The Last Naorhy

by Mr. David R. Dorrycott

Rewritten from the original printed in APA Castlehome

Yet another close explosion’s shockwave of ionized gasses rocked the tiny fighter as it clawed for Nullspace, and survival. Inside the cockpit, the little ships pilot already lay unconscious, while bright orange blood seeped from several wounds. Finally came the jump, and safety. Free of attack the ships internal sensors moved to other tasks, for nothing known could affect a ship in Nullspace. Not even planet killing warheads. Not even the heart of stars. Soon these same sensors noted the injury levels of the pilot, as they did a field snapped on, then another. All engines but the Nullspace generator were shattered. Now almost powerless, the ship sped through the mind twisting fields of Nullspace. As it traveled a pale colorless glow slowly built up around the wreckage.

Static field charges well respected scientists would explain.

Time past, weeks, months, years, centuries... perhaps longer. Or less, for time is relative in Nullspace. For energy was almost a fluid in Nullspace. Nothing like it was in normal space. As time passed and energy was lost the Nullspace generator failed. When that occurred the little craft tumbled from Nullspace, its energies bled off, slowed to a point where it could no longer exist in that alien universe. More time past as bits of matter and streams of hydrogen beat upon that strange energy surrounding the little craft. Much as air slows a powerless jet fighter, these forces slowed the dying craft. Finally, with only a few atoms of anti-matter remaining to support its survival fields, one snapped down. Leaving only the inner field active, and it was weak. NIGHTDARK, the wreak that had once been a sleek deadly warship, finally passed within range of another ship. For a moment a pale hand seemed to slide across the wreckage. To the non-existent viewer it seemed to touch an antenna. Seemed to cause a long broken connection to be made. Faintly, almost ghostly, a call went out.

Paul T. Sarkan’s eyes opened wide as an unexpected sound echoed in his sensitive ears. He suddenly ceased his bored, seemingly aimless sweep of the interstellar communications bands, his dark eyes going wide. For a moment the ferret stared unbelieving at the frequency indicator, then he started waving frantically towards Captain Yonkers.

Intrigued by his communication officers sudden strange, and quite out of character physical gyrations the Panda stepped over. "What is it Sarkan" he asked as he towered over the young ferrets shoulder.

Quickly plugging in a spare headset to the ancient communications board, Paul held them up for his Captain. "A finders beacon Captain... I think" he whispered. "It's on an ancient military band, and an awful high one. Whatever it is, its just in range. I think we may be running our course at a high angle to it."

George Yonkers's eyebrows lifted at those words. Interstellar law required any such beacon to be investigated, investigated and recovered if possible. Silenced if possible, marked if not. There were stories of great rewards that had been paid by grateful governments, and of the occasional ship found drifting. Her crew spread like strawberry jam across her bulkheads... what was left of them. Holding the headset to his ears he listened. Interspaced among normal starsong was a thin signal, almost there, almost not. Sarkan's stock went up a notch in the panda’s eyes. Most people would have missed this, probably everyone else in his crew come to think of it. Including himself.

"How much of a course change to this things bearing" he asked.

"One moment sir" Sarkan answered, "I'm transferring the data to Katherine’s navigation station now."

Setting down the 'phones, Yonkers turned towards the vixen Katherine Moonsong. "Are you getting the data?" he asked the lith navigator.

"Yes George' the attractive, middle-aged vixen replied. "Running your plot now. It'll be a minute or two tho, this things got a strange course."

Yonkers nodded, returning to his chair to wait. Badgering his crew would interfere with their work, and something deep in the pit of his stomach warned him that he really didn't want to know just what that thing was.

"Got it George" Katherine exclaimed a few minutes later. "Your new course to intercept is Z negative 127, X - 313, Y - 11. Time to target three hours, seven minutes at our current speed."

"Why so long" George asked.

"Target is moving away at mid-negative FTL speeds" the vixen explained. "The longer we wait, the longer it will take." She paused, glancing towards the watching Sarkan. "And the less chance we'll have of successful recovery. At these speeds and our course differences, within an hour it will be out of our range."

George hesitated, he knew that he could just report the contact. That in itself would be enough under the law. Considering its strange frequency, speed and course. He could also claim that they hadn’t the spare fuel to chase it down, a little adjustment of the fuel logs would cover that easily. Still the thought of a reward was more than hook enough on their ragged budget. "Make your course, lets prepare for a possible hostile contact" he ordered. Scenes from space horror movies flickered through his mind. Furless pale beings swinging archaic swords and shields as they hacked his crew to pieces. He growled softly, forcing himself to clear his thoughts of those childhood horror shows.

Hours later they were on the correct course, at the correct location, yet there was nothing before them. On the bridge’s screens nothing showed but starlight, and not much of that considering their current course was taking them out of the galaxy. According to both Navigation and Communications NEPOTISM had to be almost on top of the strange transmitter, yet nothing showed under visible, infrared or ultraviolet scans and they were fast running out of Galaxy. And extra fuel.

"Thirty thousand meters" Katherine reported, her voice breaking the tension. "I'm getting a flashing ghost detection. Whatever it is, it was highly stealthed. Maybe some old Military ship?"

"Try the landing lights" George suggested. Stealth worked against everything but good old white light. At least in every case he had read about.

Huge searchlights, intended for use at spaceports during landing, takeoff and pretty much anytime between flickered on. Katherine quickly tied their directors into her scanners. For a few moments they seemed to hunt, then one by one they locked onto something.

George stood, staring at the image. "What in the name of Nine gods is that thing" he half whispered.

Everyone on the bridge just stared. On the screen a night-black ship, or what was left of one, tumbled slowly ahead of the NEPOTISM. As it tumbled, the powerful flood lamps showed just how alien, and how damaged the thing was. Where engines should have been was nothing but twisted, burnt metal. Metal so carbonized it was barely brighter than the hull. Half a wing had been sheared off, while only stubs remained where twin vertical stabilizers had been.

It was a fighter, it could only be a fighter. An impossible, tiny, one fur deep space starfighter meant for squadron use. George grunted as if someone had suddenly kicked him in the stomach, someone big. No one ever built many of those things, the pilot loss alone was political suicide. Even the few races that had tried them gave up. Shocked by the high replacement cost and low effectiveness ratings. That's why everyone had converted to the larger, multi-crew stand-off style design. Much more effective than a close in fighter, with a quantum level higher survival rate. In fact, the only things that came close to the alien ship were Tarbon Cup Racers. His breath sucked in and his blood chilled as he made his decision. "Get an attractor on that thing" he ordered. “Very low power, move it gently.” His voice broke the alien spell, forcing his people to return to their work.

"Why not just drift over it Sir, let it slip into the hold by itself" Sarkan asked from his station.

"Two very good reasons Mister Sarkan" the panda explained. "First, an attractor uses a thousandth the energy and time such maneuvers require." He paused, staring at the image again for a few moments. "And second, if that things going to explode. Well I'd much rather it did so outside the ship. Wouldn't you?"

Sarkan visibly flushed. "Understood sir" he answered, quickly turning back to his station. Sarkan was still young George remembered. He was still learning.

In moments an invisable beam reached out, gently touching the wreak. Pieces abruptly... fragmented. Brought to a halt, parts of the hull fell to stardust, to continue their path through space as slowly rotating clouds of metallic powder. Meanwhile, slowly, the bulk of the wreak eased towards an open bay in the NEPOTISM’s hull.

"Where did it come from Katherine" George asked, not really expecting an answer.

"Adella's Arm, Section TO-272 is as close as I can make it" the vixen replied. "Taking into consideration the ships speed, course, and probable course changes..." She looked up from her board. "George, that things been in space longer than my race has been civilized. What kind of power could be running that transmitter?"

"An anti-matter pod" Sarkan's nearly whispered reply filled the almost silent bridge. "A really big one. Enough anti-matter to shatter a planet maybe."

It was a frightening thought to all those who heard his words.

Two hours later Yonkers, Captain and owner of the tramp freighter NEPOTISM, stood watching as his two engineers worked to open the flow-fuzed canopy. Not much of the wreak not protected by the low grade stasis field had survived its long voyage, it had to have been a stasis field George told himself. Something impossible according to physics, yet he was looking at the results of one. His crews rough handling hadn't been much help though. Only the cockpit, nose area, a huge bent auto-cannon and some structural skeleton remained. The rest was dust and metal fragments in small ant mounds on the deck. Artificial gravity had its uses, doing this in zero G would have been impossible, and his cargo couldn’t survive spinning the ship. There was a sharp crack, a grunt from the horse, then the canopy's strange alloy shattered like glass.

"George, there's a flux stasis field here" Tom Anson reported. "At least that’s what it looks like, though everything I know says that’s impossible.” He tapped a tool against something, electing a klonking sound from the tool, but nothing from whatever he had struck. “Whatever is in here, well it's probably no older than when the field went up."

"Can you drop this field?" George asked. As he spoke his right paw slid unconsciously over the sidearm now strapped to his side.

"Easy as pie" Tom answered. He pointed to something outside of the pandas vision. "All I have to do is pull this here handle, and hope this little power unit don't set off a critical overload. As old as this thing is, I don't think that's going to happen."

"All-right" George decided, "Do it." He pulled his weapon, aiming it at the faint grey field beyond Anson's bulky frame, while his mind tried to imagine all sorts of alien monsters boiling out of that little cockpit.

Another sharp crack soon followed the first, then a high pitched whine that quickly fell to nothing came to George's ears. Without the tiny trickle of power it needed the stasis field collapsed. Seconds later Tom looked in, whistled, then turned, ashen faced under his worn fur, to his engineering partner Sandy Carter.

"Medical” he told the rabbit. “Now and fast. I don't think she'll last much longer."

'She?' George thought, unconsciously holstering his weapon as he hurried to his Chief engineers side. Soon he was looking into the shattered cockpit, finding himself staring at the battered pilot. Bright orange blood covered most of the strange instruments, and an obviously female body in the pilots seat. Reaching in he unbuckled restraining straps, gently lifting the small body as the larger horse moved aside. Turning, he followed Carter to the NEPOTISM's medical section.

Behind him Anson started making visual records of the pilot compartment. Protected by the stasis field, several months of research laid before the inquisitive engineer, including the navigational computer. Time seemed to slow, a low off tune whistle escaped him as he worked. Other computers were still running, probably on their own backup power now that the stasis field was gone, and they weren't for navigation. His commgear suddenly beeped, a sharp chirping in the bays death silence. Tapping its activator he growled "I'm busy, can it wait?"

Katherns soft voice answered him. "We just wanted to know what kind of lifeform it was" she asked. ""It's been two hours and no alert, no report. George and Sandy are locked in medical, your the only one we can ask."

"Oh. Ah' right. Looks like this was a recon ship, probably a fast conversion of a close in fighter because I've found hardpoints.... and a weapons computer." He paused, stepping back to stare at the wreak. "I donn-o who's it was, never saw anything like it or this language before. Sure could use ah' comp-hacker rit' now. Pilot was alive, an' female. Kinda short, maybe five feet, little more, orange blood. Looks like a lot of the intel gear was protected by the stasis field, not the sensors, just storage. Couldn' guess her race tho" he finished. Then a memory of a something he'd learned in school as a child, an old race not often seen. A race long believed extinct. "Wait," he said, licking his teeth, "Lynx... I think she's a lynx."

Lieutenant Nola Copperheart clawed her way out of nightdeath strange dreams, to wake in a darkened, quiet room. A remembered scent drifted through her mind for an instant, as if someone had been leaning over her for a few seconds. "Ideen?" she asked, looking around the darkened room. For an instant she thought she saw her, then memory came back and she sighed. Ideen wasn't there, couldn't be there. She sniffed again, strange odors. Certainly not her race, not the dogs either. Could it be the VJ she wondered? She'd never met a member of the strange mouse race that had become so important to her own people, she had been stationed too far Eastward. She thought back, trying to remember what had happened. But an insistent, droning voice kept interfering with her thoughts.

She listened a few seconds before determining that it was some sort of sleep training program, there was also a slight tingle in her scalp. 'Probably image language' she decided, as the alien words slowly made sense, 'I've been out a long time for it to make this much sense.' Slowly she tested her limbs, finding that both legs were in casts. This fact didn't surprise her. Two thin tubes ran through her sinus's, one down into her stomach, the other oxygen most likely. They bothered her. Since only her left arm was free she used it to reach up and remove the bothersome headset, silencing the droning voice and alien images. With a slow pull she removed the two tubes running down her sinus's, there was a dull tug and she tasted blood. 'That was stupid' she decided, already her throat was complaining. In a few hours it would be raw. Still, with the voice, images and tubes gone she was able to think again.

It had been a semi-normal recon flight she remembered, the only difference being they'd had to convert an IRONDART for the job, as their last recon craft was down with a blown engine. Everything had gone according to plan until her fifth drop from Nullspace, right into a squadron of Irii space superiority fighters. With no weapons it had been a duck shoot... With her as the duck. The last thing she could remember was pressure, then pain as her legs twisted the wrong way. Then a dull pressure against her chest. Her last command had sent the ship into an emergency dive into Nullspace.

Lights suddenly started coming up. Nola looked around again, proving to herself that her eyes still worked at least. Soon three beings carefully stepped into the room, a panda, vixen and bear. Their clothing told her they were civilian but nothing else. 'Prisoner' she decided, 'Well, it's better than the kitchen of a dog ship.' Ignoring her bodies protests, she pulled herself to a somewhat sitting position, then waited for their interrogation to begin.

George nodded to himself as the strange woman dragged herself up, 'I knew she'd have ta' be tough' he thought to himself. In his mind he went over the information Elizabeth had extracted from the alien computers. Standing at the foot of the bed he took a breath, preparing to speak.

"Nola Reana Copperheart, Lieutenant, NRI377B-266139" the woman said, breaking the silence. Pre-empting George's planed greeting.

George nodded, more to himself than anyone else. "Name, rank and serial number, right?" he asked.

"All you will from me" the woman replied. "Unless allies you are, and can prove."

George shook his head, "No, we're not allies, neutrals or enemy" he told her. "In fact, we've never even heard of your race before. I'm George Yonkers, Captain of this freighter." He waved at each of the two with him, "This is Katherine, my navigator. She broke into yer computers, managed to make the sleep training program. And this is Tom my Chief Engineer. We're here to help you, nothing else.

Nola closed her eyes, the better to think. 'It's possible' she thought to herself, 'those new VJ safety fields have been known to keep pilots alive for years, I could be almost anywhere.' Opening her eyes again she looked into the pandas face. "What pulsars within one hundred lightyears, what are periods" she demanded.

George tapped Katherns shoulder and she stepped forward, looking into Nola's face. "Within one hundred light years there are two" she reported. "JD-17 with a period 2.2 seconds, and JD-11 with a period of .38 seconds." She paused, forcibly pulling herself from the depths of Nola's brown-black eyes before she could continue. "This information is probably useless to you Lt. Copperheart, this isn't your part of the galaxy."

Nola laughed, a short bark before her abused throat stopped her. "Not my part galaxy? Or you mean solar system. I seem remember people get backwards. But your right, aren't any pulsars those periods anywhere 100 lightyears from other our space." She took a breath, ignoring the pain in her throat as she felt long unused muscles stretch. "Let hear story."

Katherine lifted a tiny remote, pointing towards a screen mounted next to the bed. As Nola watched the screen lit, showing the picture of a bar galaxy. "Your section of the galaxy" the vixen told her. "40,200 light years away from our position, give or take a few million miles. You have been in stasis over 4,000 of our years. From studies of the remains of your ship, we think that is around 7,000 or so of your years. If I translated your language correctly." She stopped, studying the blank face in front of her. "It is a good possibility your race doesn't exist anymore."

She clicked her remote and the view changed, showing a wide looping line through the galaxy from where they thought Nola was from, and their own section of space. Nola's stone face, hypnotic eyes and lack of reaction to her statement had shaken the vixen a bit. She settled herself, regaining her own calm. "As best I can tell this was your course. You came out of your space, through the outer fringe of this spherical cluster and entered our section of space at a high angle of attack." She clicked again and closeup of the path through their galaxy replaced the larger view. "You were exiting the galaxy when Sarkan detected your signal."

"So you say. This very fanciful imaginative writer have Captain" Nola replied. "If want me believe, I trust you way proving I've lived seven thousand years?" She looked at herself, her youthful body only partially covered by the thin bed clothing. "Injuries aside, I seem in very shape someone that old."

George nodded. "Tom, get her the chair. Lets get this over with" he ordered.

The bear stepped out of sight, returning quickly with a wheelchair. He carefully transferred the, to him, fragile lynx from her bed to the chair without much trouble.

As Tom buckled her in Katherine leaned over. "I'm sorry about the diapers" she whispered into the Lynx's ear, "But you've been asleep over two months and we're short handed."

Nola just grunted, ignoring the wrapping around her now too thin hips. "Show me proof" she demanded. She sniffed again, catching a slight acrid scent. "You remove them later, you want" she replied in her own whisper.

"Her ship first Tom, then the viewport" George decided.

Soon enough Nola was sitting beside the remaining wreckage of her ship. A huge monitor was displaying the video loop made when they discovered her, and what had occurred when the attractor had made contact. "Lucky be alive" she whispered. "Full quarter ship gone." Reaching out she ran her good hand along a heavy stress brace, amazed as part of the massive structure fell to powder under her touch. Lifting her hand to her lips she tasted the metal. No acrid bite of acid answered her tongues probe, only the oily taste of tallium alloy.

"Let's see space you proud of" she said, her proud voice now subdued.

She stared out the viewport, both with naked eye and a high power set of binoculars recovered from her ship. For over half the day she studied the stars before her, before finally nodding. "I'll never forget you Ideen" she whispered in her own language, a whisper Yonkers wasn't meant to hear, but did. Though he could never understand the words. She turned the chair to face the panda. "Thank Captain Yonkers, remaining out Nullspace long must costly. You've made point, I recognize some satellite clusters. I know they wrong place, wouldn't be others resolvable this low power device." She sighed, her head drooping for a moment. "From positions... Well, what say has be true." She stopped, taking another deep breath. George pointedly ignored the tear than slipped slowly down one cheek. "What you do me now" she asked. "Slavery, vivisection, turned your governments"

"I don't know" he admitted, breaking into the lynx's spiral of depression. "We thought about turning you over to the authorities, you and your ship. There would be a great reward to be sure, and as you may know. A ship like ours is always running on the edge. But well, after a while I came to the realization we'd vanish rather quickly, if not immediately. I mean, we know about you and your ship. If not the government, someone would take us out eventually." He squatted beside the chair, bringing his face more on a level with the sitting woman. Her face was still impassive, still as the surface of lake in winter. 'She'll make a dangerous poker player' he thought, 'I'll have to remember that.' "How would you feel about joining us" he asked. "We're constantly shorthanded, and well... I'd hope for the same offer if our positions were reversed."

Nola closed her eyes with a sigh. "I time think" she replied. "Many changes..."

"Take all the time you need" said George. "We're at least two months out from our next port anyway. Rescuing you took us well off course, but it isn't like we've a strict schedule to keep. We'll turn back on the most economical course." He stood, towering over the seated woman. "My first, and most important question is. What do you like to eat. Meat or plant?"

"Meat, not very cooked" Nola replied with a smile. "You keep most plants yourself."

George nodded, "Well we can manage that for a little while, though you’ll have to eat some veggies” he said as he turned her chair. "Now lets get you to your new quarters. Sickbay just isn't meant for long term occupation. Katherine will be bringing both your ditty and emergency bags. Tom found them under your seat. I'll have her bring them with your supper. Once we figured out what your blood was based on, well in short most of our foods should be safe for you. There aren't any other lifeforms with aluminum based blood that I know of." He shook his head negatively. "I'm sorry, few of our blood meats are eatable by you. Fish yes, but only certain copper based ones. But" he grinned. "There plenty of grains. They seem to match your system."

"Grains" Nola cursed, then coughed. "I'd eat leaves."

"You will if its all we have" George laughed. "As soon as you can walk again I’ll take you to the bridge. Still, most of our hard alcohols are safe enough, just stay away from the beers. Most are based on a grain that the computer claims would send you running for the bathroom." He helped her out of the chair onto her new bunk. As he did, the smell of her diaper drifted to him. 'I better get Katherine down here now' he thought to himself. 'This woman just doesn't complain about anything.'

"No beer?" Nola snickered. "Roa always claim beer turn me, right she's turned to be." With George's help she slid across the bed, lying flat on the crisp green sheets. "Pea-Green. I as well back on carrier."

Latching the chair against the cabins wall he turned to the door. "They were cheap, we needed replacements, well you get the idea" George answered. "I'll have Katherine down here with your supper and bags in a few minutes. She's been taking care of you most of the time anyway. Tom dug some crutches out of storage, as soon as you can learn to walk with them we'll drop the diapers."

Nola smiled, "Wanna do now?" she asked, her voice rough, but pitched quite low.

George just smiled and shook his head. "I take it if your not trying to kill someone, your trying to get them in bed?"

Nola giggled, "Well... It been few.... millennium?" She watched as the attractive panda left, shutting her door with a bit more force than need-be. "Ah Ideen" she whispered, reverting to her own language in the semi-darkness. "I can feel you. Did you stay with me so long just to make sure I was safe?"

A soft whiff of an ancient scent was her only reply. Closing her eyes, she laid back on the bed and remembered the young Ni vixen that had been her life-mate. A sly smile crossed her lips when she eventually turned her thoughts to Kathleen. 'Well' she thought, 'I've waited seven thousand years. I guess I can wait... a few minutes longer.'

Six weeks later George was again visiting the lynx's room. Nola’s cast's were gone now, Kathleen’s therapy sessions and Nola’s time helping Tom tear down her ship had brought her recovery along rapidly. He'd watched some of her sessions in the workout room. He was impressed, not only was Nola competent, for she seemed to be able to turn anything into a weapon at will. But she fought to get along with everyone aboard his ship. er language skills had improved dramatically as well. She seemed to throw herself into her studies. A smile tugged at his mouth as he remembered the partial loaf of bread she'd stuffed down Sarkan's throat, after he'd made a casual disparaging remark against Tom. Stopping at her door he looked at the strange lettering under her name before knocking. She'd carefully written her name and rank in her own language. Tom had just as carefully painted it in. Taking a breath he rapped the metal smartly.

Nola answered the door on his second knock, stepping back and waving to the single chair in her quarters. George stepped in, taking the offered chair.

"I take it you've come to a decision on my offer" George asked.

"Yes" the Lynx answered as she sat on the spartan bunk. "Although your an undisciplined lot" a glitter in her eyes took the sting from her remark. "I've come to like several of you." She paused, seeming to reflect on something. "I've also finally figured out the social structure of your ship Captain." Something in her voice caught the panda off guard, as if she knew something he didn't. For the moment he let it pass. "If you don't mind my rather military lifestyle, and the fact I can't stand Sarkan, I'd very much like to join your crew."

George laughed at the latter. "It does take something to get along with him" he replied.

"Like an iron bar across his muzzle" Nola injected.

The panda nodded in agreement. Sarkan was the best he’d ever met, at his job. But he had a real problem getting along with other furs. 'She'll do' he thought to himself. He'd been keeping abreast of the strange aliens recovery and interests with nightly briefings from Katherine. He'd expected this. "I've already spoken with the crew" he said. "I'm happy you decided to join us. We can always use a competent person, and there's so much more that we want to know about you."

"You'll need to know everything about me, want to know about my race, technology and such" she answered.

"Nothing you don't want to tell us" George replied, "Just remember, everything you know is a bit out of date now." He settled back against the bulkhead behind him. "I've got to admit, your taking this very well."

Nola turned to look at the panda a moment, then stared at the wall. "My wife, Ideen. A Ni vixen I met in a ships bathing area. Ni and Naorhy rarely click. We did. She died a few months ago in battle." She paused. "A few months? Gods, I'm probably the only living being that even remembers that she existed, much less her voice, her touch..." She sighed in her loss. "She's dust upon dust now. Only I remain to remember the smell of her hair, her taste. I'd given up on life when she died, it's why I took the mission."

“You didn't expect to come back." George stated. It was certainly not a question.

"I didn't want to come back" Nola corrected.

"Am I correct here. You said wife, not husband?" George asked.

Nola nodded slowly. "There was a.... plague of sorts. Centuries ago, my time. Our scientists made it, trying to improve the race. When your one of almost eighteen thousand women after the same male." She giggled, "I've learned about your social structure and laws, you take love where you can get it Captain. Ideen and I were... very much in love." She stopped, looking back at the panda. "It doesn't mean I don't like males" she half growled, "It just means there weren't any... available. As a race we learned to accept this, and most of us always managed to find love." She laughed again. "But a man is... was always in our dreams. I guess you'd call me bi-sexual. I'll take love where I can find her, or him since there seem to be a few unattached males aboard. Of course none from my race are available, and I remember a lot of my people were taking VJ lovers by the time I ... left" She winked at the panda. "VJ, the VhyrJyurn. They were scientists. What you call mice. Amazingly inventive. Their technology turned a slow slaughter of a dozen races into, well I hope victory against the Irii. Somehow I feel Ideen would want me to find love again. I'll be happy with what I find. Even if it's as the Captain's toy-girl."

"Maybe things changed for your race" George sputtered, dodging that loaded bomb. "It has been a little time since you left."

Nola giggled this time. A soft sound, barely audible. "That, my dear George is an understatement. But I doubt I'll find a taxi to take me home anytime soon. I certainly don't have the credit to phone mother for a ride, and well...." She stopped, biting her lower lip. "If my race survives, I don't much think I'd be very welcome by them." Her eyes twinkled again as she too changed the subject. "I'm a fighter pilot without a ship, a grunt without a squad and a woman without a race. Yet you still want me to join you?"

George laughed too, a deep rumbling sound compared with the lynx's softer voice. "Tom and Sandy say that with your help they can build you a new fighter. Hell, it might be useful to have a madwoman ready to fly down the throat of death. It'd scare most pirates into dirtying their pants." He chuckled, "Fighters stand off, fire missiles, energy weapons and such. Then they fight each other and the smaller auxiliaries. They just don't cruse ten meters off your battleships hull unleashing solid slugs and explosive rounds, it just isn't done. We have fighters in this part of the galaxy yes, but no one builds anything like what you were flying." He shook his head negatively. "There aren't that many people who love to fly ground support aircraft in deep space fleet battles, then dive into an atmosphere to support troop landings. Your losses must have been very high."

Nola closed her eyes a few seconds before answering. "Captain, when your facing invasion from five directions by nine races, a dozen cheap fighters are worth one expensive one. It was the VJ and we, against almost every race we had contact with." She stopped, and giggled again. "Well, we DID start most of the fights ourselves, and we were winning on all but one front the last I heard. I've wondered these last weeks, did Admiral Ironclaw stop that invasion force, or did the Irii crush her, and that entire sector." She looked up, "I'll never know, unless you've a really good radio antenna."

"No, I'm afraid the frequency you were using isn't a common one" George admitted as he crossed his powerful legs. "I'm afraid we can't do anything about a squad either, so how does Ship’s Security set with you." He smiled at a thought, without showing any teeth. "And we'll be your race, your family... if you want. We visit a lot of out of the way places, a mongrel crew like ours? You wouldn't even be noticed. Especially with Tom or I next to you." He laughed again. "We, we sort of attract all the attention.

Nola nodded, reaching out with her paw to take the pandas massive paw. "In that case. I'd be honored to become part of your crew. Any family is better than being alone." She sighed, "Some God had a reason for me to survive, maybe Ideen had a hand in it. I don't know Captain, but I'm yours to use as you wish." She stopped, seeing the look in George's face and broke out laughing. "Oh no Captain, I've no designs on you." A sly smile crossed her face. "Male or female, I'll find love. In my own time, my own way. I am the last Naorhy you know. I have to keep my races honor intact."

George eventually left the lynx's quarters and headed for the bridge. 'Why' he thought, 'Do I get the feeling that I just bought a bottle of nitroglycerin. And what' he continued as he stepped onto the bridge, 'do I think I'm going to do with it.'

---* END *---