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Story / General Furry Art
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Family Matters
© 2022 by Mitch Marmel
Thumbnail art by
tegerio, color by 
Major Matt Mason
Part Thirty-six
Roland:
After a few minutes of disporting herself in the water, Persephone finally came back aboard to be met by her mate. Gawain appeared to be in the grip of some very strong emotions, but my nephew’s natural reserve enabled him to keep his temper under control as his wife used a large and fluffy towel to dry her fur before putting her clothes back on.
They had quite an extensive conversation via Elf-mind, while the Colonel and the Commodore merely exchanged glances. The King my brother and I had a brief exchange of remarks in Elf-mind, which I will not record here.
[Note appended to manuscript: “Spoilsport.”]
[Note appended to manuscript: “Pfui. I doubt, Commander, that you would want your private conversations recorded.”]
[Note appended to manuscript: “Well, there was a four-volume compendium published - ”]
[Note appended to manuscript: “Tali.”]
[Note appended to manuscript: “You’re no fun, Low.”]
Our party was escorted into the bowels of the ship, which in some ways was larger than both GHQ and the Royal Palace combined, to what the Commodore called an ‘observation lounge’ for luncheon. Any misgivings I might have had regarding these people were only somewhat allayed by the food that was supplied to us.
The Colonel sat to my left as I applied myself to the roast beef and I asked, “I wish to ask – “
“Ask, and you shall receive, Your Highness,” Mason said cheerfully. “What do you want to know?”
“I observe that you have a large number of femmes on board. Is that standard practice, or a whim of the Commodore’s?”
The bear set his glass of lemonade down. “It’s been standard Corps policy for quite a while to allow anyone with talent, mel or femme, to sign up. I’ve noticed, personally, that femmes have a greater killer instinct than mels at times.” He grinned. “That is, if my wives are any measure.”
“I had noted a . . . similarity in surnames.”
He nodded. “Both the Commodore and the Commander are married to me.”
“And they know of this?”
“They’d make short work of me if I’d kept them in the dark about it,” he chuckled. “Don’t you have plural marriage in Faerie?”
“Yes, but it’s not usual. It’s more common south of the Empire’s borders,” and I related to him about Shaykh Rhaddlen Rohl, who had (at last count) eight wives. I kept to myself the arrangement Meadow Grainmaster had with her mates. That was her business. When I finished, he nodded.
“Diversity,” he said, “is a strength. There’s a world in Alternity TSG-1961 where the inhabitants all looked alike, except that exactly half of them had a distinctive mark in their fur. They were born with it, you understand.
“They lived in harmony,” and I glanced to see the King my brother listening intently, “until one decided that the ones with markings were somehow ‘better’ than the unmarked ones.” Mason refilled his glass, his expression becoming grim. “I was a junior lieutenant when the Corps visited, and – well, it wasn’t a matter of contact, or even rescue, by that point.
“They’d destroyed themselves, in a war that as far as we can tell lasted over a hundred of their years. There was one survivor, who managed to say ‘I win’ before he expired.” He took a sip of his drink, his expression distant and making me feel that he wished he’d been drinking something stronger. He recovered quickly and said, “We respect diversity, Your Highness, in both species and gender.”
Adler nodded.
We all looked up as an enlisted fur entered and gave us a deferential bow before having a low-voiced conversation with the Commodore. She nodded, and as the young mel left Gawain asked, “Is there a problem, Commodore?”
“No, Your Highness,” the mephitess replied. “The petty officer was just letting me know that things are ready for the demonstration.”
“Demonstration?”
“Yes, Sir, of the ship’s weaponry.”
“I had noticed that you seem to have a lot of these, what are they called again?”
“Shock-cannons.”
“Ah. Shock-cannons. Why so many?”
“No matter where you go, Your Highness, there are dangers to be faced.”
“I see. Well, I look forward to this demonstration of yours.”
I glanced from my nephew and caught the Colonel’s smile.
***
Stormy:
I’m sure that it may not be any business of mine, but I’ve noticed that Nippy and Chef Ernest seem to be spending a lot of time looking at each other. I know Elf-mind, but good Elves don’t eavesdrop.
They’re both ermines, though.
For the past day or two, I’ve also seen those two acolytes from the Temple talking to Chef Ernest. I haven’t been too close to catch everything they’ve been saying, but it includes words like ‘bacon’ and ‘frittata,’ and Chef Ernest started out looking skeptical, but now looks interested.
I wonder what they’re up to, and whether I should maybe tell a grownup about it.
Maybe Nippy. I know she’ll listen to me.
***
Mason:
After the leftovers and tables had been taken away, Low stood up and addressed our guests.
“Your Majesty, Your Highnesses, directly above us is the command bridge of the Musashi, the area from which the ship is controlled. However, there is little space for guests to stand or sit and observe the upcoming demonstration. This lounge affords us the best view.” She smiled. “May I begin the demonstration?”
The King nodded.
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” She walked over to the intercom on the wall by the door. “Observation Lounge, Bridge.”
“Bridge, aye.” Marshal Roland was watching and listening attentively.
“This is the Commodore. Is the swimming party back aboard?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Very well. Sound General Quarters, gunnery drill, surface action starboard.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” There were three shrill alarm blasts, and the talker announced, “All personnel, General Quarters, this is a drill, repeat this is a drill. Set Condition One throughout the ship,” and then repeated the order.
“’Condition One,’ Colonel?” the Marshal asked.
“All doors are closed, the ship’s readied for action,” I said.
“Ah.”
Low poked at the intercom again. “Weapons Officer.”
“Ma’am.”
“Surface action starboard, train out Turret Two, center gun, one round only, target of opportunity.”
“Yes, Ma’am. Target thirty degrees off starboard bow, range two-zero klicks.”
“Accepted. Fire on my command.”
The Royals glanced at me. “We’ve set out a target buoy to shoot at. Twenty kilometers is, um, a little under . . . hm, four leagues in that direction,” and I pointed. Marshal Roland looked impressed, the King and the Princess looked interested.
Prince Gawain looked skeptical.
From our vantage point we could see the second main turret slowly slew around into position, and the center barrel elevated. I suppressed a laugh, because the resemblance to the fabled One-Fingered Salute was obligatory.
Low said, “Fire.”
A glow started at the muzzle of the shock-cannon, with sparks suddenly appearing and flowing into the glow, which swelled to a sphere and suddenly lanced out. I’ve heard it described poetically as “a bar of quasi-solid lightning” and it’s damned impressive.
The bolt flew downrange as the gun recoiled and the ship shivered slightly.
It went over the horizon, there was a pause, and a sudden bright flash as it struck.
“Target destroyed,” the Weapons Officer said.
I heard Prince Gawain murmur “Scepter of Elfhame.” I was sure that he wasn’t talking about any part of the Master.
[Note appended to manuscript: “Not ______ likely.”]
“Would Your Majesty like to see another demonstration?” Low asked.
The King thought for a moment before replying, “No, Commodore, thank you.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” She hit the intercom again. “Secure from surface action.” As the turret moved back into travel position, my mate caught my eye and smiled. “This wasn’t on the agreed-upon agenda, Your Majesty, but would you enjoy a view of Faerie?”
“Your mate the Colonel did that already,” Gawain said.
Low said, “My view would enable His Majesty to see all of Faerie.”
There was a brief pause as all four Royal Skunks glanced at each other. Telepathy again; oh well, no worse than biocybernetics I suppose. Finally King Adler said, “I should like to see that, Commodore.”
“As you wish, Your Majesty,” and Low addressed the intercom again. “Bridge, Commodore.”
“Bridge, aye.”
“Secure the ship for space.”
<NEXT>
<PREVIOUS>
<FIRST>
© 2022 by Mitch Marmel
Thumbnail art by
tegerio, color by 
Major Matt MasonPart Thirty-six
Roland:
After a few minutes of disporting herself in the water, Persephone finally came back aboard to be met by her mate. Gawain appeared to be in the grip of some very strong emotions, but my nephew’s natural reserve enabled him to keep his temper under control as his wife used a large and fluffy towel to dry her fur before putting her clothes back on.
They had quite an extensive conversation via Elf-mind, while the Colonel and the Commodore merely exchanged glances. The King my brother and I had a brief exchange of remarks in Elf-mind, which I will not record here.
[Note appended to manuscript: “Spoilsport.”]
[Note appended to manuscript: “Pfui. I doubt, Commander, that you would want your private conversations recorded.”]
[Note appended to manuscript: “Well, there was a four-volume compendium published - ”]
[Note appended to manuscript: “Tali.”]
[Note appended to manuscript: “You’re no fun, Low.”]
Our party was escorted into the bowels of the ship, which in some ways was larger than both GHQ and the Royal Palace combined, to what the Commodore called an ‘observation lounge’ for luncheon. Any misgivings I might have had regarding these people were only somewhat allayed by the food that was supplied to us.
The Colonel sat to my left as I applied myself to the roast beef and I asked, “I wish to ask – “
“Ask, and you shall receive, Your Highness,” Mason said cheerfully. “What do you want to know?”
“I observe that you have a large number of femmes on board. Is that standard practice, or a whim of the Commodore’s?”
The bear set his glass of lemonade down. “It’s been standard Corps policy for quite a while to allow anyone with talent, mel or femme, to sign up. I’ve noticed, personally, that femmes have a greater killer instinct than mels at times.” He grinned. “That is, if my wives are any measure.”
“I had noted a . . . similarity in surnames.”
He nodded. “Both the Commodore and the Commander are married to me.”
“And they know of this?”
“They’d make short work of me if I’d kept them in the dark about it,” he chuckled. “Don’t you have plural marriage in Faerie?”
“Yes, but it’s not usual. It’s more common south of the Empire’s borders,” and I related to him about Shaykh Rhaddlen Rohl, who had (at last count) eight wives. I kept to myself the arrangement Meadow Grainmaster had with her mates. That was her business. When I finished, he nodded.
“Diversity,” he said, “is a strength. There’s a world in Alternity TSG-1961 where the inhabitants all looked alike, except that exactly half of them had a distinctive mark in their fur. They were born with it, you understand.
“They lived in harmony,” and I glanced to see the King my brother listening intently, “until one decided that the ones with markings were somehow ‘better’ than the unmarked ones.” Mason refilled his glass, his expression becoming grim. “I was a junior lieutenant when the Corps visited, and – well, it wasn’t a matter of contact, or even rescue, by that point.
“They’d destroyed themselves, in a war that as far as we can tell lasted over a hundred of their years. There was one survivor, who managed to say ‘I win’ before he expired.” He took a sip of his drink, his expression distant and making me feel that he wished he’d been drinking something stronger. He recovered quickly and said, “We respect diversity, Your Highness, in both species and gender.”
Adler nodded.
We all looked up as an enlisted fur entered and gave us a deferential bow before having a low-voiced conversation with the Commodore. She nodded, and as the young mel left Gawain asked, “Is there a problem, Commodore?”
“No, Your Highness,” the mephitess replied. “The petty officer was just letting me know that things are ready for the demonstration.”
“Demonstration?”
“Yes, Sir, of the ship’s weaponry.”
“I had noticed that you seem to have a lot of these, what are they called again?”
“Shock-cannons.”
“Ah. Shock-cannons. Why so many?”
“No matter where you go, Your Highness, there are dangers to be faced.”
“I see. Well, I look forward to this demonstration of yours.”
I glanced from my nephew and caught the Colonel’s smile.
***
Stormy:
I’m sure that it may not be any business of mine, but I’ve noticed that Nippy and Chef Ernest seem to be spending a lot of time looking at each other. I know Elf-mind, but good Elves don’t eavesdrop.
They’re both ermines, though.
For the past day or two, I’ve also seen those two acolytes from the Temple talking to Chef Ernest. I haven’t been too close to catch everything they’ve been saying, but it includes words like ‘bacon’ and ‘frittata,’ and Chef Ernest started out looking skeptical, but now looks interested.
I wonder what they’re up to, and whether I should maybe tell a grownup about it.
Maybe Nippy. I know she’ll listen to me.
***
Mason:
After the leftovers and tables had been taken away, Low stood up and addressed our guests.
“Your Majesty, Your Highnesses, directly above us is the command bridge of the Musashi, the area from which the ship is controlled. However, there is little space for guests to stand or sit and observe the upcoming demonstration. This lounge affords us the best view.” She smiled. “May I begin the demonstration?”
The King nodded.
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” She walked over to the intercom on the wall by the door. “Observation Lounge, Bridge.”
“Bridge, aye.” Marshal Roland was watching and listening attentively.
“This is the Commodore. Is the swimming party back aboard?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Very well. Sound General Quarters, gunnery drill, surface action starboard.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” There were three shrill alarm blasts, and the talker announced, “All personnel, General Quarters, this is a drill, repeat this is a drill. Set Condition One throughout the ship,” and then repeated the order.
“’Condition One,’ Colonel?” the Marshal asked.
“All doors are closed, the ship’s readied for action,” I said.
“Ah.”
Low poked at the intercom again. “Weapons Officer.”
“Ma’am.”
“Surface action starboard, train out Turret Two, center gun, one round only, target of opportunity.”
“Yes, Ma’am. Target thirty degrees off starboard bow, range two-zero klicks.”
“Accepted. Fire on my command.”
The Royals glanced at me. “We’ve set out a target buoy to shoot at. Twenty kilometers is, um, a little under . . . hm, four leagues in that direction,” and I pointed. Marshal Roland looked impressed, the King and the Princess looked interested.
Prince Gawain looked skeptical.
From our vantage point we could see the second main turret slowly slew around into position, and the center barrel elevated. I suppressed a laugh, because the resemblance to the fabled One-Fingered Salute was obligatory.
Low said, “Fire.”
A glow started at the muzzle of the shock-cannon, with sparks suddenly appearing and flowing into the glow, which swelled to a sphere and suddenly lanced out. I’ve heard it described poetically as “a bar of quasi-solid lightning” and it’s damned impressive.
The bolt flew downrange as the gun recoiled and the ship shivered slightly.
It went over the horizon, there was a pause, and a sudden bright flash as it struck.
“Target destroyed,” the Weapons Officer said.
I heard Prince Gawain murmur “Scepter of Elfhame.” I was sure that he wasn’t talking about any part of the Master.
[Note appended to manuscript: “Not ______ likely.”]
“Would Your Majesty like to see another demonstration?” Low asked.
The King thought for a moment before replying, “No, Commodore, thank you.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” She hit the intercom again. “Secure from surface action.” As the turret moved back into travel position, my mate caught my eye and smiled. “This wasn’t on the agreed-upon agenda, Your Majesty, but would you enjoy a view of Faerie?”
“Your mate the Colonel did that already,” Gawain said.
Low said, “My view would enable His Majesty to see all of Faerie.”
There was a brief pause as all four Royal Skunks glanced at each other. Telepathy again; oh well, no worse than biocybernetics I suppose. Finally King Adler said, “I should like to see that, Commodore.”
“As you wish, Your Majesty,” and Low addressed the intercom again. “Bridge, Commodore.”
“Bridge, aye.”
“Secure the ship for space.”
<NEXT>
<PREVIOUS>
<FIRST>
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Brown Bear
Size 1665 x 1280px
File Size 2.23 MB
Listed in Folders
Comments in reverse order this time:
“Secure the ship for space.”
If, from this point on, the royals don't call themselves Starblazers -- at least once in a while / in the right company -- then I will be disappointed
I heard Prince Gawain murmur “Scepter of Elfhame.” I was sure that he wasn’t talking about any part of the Master.
(Note appended to manuscript: “Not ______ likely.”)
"Cervines tend toward more of a Lance shape, anyhow. If any of you have further inquiries about such anatomy, direct them at that deposed prince, Goltar."
“Diversity,” (the bear) said, “is a strength.(..) We respect diversity, Your Highness, in both species and gender.”
Speaking in all seriousness for a moment, and with all old Dan Quayle jokes put aside: There was this one guy back in the days of Usenet who had a rather spammy signature with an ASCII Art cityscape of Airstrip One as described in 1984, the Ministry of Truth motto, and then 'Diversity is Strength' tacked on at the end. At the time I was presumably younger than him, but fairly active on Usenet myself and with some pretty strong opinions. Looking back I regret that I didn't reply to that part-sullen/part-arrogante at least once with some rejoinder to his .sig file along the lines of
One of these things is not like the other...
Returning to a lighter note...
I kept to myself the arrangement Meadow Grainmaster had with her mates. That was her business.
... for anyone who wants a new view between Meadow the mouse's legs, keep your eyes open on Tegerio's and "/rick2tails/"'s FA pages! At some point, you'll see an interquel of this image (warning for Nsfw link) ...
https://www.furaffinity.net/view/49557891/
... which'll star mice to love to Pieces!
“Secure the ship for space.”
If, from this point on, the royals don't call themselves Starblazers -- at least once in a while / in the right company -- then I will be disappointed
I heard Prince Gawain murmur “Scepter of Elfhame.” I was sure that he wasn’t talking about any part of the Master.
(Note appended to manuscript: “Not ______ likely.”)
"Cervines tend toward more of a Lance shape, anyhow. If any of you have further inquiries about such anatomy, direct them at that deposed prince, Goltar."
“Diversity,” (the bear) said, “is a strength.(..) We respect diversity, Your Highness, in both species and gender.”
Speaking in all seriousness for a moment, and with all old Dan Quayle jokes put aside: There was this one guy back in the days of Usenet who had a rather spammy signature with an ASCII Art cityscape of Airstrip One as described in 1984, the Ministry of Truth motto, and then 'Diversity is Strength' tacked on at the end. At the time I was presumably younger than him, but fairly active on Usenet myself and with some pretty strong opinions. Looking back I regret that I didn't reply to that part-sullen/part-arrogante at least once with some rejoinder to his .sig file along the lines of
One of these things is not like the other...
Returning to a lighter note...
I kept to myself the arrangement Meadow Grainmaster had with her mates. That was her business.
... for anyone who wants a new view between Meadow the mouse's legs, keep your eyes open on Tegerio's and "/rick2tails/"'s FA pages! At some point, you'll see an interquel of this image (warning for Nsfw link) ...
https://www.furaffinity.net/view/49557891/
... which'll star mice to love to Pieces!
Well, my tone was serious in the middle but was intended to be serious / non-advisory at the top
Aye, I did notice that reference about the Beaches, too. My first reply probably shoulda worked in the quote / smart-assed paraphrase to the dumb-bunny sentiment of "Sneetches get steetches."
Aye, I did notice that reference about the Beaches, too. My first reply probably shoulda worked in the quote / smart-assed paraphrase to the dumb-bunny sentiment of "Sneetches get steetches."
Love the Sneetches reference. This Alternity of it turned out darker than Stars upon Thars, though...
Also, yay! Space!
Also, yay! Space!
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