Trailing Coats
© 2021 by Walter Reimer

Thumbnail art by  rabbi-tom


“Captain?”

“Yes?”

The Sensor Officer gestured a shrug with her tail. “It’s back again,” as the symbol representing the Terran light cruiser appeared at the limits of the Bōank’s sensor arrays. The Terran ship wasn’t running an ID beacon, so there was no way of determining if it was the same one with complete certainty, but the power curves were consistent.

One of the sensor technicians had a sense of humor; the symbol looked like a chalap in silhouette.

The light cruiser had appeared and disappeared regularly, at the same time by the ship’s horolog, over the past seven days. Once it had responded to a challenge from Gethrrit with a spate of very uncouth insults in truly execrable Kashlanin. The voice had been male, and probably not an AI.

It made Varan wish she could hear Meredith’s voice.

The Terran ship would always stay at the edge of detection range, hurling insults, and would immediately retreat whenever an Imperial ship moved in its direction. As a provocation, it wasn’t working; patrol doctrine prevented the Kashlani from attacking unless the ship posed an imminent threat, and with the Terran cruiser outnumbered six to one, its captain was being wise.

As an irritant, however, the Terran ship was becoming boringly repetitive.

“Communications,” Varan said. “Signal Gethrrit and ask Captain p’Shar if I may be allowed to respond to the Terran ship.”

A few of the viri in the command center exchanged glances while the Communications Officer relayed the request. Due to some vagary of the crew rotation schedule, all the command crew right now were female. The vir glanced up from her console and said, “Captain p’Shar says that permission is granted, Ma’am, and he will want records of the contact.”

Varan gestured comprehension. “Please relay my thanks, and open communications with the Terran.” When the officer gestured, Varan cleared her throat delicately, thought for a moment, and said in nearly flawless Terran Basic, “Hey, you with the tiny cock. Your father gave birth to you by shoving an artsem syringe up his ass.”

Every one of the viri in the command center stared at their commander as they got the translation, and the Weaponeer started to giggle.

The Terran ship retreated momentarily, but came back and the male voice said, “Fuck off, Critter.”

“’Fuck off?’ Is that the best you can do, or is that what the AI is whispering in your head?” Varan asked, recalling the boarding action report that Subcaptain v’Tal had submitted. “I suppose one could ‘fuck on’ – on a bed, a table, a floor – but how does one ‘fuck off?’” She grinned at the others in the command center and said, “I hear that the Lord Protector has sex with his wife on top, because all he can do is fuck up.”

A few more viri began laughing as their captain’s words were translated, and Varan allowed herself a smile, imagining what was going on aboard the Terran cruiser.

The enemy ship began moving closer. “I see it, Rakhani-kestin,” she told the Weaponeer. “Charge the primaries, and make sure that they see you doing it, please.” The lieutenant grinned and her fingers danced over her console, and less than a fraction later the Terran cruiser withdrew. “Communications?”

“Open channel, Ma’am.” The command crew were clearly enjoying this.

“You’re smarter than you look,” Varan said, trying to mimic a Terran inflection that denoted contempt, “but then you would have to be. If you were as smart as you look, you would shit yourself regularly.” The Communications Officer and the Pilot both burst out laughing.

The enemy ship lapsed into a sullen silence before leaving sensor range.

“Well done, Ma’am,” the Duty Officer said, the vir grinning widely.

“Thank you,” Varan said, making a mental note to send thanks to Karisa Fikset, the sister of one Meredith’s crew, for supplying her with a recording of the insults that her equine lover had hurled at the late Tariano Nguyen. “Communications, please relay the recordings to Captain p’Shar. Duty Officer, a glass of water, please. I need to clear my throat.”

“An interesting language, Terran,” the Pilot said.

Varan gestured affirmatively. “It’s a fusion of several of their home planet’s native languages, with a simplified syntax. They have a wealth of ways to insult each other.”

“Are the males that sensitive about the size of their k’sfani?” the Weaponeer asked.

“Some are, but I have no complaints – although I must add,” Varan replied as her subordinates all stared, “I’ve only twined tails with one male.”

“I thought your lover was female,” the Pilot said.

“She is, yes. But she has a male lover, and she is inclined to share.” Varan smiled at the others and gestured with her hands. “I have no complaints, and I know that Meredith has none either.” The rest of the command crew laughed and exchanged grins.

The rest of the duty shift was quiet, and the Terran ship did not reappear for the next two days. When it did return, it made no attempt to communicate, and kept its distance.