interfere when I tickle your ear?"

"You're silly," she replies before reaching up and licking him on the cheek. Then she climbs back up the ladder to fetch her bag.

"You're planning to stay for a while?" he asks as he sees the large bag.

"Something like that, yes," she responds. "Don't you want me to stay?"

"Of course I want you to stay," he replies. Then he takes the pot off the stove and puts it on the table, together with a loaf of sliced bread. "Is your father coming also?" he asks as they sit down to eat.

"No, he had to attend a meeting on another planet," she replies. "I had to travel on a freighter to get here. I couldn't even get all my things down with me on the shuttle today."

"Oh?" he asks, "you have more with you?"

"Two more bags and a big crate," she replies, grinning slightly.

"The bags I can understand," he says, puzzled, "but why a crate, too? How long are you planning to stay?"

"I didn't bother to reserve a return flight," she replies. "Is that long enough?"

 

Not an end, but a beginning...

---

Check out Rrsh'Dhana's Diary at Anthony Lion's web site. It contains additional information on Rrsh'Dhana's adventures.

Chapter 3 - Dara

Last Revised: August 18, 2002

Spring.

A sailboat glides across the waves, sails billowing in the wind. A tall, thin man with glasses stands at the helm, steering the ship towards a distant goal. Behind him, her arms wrapped around him, stands a slender female alien covered with white, spotted fur, her head resembling that of a feline, a long, fluffy tail and bare, digitigrade feet on the other end.

"Tell me again why we're sailing north," Rrsh'Dhana suddenly whispers into Anthony's ear.

"Because someone I won't mention ate all the smoked salmon, and it's cheaper up north," he replies with a grin.

"You're impossible!" she exclaims. "You're only using it as an excuse to go sailing."

"Guilty as charged," he admits. "But it sure feels good to be back on the open sea again after spending the winter laid up in a harbour."

"Yeah. I must admit that it feels good to be traveling again," she says. "There's something that I don't understand, though. How can we be sailing against the wind? I can understand how the sail works when we go with the wind, but against it?"

"A good question," he responds. "I would have thought that you, an experienced pilot, would have guessed the answer by now."

"Stop teasing, and tell me," she demands, expressing her claws and, penetrating the fabric of his shirt, dimpling the skin of his chest. "Or do you want me to press harder?"

"All right then," he replies. "No, the wind isn't pushing us, it's pulling us. You only think of a sail as something to catch and block the wind. Instead, try looking at the sail as a large aircraft wing, with low pressure on one side and high pressure on the other side instead of above and beneath. It's the same principle working on the sail as on the wing."

"So we're flying with a boat?" Rrsh'Dhana asks, her ears twitching in bemusement.

"Something like that, yes," he replies. Then, since the wind is changing, he loosens the ropes securing the boom, shifting it into another position while at the same time relieving tension on the sail.

"Why are you slacking up on the sail?"

"When we relieve tension on the sail, the curve changes. You see, the same shape on the sail isn't always the best for all wind directions, or even all wind speeds. It's a common beginners mistake to always tighten the sail as much as possible. A good rule, however, is that the further up against the wind, the tighter the sail needs to be."

"It seems so obvious when you say it; why didn't I see it?"

"Because of association," he explains. "Everyone considers sails some 'boring old stuff' and aerodynamics as modern technology, never thinking for a second that they're the same."

"I guess that I should learn to sail this boat soon," she mumbles as she rubs her muzzle against his shoulder.

"There's no time like the present," he responds, grasping her hands and pulling her around from behind him. "Place your hands on the tiller." Then he puts his hands on her shoulders to steady her. "Stand with your feet far apart to maintain a better balance. That way you'll also get more leverage to turn the tiller, too," he explains. "Now, the main instrument we use is the compass. We try to keep as straight a course as possible unless the wind suddenly changes, then we might have to alter course so that it matches the new wind direction until we can reconfigure the sail. We also try to steer directly into large waves, since if we get hit broadside by a large wave, it can capsize the boat."

"What would we do if a wave capsizes us?" she asks, shuddering at the thought of ending up in the cold water.

"That depends on the weather," he replies. "In good weather we'd probably remove the sails and try to right it again. In bad weather though, we'd just have to abandon the boat. There are stories about sailors who have stayed inside the upturned hull of their boats, waiting for rescue, but I wouldn't even consider that."

"Why not?"

"Because it might suddenly sink," he states. "It may be safer on the fast multi-hull regatta racers, since they have airtight compartments made of strong composites, but not this wooden hull."

"So, try to keep a straight course, but be wary of big waves and changes in the wind; that's it?"

"There's more, but yes, that's the gist of it." Then he kisses her on the back of her head and heads for the hatch leading down to the cabin.

"What are you doing?" she asks, suddenly anxious of being left in control of the ship.

"Only getting myself a cup of tea," is the muffled response from down below.

---

Evening.

The ship is anchored near a beach. Rrsh'Dhana is busy frying a large fish for dinner when she suddenly asks, "Will we be sailing farther tonight?"

"No," Anthony replies. "Night sailing is very exhausting, even dangerous sometimes, so I prefer not to do it unless I have a very good reason. Besides, I know something that's much more fun to do at night."

"You mean, like brushing my back?" she ventures, the tip of her tail twitching sensuously.

"That too..."

---

Morning.

They have just raised anchor and set the sails when they hear a call on the radio. "You keep the boat on course; I'll check what's going on," Anthony says as he climbs down the ladder to the cabin and out of the wind to better hear.

When he returns a few minutes later, he has a frown on his face.

"Something wrong?" Rrsh'Dhana asks.

"Not really," he replies. "That was the major on the radio. As you know, there are still a few wolves loose on the surface. The major has just received a report on a possible sighting on one of the Shetland islands, and wondered if I could take a quick look since we're in the area, so to speak."

"And what did you say?" she prods. "Did you agree to do it?"

"I told him that I would discuss it with you first, then get back to him."

"What happens if you take the assignment?"

"We'll have to change course and cross a stretch of open ocean to get there, and that means sailing at night. We'll probably arrive at the island sometime tomorrow evening. Then I can talk to the villagers in the morning and check any recent tracks if they're close. If I consider it safe enough, I may try to narrow down the search area, too."

"Not try to capture the wolf?"

"Probably not," he replies, frowning slightly. "The wolves have become very unpredictable since we shot down the fleet and ended the war. Some surrender without a fight, yet others, particularly high-ranking officers, fight like crazy."

"And what happens if I say no?"

"Then we continue on our present course and someone else gets to investigate."

Rrsh'Dhana ponders the situation for a few minutes, then softly ventures, "Promise to be careful?"

---

The next evening.

When the boat glides towards the small harbour the docks seem deserted, and the only lights visible are the ones marking the ends of the piers.

"The place looks abandoned," Rrsh'Dhana comments.

"Yes, it can look that way," Anthony states. "The people on these islands are mostly fishermen and farmers, and they usually go to bed as soon as it's dark, and are up and at work again before dawn." Then, as they finish furling the sails and securing the mooring lines, "Speaking of going to bed early, we better do the same. These people don't respect those who sleep all morning."

The sun has barely risen when they step onto the docks to meet one of the locals.

"Greetings! I'm Anthony," he says, then gesturing toward his companion, "and this is Rrsh'Dhana, a close friend of mine."

"I'm Angus McDougal," the local responds, peering wide-eyed at the alien. "Welcome to the island."

"Thank you," Anthony says. "I understand that you may have a wolf on the loose?"

"Yes," the man replies, casting furtive glances towards Rrsh'Dhana. "Some of the lads spotted a figure a few days ago. They didn't try to follow it, but they did find a few tracks, so we know that they weren't spinning a tale."

"Where are the kids now?"

"They're in school," the man replies, "but if you will come with me, I can show you on the map where they saw it."

"Sounds good to me," Anthony says. "Lead the way."

Angus' office is small and cluttered, stacks of paper piled on just about every available surface. "The lads saw the wolf, or whatever it was, here," he states, pointing at a red pushpin sticking out of a map hanging on one of the walls.

"Was that the same place that they found the tracks?" Anthony asks.

"No, that was here," Angus replies, touching a gnarled finger to a point on the map, somewhat closer to the village.

"That's not very far away," Rrsh'Dhana comments.

"No, it isn't," Angus agrees. "That's what worries me."

"Are the tracks still visible?" Anthony suddenly asks.

"They should be," Angus replies. "We covered them with a tarp to protect them. I can show you if you like."

"Yes, if you would be so kind," Anthony says. "But first I think that I need some stuff from the boat. Oh, and bring a map."

Angus quickly removes the map from the wall and folds it neatly, then they all return to the boat. "Nice boat," Angus comments while Anthony loads equipment into a backpack.

"It's not much, but it's home," Anthony states. Then he unlocks the rifle from its wall mount and digs out a package of ammunition from a cabinet and starts loading the magazine.

"Dangerous work capturing wolves, I guess," Angus ventures, pointing at the rifle.

"It can be," Anthony says. "I don't think I'll need the rifle, but I prefer to be on the safe side." Then he shoulders the backpack, and grabbing the rifle in one hand heads for the hatch. "Shall we go?"

"Here are the tracks," Angus says as he lifts an old tarp that has been draped across a sandy patch about a kilometer from the village.

"They look like wolf tracks, all right," Anthony observes while examining the uneven marks in the sandy soil. "He's also walking barefoot, but that's not unexpected given the quality of the boots that they were supplying to the common soldiers. But there's something strange about them."

"What is it?" Rrsh'Dhana asks, curiously.

"They're so small," Anthony replies. "Not much larger than your feet. They usually picked the larger ones for infantry, and the officers all have good boots. It may be a Fang pilot."

"I take it that you don't believe that, either," Rrsh'Dhana prods.

"No," Anthony replies. "Most fang pilots are captured almost immediately because we know where they're shot down. Besides, most of them are junior officers and haven't been pumped full of propaganda, so they know that we don't torture prisoners."

"Then what are we dealing with here?" Rrsh'Dhana finally asks.

"Are you certain that it's a wolf that made the prints, then, and not someone like your friend here?" Angus asks, glancing carefully at Rrsh'Dhana.

"I'm certain," Anthony states. "The pads are shaped differently and the claw marks are much more visible. Wolf claws are wide, stumpy and only semi-retractable, so they make nice big marks." Then he gets down on one knee and starts measuring the marks and the distance between them.

"See anything?" Rrsh'Dhana asks.

"Maybe, I'm not certain," Anthony replies as he works his way towards a cluster of trees. "It looks as the wolf walked towards this thicket." Then he disappears into the woods. When he reappears a minute later he has a worried expression on his face. "Rrsh'Dhana," he calls, "I think you should take a look here."

"What did you find?" she asks as she joins him..

"That," he replies, pointing to some spots on a rock. "Your nose is much more sensitive than mine. What does it smell like to you?"

Rrsh'Dhana goes down on her knees to get a closer look and sniff at the spots. "It's not blood, but the smell reminds me of sickness, disease," she finally says, shuddering as she stands up.

"I was afraid of something like that," Anthony says, morosely.

"What?"

"We have an injured wolf walking around," he states. "There have been a few cases of very sick or starved wolves heading towards small towns to surrender. Some of them lose their resolve if they're spotted before they get close, though. This means that instead of a wolf-hunt, we now have a rescue operation on our hands."

"I can get a search party organised," Angus offers.

"No," Anthony quickly counters. "That's the worst thing to do now. We have an injured and probably scared wolf out there. There's no telling how he'll react if he sees a large group of people coming after him. No, the only way is for me to track him alone."

"No!" Rrsh'Dhana almost shouts. "You promised that you wouldn't do that."

"Yeah, you're right," Anthony says, frowning. "But what should we do? It may take too long to get someone else to track the wolf."

"Why are you so concerned about this wolf?" Rrsh'Dhana asks.

"Too many lives have already been lost because of the war," Anthony says after a pause. Then he sits down on a rock before he adds, his voice heavy, "Many of them by my hands. Too many to count. I still see them before me when I wake in the middle of the night."

"But they're wolves," Rrsh'Dhana says. "It was kill or be killed when you fought them."

"Yes," he almost whispers. "But killing still isn't right. Most of those that died by my hands were ordinary males -- farmers, fishermen, herders and carpenters -- conscripted and brainwashed by their leaders to fight in a war started for no other reason than greed. Most of them didn't even know which planet they were fighting on, or why."

"But..." Rrsh'Dhana says, concern and confusion evident in her voice. "If you feel that way, why did you become a wolf-hunter?"

"Because," he replies, "while I worked as a wolf-hunter I only killed three wolves, a Fang pilot and two officers. The pilot died when I shot down his craft, and the officers were killed in self-defense. During that same time I tracked down over three dozen more wolves, all of whom are alive and well in prison camps."

"You became a wolf-hunter to save lives?"

"No," he replies. "I became a hunter to take back control of my life. Saving lives was something that just happened along the way."

"And now you want to save another life?"

"If you let me, yes," he replies. "If not, then we'll return to the boat where I'll report back that there's a wounded wolf somewhere on the island and recommend that they send in a team as quickly as possible."

"But you believe that the wolf has a much greater chance of surviving if you go after him?"

"Yes."

"I'll let you do it, but on one condition," she finally states. "I'm coming with you."

"There's no way to talk you out of it, is there?" he asks, receiving only an all-too-human shake of her head as an answer. He then turns to Angus, "We'll try to be back before dark. I have a small radio in my pack. If we're late or something happens, we'll call in and let you know."

"What frequency?"

"We'll be using channel sixteen on the maritime band," Anthony states.

"You won't call in periodically then, to let us know that you're all right?" Angus asks worriedly.

"Can't," he replies. "It might reveal us to the wolf; they have very good ears."

"Well, good luck, then," Angus finally says before heading back towards the village.

"You can still change your mind," Anthony offers as he digs into his pack and extracts a few items that he passes to Rrsh'Dhana.

"No way," she replies. "But what are these packs?"

"The two small ones are bandages," he explains, "and the large one is a camouflage net. Just drape it over yourself." Then he adjusts the strap on his gun so that it hangs at elbow height before he takes another net and drapes over himself.

"But this net doesn't have the right colours for this landscape," Rrsh'Dhana comments as she fumbles a bit with the unfamiliar fabrics.

"It doesn't have to," Anthony states. "The wolves don't have as good a colour vision as we do. We mostly use the nets to hide our silhouettes." He then hands her a brace of small plastic bottles. "These all contain water. When you drink, make certain that you empty the bottle. Water sloshing about in a half-empty container can be heard for quite a long distance."

"Anything else?" she asks.

"Yes," he replies. "If I suddenly stop for no obvious reason, you do the same. If I dive for cover, you do it too. If I crawl, you try to crawl lower than I." Glancing at her butt and grinning mischievously, he then adds, "And if you crawl, keep that fluffy tail of yours down." Before they begin, he familiarises her with several important hand-signals.

As they follow the path, Rrsh'Dhana can't help noticing how Anthony changes before her eyes, becoming more alert and moving with the carefully measured steps of a predator stalking prey. They stop a few moments here and there while Anthony goes down on one knee to examine a track or a dark spot. One place they see clear, claw-tipped handprints and scuffmarks where the wolf must have stumbled and fallen. Another place Anthony stops to examine some bushes, revealing a spot where the grass has been crushed flat as if someone had lain there, hiding or resting for a short while.

In the early afternoon, as they enter an area so inhospitable that even the local sheep stay away, Anthony suddenly steps off the track, to parallel it about fifty meters to the left. As they near a rise they go down on their hands and knees and crawl towards a boulder near the top, Rrsh'Dhana only remembering to keep her tail down when he turns to look pointedly at her. He peeks carefully around the boulder for a few seconds, then waves her forward. It is a strange sight that meets the alien's eyes when she peers around the boulder. There, in a tree-lined hollow, she sees a large escape capsule on its side, the hatch at an awkward downward angle, the tattered remains of a brake chute entangled in the branches of the nearby trees. In one tree something dark and lumpy is suspended from a branch.

Anthony takes out a small device with an earplug and a long microphone attached to it. The earplug he inserts in his left ear and the microphone he points towards the capsule. He listens for a few seconds before nodding and putting the device back in the backpack. Then he takes out a couple of ration bars and hands one to Rrsh'Dhana before he unwraps one for himself and settles down to wait.

For a long while nothing happens, then the hatch moves slightly. In an instant Anthony returns to full alertness and reaches into a pocket to withdraw three heavy balls connected by strings. As they watch, a fur-covered foot drops down through the hatch opening, then another, and soon the wolf is out. The small, bedraggled alien half limps, half staggers away from the two observers and towards some bushes. A few minutes later the wolf emerges again, now looking even more pitiful. As the figure stumbles towards whatever is suspended in one of the trees, Anthony slowly rises with the balls and string in one hand. He starts spinning the balls in a lazy arch, then faster and faster until they blur into a whirring circle. Quickly shifting them into a horizontal circle above his head he suddenly releases the strings, twirling the orbiting balls towards the wolf where the bolo wraps tightly around its legs. Once the alien falls, Anthony runs down towards it while stripping himself of the camouflage netting. As soon
as he reaches the wolf he throws the netting over its head and arms, entangling them in the mesh. He then sprints past the capsule, casting a quick glance towards the hatch as he passes it. Then he stops, unstraps his rifle and creeps carefully back towards the grounded pod. Outside the hatch he pauses to listen for a few seconds, then peeks carefully inside. Seeing no one inside, he turns his attention back to what's happening nearby. "Rrsh'Dhana!" he calls. "You can come down now." Seeing that the wolf isn't trying to free itself from the net, he turns his attention to the shapeless lump hanging from the branch, but quickly turns back when he notices the stench of rotting meat. Rrsh'Dhana arrives just as Anthony drags the net off the wolf. The wolf still makes no attempt to resist, only mumbling, "Raesh'ghii, raesh'gii," over and over.

"You know wolf tongue better than I," Anthony says to Rrsh'Dhana. "What's he saying?"

"She is saying 'no pain, no pain' " his female companion replies. "I guess she's begging us not to hurt her."

"A wolf female?" Anthony asks, shocked. Then he looks down at the quivering form, noticing the slender arms and legs, a small nipple poking through the chest fur where the rags covering it have slipped off, a frightful wound in one thigh, the thin, matted fur and the look of terror in the large dark eyes. "But... The wolves don't have female fighters..."

"This is definitely a female," Rrsh'Dhana states. "I saw and met a few on their world before I came here." Then she adds, "What's wrong?" as she notices that he's trembling.

"I just physically attacked a woman," he answers, his voice quivering, "that's what's wrong. I attacked a defenseless, injured, sick woman!"

"But you had no way of knowing," Rrsh'Dhana states, trying to calm him.

"No," he mutters, "but that doesn't make it any better." Then he hurriedly digs into his backpack, withdraws a wolf-type first-aid kit and tosses it to Rrsh'Dhana. "There's a pain-block in there. Could you please inject a dose into her leg?" he asks, pointing to the large open wound in the wolf's upper thigh.

Rrsh'Dhana, wrinkling her snout in disgust at the almost overpowering smell of corruption and filthy fur coming from the wolf, sits down next to the trembling creature and gingerly opens the kit to withdraw a small auto-injector, which she presses firmly against the wolf's thigh. "What now?" she asks.

"If you could clean and dress the wound, that would be a great help," he replies. "I have something else to do." Then he draws a broad-bladed knife from the sheath hanging from his belt and starts hacking at a nearby sapling. Rrsh'Dhana starts cleaning the wound, flushing it first with water to remove grime, then with a disinfectant spray, wiping away clotted blood and puss with a rolled up bandage. She finally wraps another bandage around the wound and secures it with a gauzelike material wound tightly around the leg. In the meantime Anthony chops down two of the small trees, strips them of branches and ties them together with two shorter pieces of wood before wrapping the camouflage netting around them to create a simple but sturdy stretcher. This he places next to the wolf and then takes out one final item from his backpack; a thin silvery, thermal blanket. With Rrsh'Dhana's help they wrap it around the now unconscious female and lay her gently onto the frame.

"Is there anything that we should bring?" Rrsh'Dhana asks as Anthony repacks his equipment into his backpack, preparing to move out.

"There's nothing out here, but I'll check the capsule," he replies as he walks over to the open hatch and climbs inside. A few minutes later he returns with a small bundle, which he tucks inside the backpack before shouldering it. "If you grab the foot-end, I'll take the head-end of the stretcher," he says, gesturing towards the end of the frame, "and we'll get going."

"What was in that bundle?" she asks after they've been walking a few minutes.

"Pity and despair," he replies after thinking a few seconds. "An old brush, a couple of pretty rocks and a broken necklace. The brush and necklace are both cheap plastic, children's toys made here on Earth. She probably found them on the village rubbish dump."

"That's sad," Rrsh'Dhana says. "I wonder how long she's been hiding here?"

"Has to be almost a year," Anthony states after thinking about it. "The only time a capsule of that size could have come down undetected, except for the beginning of the war, was the night we destroyed the wolf fleet. To protect our electronics we switched off the most critical systems like radar right before the bombs detonated, and we didn't power them back on for at least ten minutes. Most of the escape pods were launched half an hour later, when it became obvious to the wolves that their ships were doomed. Of course, since most ships only had one or two capsules, we recovered mostly higher officers. Finding this one occupied by a single female is strange, very strange. It does explain how she's been able to survive undetected for so long, though, since pods like these were stocked with supplies to last sixteen wolves at least a week, maybe more."

When they enter the village after nightfall, the only person still outside is Angus.

"I see that you found the wolf," Angus comments, glancing at the makeshift stretcher. "Did he put up much of a fight?"

"No, she didn't fight," Rrsh'Dhana replies.

"Is there a doctor nearby?" Anthony asks.

"No," Angus answers. "He had to leave and won't be back for a few days. This wolf, he's badly injured, then?"

"She," Anthony stresses, "is suffering from an infected wound on her thigh, dehydration and starvation. Possibly a few other things, too. But if there's no doctor available, we'll just have to make do."

"We could try to call for a helicopter," Angus suggests.

"No good," Anthony counters. "There's only a few helicopters around and they won't dare a night-time landing around here. Besides, I'm not certain that she could stand the shaking and buffeting she'd get during a long helicopter flight. We'll inject some painkillers and antibiotics to stabilise her, and bring her in the slow way."

"Anything I can help you with?" Angus offers.

"Yeah," Anthony replies. "Help us lower her down the hatch."

After putting the female to bed in the small cabin and injecting her with additional medications, Anthony leaves for a few minutes, only to return with several paper-wrapped packages. "How is she?" he asks as he stows the items in the small fridge.

"Sleeping," Rrsh'Dhana replies. "She woke just after you left, but she fell asleep again almost immediately."

"Shock, exhaustion and injury tend to do that," Anthony comments. "She'll wake again in a few hours. Until then we'll take turns watching over her."

"Who takes first turn?"

"I'll do it," Anthony replies. "I have a few things to do anyway, but I can tuck you in if you want, or maybe give you a backrub."

"Oh, would you?" she asks, then turns and walks slowly back to the cabin, her tail swinging seductively from side to side.

"You gotta love spring," Anthony mumbles to himself as he follows her.

---

Morning.

"Is she awake yet? And is that eggs I smell?" Rrsh'Dhana asks as she enters the rear cabin for breakfast.

"Yes, those are eggs, but no, she hasn't given any sign of being awake," Anthony replies as he lifts the frying pan off the stove and places it onto the table. "She may be shamming, though. Would you check on her? You should be less intimidating to her than I would be."

"Maybe," she replies. Then she unce