Prey
©2019 by Walter Reimer



Tariano Nguyen, commander of the raider Ublyudok, had no illusions about his mission. If he and his ship, crewed by furs with backgrounds similar to his, did a good job – well, promotions all around; if they were discovered and either destroyed or captured, it was no great loss to the Confederacy. The black-furred stallion wasn’t an idiot by any measure. He was determined not only to survive, but to prosper.

It was well for him that his subordinates shared his goals. One hadn’t, and had been insubordinate to her new commanding officer.

Tariano had taught her the error of her ways by beating her unconscious and breaking her jaw with one kick. Afterward there were no disciplinary issues aboard the Koldun’ya-class ship.

“Commander?” The voice was accompanied by a chime.

The horse looked up from his recumbent position on his bed. “Come.” He didn’t bother to cover the fact that he was unclothed.

The door opened to reveal his second-in-command, a rat femme nearly as tall as himself. “Sensor contact, sir.” She ignored his nudity.

Nguyen sat up. “Military?”

“No, sir.” Her muzzle twisted as she smiled unpleasantly. “Civilian. Frequency spikes say it’s Colonial.”

His smile matched hers. “Intercept course. I’ll be on the Bridge as soon as I get dressed.”

“Got it.” She stepped back and the door closed while the stallion started to get into his uniform, pausing to grin at the three stripes of his proper rank on the shoulders. He’d earned those stripes with his blood.

He shouldered into the tunic, closed the clasps on it, and left his quarters.

“Captain on the Bridge,” the Exec announced as the stallion entered the command area and sat in his seat. “We’re closing on the contact. Analysis indicates it’s a freighter.”

Tariano nodded. “Even better. Helm, close on them and force them out of hyperspace.” On the main display, the Ublyudok leaped forward, closing the distance to the cargo ship. The freighter’s computer sensed the approaching hyperfield and took the ship into normal space as part of its anti-collision protocols.

The Confed ship followed.

“Shields active, primaries to full,” the rat femme rapped out.

“ID beacon,” the sensor tech said. “Soft Sell, out of Arawe.”

“Message from the ship,” the communications tech said. She smiled. “He’s pissed about something, says that they’re neutrals.”

The stallion leaned to the left in his chair and brought his right paw up to stroke his chin. “Neutral, huh? Guess he didn’t get the message. Fire primaries.”

The freighter’s shielding gave only slight resistance to the warship’s main weaponry.

“Good job, people,” Nguyen said. “The next time we find a freighter, though, let’s have a little fun and let them send a distress call first.” He crested slightly. “Let these traitors know that they’re not safe out here.” He sat back and relaxed as the Confed ship phased back into hyperspace, the crew pleased at how easy it had been to score their first kill.