Leaving

© 2019 by Walter Reimer



Thumbnail art by  rabbi-tom



Another shift at the Kiss Me in the Dark’s helm drew to an end, and Meredith was in her quarters reading a book on her padd. The novel was a real classic and one she’d read before, Dream of the Flame by Althea Richter, and she always enjoyed reading it. The remains of a salad and a quarter-full bottle of a carbonated soft drink sat on the table as she reclined in her chair.

Her ears swiveled at a soft whistle and a small yellow square appeared on the padd. The palomino mare tapped it and raised an eyebrow when it announced that she had an incoming recorded message.

Hyperspace communications traffic was usually recorded; realtime messages were horribly expensive and took a lot of power and bandwidth. Intrigued (and quietly hoping that it wasn’t bad news), Meredith brushed a fingertip against the RECEIVE key.

The text of the novel vanished to be replaced by the padd’s normally gray surface, and was just as quickly replaced by the 2-D image of a sable femme wearing a conservatively-styled suit and seated behind a desk. She smiled and said, “Fair day, Miss d’Estcourt, my name is Cypriane Belyayeva. I represent the Terran Sphere’s branch of the l’Raosch Consortium from the Kashlanin Empire.” A small indicator showed that a data packet was being downloaded. The woman didn’t look like she was a computer construct.

“I’m afraid to say that l’Raosch is a latecomer to Terran markets,” the sable said, “and we’re scrambling to hire trained crews for our ships. Your name came up on a search, and I’ve been asked to extend you the offer that’s being uploaded to you. Please take your time going over things, and let me know not later than fifteen days after receipt of this message.” She smiled sunnily. “I hope you’ll agree to sign on with us. Thank you for your attention.”

The screen went blank, and her mail screen shrank down to the icon that told her that a file was waiting.

Meredith ran the message twice more. The software she’d paid a hacker to install on the padd after she’d gotten out of the Navy had given it a clean bill of health, and was currently examining the file that had been downloaded. She picked up her bottle of soda and drained it before sitting back.

Belyayeva seemed fairly confident, so it must be a sweet offer; higher pay, better benefits, a newer ship - or a ship of her own, if they were that hard-pressed to hire crews. But, the palomino mare reminded herself, all those things had to be balanced against her tenure with Transcosm and the fact that most of the routes were near This Far and Downtime Station.

Well, she’d look over the packet and see what they were offering.


***


The news that the Terran President had died in his office was generally greeted with indifference on the part of the people of Terra and throughout the Sphere. Quite a few furs made jokes of varying levels of coarseness hinting that the musk deer had died with his pants down around his hooves, and more scoffed at the notion that the investigation “was ongoing.”

Some thought that there’d been a coup.

The Vice President, a lioness, had been examined by her peers in the Presidium and approved to succeed Marko Chao-li. The Confederate and Colonial Legislatures were duly notified and they too were informed that the investigation “was ongoing.”

“Not much to it, really,” General Parsons said as he consulted his padd. The painted wolf glanced up at the lioness. “A small object had been inserted into Chao-li’s rectum. It exploded, perforating all of his organs with small plastic flechettes.” He smiled as the others in the conference room stirred in their seats. “Of course, knowing Chao-li’s preferences, perhaps it shouldn’t have been surprising that an assassin was able to take him from behind.” A few Senators chuckled at his sally.

Nomzamo Clarke, the new President, didn’t look particularly amused by the joke. “We all knew that he liked male prostitutes,” she said, and glanced around at the rest of the people in the room. “Security procedures must be reviewed to keep something like this from happening again.”

“It’s being done,” Parsons said.

“Good. Have you found the last man he used?”

“Not yet.”


***


The roebuck drew his hooded shirt closer over his head to obscure his features. There were two Planetary Security officers slouched by the checkpoint, talking to each other and barely noticing the passengers streaming past them. He made it past the duo, but didn’t dare sigh in relief until he was well out of their sight.

He got aboard his shuttle with a few other furs headed for a Medusa-bound liner, and when it cleared Terra’s blighted atmosphere he allowed himself to relax just a tiny bit.

The buck, his antlers shorn and a set of breast forms adhering to his chest, shivered as he recalled being hauled into a deserted building and faced with two huge panthers. The offer they had was irresistible; do a thing for them, and he could leave with enough money to live comfortably – and silently.

Of course, spending the night and part of a morning with such a distinguished customer added incentive to the job.

When the liner phased into hyperspace and in the safety of his cabin, the roebuck discarded his fake breasts and attached a set of false antlers into sockets on his head. He had very carefully crafted new ID documents, money, and most importantly, he was leaving Terra.