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The Captain's Heart
Chapter 1
Gralgiran’sel’helrarvnir studied the data floating before him, eyes flitting from one entry to the next, hunting for the inconsistency he knew was in the supply report; because he knew his crew.
“There.” He planted a claw in the line for raw thernium ore and flicked it to another screen. Quick typing brought up the historical record. He went back eleven years, which was when he’d brought his quartermaster on board. Anything before wouldn’t be representative of Xenial’s requisitions. Next to that, he brought up the ship’s consumption. It was higher than he expected, but the use of construction materials wasn’t something he kept track of. It was low enough it didn’t justify the purchase.
So, why had his quartermaster purchased twice what he usually did? He looked at their itinerary. The only unusual stop was at the Earther station that bordered Kelsirian space. It wasn’t officially scheduled, so there was no reason to plan trading there.
But he had brought Xenial on board, mainly on the strength of his quartermaster’s unorthodox thinking, as well as his family contacts. While his superior had tilted ears on learning he had someone from the Ta’halan pirate clan on his ship, and twice used that in their attempt to take the Bane from him, Xenial’s record was exemplary. If one ignored the smell of many of the trades his quartermaster engaged in.
Gralgiran considered the stink worthwhile for the ability to get information from the pirate clan.
And when his superior had questioned his use of information obtained from wanted criminals, he had been quick to remind them that the Viper’s Bane wasn’t in space to enforce Kelser or the Federation’s laws. The Bane was out there hunting enemies of his people. And for as many laws at the Ta’halan clan had broken over its existence, they were still Kelsirian. And they were positioned to hear things no one else did. Things that had, three times, led to the capture of agents working to undermine his people.
A check confirmed that none of the subsequent stops showed signs they would have a shortage of thernium by the time they were scheduled to arrive.
Xenial could have information Gralgiran didn’t have access to. The male was the quartermaster, after all, but his hunter instinct told him that wasn’t it.
Which left the Earther station.
Their unofficial stop.
Xenial knew about it, even if only the ship’s hunters were in on the true reason for the stop. The male traded in information as much as in goods, and the ship was no more off limit to him than any other place trade happened. Could he have arranged a trade with his equivalent on it? Everywhere in space, where people live, there were quartermasters and traders in things prohibited.
Did Earthers prohibit trade of thernium?
He brought up a new screen and asked for whatever information they had on Earther’s trading of it. As with anything dealing with other races, what came first was information on how that species dealt with the ore, starting with what they called it. The writing meant nothing to him. He’d never had to interact with Earthers, even if Kelser was their patron in the admission process within the Federation. The word came with a phonetic spelling, as well as an audio.
“Tungsten,” the computer said. The lack of roll in the pronunciation felt odd to him, but he accepted it was how Earthers spoke. Each species had their idiosyncrasies. The rest of the information confirmed it wasn’t a restricted material, unlike the one they’d be visiting the station to check. A check of the ore itself showed it to be among the rarer ones, which within territories the size of those that made out the Federation still meant there should be more than they’d ever need.
But Earthers were bound by trade contracts. If their territory hadn’t been favored by the gods, they could be in a position where they needed to import it to meet needs. As such, it was possible the station would be in a situation where they couldn’t fill those needs. With the right contact, it would place Xenial in a position to turn the excess he’d bought into a tidy profit, some of which he would put within the ship’s operating accounts.
How his quartermaster might have an Earther contact Gralgiran couldn’t fathom, but considering the god he was named after, he shouldn’t surprise him. Xeniila’haran was known to make things fall in the way those she favored needed.
Still, it wouldn’t do for the male to forget his captain was a hunter, he needed to work harder at hiding his misdeeds on the ship, even if the worse Gralgiran would do was have a talk reminding Xenial that he couldn’t simply do whatever he felt like.
He wrote a message asking for an explanation, attached the purchase entry to it, and sent that to the quartermaster. And to be certain the male couldn’t claim it had been misfiled while he rearranged the inventory that would make his action unquestionable, Gralgiran contacted supplies.
“Captain,” Xenial greeted him, ears forward quizzically. “What can I do for you?”
“You can look at the message I sent and formulate an explanation.”
*
“How are we doing?” Gralgiran asked, stepping behind the pilot and placing a hand on his shoulder.
“On schedule,” Toom answered. “We will be crossing within unclaimed territories in two days.”
“Why don’t they just call it what it is?” Filninan asked. “They aren’t unclaimed. They’re disputed.” The female’s ears folded back. “We and the Earthers both claim it as ours, so we’ve agreed to not establish any outpost within it. It’s the same with the other territories, so why do they insist on it being called something else?”
“The mind of politician is the one place I refuse to hunt in,” Gralgiran replied. He tightened his hand on his friend’s shoulder and smiled when Toom looked up. “But if anyone here knows, it’s you. How about it? Any of your friends within Kelser’s backrooms ever talk about how the mind of those people work?”
“My friends deal with the minutia, not the intellects.”
“So?” Filninan asked. “Then they know everything about politicians, don’t they?”
“You all need to stop thinking that way. You might not agree with their decision, or why they make it, but politic isn’t the stupids’ playground.”
“Now that’s settled,” Gralgiran said, before Filninan could interject another comment. “What’s the travel time to the Earther station?”
“It’s eight days to there once we cross into unclaimed territory,” Toom answered. “When we actually get there depends on this little ploy you have Alix working on.”
“Ploy?” Gralgiran asked.
The snort came from the sensor station. “Captain Gral the Hunter,” Kergirik said in the voice of a classic tale teller, “now breaks with tradition and approached the prey bold as the sun, and twice as bright.”
The bridge’s crew burst out laughing.
The male turned in his seat, still chuckling. “We’ve all been with you too long to believe this is one of our regular trade stops. It’s an Earther station. What are they going to have that we’d want?”
“More than you’d think,” Gralgiran replied, tone sharp. “Earthers have just as much to contribute to the Federation as the other species. Remember that not three centuries ago, we were them. Our territory was smaller than theirs currently is, and we were still ushered in and, in time, proved ourselves worthy of sitting on the council. We are the ones bringing them in, so keep how you think about them to yourselves. Better yet, go see a therapist and workout why you don’t think they are just as worthy as we were.”
“Sorry, Captain.” Kergirik faced his board.
“Alright, so you’ve established you know me well enough to know I’ll stalk. How do you know Alix is involved?”
All eyes turned to the comms officer. Filninan’s ears went sideways in embarrassment.
“I’m more interested in learning how than blaming anyone, Filninan.”
“My mate’s a tech in engineering. He was…commenting on how Alix warned them to be ready for extra work in the coming days. Maintenance would be on the schedule, so your hunt was the only explanation.”
“Thank you. Please avoid talking about this off the bridge. This isn’t an assault, just an investigation. I don’t need the civilian crew worrying for nothing.”
“Yes, Captain.”
He left the bridge to find out what exactly Alix meant with ‘in a few days’. He needed the alteration done well before they reached the station, not once they were there.
*
“Out!” The sandy furred male yelled as Gralgiran entered the engineer’s office. He responded by letting the door slide closed behind him and tilting an ear. “Toom warned me you were on your way. I don’t want to hear it.”
“I’m not here to give orders, Alix, I just—”
The snort was dismissive in the way he didn’t tolerate on anyone who couldn’t accomplish the things his engineer managed. Too often he had saved them, so even the captain gave him leeway.
“You’re the captain. Every word that leaves your muzzle’s an order.”
“I’m just curious as to why you haven’t started on the work.”
“Meaning, get to work now.”
Gralgiran closed his muzzle on the protest. While ornery, Alix was perceptive; and correct. “Do I have your assurances that the work will be finished well before we reach the station?”
“Yes, yes,” The male replied dismissively. “You’ll be able to properly limp into the closest friendly port and whatever scans they put us through will tell them we had a malfunction with my reactor. It’s like you think it’s difficult to make it behave as if I don’t know how to do my job or you’ve saddled me with a bunch of incompetent technicians.”
The door opened as Gralgiran stepped back under the heat of the engineer’s glare. He spread his arms, fingers curled to show the lack of claws, and hope it was submissive enough to placate the male.
Instead, he rolled his eyes. “How about you leave me to do my job?”
The ship’s captain hurried to leave the office.
*
With a crescendo of music, Bartar’er’fermik, looked into Ermiel’sel’Helrar’s eyes and spoke those words that always made Gralgiran’s fur stand on end. “My heart.”
The screen faded to white as the two males pressed their muzzles together tenderly, and the names of the actors scrolled along.
“No matter how often I watch their ballads,” Lilmari said, wiping a tear, “it always hits me here.” She tapped her chest with her other hand. “To search so long and then, when you think it’s all lost, to find your heart.”
Gralgiran nodded absently. Calming the ache. He loved this ballad for the same reason. To find his heart was a dream. But unlike many, he’d willingly set aside that hunt to serve his people. One day, he would take it up, but for now, he found solace in the old stories.
“I really like how the ballad has them on opposing side of the battle,” Litamir said, sitting between his sister’s legs. “Just how much more powerful does that make it. To discover your heart was your enemy, that you almost killed him, but that you knew, just in time.”
Lilmari slapped the top of her brother’s head. “Like you haven’t seen this ballad dozens of times already.”
“And I can’t be impressed each time, just the way you shed a tear each time?”
“What about you?” Gralgiran asked Toom, who was resting his head against his shoulder.
“I’m here for the company. You know I prefer a good space fight ballad over the classic.”
“Please, no!” Brelen pleaded from between Gralgiran’s legs. “All you ever do when we watch one of those is complain about how those moves can’t be pulled off in whatever ship they’re using. They’re ballads, not documentaries. You don’t hear Gral here whine about historical inaccuracies.”
“Like I’d know what things were like a millennium ago.”
“Fine, we don’t hear you complain when we’re watching one of the God’s ballads, then. A traditionalist like you has to know how they should all go. Even I know that how they depict Thuruksamian isn’t accurate. His fur’s bronze, not gold.”
“I think those who make ballads are allowed to inject their preferences into them. They’re just stories, not gospel, even when they are about the gods. Anyone interested in watching another?”
Brelen stood. “I have to go. I have to get the training regiment ready for tomorrow. You’re going to show up for yours?”
“I never miss a chance to fight you.”
Litamir looked up at his sister. “We probably should head home, too. I’m sure that mate of yours will have enough of dealing with the cub.”
“I’m okay for another ballad or two,” Crestol said, stretched on the other couch, with Miretel on top of her. “But can we make it something modern? I’d even go for Helrarvnir’s Quest, since that’s set just a century ago.”
“I’m good for that,” Miretel said, her voice muffled from her muzzle being buried between the couch’s back and Crestol’s neck.
“Then I’m going to head out,” Dresdiren said, stretching. “Anything made in the last fifty years isn’t worth watching.”
Gralgiran caught the male’s hand before he walked off. “You coming over tonight?”
“Yeah, just let me know when you’re down with this. We can watch something decent in your quarters.”
“Show him Felisten’s Gambit,” Miretel said without moving. “That’s going to show him we still know how to make ballads, even if they aren’t called classics.”
“Don’t worry,” Gralgiran said. “We’ll watched something from my collection.”
“I’ll see you later, then.”
“You okay with Quest?” he asked Toom.
“Sure,” his friends said, eyes close. “Just don’t move. You’re comfortable like this.” He placed an arm over his shoulder. “Call up the ballad, Crestol, I think after it, we both have to see someone to their bed.”
“There.” He planted a claw in the line for raw thernium ore and flicked it to another screen. Quick typing brought up the historical record. He went back eleven years, which was when he’d brought his quartermaster on board. Anything before wouldn’t be representative of Xenial’s requisitions. Next to that, he brought up the ship’s consumption. It was higher than he expected, but the use of construction materials wasn’t something he kept track of. It was low enough it didn’t justify the purchase.
So, why had his quartermaster purchased twice what he usually did? He looked at their itinerary. The only unusual stop was at the Earther station that bordered Kelsirian space. It wasn’t officially scheduled, so there was no reason to plan trading there.
But he had brought Xenial on board, mainly on the strength of his quartermaster’s unorthodox thinking, as well as his family contacts. While his superior had tilted ears on learning he had someone from the Ta’halan pirate clan on his ship, and twice used that in their attempt to take the Bane from him, Xenial’s record was exemplary. If one ignored the smell of many of the trades his quartermaster engaged in.
Gralgiran considered the stink worthwhile for the ability to get information from the pirate clan.
And when his superior had questioned his use of information obtained from wanted criminals, he had been quick to remind them that the Viper’s Bane wasn’t in space to enforce Kelser or the Federation’s laws. The Bane was out there hunting enemies of his people. And for as many laws at the Ta’halan clan had broken over its existence, they were still Kelsirian. And they were positioned to hear things no one else did. Things that had, three times, led to the capture of agents working to undermine his people.
A check confirmed that none of the subsequent stops showed signs they would have a shortage of thernium by the time they were scheduled to arrive.
Xenial could have information Gralgiran didn’t have access to. The male was the quartermaster, after all, but his hunter instinct told him that wasn’t it.
Which left the Earther station.
Their unofficial stop.
Xenial knew about it, even if only the ship’s hunters were in on the true reason for the stop. The male traded in information as much as in goods, and the ship was no more off limit to him than any other place trade happened. Could he have arranged a trade with his equivalent on it? Everywhere in space, where people live, there were quartermasters and traders in things prohibited.
Did Earthers prohibit trade of thernium?
He brought up a new screen and asked for whatever information they had on Earther’s trading of it. As with anything dealing with other races, what came first was information on how that species dealt with the ore, starting with what they called it. The writing meant nothing to him. He’d never had to interact with Earthers, even if Kelser was their patron in the admission process within the Federation. The word came with a phonetic spelling, as well as an audio.
“Tungsten,” the computer said. The lack of roll in the pronunciation felt odd to him, but he accepted it was how Earthers spoke. Each species had their idiosyncrasies. The rest of the information confirmed it wasn’t a restricted material, unlike the one they’d be visiting the station to check. A check of the ore itself showed it to be among the rarer ones, which within territories the size of those that made out the Federation still meant there should be more than they’d ever need.
But Earthers were bound by trade contracts. If their territory hadn’t been favored by the gods, they could be in a position where they needed to import it to meet needs. As such, it was possible the station would be in a situation where they couldn’t fill those needs. With the right contact, it would place Xenial in a position to turn the excess he’d bought into a tidy profit, some of which he would put within the ship’s operating accounts.
How his quartermaster might have an Earther contact Gralgiran couldn’t fathom, but considering the god he was named after, he shouldn’t surprise him. Xeniila’haran was known to make things fall in the way those she favored needed.
Still, it wouldn’t do for the male to forget his captain was a hunter, he needed to work harder at hiding his misdeeds on the ship, even if the worse Gralgiran would do was have a talk reminding Xenial that he couldn’t simply do whatever he felt like.
He wrote a message asking for an explanation, attached the purchase entry to it, and sent that to the quartermaster. And to be certain the male couldn’t claim it had been misfiled while he rearranged the inventory that would make his action unquestionable, Gralgiran contacted supplies.
“Captain,” Xenial greeted him, ears forward quizzically. “What can I do for you?”
“You can look at the message I sent and formulate an explanation.”
*
“How are we doing?” Gralgiran asked, stepping behind the pilot and placing a hand on his shoulder.
“On schedule,” Toom answered. “We will be crossing within unclaimed territories in two days.”
“Why don’t they just call it what it is?” Filninan asked. “They aren’t unclaimed. They’re disputed.” The female’s ears folded back. “We and the Earthers both claim it as ours, so we’ve agreed to not establish any outpost within it. It’s the same with the other territories, so why do they insist on it being called something else?”
“The mind of politician is the one place I refuse to hunt in,” Gralgiran replied. He tightened his hand on his friend’s shoulder and smiled when Toom looked up. “But if anyone here knows, it’s you. How about it? Any of your friends within Kelser’s backrooms ever talk about how the mind of those people work?”
“My friends deal with the minutia, not the intellects.”
“So?” Filninan asked. “Then they know everything about politicians, don’t they?”
“You all need to stop thinking that way. You might not agree with their decision, or why they make it, but politic isn’t the stupids’ playground.”
“Now that’s settled,” Gralgiran said, before Filninan could interject another comment. “What’s the travel time to the Earther station?”
“It’s eight days to there once we cross into unclaimed territory,” Toom answered. “When we actually get there depends on this little ploy you have Alix working on.”
“Ploy?” Gralgiran asked.
The snort came from the sensor station. “Captain Gral the Hunter,” Kergirik said in the voice of a classic tale teller, “now breaks with tradition and approached the prey bold as the sun, and twice as bright.”
The bridge’s crew burst out laughing.
The male turned in his seat, still chuckling. “We’ve all been with you too long to believe this is one of our regular trade stops. It’s an Earther station. What are they going to have that we’d want?”
“More than you’d think,” Gralgiran replied, tone sharp. “Earthers have just as much to contribute to the Federation as the other species. Remember that not three centuries ago, we were them. Our territory was smaller than theirs currently is, and we were still ushered in and, in time, proved ourselves worthy of sitting on the council. We are the ones bringing them in, so keep how you think about them to yourselves. Better yet, go see a therapist and workout why you don’t think they are just as worthy as we were.”
“Sorry, Captain.” Kergirik faced his board.
“Alright, so you’ve established you know me well enough to know I’ll stalk. How do you know Alix is involved?”
All eyes turned to the comms officer. Filninan’s ears went sideways in embarrassment.
“I’m more interested in learning how than blaming anyone, Filninan.”
“My mate’s a tech in engineering. He was…commenting on how Alix warned them to be ready for extra work in the coming days. Maintenance would be on the schedule, so your hunt was the only explanation.”
“Thank you. Please avoid talking about this off the bridge. This isn’t an assault, just an investigation. I don’t need the civilian crew worrying for nothing.”
“Yes, Captain.”
He left the bridge to find out what exactly Alix meant with ‘in a few days’. He needed the alteration done well before they reached the station, not once they were there.
*
“Out!” The sandy furred male yelled as Gralgiran entered the engineer’s office. He responded by letting the door slide closed behind him and tilting an ear. “Toom warned me you were on your way. I don’t want to hear it.”
“I’m not here to give orders, Alix, I just—”
The snort was dismissive in the way he didn’t tolerate on anyone who couldn’t accomplish the things his engineer managed. Too often he had saved them, so even the captain gave him leeway.
“You’re the captain. Every word that leaves your muzzle’s an order.”
“I’m just curious as to why you haven’t started on the work.”
“Meaning, get to work now.”
Gralgiran closed his muzzle on the protest. While ornery, Alix was perceptive; and correct. “Do I have your assurances that the work will be finished well before we reach the station?”
“Yes, yes,” The male replied dismissively. “You’ll be able to properly limp into the closest friendly port and whatever scans they put us through will tell them we had a malfunction with my reactor. It’s like you think it’s difficult to make it behave as if I don’t know how to do my job or you’ve saddled me with a bunch of incompetent technicians.”
The door opened as Gralgiran stepped back under the heat of the engineer’s glare. He spread his arms, fingers curled to show the lack of claws, and hope it was submissive enough to placate the male.
Instead, he rolled his eyes. “How about you leave me to do my job?”
The ship’s captain hurried to leave the office.
*
With a crescendo of music, Bartar’er’fermik, looked into Ermiel’sel’Helrar’s eyes and spoke those words that always made Gralgiran’s fur stand on end. “My heart.”
The screen faded to white as the two males pressed their muzzles together tenderly, and the names of the actors scrolled along.
“No matter how often I watch their ballads,” Lilmari said, wiping a tear, “it always hits me here.” She tapped her chest with her other hand. “To search so long and then, when you think it’s all lost, to find your heart.”
Gralgiran nodded absently. Calming the ache. He loved this ballad for the same reason. To find his heart was a dream. But unlike many, he’d willingly set aside that hunt to serve his people. One day, he would take it up, but for now, he found solace in the old stories.
“I really like how the ballad has them on opposing side of the battle,” Litamir said, sitting between his sister’s legs. “Just how much more powerful does that make it. To discover your heart was your enemy, that you almost killed him, but that you knew, just in time.”
Lilmari slapped the top of her brother’s head. “Like you haven’t seen this ballad dozens of times already.”
“And I can’t be impressed each time, just the way you shed a tear each time?”
“What about you?” Gralgiran asked Toom, who was resting his head against his shoulder.
“I’m here for the company. You know I prefer a good space fight ballad over the classic.”
“Please, no!” Brelen pleaded from between Gralgiran’s legs. “All you ever do when we watch one of those is complain about how those moves can’t be pulled off in whatever ship they’re using. They’re ballads, not documentaries. You don’t hear Gral here whine about historical inaccuracies.”
“Like I’d know what things were like a millennium ago.”
“Fine, we don’t hear you complain when we’re watching one of the God’s ballads, then. A traditionalist like you has to know how they should all go. Even I know that how they depict Thuruksamian isn’t accurate. His fur’s bronze, not gold.”
“I think those who make ballads are allowed to inject their preferences into them. They’re just stories, not gospel, even when they are about the gods. Anyone interested in watching another?”
Brelen stood. “I have to go. I have to get the training regiment ready for tomorrow. You’re going to show up for yours?”
“I never miss a chance to fight you.”
Litamir looked up at his sister. “We probably should head home, too. I’m sure that mate of yours will have enough of dealing with the cub.”
“I’m okay for another ballad or two,” Crestol said, stretched on the other couch, with Miretel on top of her. “But can we make it something modern? I’d even go for Helrarvnir’s Quest, since that’s set just a century ago.”
“I’m good for that,” Miretel said, her voice muffled from her muzzle being buried between the couch’s back and Crestol’s neck.
“Then I’m going to head out,” Dresdiren said, stretching. “Anything made in the last fifty years isn’t worth watching.”
Gralgiran caught the male’s hand before he walked off. “You coming over tonight?”
“Yeah, just let me know when you’re down with this. We can watch something decent in your quarters.”
“Show him Felisten’s Gambit,” Miretel said without moving. “That’s going to show him we still know how to make ballads, even if they aren’t called classics.”
“Don’t worry,” Gralgiran said. “We’ll watched something from my collection.”
“I’ll see you later, then.”
“You okay with Quest?” he asked Toom.
“Sure,” his friends said, eyes close. “Just don’t move. You’re comfortable like this.” He placed an arm over his shoulder. “Call up the ballad, Crestol, I think after it, we both have to see someone to their bed.”
