Every one stopped working, talking, thinking. The entire stratocruiser held its breath at the explosion. It was more felt then heard, a shudder through the FNS Firetail's steel and iron, but surrounded by tons of high explosives, everyone felt fear. The endless safety drills and layers of firing commands seemed silly rituals until you saw the destruction built into every stratocruiser. Everyone waited for the next second.

All hell broke loose. Klaxons sounded, bells rang, voices called for fire stations from the tanoys, red and yellow warning lights winked. The four thousand people aboard sprang to action, not simply driven by years of training but by the sound of muffled gunfire.

The cryptography room door blew off. The steel slab bounced down the narrow passageway like foam rubber in a gale, gouging metal shards from the walls. It was still tumbling when a dark figure let loose with a machine gun, filling the air with singing projectiles. The Security Detail, pulling on their armour jackets and helmets, hesitated at the sound. Practice drills and training weekends at the Steelbrough Yards were one thing. This was real shit ending in sudden death.

The figure fled full tilt down the maze of corridors. He instinctively knew the route from a hundred practice runs. Elevator controls were shot out, smoke grenades set off fire suppressions systems, explosive patches took out the monitors and security sensors without a wrong step. At the stairs, the intruder slid down the handrails, spraying the decks above and below with calculated circles of fire.

In seconds, he had reached "E" deck and the starboard emergency escape pod. Central Command had already locked the blast door and scrambled the access code. The figure gave a toothy grin. Whipping out a power screwdriver, he quickly had the door controls hanging out of the wall. From his backpack, he spliced a portable ENRG unit into the motor feeds. The armoured door eased partly open. The first security detail rounded the corner, boots ringing on the deck plating and guns ready. The intruder, with his long sweeping horns, was silhouetted before the pod room's flashing lights. The pack snarled, aiming as they ran. Their target gave a cheeky wave before ripping out the ENRG unit. The blast door slammed shut. A well-placed kick took out the inside control panel. Bullets pinged dully outside in frustration.

The intruder knew it was only an angry pause. If the Captain wanted him alive, a plasma torch would soon be slicing away the heavy door, filling the tiny EVAC room with toxic fumes. Otherwise, a uranium shell could blow the entire room out over Therion at 3,000 meters. Seconds counted.

The pod was still active, powered by its own batteries. The black-clad figure tore away the emergency cover and pulled the lever within. The yellow-and-black stripped hatch swung upwards with an hydraulic hiss. A soothing voice invited everyone to enter and buckle in. From his backpack, he gently pulled out a flat, reinforced plastic case and slipped it inside the pelt-tight jumpsuit. The machine gun and bag of grenades were tossed into the pod. He spun around as the blast door began to noisily grind open. Wanting the intruder alive, the crews had reactivated the power systems and were rewiring the door controls from the outside. Time to leave.

Tearing the warning cover off the launch controls, he punched "EMERGENCY EJECT". As the pod hatch hissed closed, he pulled the pin on an incendiary grenade, flicking the winking bomb in at the last microsecond. The pod exploded into space, the blast flinging the figure backward against the wall. The room filled with impenetrable smoke, only to vanish instantly before a howling gale. For a moment, he sat dazed on the floor, staring at the lightning-tormented storm front 2,300 meters below. The blast door motor ground to life, goading the intruder to action. A quick glance into the pounding slipstream outside showed the grenade had not detonated. Swearing, he pulled out a pistol, jamming the barrel into the widening door crack. The entire clip emptied into the passageway. The sound of people screaming, running, defecating down their tails bought him a few more seconds.

The GPS plug in his ear sounded. Over the drop zone. He returned to the empty hatch, staring into the screaming wind with watering eyes. Far below, the black speck of the pod erupted into a glowing ember then a fiery blossom. Harkening a broad grin, the intruder patted the hardness covering his chest and stepped into space. The wind slammed him, tossing the figure around but he quickly righted himself. Arms, feet and horns tucked in, he tipped down, plummeting at 130 kilometers per hour. In seconds, he flashed past the storm-tossed embers that continue to confuse the stratocruiser's sensors and vanished into the clouds.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

"In other words, he's gone." Captain Bushrunner said. The group was in his spacious private quarters, the furnishings worthy of a stratocruiser commander. The seniour officers sat on dark leather sofas, the rest stood at a tense at-ease. Bushrunner, a hulking ursine, glowered behind his desk. The Security Chief, a taciturn wolverine, had finished her verbal report, succinctly stating how someone had by-passed every clearance code, entered the heart of the ship's computer centre, and escaped without a trace. So far, no organic material had been found amongst the pod's remains.

"Fucking wonderful. Now that I know what happened, perhaps Mr. Westwind can tell me why it happened?" The slim, bespectacled lynx never wavered before his commander's withering gaze.

"Simply put, the intruder stole the Icarus B."

"WHY?" the Captain exploded, "What good would it be without the operating software? The daily code sequences? The operational ciphers?"

"Normally, sir, you'd be right." the ship's cryptographer went on, "Simply blowing the locks and grabbing a circuit panel would be profitless. They might get an inkling of how the Icarus system worked but could never make an operational twin. All our codes would remain indecipherable."

"But?"

"The intruder stole the Icarus B prototype." He paused to let the news sink in but it meant nothing to the people crowed into the tension-filled quarters.

"Mr. Westwind. The Fleet Commander will be personally calling me in five minutes. My career is in jeopardy. Your's is dead unless I know what is going on in ten seconds. Is our national security threatened?"

"Sir..."

"I don't give a damn what you've been sworn to. This a direct order!"

"Sir, our national security is gone. Along with every one else's on the planet."

"Aren't you exaggerating, Westwind?" Killbourn, the ship's First Officer asked. The lynx fixed him with an unwavering gaze. The pause before he spoke lowered the room's temperature.

"Icarus A, which we've used until now, is an impenetrable encoding-decoding system. Only someone with the same software set to the same hourly operational ciphers could understand our messages. Even if they had our double-prime number codes, it would take decades of computing power to decode the simplest message. However, Icarus B is an experimental leap in cryptography. The system is designed to automatically break any code. It is a super key that searches out and deciphers any cypher to which it is assigned."

"Any code?" Bushrunner asked.

"From the lockout combination keeping your kids from watching music videos to our missile launch sequences. It was installed under the tightest security during our refitting two weeks ago. I'm the only person aboard who knows about it and even I don't know how it works. HQ conducted the tests with myself simply relaying back the readouts. From what I've seen, sir, it boarders on black magic. No one is safe from it."

"Shit! How did they find out about it?" Killbourn asked.

"Since our departure, absolutely no one has had access to the cryptography room except Ensign Hardgreen and myself. HQ shielded even its memory core locations. It must be an inside job and at the highest levels, sir."

"How did they assess the computer without our knowledge?" the SysOp officer asked. "Our records show no data bursts into your sector beyond level 3 traffic."

"They didn't. Icarus B was designed to be completely separate of all operational parameters. If the software was in our core, not only could it be stolen but the system couldn't process at top speed."

"Which is?" SysOp asked, a lapin eyebrow raised. Few systems outside of the orbiting plasma reactors had faster computers than a stratocruiser.

"Sixteen gigahertz." The lynx said innocently. SysOp's muzzle went blank.

"Impossible!"

"The instillation tech said that the missing circuit board was one vast computer chip. All the operating codes and controllers have hard-wired geography allowing the board to operate at maximum speed."

"You mean that circuit board is operational soon as someone plugs it in?"

"More than that, sir. In most cases, it would take years of study to determine the IO requirements."

"But?"

"The board's controlling paradigm is an M34 AI Unit. Convince it that you are from Central Command and it will tell you how to operate itself. At 16 GHz, the board is almost sentient." The lynx said, "I don't know if the thief survived his jump, sir, but whoever finds that board has the key to every system on the planet. Short of everyone going back to the industrial age, they're would be no limit to their wealth or power." The Captain leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling in contemplation.

"One last question. Who?"

"We've just finished running a check on everyone aboard." The Personnel Officer said, "All are accounted and present, sir." Bushrunner slammed a massive fist down on his desk. A cup of pens shot skyward.

"Are you telling me that someone came aboard my stratocruiser, hid without detection for two weeks, then escaped without a trace! Are you really telling me this!" he snarled then turned his blood-gaze towards the Security Officer. "You agreeing with this fantasy?"

"No, sir! Investigations are continuing..."

"For everyone's sake, I damn well hope so! We'll reconvene at eighteen hundred hours. Everyone better have answers by then or, by the Goddess, you'll be working repair drones on Spacestation Shelter Bay. Killbourn, when HQ calls, make sure I'm not disturbed. Dismissed!" Bushrunner waited until everyone filed out before crossing his quarters to the bar. He poured himself a stiff whisky then stared out the broad windows at Nature's fury below. A chime announced a direct communication from HQ.

"Approved." He said without turning around.

"Well, Jim, how did it go?" Bushrunner took a long draw on his drink before turning. Like a desert mirage, the middle of the room was an expensive office through whose windows could been seen Steelbrough Naval Yards at sunrise. In hologram, stood Admiral Arbothnot Freer, equine Head of the Intelligence at Central Command HQ.

"I've got a hole blown in the side of my ship, Arno, and my crew is sticking their muzzles up their arses looking for someone who I hid for three days." He said, taking another sip, "If they find out I'm in on this, we're dead."

"I understand your concern..."

"The hell you do. This whole thing reeks of theatrics. We should have just stolen it..."

"When. Under your watch? While the Firetail was in my Yards? This way, nobody will be pointing any claws at us."

"Yeah, whatever. Did any of our agents track where Greentree landed?"

"No." Arbothnot frowned, his large nostrils flaring, "The storm masked his signal. We had a team in the area within minutes but there seems to have been a major mistake." Bushrunner's eyes hardened.

"Mistake? What are you talking about? What kind of mistake?"

"Greentree's parachute might not have opened. HALO drops are risky at the best of times and diving from 3,000 meters into a tropical storm doesn't improve your odds. If that's what happened, he's either a rather gross splat mark on..." he glanced at a slip in his hand, "Freedom's Run Island or at the bottom of Fairport Strait. Either way, the board should still be operational."

"You're missing the obvious, Arno. What if we're the ones who have been double-crossed? Even busted to bits, that board could sink us and everyone in the current administration." Freer harkened a horsy grin.

"That's why I've got my best operative on it. Someone outside the system who no one would suspect."

"Asali?"

"Exactly."

"That's what I'm afraid of. That lioness bitch is too far out. After all, she packed Greentree's equipment. That stopping her from running with Icarus?"

"Good questions." Freer said, tossing his head, "I'm afraid that you're just have to trust our feline agent."

"Trust? You don't trust your own mother. How'll I..." Freer's muzzle suddenly turned to the right as if he had heard approaching footpads.

"Sorry. Have to go. Don't worry about Asali. She's covering our tracks right now."

"Cover how?" Bushrunner asked but the hologram had already decayed into static. Where Freer had been, stood an almost-pure lioness. Tall and slim as a basketball player, she was a smoldering beauty clad in a Nyumba Dola Home Guard uniform. What caught the ursine's attention was the air-pistol in her right hand.

"Asali!"

"Jambo, Captain." She said with a lilt, her muzzle breaking into a toothy grin, "I be delighted you remember me. I've a message from Admiral Freer." The air-pistol barely made a sound, the two red-tipped darts appearing on Bushrunner's chest as if by magic. He roared in anger but could only drop to his knees. As the glass bounced off the thick carpet, flinging whiskey and ice heavenward, the ursine crumpled like a falling tree. Asali waited until the count of ten before plucking the darts out. Pulling a handkerchief from her uniform, she picked the private handset from Bushrunner's desk and thumbclawed in a number.

"Officer Killbourn, can we speak? Good. It seems the Captain has suffered his heart attack and you're now in charge. I'd get us down to Fairport as soon as possible. An ambulance will be waiting when we arrive. You know the rest." She grinned again, slipping the gun into her form-fitting uniform, "Just give me a few minute to vanish before sending up the medics."
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

"Ask not for whom the bell tolls." Janet intoned dramatically, eyes wide, an arm imperiously flung forward, "It tolls for THEE!"

"Its not something one wants to ask a child of their flesh," Her mother said, looking up from her accounts, "but are you loosing it?"

"Naw, just trying out the muse. Mr. Ringtail, that cute drama teacher I tried to set you up with last year..." Her mother, lit by the harsh light of her desk lamp, sucked her buckteeth. "Alright, so he's a drip. He's thinking of starting an after-school dramatics class."

"Think again, kiddo. Until you get into university, I need you here. Not fawning over some studly jock."

"Albert isn't a jock..."

"Ah, the truth comes out." Sylvia Slipsunder smiled knowingly, "Was wondering what this recent fascination for poetry was about. This wouldn't be Albert Sweetland, the chandler's son in Fairport?"

"Aww, Moma." Janet rolled her eyes, knowing the coming lecture by heart.

"Don't 'Aww, Moma' me. This isn't a case of do as I say, not as I did. You've got a future. You can leave and really make something of yourself. You're older brother's going to inherit WaterWings. I don't want you hanging about with a couple of brat kids just because someone knocked you up proper." Sylvia said, punctuating the air with her scriber, "And stop mouthing my words back to me."

In the distance, a bell faintly rang.

"Like I said," Janet broke in, desperate to stop her mother's well-meaning tirade, "the bell is ringing for you."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Sylvia said, starting to her feet.

"I did." The tigress replied but her mother was already out the door. She stood in the light of the office doorway, her shadow gigantic before her, as Sylvia's tawny rabbit form quickly faded into the night. "Nuts. Nothing ever happens around here. 'Specially anything involving me."

With the clearness that follows a storm, the night sky was a blaze of stars, the Milky Way stretching overhead like the Goddess' beacon. The trail was in darkness but Sylvia knew every turn. She was soon on WaterWings' massive docks, their rock cribs built sixty years ago by her grandfather. The longest dock was "T"-shaped with a broad wharf thrusting into deep water for the seaplanes and ocean cruisers. On the sheltered lee-side, a small-craft dock was rigged to float with the tide. Sylvia descended the long ramp, purposely letting her footfalls ring through the decking. Attached to the postage-stamp platform at the bottom was a bell post, its lanyard trailing into the water. Sylvia sat on the edge, letting her feet dangle into the midnight water. For an instant, she saw nothing then a shape shot upward with a sinuous ripple. Surfacing with a splash, she grabbed the dock rail with web hands and let loose a spray of salt-water from her flowing hair.

"Sil-Via!" She grinned, displaying a set of small pointed teeth.

"Hello, Selena. What up amongst the fisherfolk?" Selena Sheerwater was silkie, one of the planet's aquatic feline-mermaids. Once dismissed as sailors' delusions, mainland scientists discovered them flourishing in Therion's tropical seas. Decades of study had disproved the wilder myths but the silkies remained an illusive, mysterious people. Theories abounded about where they had come from, how they organized themselves, and where they periodically vanished. Few landwalkers were accepted as friends or partners in their fishing and kelp trade. Those that were, kept their muzzles shut. The Slipsunders joined this circle when Silvia's father rescued a storm-tossed youngster from the South Russet reefs and nursed her back to health. Her return to the Sealsand Island sanctuary was anticlimactic. Released into the water, she rolled over with a sour swawk and vanished with a flick of her flukes. Two years later, when the Battle of Tai Lang cut food shipments to the Happenstance Islands, the Slipsunders found mounds of fish for the surrounding islands piled on their beach during the night. Since then, there had been a secret alliance with the Slipsunders ranging from allowing limited access to the Sealsand Islands to shadowing Rale on his daily swim.

Today, Sylvia still receives regular visits from Selena, the rescued youngster now grown to become the Sheerwater matriarch. However, never at night when the hunting is best off Fairport Strait. Something was defiantly wrong but it never paid to ask pointed questions of the fisherfolk.

"There be a sky craft above the Basin. Two suns, landwalkers seek. They seek and seek but not touch fishfolk. Know Sil-Via why?" Selena said. Her speech was filled with so many echolocation clicks, it was sometimes hard to tell a question from a statement.

"A boat in Fairport Strait? No but I'll find out. Are they bothering you?"

"No harm. No harm." She giggled happily, "We watch. Deep they go. Almost deep as we." Sylvia flicked her ears in amazement. Silkies had been known to regularly dive to 300 meters without ill effects. Fairport Basin was an extinct volcanic caldera almost 700 meters deep. What in the Goddess' name was worth the danger of diving there?

"Are they using a mini-submarine? A metal fish?"

"No, Sil-Via." Selena laughed, her voice containing ultrasonics that raised one's hackles, "They furred like we."

"I understand." Sylvia said amazed.

"Se-Lena must go. Fishfolk run tonight before White Mother. Far hear you, Sil-Via, far hear."

"Good night, Selena." But the silkie had already slipped away without a ripple. Sylvia strode up the ramp, her feet finding the path to her children's huts. The main house had enough room for family and friends and a bed was always available. However, in a land where shelter is a bamboo wall and thatch roofing, most children build their own huts within sniffing distance of home. Lucas' and Janet's huts had long ago been upgraded with electricity and fiber-optic leads. Sylvia was relieved to find one hut still lit when she knocked on the doorframe.

"Hi, mom." Lucas said, pulling his headset off, "Just finishing my reading."

"How's the algebra going?"

"It isn't. This stuff makes no sense at all." He said, gesturing to the paperwork cluttering his desk, "Mr. Drucker acts like it's the secret to the universe but who ever uses it? Have you ever, Moma?"

"Sorry, kid, I don't set the curriculum. If I had my way, there would be more practical things on the syllabus, like balancing your chequebook and filling in government forms."

"Too bad we couldn't float on the A's we get in sex education." He grinned then went serious at his mother's expression.

"Just for that, I've got a job for you." Lucas' ears went down, combining with his black-and-white markings to present a most sorrowful sight. "Selena was just here. Says there is a boat diving Fairport Basin."

"I've notice a big cabin cruiser out there since the storm passed. Really class rig but way too small to have a submersible aboard."

"Selena says they're skin diving."

"Impossible! That's the deepest spot in Happenstance."

"Interesting, isn't it? Why is someone diving in a place where the bottom is a 400 meters beyond their limit? Selena says they're not fishing and it doesn't sound like the Environment Department guys, so what the hell are they doing?"

"What do you want me to do, mom?"

"Take the skiff over to Fairport tomorrow morning. Ask Charlie Whitehart, the Harbourmaster, if that boat has ever docked there. If so, ask for a gander at its registration card. Then see if Timothy's bakery has anything interesting. Tomorrow is when the breakfast buffet is on for the weekend traffic so get enough for everyone. I'll leave a fifty from petty cash on my desk. Try to be back by ten."

"No sweat, mom."

"Lights out soon?"

"Sure. Sleep tight."

"You too, kid." Sylvia strolled back to the office but ground to a halt as the path curved the last palmetto bush. Silhouetted in the open doorway, a figure sat reading a paperback. Sylvia did not need to catch his scent to realize it was an unfamiliar male. At her footfall, his head came up and he quickly stood. Almost two meters tall, his lanky build was all bone and sinew. He had a long, lean muzzle, crowned by set of horns.

"Hello?" he called softly. A familiar but unplaceable inflection flavoured his palmy Old Country accent.

"Can I help you?"

"Frightfully sorry if I scared you. I'm paddling around Happenstance and have camped on the far side of island. My map says all this is private property and I'd hate to be accused of trespassing. Would you know where the owner resides?" He was so affable, Sylvia could not help but grin.

"Sure, come on in."

"Oh, thanks loads." In the office's light, he presented an even more interesting figure. His pocket-festooned khaki clothing had not seen an iron in months but gave him the air of an explorer of the last century. His pelt was a mottled tan with dramatic black lines running down his aquiline features. She could imagine him slogging through impenetrable jungle, private journal and binoculars in hand, leading a troupe of native bearers. What really caught her imagination were the horns. Sylvia had seen many guests with magnificent five-point racks or curving outgrowths but none like these. Banded black and brown, they sweep backwards like sixty centimeters spears.

"Would you like something? Coffee ...or tea?"

"Tea would be jolly fabulous but I couldn't. It's late and you must have other things to do. Besides, it's a bit of a trek back to my camp at the north end."

"Its easier if you follow the northeast path." Sylvia said, gesturing to a signpost barely visible outside the office. "Take the one marked 'Brenda's Gate' and stay on it until you cross a narrow isthmus. Head north from there."

"Thanks, I will. Now, about the owner..."

"You're talking to her. This is Slipsunder land and I'm the firstborn of the family. The name's Sylvia." She said, extending her hand. He shook it with a firm grip. His scent was even more interesting up close. She reminded herself she had never gone with anyone with horns before.

"Geoffrey Greentree they call me. Pleased to make your acquaintance. You really own all this?"

"Been in the family for 200 years."

"Must be wonderful to have your own tropical paradise."

"Most of the time but, as my father said, you can't eat pretty. Everyone has to make a living and this place isn't cheap to run when everything has to be shipped in. Thank heavens, we've plenty of fresh water and an excellent harbour."

"And I'm camping for free rather than paying for one of your cabins..."

"Oh, I didn't mean that. You're welcome..."

"No, I should pay my way. I noticed a restaurant and bar on the far side of this inlet. Could I buy you dinner there tomorrow night?"

"I warn you, I have a local cook who comes in from Fairport on the weekends. Normally, the Hooch is pretty cheap but..."

"Never fear. I've been eating rough lately. Time I sprang for a good meal and I'm not worried about the cost. Shall we say seven at the 'Hooch'?"

"I'd be delighted."

"Until then," he nodded, his horns brushing the ceiling, "I bid you good night, Sylvia."

"Good night, Geoffrey." She stood, smiling to herself for no good reason before going to the door. She peered out, making sure he had taken the right path. There was no sign or sound of him beyond a lingering musky scent.
 
 
 
 

Lucas' heart sank. He had finished hauling the skiff's fuel tank over to the dock, recharged it, and then lugged the dead weight back. As he re-pressurized the lines and purged the reaction cell, a soft burbling could be heard echoing off the surrounding hills. He straightened to see the big cabin cruiser working it's way past Buck's Rump. So went his morning in Fairport.

Until then, he had only seen the craft from the skeet-shooting platform on the windward side of the bluffs west of WaterWings. Through his binoculars, it was a beautiful looking ship. Only as it pulled up to the dock, did he realize how big and sleek it really was. It even had davits and a small runabout mounted on the port side. Still, it was puzzlement to someone who had grown up on the water.

While a sleek twenty-five meters long, it did not seem the kind of craft meant for open ocean. At first glance, it was a playboy's boat for cruising mainland harbours and hosting cocktail parties. He expected the large rear deck to be crowded with wicker furniture and deep-sea fishing gear. Instead, the space was bare, the decking having several inexplicable mountings custom-installed in it. Even the colourful canvas covering looked like it could be quickly dismantled. The ship's hatches were equally interesting. Seeming to be simple wooden fabrication, they were of steel construction. In seconds, this craft could be hermetically sealed to ride out a force-five typhoon.

"Hallo. You got hydrogen?" a voice called out from the flying bridge.

"Yes!" Lucas replied, cupping his muzzle.

"And a sewage pump out?"

"That too. Pull into berth #3." Covering the skiff, he dashed around to the rental slips and started pulling the hoses from their respective windup drums. The cruiser pulled into the berth and then slid sideways to the dock bumpers as if on rails. A male, dressed in a pair of eye-searing shorts, jumped onto the dock and swiftly snuggled the mooring lines tight.

"G'Day." He said, grinning "This be WaterWings?" A canid, his face and muzzle were jet black; his pelt, a random patchwork of tans and grays like camouflage. His build was lean and hard, as if his people had recently joined civilization. With his tipped-ears and bright blue eyes, he seemed friendly enough.

"That's what the sign says."

"Name's Kusuka Mebenga. The serious one up there is me brother. Hey, Kunda, stick your ears out!" An exact twin, except for grey eyes, stepped out of the canopy shadow and waved down to the pair.

"Mebenga. That's an unusual surname."

"Not in West Ardensa. We landed into Columbiana last week and been cruising east ever since. Only got here in the last couple of days."

"Yes, we noticed you diving off the Fairport Strait."

"You guys are sharp." He said, hesitating for a microsecond. "Yeah, we've done a lot of snorkeling and shallow wreak dives. Thought we'd like to try some deep-water stuff."

"Just the two of you? Isn't that dangerous?"

"Not if you take precautions and have the right equipment. 'Sides, there are three of us. Our third hand had business to tend to but will be dropping back soon."

"The Salem Albatross is flying today and the Fairport shore ship is due at three. They could be on those."

"Maybe. Fill her up and pump out the head. If you've got a berth available tonight, we'll take it. Do they serve food over that that hut across the bay?"

"Lunches during the day. Full meals at night. It's the weekend so we've got a cook and a DJ coming in tonight."

"Any cold beer?"

"It's got a full bar."

"Hi, Kunda! Pombe!" he said, gesturing across the inlet, "We'll see you later, mate!" Lucas waited until the pair had hastily padded off before hooking up the hoses. While one chugged sewage and the other steamed with liquid hydrogen, Lucas examined the boat. The stern said she was the 'Sue DeNym' out of Port Silva, NS Columbiana. Like the ship, the fancy lettering gleamed as if new. Too new. Lucas gave a quick look-around then slipped into the water. Hanging onto an exhaust port, he reached up and rubbed a finger on the gold type. The paint was dry but not hard, a flake lifting under his thumbclaw. The lettering had been repainted within the week.

He leapt on the dock, partly drying himself with a quick shake. The sewage pump-out was done and he disconnected the hose, taking a good look in one slit-like porthole while doing so.

"Holy shit!" he said slowly.
 
 
 
 

Janet was keyboarding with fire. All morning, work on her semester essay for Mr. Forester's Medieval History class had been like squeezing wine from a stone. It had taken almost two hours to sort and re-sort her notes into something that made sense. Now, the words were beginning to finally flow.

"Janet."

"Huh."

"Janet!"

"Go away, Lucas."

"I need you."

"You'll need medical care if you don't bugger off."

"Really. You've got to see this."

"I AM seeing what I need to see. I see my essay getting done. I see myself passing Forester's course. I see having tomorrow off if I get this done."

"For two days, there's been a boat diving the Basin that the Sheerwaters have asked Moma about. She told me last night to go to Fairport to see if the Harbourmaster has any information about it. It just pulled into our dock for fuel and a pump-out."

"No shit. The point being?"

"I took a peek inside. They've got spacesuits aboard." Janet stopped and looked up.

"You sure they're not diving suits? The Basin is pretty deep."

"I know diving suits. There are no winches or compressors aboard." He said, "You have to see this stuff to believe it." Janet stared at the screen and gave a sigh.

"Screw the Middle Ages. Let me get my camera." The hydrogen fill was finishing as they reached the 'Sue DeNym'. While Lucas donned gloves and removed the frost-encrusted hose, Janet gave a quick peek inside.

"Interesting." She said. Pressing the digital camera against the glass, she took three quick pictures. Suddenly, she sprang backwards.

"What?"

"Movement. Someone's still onboard." Janet said, "You're on your own, bro." She power-walked off the dock, back to the safety of her hut and computer. Plugging in her camera, she called up the three images. They showed an equipment nook being used to store skin-diving gear. Amongst the usual tanks and masks, two specialty rigs hung on support frames like futuristic ghosts. They were full-body suits fitted with kilometers of tiny tubing. Each arm was sheathed in LED readouts and extra large buttons. The helmets were clear spheres fitted with powerful lights and a video camera. The lights, body tubing, and forearm controls all fed into a massive backpack. Lucas was right in that they were spacesuits but not for beyond Therion's atmosphere.

Janet called up her email, plugged in the Worldnet address of a friend in Tengu and started typing:
 
 

Sunsets near the equator are different.

First, they are brief. The higher latitudes spoil those living closer to the poles. Their underachiever sun only rises partway into the sky but takes forever to fall to the horizon. On the equator, sunset is a high diving plunge from overhead straight into the ocean. One moment, the sun is glaring into your eyes; the next, it's gone.

Second, sunsets are dull. In the north and south, the day fades gradually, running the spectrum from adjure to indigo to ultramarine, with a brief flush of crimson before the darkness softly steals in. As night wraps you in her cloak, there is a sense of peace and resolution. On the equator, it drops below the horizon like a stone. Except for the occasional green flash, not even a vampyre could get excited about a tropical sunset.

Third, sunsets are welcomed. Away from the topics, life is an environmental struggle. The comings of darkness only heralds rain, ice, and slow death. At WaterWings, nightfall signals the coolness of evening, a star-filled sky, and people gathering to sing, dance, and dine. Sylvia wanted to do all three.

Normally, she wore little more than what the weather or her chores demanded. Tonight, something made her go down to the storm vault and dig into the stack of footlockers stored there. Finding the proper one, she broke its seal against the humidity and salt air. The desiccant beading was cloudy-white, showing that the contents were still dry. From the bottom of the locker, she pulled a loosely wrapped bundle, the well-wrinkled covering bearing the name of a tiny, exclusive store in Ayre. The gossamer blue-and gold silk wrap had cost Rale's father a small fortune. Draped about her slender frame, the look in Geoffrey Greentree's eyes as she strolled up to the Hutch's steps was worth it.

"Ms. Slipsunder, I say. You are a ravishing vision of beauty!"

"Thank you." She said, smiling softly. He was not bad looking himself. A white dress shirt and a black jacket had replaced the wrinkled khaki. If suave could kill, Geoffrey had a twenty-kilometer blast radius.

"I've procured a table on the windward side," He said, taking her arm, "and there is a Port Annis rosé chilling for us."

"Mr. Greentree, I know the wholesale and retail cost of every bottle on this island. You are trying very hard to impress me."

"I'll be honest, fair lady. I have two agendas." He said, seating Sylvia, "One is trying to delight you in your own establishment. The other is giving my accountant a heart attack. Its all going on my expense account so let's enjoy the ourselves." The night was fabulous. Warned that the boss lady herself was being entertained, Chef Sauscia drove himself and his assistant to new culinary heights. Dishes poured unbidden from the tiny kitchen, each one a savory masterpiece. Sylvia was amazed and, between bites, decided to hire Sauscia full-time.

After the desert plates were gathered, the tables were moved back to reveal a spacious dance floor. Cool Willie, the bartender, threw a hidden set of circuit breakers, lighting up the grounds and turning the Hutch's interior into a kaleidoscope. The DJ, a teenager from Venture's Island, started into his smooth patter between the latest dance hits. Light and sound poured into the celestial night as boats from the other islands gathered in the Inlet, each one gaily lit in anticipation of the feté ahead. Lucas and Rale hustled tying up the various crafts, greeting old friends, and pocketing their tips. Spiced finger foods and tropical delicacies wafted from the kitchen while, across the bar, flooded alcoholic fruits served in a plethora of cups, glasses, and bowls. While the Hutch jumped to a vigorous beat, waiters circulated amongst those relaxing outside, keeping up to the steady flow of orders.

Inside, everyone moved in gay abandon. Years melted from Sylvia as she twisted and cavorted with the others, even when Geoffrey had to beg off for safety's sake. The highlight of the evening was the Mebenga brothers. After dancing with every unattached female in the Hutch, they put on an impromptu show of their own. The crowd moved back as they launched into a synchronized choreography of leaps, lunges and faints. At their spectacular backflips, the crowd broke into cheers, joining them in imitation. The music changed from techno-pop to souk and raggie, turning the dance floor into a boisterous village clearing.

Such times are precious because they are all too fleeting and even these festivities finally drew to a close. The music faded and the boats departed, the breeze mingling the farewell cheers and off-key songs. Cool Willie lethargically cleaned up while Sauscia examined his new paycheck for the hundredth time. Geoffrey escorted Sylvia up to the office as the light strings winked off one by one.

"That was fun." She sighed, exhausted but happy, "Haven't let myself go like that for years. Not since..." She frowned and waved the sad memory away. "I owe you, Geoffrey. Tonight, you've paid your bills in full. Come on in and I'll reimburse you. Which is easier: cash or cheque?"

"Neither, fair lady. As I said, it was my treat and a gentleperson never goes back on a promise. I'm happy that you were able to enjoy yourself in your own establishment."

"Thank you." She said, smiling. Sylvia glanced up to the starry riot that still glinted above. "Almost too late to bother sleeping. You want to come in." The invitation hung in the air. It promised everything and nothing beyond an instant coffee.

'I must beg your indigence. I've had a long day and could not do justice to anything worthwhile." Sylvia's smile grew more knowing.

"Good night then. It's been ...wonderful."

"And to you." She turned to go when Geoffrey lightly placed his hand on her shoulder, rotating her backwards into his arms. Their lips met and, for an eternity, they surged into each other with the sudden intensity of a plasma storm. He pulled her close with an animal strength while her claws dug greedily into his coarse pelt. When they finally broke, words had no power. A lingering look, a smile, a chivalrous nod and they parted into the night.

"What a kisser." Sylvia sighed, pulling the diaphanous wrap tight around herself, "And the élan to say no on the first date. Mr. Greentree, you've got possibilities!"
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

For anyone with a drop of feline blood, the morning stretch is all-important. This in-bed exercise sets the tone for the whole day. When Janet woke next morning and raked her headboard with her claws, the voice almost threw her back out."

"Hajambo, youngster." Said the towering female blocking her doorway, a towel hanging around her neck.

"Asali!"

"Such a fine morning this is!" she said in her lilting accent, "And here be you sleeping it away."

"What time is it? Forget that. How did you get here?"

"Came in last night, while the party was going on."

"By boat?"

"Hapana -- No, I jumped." Janet paused while raking her tiger stripes

"Where from?"

"The Firetail left Fairport and passed overhead last night at 2,000 meters. Your sherehe looked so inviting, I couldn't resist dropping in. Grabbed myself a parachute and stepped off the starboard landing deck." Janet had the lighting mind that all of her kind owns.

"Every Saturday night, my brother lights a beach bonfire for our more pagan guests. By midnight, there are two dozen people staring glassy-eyed into the sky. Also, the inlet is full of boats lit up like a New Year's float. The only way you could parachute onto this island was to have done a Black Op drop." Asali's smirk broadened into a toothy grim.

"Such suspicion! And so justified!" she laughed brightly, "You right. I used a commando 'chute. Black as tar and silent as the righteous dead. Floated over the Hutch then dropped into the harbour from twenty meters without causing a ripple. I almost called out when I surfaced, it felt so good."

"Where have you been since then? Sleeping under our beds?"

"I have to keep some secrets, you know." Janet had to smile. Shaneika Mbaya was full of secrets. Possessing a infectious charm, she was from Cape Kasanga in the secretive continent of Nyumba Dola. Colloquially known as Asali, Nyumbian for 'honey', she was a full-blooded lioness. A two-meter beauty whose confident walk turned males into drooling idiots. That she was a Major in the Nyumba Dola Home Guard. And killed with a much ease as it took her to smile.

"Moma know you're here?"

"Ah, you mention a matter of some delicacy."

"I'll bet. Shit happened during your last visit." Janet said sarcastically, "Two guests and millions in treasury bonds vanished leaving this island. A submarine surfaces from nowhere to pick you up. Organized crime trials that even the military couldn't keep quiet. At the centre of everything was an 'unidentified source' with all the evidence. So, why the secrecy? You avoiding the paparazzi, a hit mob, or just looking for a quiet place to plot revolution somewhere?"

"Nothing of the sort." She said, airily. Contacting Janet was a wise move. The young tigress was naturally cowed and intrigued by the huntress. Resisting, she would still follow a logical suggestion. "I'm here on business. Delivering a piece of hardware. Very hush hush, as they say."

"It's stolen, isn't it?"

"Governments sometime have to do things at arm's length, even in secret. Including selling things to people that they wouldn't want the public to know about."

"What is it? Guns, money, information?"

"Spare parts. A circuit board, in fact." Asali shrugged, "The exchange could have been done anywhere but Freedom's Run is so much more relaxing. And, since people are always coming and going, nobody will notice me passing through."

"So, how long is all this going to take?"

"That's a tricky question." Asali said, rubbing a tufted brown ear in embarrassment, "The person bringing the circuit board... ah, well, dropped it."

"You mean like 'smashed it'?"

"Its still intact. Just a little hard to reach, that be all. I should have it in my hands by tonight." She grinned again, "Unfortunately, the competition may have followed me. That's where I need you. Could you be my eyes until ...your mother realizes I'm here?"

"You mean go behind Moma's back?"

"Yes, actually."

"What's in it for me?"

"Asali make it worth your while." she said, her penetrating eyes going half-lidded, "By the way, have you recently seen anyone with long, straight horns? A tall, thin male with a cropped, nut brown hide. Got a long face with vertical black markings under his eyes?"

"Sounds like Moma's date last night. Everyone says she had a really good time." Janet said, sitting on the edge of the bed, "Why do you ask?"

"Stay away from him."

"He seems harmless enough. He in trouble?" she said, her muzzle darkening, "Is Moma in danger?"

"No and no. He's here only because I'm here."

"Is he a cop? Military?"

"Just keep away and don't answer his questions." Asali winked, "I'll see you later." Janet opened the shutters, watching until Asali blended into the foliage. With the towel and her loping stride, she was just another guest jogging WaterWings' trails. Janet looked up to the ridge overlooking the resort, wondering were her camp was. Probably somewhere with total visibility yet impossible to get to except by one route.

Running a tongue over her morning-mouth teeth, Janet passed a hand before her computer monitor. The fully accessorised DataMaster 7000 lit up, displaying the emails received last night. Her eye ran dully down the list, sorting out the read-later from the delete-now, when she saw Chester's reply. She tapped the screen with a claw, bringing it up.

"Holy shit!" she whispered, her ears flat.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

"Hello?" The motley coloured canid delayed in the doorway, his pointed ears twitching left and right. "Any one here?"

"Good day." Sylvia said, coming from the backroom with the morning's second coffee. With only five hours sleep, she was taking the day at a slower pace.

"G'Day. I was hoping I'd find somebody here." He grinned, the black face making his teeth seem sparkling white.

"In body, maybe, but not in mind. You're one of the people moored at our docks?"

"That's right. My name is Kusuka Mebenga. I'm with my brother, Kunda, on the Sue DeNym." he said brightly, "We're wondering if we could ask a favour of you folks."

"Possibly. What did you have in mind?" she said with the wariness of strangers.

"Yesterday when we came in, there was a young lad on the dock who seemed to know his way around equipment."

"Lucas, my son. He does most of the repairs around the resort." Sylvia said, "What do you want with him?"

"If you could spare him this afternoon, we could sure use an extra pair of hands. We'd make it worth your time."

"I was going to have him repair one of our outboard motors. How worth while do you think his time is?"

"A hundred until three o'clock. Double that if we're out until dinner." Sylvia nodded but nothing showed on her face. Coming around the counter, she leaned out the door.

"Lucas!" she shouted down to the maintenance shack, "Get your tail up here." In a few moments, his black-and-white figure could be seen climbing the trail.

"Anything wrong, Moma?"

"Mr. Mebenga has a proposition." She said, gesturing to the canid with the camouflage pelt.

"Jambo, son. We've got a couple of dives to do and are still short our surface person. You interested?"

"Sure! What's it involve?"

"Helping us with the equipment, keeping track of time, generally helping out. It's grunt work mostly with a lot of sitting under an awning sucking sodas."

"You get to keep fifty of what Mr. Mebenga's paying."

"Righteous! Count me in!" Lucas brightened.

"Head down to his boat. I've got to talk to Mr. Mebenga." Lucas had vanished before his mother was finished the sentence. "Sir, I was impressed by your dancing last night. Pretty slick footwork."

"Asante sana! Thank you, Ma'am!" he grinned.

"You're from Nyumba Dola, aren't you?"

"Why do you say that?" he laughed.

"I've got friends in West Ardensa. Everyone there is a farmer. Its jungle and savanna lands are all in parks. Last night, you were doing a hunting dance. All you were missing were spears and a shield. I've know a lot of seasonal fauves who can function in civilization during winter. You two are a few notches beyond that." Sylvia said.

"If you have doubts, why are you letting your son go with us?"

"It's time Lucas took care of himself. Also, playboy assholes and careless weekenders don't give off the kind of by-the-book vibes that you two do." she said, "Answer one questions, however. Do you know a Shaneika Mbaya from Cape Kasanga."

"Asali? Sure, she tell us about this place. We used to work for her on government diving projects. Talked to her on the Net yesterday morning at her family kraal."

"Have a good day then, Mr. Mebenga. And take care of my son."

"Like he was me own. We'll have him back before mealtime." He said, saluting her a friendly good-by. He dashed down to the docks with a pace of someone capable of running for hours. Sylvia leaned out the office window, watching until the sleek cabin cruiser was heading past Buck's Rump. Kusuka was telling the truth. She could smell it off him. But this was the 126^th century. Every place on Therion was less than a four hour flight away.

Last year, Asali showed up as an undercover agent, with a pair of ivory-handled pistols and a fortune in cut diamonds, to trap two international criminals. When Asali left, she gave Sylvia a diamond with the comment "until next time." The rock, appraised by a Steelborough jeweler at $68,000 dollars, now sat in Sylvia's safe like an ominous talisman.

"You're here, Asali. I can feel you." She said to herself, "The real question is why?" Sylvia cleared her mind, going back to her accounts and cold coffee. Knowing that lioness, the answer would reveal itself very soon.