Trouble's Tales
Strange Bedfellows

by Kittiara
with Ann'katar

Stardate 2398.40

Trouble scowled at the scouting reports. It was midmorning, but she'd been up all night, working hard. In fact, she'd scarcely noticed the change of shifts from day to evening, from evening to night, and from night to day ...... The scouting reports she was pouring over had nothing to do with far-flung picket ships reporting back targets of opportunity. Those kind of scouting reports were currently being handled by operations. These scouting reports were from agents and factors working for the pirates, feeding information to them on possible replacements for the ships and personnel lost in the recent attack on the fueling station. The Brethren had achieved all their goals, taken an incredible amount of loot, and hurt the Elysium government bad; but they'd paid for it dearly in capital ships, in raider ships, and in experienced and trained personnel. In reliable personnel. Now they needed to replace those losses, and finding trustworthy scum was not easy. Especially as the burgeoning rebel movement on Elysium was drawing off all the young, adventurous malcontents ......

The tap on her shoulder caused her to jump a foot, hardcopy flying everwhere. Spinning about in her station chair, she found Bethany, the tigress from Accounting braced against the far wall, eyes wide, as if she expected Trouble to attack her. Shaking her head, Trouble rose to padd over to her, to hug her softly; "I'm sorry, just been working too hard. You startled me, 's all." Bethany nodded and hugged back; "you need a break. Here, brought you your paycheck."

Trouble slitted the envelope with one clawtip and pulled out the voucher within. As with all the pirates, the funds were already deposited in distant, numbered and secure accounts, with only the acknowledgement of the deposit in the envelope. Sitting back down heavily in her station chair, Trouble looked up at Bethany. "This can't be right!" Bethany just grinned; "Oh, its correct all right. Triple-checked it. The raid on the fuel station was quite profitable, and your role was a key one there, earning you a larger share. And the work you did onthe Burgess Star also turned a tidy profit. It all adds up, doesn't it?" Trouble looked at the figure again and nodded in amazement.

It was the beginning of the evening shift. Trouble found that she couldn't concentrate on the scouting reports any more, reading and re-reading the same one a dozen times and still not knowing what it said ... she knew she needed to sleep but was too keyed up. And the lion, her lion, was busy with staff meetings. Sneaking out of the intelligence office, she padded through the remote corridors of the station trying to think. The money the piece of hardcopy in her paw said she had, in half a dozen different accounts spread across the Empire, was easily enough for someone to retire on. And quite comfortably, too. And yet, although it was theoretically possible for her to buy her freedom, to leave here, to leave the Brethren, to leave her Master, was the last thing she wanted to do. Still, she felt there should be something worthy she could do with the money ...

Trouble smiled as she passed a couple of maintenance workers, moving in the opposite direction down the service corridor. She knew they were turning to look at the sexy cheetah fem, in the skimpy, sexy dress, turning to watch her ass sway under the fluid material as she walked. Resisting the urge to turn her head, to wink at them over her shoulder, she wondered just exactly what she did want. Was she cruising for a new sex partner? Was she waiting for someone to come over, to clip a leash to her collar, to lead her off? After a moment of reflection, she realized that if someone did just that, she wouldn't be upset in the least. Fantasizing about it for a moment, she could almost feel the strong paws holding her as the leash was clipped to her collar, tugging her insistently down the hall, to untold sexual delights ... she felt herself getting wet just at the thought of it.

Stopping and turning, she started to head in the direction of Hinoki's quarters, thinking that in lieu of her Master, he was the best one to scratch her itch; but then she remembered he had evening shift this week. With a sigh, she turned and resumed walking in her original direction.

Cycling through a lock, she found herself in the spinward maintenance bay. Several raider ships were lined up there, awaiting repairs. There was Brampton's ship, with the hole through the hull that had taken out his gunner, along with most of the ship's electronics. There was Davis' cutter, with the entire sensor array shot to hell. And there was Srina's ship. The shields had failed and they'd taken a missile right below the flight deck. Most of the ship's critical systems worked fine, but the entire crew had been killed ...... Well, this wasn't exactly a low risk job ......

As she looked at the ships, she realized that every ship was owned by either its captain, or as a cooperative venture by its crew. And raider ships, at least those that survived, made good money. Not as good as intelligence operatives, but then she was out of that business now ...

Trouble was yawning widely when she found Mark. It had taken a while to find him, as only his feet were visible, the rest of him tucked up inside a console on the engineering deck of the Mighty Quinn, one of the Brethren's cruisers. Grinning, she bent down to tickle one foot, and was rewarded with a loud thump and muted cursing from within the console. When he'd dragged himself out, Mark just shook his head; "Knew it was you. Why aren't you sleeping?" Trouble just shrugged, "Too tired to sleep, I suspect. Listen, got something on my mind. You've been looking for a way out of Engineering, haven't you?" The mouse nodded cautiously, his eyes narrowing. Trouble continued, missing the look on his face as she stared off to one side. "I've been thinking of investing some of the money I've made in a raider ship. I was thinking that you and me, and Zassa and Hinoki and maybe even Bethany could crew it. Might be a way to get us all out where the action is ...... "

Mark had finally gotten Trouble off to bed. He needed a few minutes to think. Did he really want to 'escape' Engineering? After a bit of mulling it over, he sighed and nodded inwardly. Here he was, pretty much the fur who'd single-handedly made the strike against Elysium trading station possible in the first place, and all he really had to show for it was the admittedly big paycheck he'd gotten for the job. Other than that, nothing had changed; he still got assigned to clean up other people's messes more often than not, from the half-wrecks the hot-shot fighter pilots would sometimes bring back from their raids to crawling through ducts and making sure life support still ran up to spec after some particularly wild party. He grinned to himself; it was so strange how they'd enjoy the party and then complain about the resulting funny smells from the overstrained environmental system in their cabins three sectors away. Not exactly what he'd been looking for when he signed up. But a raider ... he shook his head. He'd known would-be raider crew much like Trouble before -- young, itching for action, and convinced nothing could ever possibly happen to them. And he'd pulled his share of them from ships that barely managed to return, too; a very few that were lucky enough to still be able to scream, but most quite cold and dead by the time they arrived. Space wasn't a forgiving battlefield, and there was a reason those guys drew high pay ......

It was several days later when Mark caught the lion as he was heading to Ops from his latest meeting. "Hey, Boss, got a moment?" Mark called. The lion turned, and looked at Mark and then chuckled. "No, not really, but if you talk fast while we walk, I'll do my best to listen. The way things are going, it'll be years before I've got an open spot on my calendar." Mark nodded, "Trouble has been talking to me about buying a raider ship ... At first I thought it was just a passing fancy, but she's come back to talk to me about it several times. I think she's serious." The lion slowed, but then nodded. "Not what I would consider a good investment, but if she picks the right captain and crew, it might pay off. Bit of a gamble though." Mark shook his head. "Ah ... no, that's not what I meant. She wants to crew it herself. Her and me, and Zassa and Hinoki, I believe she said." That brought the lion to full stop in the middle of the corridor. He looked at Mark for a moment and then shook his head. "The trick here is to stop her with out hurting her feelings. I do not want to see her get hurt, and with all due respects to whatever skills you might have, crewing a raider is not my idea of how to keep her safe." Mark nodded, and shrugged. "Same here. That's why I told you; you're her Master, as it were, and thus in a better position to do something about it. I haven't been able to dissuade her myself." The lion absently patted Mark on the back as he turned towards the door to Ops. "Thanks, I appreciate it!" As the door closed behind the lion, missing the hairy tip of his tail by millimeters, Mark shook his head with a wry grin and rubbed his shoulder. "Guy's got a touch like a ten-ton truck" he muttered. "Hope he can find a solution that doesn't involve running anybody over ... "

Trouble purrrrred softly as she licked at her Master. It was late at night, and they were lying on his bed, Trouble between his thighs licking softly at his balls. She'd found, long ago, that with him so distracted, she could usually talk him into small favors ... "The auction? lick I was planning on going with them, if you don't mind. lick. I really should talk to our agent there ...... lick. And I thought I'd take the opportunity to do some shopping lick. The lion moaned; she knew just how to tease him, how to fill his mind with lust ... It only took a few more licks before he growled low in his throat, and reached down to drag Trouble up his body, so he could kiss her, his rampant cock pressed against her stomach ...... As she wriggled her hips, sliding up, and then down a bit to tease the head of his cock with her sex, she grinned to herself. At least he didn't say no ... and it's generally easier to get forgiveness than permission......

Trouble sat with Mark, Reggie, and Slasher in a small auditorium. They'd traveled to Amhurst, several sectors away, to attend an "informal" ship auction; the kind where no one asks who the bidders are, or where the ships came from, or where they might be going. There were supposed to be several ships there that the pirates might be able to use, some of which were ex-Imperial military, some of which were ex-smugglers, and a few of which might even have been pirate booty. Supposedly they all had legal papers ... They'd spent several days poking around the ships, running diagnostics, and reviewing the prospectuses. Trouble had carefully marked her program with the ones she thought the pirates should bid on, as well as how much she thought they should pay. It was a silent auction, each lot number in turn being reviewed by the auctioneer, followed by his taking sealed envelopes from the bidders. The highest bid then took the prize, and they moved on to the next item up for bid.

"Pity we didn't take that one," Reggie mumbled, with Slasher nodding in agreement. Trouble just shrugged,looking at Mark; the mouse shook his head, "No, that one had some serious engine trouble. It wasn't obvious, but in a few months that buyer will regret it. Trust me." As the auctioneer started to review the next ship, Trouble's pulse increased a little; this was the ship that she'd picked out for herself. It was a Katana class corvette, originally designed to chase pirates. This one, however, had become outdated, and sold for scrap, only to have some enterprising soul cram an engine from an Exeter class cruiser into its engineering spaces. With all that excess of power, it was obscenely fast and had all the juice necessary for incredible shields and weapons. It was a hash of out of date technologies, and state-of-the-art systems. And it was powerful. And so ugly it was beautiful. As the auctioneer finished up, Trouble passed her sealed envelope forward. After a moment, the auctioneer looked up at her and she knew she had it!

They finished out the auction, although Trouble's heart wasn't in it; she was too eager to go see her new ship. Her new ship! Finally they were through, Reggie, Slasher, and Mark fairly well-satisfied as to the purchases they'd made for the Brethren. Trouble had a hard time not skipping ahead of the others, forcing herself to behave like an adult. Walking up to where her ship rested in the docking bay, she purrrrrred to herself as she looked up at it. She was just about to open the hatch when Mark cleared his throat. "Uh, Trouble, we got a problem ...... " Trouble waved a dismissive paw. "Let me take a look at my ship, then we'll handle it." Mark shook his head. "That's just the problem; that isn't your ship."

Heads turned all through the docking bays as Trouble's shout of "What???" echoed off the rock walls.

Mark shook his head. "See, here's the prospectus. Katana Class. No.Q2271719HS. Your bill of sale says Q2271719HS. But the number painted on the bow of that ship is Q1172729HS. Somebody in printing must've gotten their numbers mixed up." Trouble growled low in her throat. Snatching the prospectus she stalked off to find an auction official. Slasher watched her go; then he turned to Reggie and Mark, raising an eyebrow as if to ask, "Should we go after her?" Reggie shook his head, "No, Slasher, I think we should stay away. This could be grim ... " Mark watched Trouble's ass sway as she marched off. "I think we should go try and find this Q2271719HS, and see what she did buy. I hope it's not one of those pieces of junk we passed over for good reason before ... "

Trouble stared up at the Type II freighter, the crumpled prospectus in her paw, her muzzle hanging open. "I bought this? I can't believe it," she said for what must have been the fourth time. Mark hmmm'ed thoughtfully. "You know, given what you paid, this really isn't a bad deal. It's much newer, it's in much better shape, everything works ... " "But its not a raider," Trouble growled, "There's no way I can recoup my investment with this ship with the Brethren! For us, it's useless!" Slasher elbowed Reggie and Reggie cleared his throat. "Uh, what did the auction officials say?" Trouble glared at Reggie and growled, "They say that it states in the fine print the numbers on the ships are the final indicator; that the prospectus can and does contain misprints. Caveat Emptor they said; let the buyer beware. Then suddenly they were all gone, and I was yelling at empty air ...... "

Reggie shrugged. "So now what do we do?" Mark shook his head. "The smaller ships are being transported to where we can pick them up; that's all arranged. But this one's too big for the carrier; we're going to have to fly her back." Trouble just sighed as they led her into the airlock.

Trouble sat in the ship's tiny wardroom, sipping a cup of coffee. They were about 20 hours out from Amhurst, headed for home, and to Trouble's mild surprise, everything really was working. As much as she wanted to hate this ship for not being what she wanted, she grudgingly had to admit, for what it was, it was a good ship. The Type II was generally known as a "Free Trader", with the legs to go long distances at, for a cargo ship, fairly high speeds. Of course, this was at the expense of cargo capacity. Still, you could trade the outer planets, landing at unimproved fields, going where the larger ships couldn't. It had decent shields for a freighter, and its two turrets could keep minor annoyances at bay. And it was a lot more comfortable than a raider ... The closet laughingly called a "master's cabin" had a real bed instead of just another bunk in a barracks compartment. And it had a real galley, even if only one person could fit in it at a time. Still, while it was nice, unless she could find a use for it, it would be a horrible waste of money.

It took the freighter eight days to return to the pirate base. During that time, Mark puttered in the engine room, tinkering, and just in general keeping an eye on things. The autopilot worked, and Trouble, Reggie and Slasher took turns standing boring bridge watches.

Trouble yawned as Reggie entered the flight deck. As she rose from the pilot's seat, and stretched the way only a feline can, Reggie came up behind her, to hug her, his lepine teeth nibbling at the back of her neck, his paws stroking up over her tummy to cup her breasts. Trouble purrrrrred and wriggled her ass back against him, not at all surprised to find him already growing hard. With a giggle, Trouble's paws went behind her, to work at undoing his belt buckle, to let his pants drop to the deck with a thud (what did he have in his pockets?). Trouble's dress was short, and as was her Master's preference, there was nothing on underneath it, and hence no hindrance at all for Reggie to push her down over the top of the pilot's chair, to slide his cock into her willing pussy from behind ...

Reggie was good, and they both knew it; he took his time, fucking her slowly, letting her passion rise, until she was moaning with each long stroke. Trouble for her part, braced herself against the back of the seat with one paw, the other going between her legs to tease his swinging balls. Reggie demonstrated his prowess by bringing her to two quick climaxes, alternating several short quick jabs with long smooth thrusts, and then, moving slowly, almost languidly, letting the third build, until they came together. As they panted afterwards, holding each other close, Reggie chuckled, "I guess that christens the ship."

Trouble laughed and nodded. "That it does."

"Picked out a name yet?" Reggie asked. Trouble sighed and nodded. "Yeah; Lost Cause. In memory of the freighter I was on when it all went to Hell, in memory of Squint ... and besides, I figure I'll never get my money back outta this thing." Reggie just laughed.

Slasher had his nose stuck in the ship's technical manual for navigation when Trouble padded onto the flight deck to relieve him. Looking up with a grin, he marked his place and put the manual away to rise and padd over to Trouble, to give her a soft kiss. Always the ferret of few words, he cocked an eyebrow and smiled, "Heya, sexy; wanna fuck?" Moments later, Trouble's dress had been tossed over the engineering console, and she was flat on her back on the deck, with the ferret energetically thrusting between her thighs. Slasher was wild, his approach frenetic and forceful, and before long, Trouble was howling through her climax, with Slasher spurting into her shortly thereafter. "Gotta get some towels in here," she giggled. But Slasher shook his head no, and pushed her down again, to present his slick cock to be licked as he shoved his head between her thighs, to lick at her in turn. Of course, this wound up going beyond simple cleaning and before long moans and sweet cries echoed from the flight deck. As he headed off to get some sleep, Trouble settled down in the pilot's couch, still nude, grinning to herself. "Guess I really did 'relieve' him... "

It pretty well became a standard shift-change ritual, a running joke about being each other's "relief". Their course was simple, the traffic light, and a whole shift of studying flight manuals and running sims would leave anyone wanting to relieve some frustrations ...... This went on until Mark complained that the scents were overloading the environmental system ...... Not to say he was jealous; Trouble made a point of seeking him out from time to time too for a little "relief" ... Still, all things considered it was a quiet trip back ......

"All right, Scum, heave to, lower your shields and prepare to be boarded by the Brethren! Resist and die!" Edna always loved saying that when her flight of raiders overtook a lone merchantman. She always got a kick out of how they gasped, and protested, and pleaded. However, when Reggie's face coalesced on the viewscreen it was her turn to gasp. "Reggie? Slasher? What in the blue blazes are you ...... How'd you take that ship before I could? I thought you were out near Amhurst!" Slasher just laughed while Reggie grinned. "Edna, trust me, you do not want to mess with this ship; you see Trouble bought it at the auction; we're just flying it back." Edna blinked. "She bought it? What'd she do that for?"

By the time they docked the free trader at the pirate base, there was a fair sized crowd gathered to see what was going on. Everyone knew Trouble, and they knew she was at least fairly sharp. No one could figure out what she was doing with a free trader, and they'd all come to find out. By the time the drives were shut down and the airlock opened, the lion had arrived. He gave the ship the once-over and nodded, striding to the lock just as Trouble emerged. "Good work, I'm impressed." Trouble just blinked ... "Huh?"

The lion nodded. "This is exactly what we need to ease the logistics problem. With this rig we should be able to deal in more distant ports, where they're not on the lookout for us. It's been getting damn hard to pick up the spares we need around here lately; either it's too risky or the prices are way too high. And I bet this thing will do wonders for the liaison work with the Elysium resistance. Free traders like this are a dime a dozen out there. Ubiquitous. And the 'legal' bill of sale and registration will go a long way towards making it all look legitimate. Yup, that's good work, Trouble, I'm proud of you. Pick a crew for that ship, furrs rated for intelligence work, and get them up to speed on her. We have a meeting with some of the resistance folks in a few weeks, and I think we'll take your ship." With that, he gave her a hug, and was dragged off by one of the operations crew for yet another problem.

Trouble stood there and blinked, her muzzle hanging open. She wanted to protest, to tell him that wasn't what she'd had in mind at all, but as folks crowded around her, asking when the first logistics run would be made, each recommending what THEY thought the priority should be (usually what their ship required), Trouble decided to keep her muzzle shut ......

"It says what? I don't believe this! I can understand it with respect to 'company'-owned ships, but this is my ship, dammit!" Ben stood his ground in front of an enraged Trouble. The wolf was more than used to her temper and knew that she wasn't about to bite or claw him, no matter what it looked like. "Trouble, you never did read the handbook, did you?" he growled in return. "I don't care how much flight experience you have on similar ships, I don't care if you are the owner of record. You do not get to fly that ship until you're passed by one of the flight instructors. Them's the rules and we will go by them!" Trouble just growled as she turned her back on Ben. It was just as well; that way she couldn't see him smile. Finally she turned to face him again, her temper somewhat more under control. "All right Ben, you win. How soon can I get on the schedule for a flight instructor?"

Mark looked up as Trouble stalked into the repair bay. "Bastards won't let me fly my own ship," she grumbled, flopping down next to where he was working on some sensors. Mark chuckled. "You knew that. They wouldn't let you fly that raider we worked on together; it shouldn't be a surprise that they wouldn't let you fly anything else." Trouble sighed and nodded. "No restrictions like that on flight engineers. They'll take my certification in that area without problem ...... Grrrrrrrr." Mark just nodded solemnly as he checked connections on the sensor grid with a portable meter. After a while, Trouble shook her head, "No way around it. We need a crew for that ship. The boss keeps coming up with errands for us to run with it. The schedule for the immediate future is getting quite full. Until I can get certified, will you pilot her, Mark?"

The lion took Ben aside after the latest "after action review" meeting. "Listen Ben, I'm a mite concerned about Trouble .... " Ben chuckled and nodded, "Yeah; liked her better when she was just a compliant slave. As she gets into her job in intelligence, she's forgetting herself and her temper is starting to show through. You'd be surprised at how many furrs are starting to run scared of her." The lion blinked. "Huh? Oh, that. No problem, I'll see that she gets an 'attitude adjustment' ... even you have to admit she's too good at that intelligence post to send her back to the kennels." Ben sighed and shrugged, "Yeah, I guess that's true. Pity; she's good at intelligence work, but she's fantastic at being a sex slave." The lion chuckled and nodded, "OK, OK, we'll give her a major attitude adjustment, and some more time away from the intelligence office. What I'm really concerned about is her taking off on the various tasks that need doing in that freighter she bought." Ben grinned. "Yeah, heard rumors about the switch you pulled on her ship; if she ever figures that out, you're going to have teeth marks someplace very sensitive." The lion did his best "innocent" imitation. "That wasn't me, honest! But aside from that, what I want you to do is to assign her the toughest flight instructor we've got. I don't want her flight certified until she can take that freighter and outfly the best raider pilot we've got. No, make that the three best raider pilots we've got. I don't want her licensed to fly until she's damn near invincible." Ben sighed, but nodded. "It's going to be rough, but will do. You really do care for her, don't you?" The lion just grinned and padded off down the hall ......

Trouble was back to the scouting reports. By now a large number of the candidates her agents had identified as potential pirates had been reviewed by the Brethren. Many of them had been vouched for by the pirates, and almost an equal number had been rejected. Reputations spread through any community, and the pirates and corsairs knew who they wanted to work with, as well as who they did not want to work with ...... She had been running background checks through surreptitious means on those not in either group, pretending to be a bank screening them for a credit card, a shipping line considering hiring them, and even a bail bondsman. She was searching for motivations; those known to the pirates were open books; some were in it just for the money, some for adherence to some cause or philosophy. Some for the power it brought. Some for the adventure. Others were more enigmatic. Those unknown to the pirates were a greater risk, and while she was being picky, the Brethren were so short-handed, she couldn't be too picky .....

As she searched the background of a navigator, someone the Brethren had once considered recruiting, with most of her experience in freighters, Trouble came across an old file. Her eyes widened as she read through it. It detailed the background search the lion had done on her, before her purchase. It was amazingly thorough; he'd certainly done his homework ... She was amazed to read her own psychological profile from the Academy, from before her enslavement; was she ever really like that?

Finally Trouble pulled together the paperwork for the top candidates. She was very concerned about a few of them, her worries ranging from inept through uncontrollable, to disloyal. Still, it was the best they could do, given the time frame ... straightening her hair, and adjusting her dress, she picked up the folders to head out towards Ops, to present the results of her work.

The shuttle settled into its assigned spot in the docking bay. When its airlock opened, the motley group of furrs it carried as passengers disembarked, to look around. Some were curious, some derisive, some inscrutable. They were the first batch of new recruits. Trouble met them, to hand out packets of information, assigning them to quarters and to training teams, and to answer questions. More than one noted her collar, and inquired if she was available, their approach ranging from the tentative through the polite to the coarse and obnoxious. In each case she smiled and shrugged and said they'd have to talk to her Master, but that anything was possible ...

Blackstone stood off to one side, watching, observing. The bear was huge, and like so many ursines, he appeared a bit overweight; like so many ursines, it was deceiving. He was in good shape for a bear his age, muscular and fit. As the shapely cheetah fem handed him his packet, their eyes met. As he looked at her, he realized this was no simple slave. There was recognition there. She obviously knew of his past, of how he was discharged from the Imperial military, and why. He guessed she probably had read the background report on him, and knew of his recent activities as a mercenary and the reputation he'd developed. As she turned away, walking towards the next recruit, he shrugged to himself; to have sunk so low as to join pirates, well, at least here no one was likely to complain about his ... excesses.

Trouble snuggled against Hinoki. Only moments before they'd been making the beast with two backs, and quite energetically too; moments stolen by two overworked slaves, but then sometimes stolen fruits are sweeter ... as she slowly regained her breath, she nuzzled the cheetah male. "I tell you that big bear, Blackstone, he frightens me. I got a good look at his eyes when I met him, and they looked as cold and as bottomless as the pits of Hades." Hinoki purrrrred as he nuzzled one of Trouble's ears. "He the hotshot fighter pilot?" Trouble giggled at the feel of his tongue and flicked her ear. "Yeah. He was too vicious for even the Empire, and they cashiered him for some particularly violent 'police action' a few years back. Since then he's been working as a Merc. Got a gooood reputation for his combat abilities, and just as sterling a reputation for his tendencies towards violence and ruthlessness. He strikes me as the kind of guy who tortured small animals as a cub.

The lion caught Mark in the junk parts storeroom. Mark was looking for a phase inducer for an old 30/360, and wasn't having much luck. "Mark, need your help," the lion started without preamble. "I'm worried about Trouble ... " Mark nodded, "So am I. I know we're mostly running a clean station here, but you have to remember that some of our pirate scum really are rather ... scummy, and there IS a finite chance of her catching a sexually transmitted disease, and at the rate she's going she really should check in with Medical more often ... " The lion blinked and then shook his head. "No, not that ... there are a number of missions I want her to undertake with that freighter of hers. Things like liaison with the Elysium resistance movement, as well as making contacts with our field agents, gathering information on suitable targets for the Brethren, picking up parts we need (always risky; too many folks ask questions when you buy stuff like we need; weapons system parts, munitions, and such), to carrying booty to fences ... the work needs doing, and I think she's the one to do it, but I'm worried about her. I want you to make some modifications to her ship .... modifications I'm willing to pay for. Tell me; do you know what a 'Q Boat' is?" Mark thought for a moment, then nodded. "Does Trouble know what you're planning to do to her ship, though?" The lion chuckled. "Leave that to me."

Mark flashed him a grin. "Oooo-kay ... it's you who'll have toothmarks somewhere sensitive when she figures it out. You're the boss, after all, I was just following orders ... " The lion just grinned.

Trouble shifted in her seat as she listened to the candidate answer questions. This was a standard procedure for when the Brethren hired folks, and procedure was to be followed, even if she didn't think it worth their time. "Thank you, Mr. Phelps, please take these papers to the next station, and again, thanks for your cooperation and your candor." Ben growled. Trouble pulled the next folder from the stack, and after looking at the name, she passed it to Ben. "Hiram Blackstone," she growled.

Blackstone entered, his back ramrod straight, as if he were still in the military. Ben gestured to the seat facing the table the review panel sat at. He sat, keeping his back straight, his legs uncrossed, his paws on his knees. Slowly his eyes flicked from furr to furr. There's that slave cheetah fem again, he thought to himself. I wonder what she's
doing here? She's not kneeling behind or beside someone, so she's obviously not here as a servant. A secretary, perhaps? Ben started with questions about Blackstone's military background, asking questions not about this incident, or that battle, but about why he did this, or what he thought of that. Blackstone's answers were smooth, Trouble thought, as if he'd rehearsed the answers. Maybe he has, she thought to herself. Nothing wrong in wanting a job so bad you do some advance preparation for it .... As she listened to Blackstone reply to the others' questions she pretended to examine his pilot's certification, his discharge papers, and his ship's log. I wonder if these are forged? she thought to herself. If it is, its good, damn good; but then, that too is possible ... After meeting Blackstone, she'd done some further checking into his background and his credentials. Some of those checks had come up supportive, some inconclusive.

Blackstone watched the cheetah from the corner of his eye. She wasn't asking questions, just sitting back and observing as the others went through a rather standard battery of questions. Oh, they were good questions, obviously prepared by an expert in combat psychology, but he'd been through this sort of thing before. However, the way her eyes flickered down to the desktop every time he spoke ... could she be using a voice stress analyzer? If she was, he was glad he'd taken the tranquilizing drugs to dampen out his responses, and to give him a more "pleasant" personality. Who was she?

Trouble watched the readouts built into the top of the desk. It measured heartbeat, respiration, trace compounds in sweat or exhalation, and of course, voice stress. It showed Blackstone to be somewhat nervous, but then that was normal for someone interviewing for a job. Some of the readings were a little screwy, but it was all within parameters. The voice stress analyzer didn't show green all the time, she'd proven that to herself earlier as she sat in that chair, in the empty room, asking herself questions about who she was, what she had become, and what her sexual preferences really were ....

Ben looked to his left and then to his right, gauging the responses of the panel. They'd decided on their hidden signals well in advance. Trouble watched, and when Ben looked at her, she gave him the signal for grudging approval, as had all the others. Ben nodded and initialed the forms and handed the file to Blackstone, sending him on his way. As the door closed, Trouble muttered, "I hope we're not making a mistake with that one", only to have Ben mutter in return, "Amen!"

Blackstone sat in on yet another briefing for the new recruits. Enough talk, he thought to himself, fretting. He wasn't used to sitting still for so long and he itched to be doing something. These twinks have as many rules as the Imperial Military, he grumbled to himself; Who would ever have thought that a pirate organization was so ... regulated. His attention snapped back as he heard his name called. "Blackstone," the operations officer rumbled, "we're setting you up as a flight instructor; your background suggests you should have a lot to teach our 'less experienced' recruits. Draw your ship assignment and duty roster from the officer of the day." Turning to the next recruit, the Ops officer started handing out the next assignment, and Blackstone tuned him out. "Suggests? Suggests? My experience is a matter of record!" he fumed. "I'd wager I'm the best pilot here by far, and by Jove, I'll prove it too! Shortly, they'll know Hiram Blackstone's skills! And then they'll pay for slighting me! 'Suggests' indeed!"

After looking at his duty roster, Blackstone headed down to the docking bay to check out the fighter he'd been assigned. As he went, he made quiet note of the internal security systems. He wasn't looking for that which was designed to defend the station against attack, but that which was designed to prevent someone on the station from fleeing. For that was just what he had in the back of his mind. These twerps had better start treating me right, he mused to himself. I deserve better'n this. I'll give them till after the first battle, until I've proven myself to them, and if things don't improve dramatically, well, I'll just skip out and go collect the reward the Elysium government has posted on them. That'd both make me a hero, get me the recognition I deserve, and set me up for life all in one fell swoop!

Mark stopped and looked back at the bear who had just passed him in the docking bay. His eyes narrowed as he stared at the retreating figure. This one felt like a definite walking time bomb ...

Blackstone checked out the ship, finding it much better equipped and maintained than he would have expected. From the outside, it looked elderly and well worn, its surface a mis-matched collection of splotches of paint and hand-lettered slogans. Pretty much what you'd expect scum to be flying. Inside it was modern, clean, and well-kept. And almost everything worked just as it should too. He decided that if this ship was typical, the pirates were a much bigger threat than anyone on Elysium suspected. And they'd pay for that information. Quietly, he started memorizing everything of importance, everything relevant to the pirate's operation that the Elysium government might want to know. Everything he might need to collect the reward.

It was late at night, and a single light burned in the darkened office block. Two figures hunched over papers scattered on a desk. "Sorry, there's just no way we can do that," Mark whispered. "No matter how fond you are of that spare fusion cannon from the old Bellyslasher, the powerplant on that freighter just won't support it. I think given the fact that we want the power curve to appear normal for a freighter that all heavy weapons will have to be in the form of torpedoes. Of course, that'll reduce cargo capacity." The lion nodded, "It's a heck of a tradeoff. How about some APU's to boost shields and ECM should they go into combat? That way the power curve will remain looking just like a normal freighter, until its too late to worry about it."

Mark nodded, and marked off yet another section of the cargo bay on the drawings. "Tell you what ... if you absolutely want some energy weapons there's one thing we can do, but it'll cost you -- we don't have the guns I'm thinking of in stock." The lion raised an eyebrow and motioned for the mouse to go on. Mark indicated the freighter's laser turrets. "If I could get my paws on a couple of Axotech L12-Bs to replace these with ... "

"I'm not sure I'm familiar with those," the lion interrupted. Mark smiled faintly. "Axotech mostly supplies the military. The L12-B is one of the few weapon systems that they also sell to civilians who can afford them, mostly scouts and traders and such who want something extra in case of a pirate attack. Uses power much more efficiently than what we got in here now, has a cooling system I wish I had invented, is easy to maintain and looks perfectly innocuous on top of all that. The only problem is the price tag ... for a set of two, you pay almost as much as you would for a new fusion cannon. But get me those and I can guarantee you an easy thirty percent boost in firepower for a minimal extra drain, maybe forty once I'm done tuning all the systems and have a bit of a reserve to play with." The lion nodded slowly. "Well, I'll see if I can arrange something. But it'll take time even then, so don't hold your breath. Now, about that cloaking device ... ?"

The interception was a simple one. The freighter was on a scheduled run, and thus easy to find. One of the pirate's intelligence agents had found out that she was carrying military spares, and replacement fighters for the Elysium defense forces, and as such, it had become a priority target for the pirates. And Blackstone was in charge of the assault. The freighter, however, was not exactly unprepared. They knew they had a tempting cargo, and they doubted their efforts at security had been 100% successful. When the pirate raiders appeared on their sensors they started screaming bloody murder over the comm. channels, demanding assistance. They even launched two of the space superiority fighters they were transporting, basically kicking them out an open cargo hatch.

Blackstone grinned inside his helmet. There were no Elysium forces that could come to the freighter's assistance, as long as they didn't dawdle; they'd picked their intercept location carefully to avoid that. And the two fighters on an intercept course were too little too late. Sending the rest of his forces to handle one, he altered course to meet the other by himself.

Lieutenant Farquar was determined to die well. At this point, he didn't think living was an option; there were just too many pirates. He just prayed his training was up to the task to let him die with honor. He watched as his flight leader angled towards the ship they'd decided was the pirate leader, as he tried to keep the others busy. As the pirates broke formation to swirl around him, seeking a shot, he lost track of his boss, as he desperately tried to bring his guns to bear on someone, anyone ......

"Sabre Three, this is Talon Six. That's a kitten we got here; he couldn't hurt us if we just sat still. See what you can do about just damaging his ship; we'll try and take it too, if we can." "Talon Six, Sabre Three; roger that. Aiming for his drives only."

Farquar wondered why the pirates were only taking the occasional shot at him, and then it hit him; they were playing with him. Cat and mouse, teasing him, tormenting him. With a growl, he tried harder, whipping his fighter around to fire weapons at one of the larger raider ships. One of the beams hit and he was elated until he realized it hadn't penetrated their shields ......

Blackstone pulled his ship around hard, the inertial dampers screaming in protest, as he fired yet another burst into his target. He'd hit the fighter repeatedly, each shot slowly chewing the smaller ship to pieces. He was enjoying himself, slowly killing his prey...

Farquar yelped as his ship shook, multiple alarms sounding in his headphones as his ship lost power. As the powerplant threatened to overload, he was tempted to let it proceed, and explode, but finally he sighed and shut it down, to drift. That would not be a heroic death ... He wondered how the pirates would torment him when they took him prisoner; he was sure they weren't done with him yet.

Blackstone finally administered the coup de grace to the all-but-destroyed fighter. As it disintegrated in a blossom of yellow flame he pulled his ship around to note the other fighter lying dead in space. Without a thought he centered it in his sights and pulled the trigger, destroying that as well.

"Talon Six to Flight Leader; that was our booty you just blew away! We went to a lot of trouble to leave something worth salvaging! That's coming out of your share, Bucko!" Blackstone growled to himself, "Pirates! Always thinking of profit! No glory in that!" But then he forced himself to calm down. After all, there was the fun of taking the freighter yet ahead of him ......

"It's no good, Sir," the first officer whispered. "They went through the fighters like they weren't even there. If we resist, we'll only die, and we won't stop them. We're lost, Sir!" The captain, a gray fox, nodded sadly. "And yet, if we do surrender, I have no assurances that we'll do any better ... "

"Star of Pursia to Pirate Leader: we are willing to surrender only if you guarantee the safety of the crew." Trouble listened to the comm traffic in Ops. There was a small crowd gathered, listening to the action as if following some sports match. "Pirate leader to freighter: you will surrender now, and unconditionally, or I guarantee you'll all die! Lower your shields now or else!" Trouble shot a glance at Ben, and noted the grim look on his face.

Blackstone counted quickly to ten and then keyed his mike. "OK group, they're not lowering shields. Let 'em have it!"

The captain looked at his first officer, and sighed. With a shrug he reached out and keyed in the sequence to power down what shields the freighter carried. They watched as the indicator slowly wound down to zero. Just before it hit bottom, however, the ship rocked, throwing everyone to the deck. "Damn them!" the first officer cried, "We did what they wanted! Why are they firing?"

"Talon Six to group! Cease fire! Cease fire! They've dropped their shields! You're destroying the ship!"

Trouble looked at Ben, a shocked look on her face. Ben failed to catch her glance as he turned to one of his officers, "Get one of the cruisers out there; I think the Intimidator is probably the one closest to launch status. I think we're going to have a mess to clean up."

The bridge of the freighter was a mess. Part of the ceiling had fallen in, conduits and cables hanging everywhere as an electrical fire filled the area near the roof with a foul smelling gray haze. Blackstone stalked through the door, shoving it to one side in its warped track. He found the captain's body on the floor, and with a roar, yanked it to its feet to scream in his face, "NOW YOU SEE WHAT HAPPENS TO THOSE WHO DO NOT OBEY IMMEDIATELY?" A cough behind him made him turn his head, and he found himself looking at the female squirrel that by her tattered and soiled uniform indicated she was the ship's first officer. She glared at him, "Can't you see he's already dead? He lowered the shields for you and you killed him anyways, you bastard!" As she talked she gathered her legs beneath her as if to leap at the bear, but one of the pirates was behind her, touching her with a shock stick, sending her to unconsciousness before she could launch her assault.

Blackstone just growled as the pirates hauled the freighter's crew off. "OK, what's left? Can we get this scow moving under her own power?" The flight engineer from Sabre Two shook his head. "I dunno, Hiram, the control system's shot to hell, and this tub doesn't have an auxiliary control room. Engineering control's in decent shape, but most of the power conduits between the power plant and the drive section are blown to hell. I don't think this tub's going anywhere for a while. And we don't have big enough tractor beams on the raiders to tow her. Think you'd best call for help." Blackstone growled and picked the skunk up by the collar. "I do not want to hear that! We are not calling for help. I don't care how you do it, get this thing under way!" Dropping the skunk he shoved his way out of the wreckage of the bridge. The skunk turned to look at his mates as the bear stomped off, and just shook his head. "Somebody get through to Talon Six. We got a real problem here.

Blackstone growled down at the kangaroo mouse before turning away. The little rodent had just arrived with a cruiser, to take over his mission! How dare they treat him like this? As he turned to head back to his ship, he growled to himself, "They will regret this! I'll see them all destroyed for this!"

Mark looked around the wreck of the freighter's bridge. The ship had been towed by the cruiser to a "safe" location, where the cargo and crew had been removed. It was his job to determine if there was anything salvageable, or if it should just be destroyed. Finally he shook his head with a sigh and keyed his communicator. "Mark here. I'm sorry I have nothing better to report, but about the only way we could get any use out of this ship anymore would be by taking it completely apart and rebuilding it from the ground up with new parts replacing the destroyed ones. It's not even worth the effort of breaking it down for spare parts; what systems are left that could be put back into service aren't compatible to our ships and have only nominal resale value. Mark out." "Got it. Damn it, too ... Control out." Mark walked over to where the captain had fallen and remained silent for almost a minute, then turned to somebody who wasn't there and nodded. "Oh, he'll pay for this all right, some way or other. I'm just giving him a little more rope to hang himself with ... but I won't forget." He made a little sign with his right paw. "Rest in peace for now."

Blackstone swallowed his pride as he suffered through the after action review. He accepted the criticisms stoically, not letting his true emotions show. How could they say the screw-up was his fault? If that blasted freighter captain had only obeyed his instructions, he would have been a hero, not a screw-up! He never noticed the white mouse staring intently at him from the back of the room...

Mark nodded imperceptibly to himself as he felt the bear's mind squirm under the questioning, the impressions he was picking up only confirming the conclusions he had come up with already. Ego bigger than this station, rage at a world at large that failed to 'appreciate' him, no real loyalties to anybody but himself, and of course the obligatory revenge plot already ... he'd seen it all before. No, for all his skill in single combat the Brethren would ultimately be better off without Hiram Blackstone ... and the sooner the better, too.

Trouble found Mark working on her ship. She snuck up behind him quietly, to give him a hug, nuzzling at the back of his neck. The mouse smiled and nodded, "Hello, Trouble." No matter how hard she tried, no matter how stealthy she was, she could never sneak up on him. Maybe it was something to do with his psychic power, the telepathic ability that let him "talk" to her over distances that let him know when she was in trouble. She suspected that whatever talents he let others know about, there were others he kept to himself ...... but she couldn't prove that, and couldn't imagine what he might be capable of ......

Mark sighed and snuggled back against the cheetah fem. "This is not easy you know ... " Trouble rested her chin on his right shoulder. "What isn't?" "Trying to shoe-horn in a second APU without eating up any more room in the cargo bay." Trouble blinked. "Why would we want an APU in the cargo bay?" Mark turned to look at her, "Didn't the Boss talk to you about it? He said he was going to ... " Trouble rested both paws on Marks shoulders and looked straight into his eyes. "He did not. What's he up to? What's he having done to my ship?" Mark just smiled and kissed Trouble on the nose. "Oh, nothing much; he just wanted you to have some extra power available for some of the missions he's got planned for us." Trouble blinked, and then smiled, "Us? So you're going to fly her for me after all? I mean until I get certified, that is .... " Mark just smiled and kissed her again.

Mark watched Blackstone from a distance. The pilot was lounging around in the Ops center, ostensibly reviewing his new schedule. However, periodically, when no one was looking, he'd get into things he shouldn't have any business with. Mark smiled a bit grimly. Predictable. Good...that'll make it easier to be there when he does make his move.

Trouble was "snooping" around her ship. Her work in intelligence, and with the new recruits, had kept her too busy to even think of it much, something she was beginning to wonder about. After Mark's comment last night, she'd got to wondering, and at the first opportunity, she'd stolen away to have a look by herself. She'd found that not one, but two APU's had been crammed into corners in the cargo bay. Their output had been routed to a seriously oversized shield generator, one of much newer manufacture than what the ship had originally carried. The original powerplant and drives were untouched, as were the two laser turrets, but the fire control system looked to have been ripped out of a cruiser. It was very sophisticated, capable of tracking hundreds of targets and engaging dozens. That got her to wonder what they were going to engage the targets with ... and that led her to the new blister underneath the belly of the ship. It looked like an extended range fuel tank, but she was sure the looks were deceiving ... the access ports were tight for her, but she was able to squirm in. More Mark's size, I'd think, she mused to herself as she tried to negotiate a bend in the accessway. There, buried deep in the blister, behind significant armor, was the real power of the ship.

Trouble counted. Four ... five ... six ... six ship-killer torpedoes. Mark VIII's too. And a couple of dozen mixed dogfighting missiles ...... heat seekers, identification-friend-or-foe's, image recognition, and even a couple of "leach" missiles; missiles that would temporarily drain a ship's power, leaving them helpless. Her little freighter had suddenly acquired the firepower to blow through a fighter screen and assault a carrier! With shields to match. She just shook her head, wondering what in the world the lion had in mind for her, and her seriously modified ship. Finding it impossible to turn around, she backed carefully out the way she came, to close the access hatch. With luck, no one would know she'd been snooping. Then again, it was her ship ... wasn't it?

Blackstone grumbled to himself. "Demoted to wet-nursing aspiring pilots. What a fate for a warrior such as me!" Looking up at the half-dozen faces seated before him he growled, "OK, you losers, here's what we're going to do, today. We're going to play 'follow the leader'. I'll lead, and you perform exactly the same maneuver as I do. And just to make sure none of you cubs run into each other, we'll keep 10,000 kilometers between us. Got that?"

Trouble watched the bear talk, listening to his insults and demeaning attitude. As a slave she'd heard much worse, but these folks didn't need the derision. Most of them were already licensed pilots; they were just here to qualify.

Blackstone watched the slave from the corner of his eye. Some of the furrs here had told him about her; how she belonged to the head of the pirate organization, and seemed to be a favorite of his. He found it absolutely incredible that anyone could entrust any responsibility beyond dusting or changing sheets to a slave. And a sex slave at that! Still, he should be wary. She obviously had her Master's ear, and so far no one had alluded to her being incompetent or stupid, in either of her capacities .....

Trouble grunted as she pulled the fighter around in a loop. She was paired against one of the recruits, a wolf fem, mock dogfighting under Blackstone's acerbic tutelage. The class had been practicing every other afternoon now for a week, their skills slowly developing. Several students, slated for shuttle or cruiser piloting skills had already "qualified", and dropped out of the class. Trouble, on the other hand, was still there. Blackstone never seemed to be satisfied with her abilities, no matter how well she flew. The wolf she was currently matched against was at the top of their class, and they'd laughingly made a wager on the outcome of their mock battle, the looser servicing the winner for a night. Trouble didn't mind loosing to her at all, thinking it could be a very pleasant evening, but she was doing her best to win ......

Blackstone watched the two females fight. They were evenly matched, the wolf having the superior strategy, the cheetah the superior reflexes. Of all his students, the wolf bitch was one of the few that treated him with anywhere near the respect he felt was due a pilot of his stature. He'd overheard the wager and was determined that his prize student would not lose to a slave ......

Trouble had almost gotten her lined up in her sights when the computer started squalling at her, announcing a weapons system failure. She howled in protest, the moment's loss of concentration being sufficient to let her quarry escape. Then all of a sudden, her ship would not turn to port. Roll, pitch, and yaw to starboard were all unaffected, she just couldn't yaw to port! As she wrestled with the controls, she felt the ship shudder as the wolf scored against her.

"Mark, I know everything looks fine, but I tell you, my controls were going progressively dead. Either there's something wrong with that ship, or there's foul play going on. Please do me a favor and take a look at it for me? I'd do it myself, but it seems, ah, I've got a wager to pay off ...... " Mark smiled and nodded, patting Trouble on the rump. "I'll be glad to take a look. Ah, Have fun paying off your wager, though. I heard about that. Blackstone's bragging on how his prize student blew you away today."

The lion grinned at her. "Heard about your defeat today." Trouble sighed and nodded. "Hope you don't mind, Master ... " The lion just grinned, "No, busy this evening with the Ops planning team. And that she-wolf looks like a nice furr. Just tell her that she's not allowed to do anything to keep you from your duties. Nothing that will permanently hurt you. Understand?" Trouble smiled and nodded and kissed him, and was off to pay off her wager.

Hiram Blackstone grinned as he watched Trouble knock on the door to the she-wolf's quarters. He'd give them a few minutes, and then ......

Trouble stopped outside her door, taking a breath to calm herself. She was nude, save for her collar. Making sure her eyes were properly downcast she hit the chime and waited patiently. As she did, she thought of her old friend, Marla, the she-wolf, from the Academy, and wondered what she was doing now. She couldn't help but grin, wondering if this she-wolf, Jenny, was anything like Marla. It was at the instant when the smile was in full blossom, that Jenny opened the door. "Oh ho! Is my slave for the evening looking forward to pleasing me?" she growled with mock ferociousness. Reaching out to grab Trouble's collar, she yanked the cheetah into her room, the door hissing quietly closed behind them.

Blackstone nodded in approval. "Yes, she might do at that. Still, we'll have to see how she behaves later ...... "

Trouble knelt at Jenny's feet, her eyes downcast. "Mistress, my Master has instructed me to relate certain, ah, ground rules ... " Jenny nodded as she listened. "Very prudent of him, but I really doubt any of that will be needed for what I've got in mind ... " Trouble raised an eyebrow, wondering, now what have I gotten myself into ...

Jenny grinned. "I've always wondered what it would be like to have a slave, to do the things I hated to do myself, and tonight I'm going to indulge myself ... but first, tell me; will your Master be out of his quarters tonight?" Trouble blinked. "Uh, well, yes Ma'am, he's tied up in a planning team meeting; they frequently run until, oh, 01:00, sometimes 02:00 hours ... "

Jenny grinned and nodded. "There's no point in having a slave to help you lead a life of leisure in quarters like these. Lets go there! You, ah, can get in, can't you?"

It was difficult for Jenny to lead Trouble at the end of her leash when it was Trouble who knew where they were going. Eventually they got to the lion's quarters, raising only a few eyebrows from passers-by on the way (Trouble usually just grinned wickedly at them and winked, once they were past Jenny and she couldn't see their return expressions). Trouble keyed in the entry, and then Jenny pushed past her to look about, jerking Trouble in by the leash just as the door started to close.

Jenny hmphed as she looked around. "This is the quarters for the leader of the Brethren? Not a heck of a lot better'n mine." Trouble shrugged, feeling a little more relaxed now that she was "home". She knew that the computer monitored this room for security purposes and that there were several command words that would bring folks running if Jenny turned out to be a danger. "Uh, Mistress ... " Trouble purred, "perhaps if you told me what you wanted, I could help ... " Jenny turned and looked at Trouble, an almost wistful look on her face. "Not much, really. A talented tongue, or a hard cock I can get almost anywhere. What I want from you, what I demand of my slave tonight is a little harder to come by: I want you to cook me dinner. A nice dinner. And serve it to me. And then give me a foot rub, and, ah, 'attend' my bath, maybe wash my back and my hair, and then towel me dry ... I want you to spoil me ... is that too much for a lady to ask, once in her life?"

Blackstone watched the door to the lion's quarters close behind Jenny and Trouble. I wonder what the bitch is up to? he thought to himself. I wonder if she's trying to horn in on my turf, looking for things that the Elysium government would pay for? Grumbling, he turned and moved off towards his own quarters. He'd planned on dropping in on the she-wolf, to see how she was coming with Trouble, and maybe using his position as her instructor to intimidate her into letting him have his way with her, and with Trouble. Now he couldn't show up at the lion's quarters without making it look like he'd followed her. Oh, well, he thought, Maybe it's for the best. That Trouble is aptly named. If she has the ear of the lion, I'd have to kill her to keep her from talking when I was done with her, and an "accident" would probably be viewed with suspicion. When I've sold these scum out to the Elysians, I'll be rich enough to afford a dozen like her, with no one to criticize me.

Trouble puttered around in the lion's small kitchen, fixing a garden salad, boef medallions, and twice-baked potatoes. She wasn't a great chef, but she was adequate, and the computer was providing excellent directions, making her talents appear greater than they were. Jenny was relaxing in the lion's chair, a goblet of cold white wine in her paw, the stereo playing her favorite music in the background. The table had been set for one, candles burning in the center over the only tablecloth she had. The plates and the silverware were rather old and not the fine china she would have preferred, but the lion just didn't much care about things like that. Males, she mused to herself with a smile as she placed the boef medallions in a covered tureen.

Moving the steaming food to the table she went and knelt before Jenny. "Mistress, dinner is served." Jenny smiled and opened her eyes, rising to move to the table. Trouble held her chair for her, and then presented each dish for her approval, serving her as she'd seen the waiters do on the Burgess Star. When she was done, she knelt attentively to one side, watching. Jenny sampled the medallions and then the potato, and nodded. "It's not quite up to a four star rating, but it will do for this evening ... " Trouble smiled.

Trouble left Jenny with an after-dinner liqueur as she cleaned the table. Most of the stuff went straight into the recycler, with some things being set aside for cleaning later. Leftovers went into the 'fridge, and she hurriedly grabbed a few bites for herself. She had no doubt the lion would wonder what had been going on, but this one, she felt, she could explain without too much trouble. Finishing up there, she moved to the bathroom where she drew a steaming bath in the tub. Generally Trouble was the only one to use the tub, the lion opting for a quick shower (unless of course he was feeling frisky and dragged Trouble into it with him ... but that's another story). She added some of her own bath oils, and smiled as the tub filled with fragrant bubbles. She lit a few candles, to give the bathroom a more romantic atmosphere, and then rising, she padded out to lead Jenny in.

Trouble carefully undressed Jenny, folding her clothes, setting them aside. When the she-wolf was nude she stepped carefully into the hot water, sighing as she settled down, until only her muzzle was above the bubbles. Trouble knelt by the head of the tub, shampoo ready, to await the point where Jenny required her to wash her hair.

Jenny was quiet in the tub, possibly dozing, and Trouble was lost in her own thoughts, when the door to the quarters opened, and the lion hurried in. He went straight past the bathroom, heading for his desk, and Trouble's eyes snapped wide open in surprise. Jenny caught it also and let out a small squeak of dismay. Trouble didn't know if the lion heard Jenny, or had caught a glimpse, but in any event he backpedaled to glance into the open bathroom door.

He blinked. "Sorry, could have sworn this was ... hey, wait a minute, this is my cabin ... " Peering a little closer, the lion rumbled, "Trouble?" Then it obviously hit him that whatever was going on, it was part of Trouble's wager payoff. As realization dawned on his face, he grinned; waving a paw he chuckled, "Carry on", and turned, heading for his desk.

Trouble hadn't moved a muscle, her eyes still wide with surprise. She heard him code in his password and remove something from the secure drawer, and then his footsteps approached again. Pausing just out of sight, he called, "Take all the time you want, I'll crash in the ready room tonight. Trouble, you can explain tomorrow." And with that, he was gone, the door whooshing closed behind him.

As the door closed Jenny sat up, her body covered in foam. Turning her head to look at Trouble, she gasped, "Are we in trouble? Is he going to be mad at us?" Trouble just shook her head and smiled. "If I spin a sufficiently amusing tale for him, it'll be fine; and don't worry, I've got a good imagination and a flair for language when it comes to things like that." She grinned at the wolf fem; "Especially when it's accompanied by a touch here, and a caress there ... I don't think we need to worry."

It was much later that evening. Trouble had washed Jenny's hair, and then scrubbed her back, and then her front, crawling into the tub with her. Finally she had sat at the far end of the tub and gently massaged her feet underneath the hot water. Bidding the she-wolf to stand, Trouble had rinsed her, and then after draining the tub had toweled her dry, rubbing softly, turning it into an impromptu massage. Wrapped in the largest fluffiest towel she had, Trouble had led her to the lion's bed. Now, with Jenny lying on her back, Trouble was proceeding to demonstrate that being spoiled could also include a talented tongue, as she slowly licked the she-wolf until she moaned, and begged for release.

In the morning, Trouble woke Jenny with a breakfast tray. Her own special omelet, juice and coffee. Breakfast in bed. When Jenny had finished, Trouble helped her dress, and then saw her off at the door with a kiss. "That was VERY nice, Trouble. I could really get to like that. Maybe, if I'm a really good pilot, and can work my way up to some of the larger operations, I can make enough to afford someone just like you ... " Trouble smiled, and thought of the lion's attempts to eradicate Elysium's slavery system, and just smiled. "Anything is possible. You'd best get going; we both have a busy day!" Trouble watched as Jenny almost skipped down the hall, humming to herself. Wish the kid luck, the cheetah thought to herself, but it's not as easy as you might think to work your way into the lap of luxury ...

Blackstone was idling in the cafeteria over a final cup of coffee before facing the rigors of another day teaching idiots how to fly in combat. At a nearby table, one of the "old time" pirates, a sable that had been with the Brethren for almost three years, was telling some of the new recruits wild tales. "Yeah," he said, "The Boss 'gave' Trouble to the Elysium station manager. She was able to overhear all sorts of stuff, which she passed on to us. Gave us a heck of an edge!" One of the newbies, a panther, raised an eyebrow. "And how could a slave pass on anything? Surely they didn't let her make phone calls home .... " The sable grinned; "Of course not; if they'd known she was one of us it'd never have worked! The key to the whole thing was that she's got this telepathic link with Mark down in Engineering. We'd just periodically send Mark to the station, or even just near the station, and they could communicate telepathically." The panther shook his head , "A telepath? Do you know how rare proven telepaths are?" The sable just shrugged; "I have no idea, but it's a proven fact Trouble and Mark have a link. You should have seen the 'test' the boss arranged to prove it! That was scary. Don't think it works between him and anyone else, but when he gets close enough, he can pick up what Trouble's thinking, and a bit of what she's seeing." Another newbie, a collie, grinned, "Ah, now I bet that gets real interesting for him every time her Master drags her off for a little nookie ... " From there the conversation degenerated into the applications of telepathy in voyeurism, and Blackstone tuned them out, rising to leave.

Tossing his coffee cup into the recycler, Blackstone headed for the docking bay. "I wonder just how good a telepath this Mark is? I wonder if Trouble is the only one he can 'read'." Chuckling to himself, Blackstone realized it was very fortunate that Jenny had decided on a change of location last night. Had Mark picked up on what he would have liked to do to the two ladies, there would have been real trouble! I think I'm going to have to check into this "Mark" he thought to himself. This might be the one character in this organization that could stop me from fulfilling my plan ......

Mark was guiding a cart loaded with a replacement power distribution system for one of the raider ships he was working on when he passed Blackstone as he headed towards his waiting group of trainees. He took care not to turn around and keep his expression neutral, but inwardly he chuckled softly. So now he's heard something and is starting to worry. Good ... bastard deserves to squirm a bit after what he's done, and maybe he'll start to make mistakes now.

Blackstone caught the reflection of the mouse in the polished deflector dish of a shuttle. The image was distorted, but clear enough for Blackstone to recognize Mark from the description, and now he remembered seeing this particular mouse around before, too. He kept his thoughts carefully on the schedule for the day ahead, of the lesson plan he'd formulated ... but somehow the harder you try not to think of something the more difficult it is to keep from the front of your mind. After reviewing the maneuvers and tactics they'd practice this day with his students, he dispatched them to their ships, and headed in turn for his own. It was only after he was buckled in, and he was starting the power-up sequence, that he allowed his mind to drift toward the potential problems with the telepathic mouse. "I'm going to have to speed up my timetable. I can't assume his link is only with Trouble. I have to assume that he can read anyone he chooses, and more than just emotions and the occasional surface thought too. And that makes him a threat. And I know how to deal with threats ... "

It had been a long day for Trouble. She'd cleaned up the lion's cabin in a whirlwind of activity that morning, and then she'd put in several hours in the Intelligence department, working on field agent reports, to try and get a feel for Imperial activity in the sector. They were becoming concerned again that the Empire might decide to "Clean out those troublesome pirates" in the Elysium sector. Then she was off to join her group for flight instruction. The mock combat had left her drained and panting, and she was looking forward to some time to relax before putting in some evening hours back in Intelligence. It had been a while since she'd checked in on Wanda, Lord Xylex's captive daughter, and she headed that way on her path back to the lion's cabin, intending just to stick her head in and say hello ...

When she rang the door chime, she heard hushed voices from within, and then Wanda's breathless voice called for her to come in. As she entered the cabin, what greeted her was not what she expected; Zassa was on her back, on the bed, her nude form arched, her legs splayed wide open. Wanda's head was between her thighs, the wolverine lass licking softly at the vixen's pussy. Hinoki was behind Wanda, licking at her in turn. Trouble gasped, "Wanda! I thought you ... I mean, weren't you ... Your father is going to be furious!" Wanda looked up with a smile, "It's OK, Trouble, Father will never know the difference. I'm still a virgin; well, at least technically. My hymen's still intact ... but that doesn't mean I can't enjoy a good licking from time to time, does it?"

Trouble blinked. "Uh, well, um, as long as your hymen is intact, I guess not ... " Hinoki looked up, to grin at Trouble. "Whatcha doin' over there, still dressed? Shed those clothes and join in!" Trouble just smiled and shook her head. As she stripped off her flight suit, she looked from Zassa to Hinoki; Decisions, decisions. Do I want to make use of her tongue, or apply some of my tongue to his cock? Grinning, she decided to crouch over the vixen's face, her pussy pressed to the vixen's muzzle; after all, she'd had a hard day, and was in need of some serious stress relief ...

Later they cuddled, a pile of tired, sticky, happy matted fur. Trouble sighed and stretched, feeling her back move over Hinoki's legs, one paw stroking along Wanda's tummy. "Oh, by the way, I take it you heard about the ship I wound up buying ... " Hinoki chuckled. "Yeah; somebody really did you good on that one. We heard about how hull numbers got switched." Trouble sighed and nodded, "Yeah, well, we're going to need a crew. Seems the boss has some ideas as to how we can use a ship like that. Until I get my pilot's certification, Mark's agreed to fly her. I'll play engineer for the time being. Hinoki, I want you to take the sensor operator position, and Zassa, I want you to be Loadmaster." Zassa purrrred, "Does that mean we get to get off this rock from time to time?" Trouble laughed, "Yes, my vixen, we will. But we'll all still have to behave. Can't draw attention to ourselves ... " Zassa chuckled, "Just so long as we get to do some shopping! And maybe even eat out occasionally!" Hinoki laughed and then grunted as Wanda rolled over, accidentally elbowing him. "Shopping? Did I hear the 'S' word? Oooooo, where do I sign up? I'm tired of ordering things over the web!" Trouble blinked. She wasn't so sure it was a good idea to let a "hostage", even so nominal a one as Wanda, out where she might be spotted. "Um, tell you what, Wanda. The ship could use a medic, just in case there are problems. I know you've been putting in time down in Sickbay. You take that correspondence course on nursing, and get your rating, and I'll get you a berth on the ship. Deal?" Wanda purrrrred and rolled back onto her back, one paw lazily scratching at Hinoki where her elbow had made contact. "Deal. Been thinking about doing that anyways. They just won't let me do much more than change sheets and empty bedpans until I get some training ... " Rolling over again, she dragged her tongue along Hinoki's tummy. "Besides, if I can learn more about the nervous system, think how much more effective I can be when I do this ... " and with that, she slurped the head of his cock into her muzzle ...

It was much later in the evening than she had intended when Trouble finally checked back into the Intelligence office. Sure enough there were a new stack of field reports for her to go through. With a sigh, she sat down at her work station and began wading through them.

It was even later when she made it back to the lion's quarters. She wasn't surprised to find him still up, working at his desk. As she entered he grinned at her, indicating she should kneel at his feet. Finishing the file he was working on, the lion turned to her. "Tell me about last night." Trouble smiled and proceeded to tell him about her night with Jenny, leaving nothing out. By the time she was done, he was shaking his head, smiling.

"That's not a very imaginative use for a slave," he chuckled, "and she definitely got the bath portion wrong." Trouble raised an eyebrow and smiled, "Oh? And how would you have done it?" she purrrred. He grinned and indicated she should rise. "Strip, and I'll show you."

Trouble stripped off her dress and followed him into the bath as he pulled off his clothes as well. There, he used a heavy rubber strap to bind her paws behind her back, and another to pull her elbows closer together, the tension pulling her shoulders back, and making her breasts stand out more proudly. He grinned and led her into the shower.

After adjusting the taps, the lion grinned and pulled Trouble under the water with him. After they were both drenched, the lion picked up a bottle of liquid soap, and poured it down Trouble's front. "There," he grinned, "now you get to soap me up." Trouble blinked and then grinned; moving close to him, she started to rub herself against him, bending at her knees, sliding her soap-slick body up and down his body. She purrrrred and rocked her body from side to side, her breasts slithering back and forth across his chest, to his obvious delight. After a while, when she felt he was sufficiently aroused, she moved around behind him, rubbing against him, giving him a chance to calm down a little. Dropping to her knees she rubbed her left cheek against his back, getting it good and soapy; from there she nuzzled lower, stroking her cheek against his ass, and then lower, down the back of his right thigh. Shifting to stroke her other cheek up the inside of his thigh, she purrrred and paused for a moment to lick teasingly at his pendulous balls.

After "soaping" his other leg, she moved back around in front of him. With a grin, she straddled his left leg, to slowly stroke her pussy up and down his thigh, the insides of her thighs stroking and soaping the sides of his. By the time she'd finished soaping his other leg, she was moaning softly, her own juices adding to the lather on his leg.

The lion's cock was standing proud, and he was panting lightly, obviously aroused by Trouble's slick teasing. However, before succumbing to her charms, he crouched, to push his muzzle between her breasts; she giggled, catching the cue, and again, she shook her chest to "lather his face". Finally, he reached down, to lift her; leaning her back against the rear wall of the shower, with the water pouring over them both, he drove his hard cock into her pussy. She locked her legs around his waist, and trapped between his soapy body and the wall, moaned out her pleasure as he fucked her furiously.

All the teasing had them both hot, and it wasn't long before Trouble was moaning through her climax, as the lion roared through his orgasm. Afterwards, he set her back down, turning her, arms still bound, to gently wash her hair. After shampooing his own mane, he led her from the shower, and as the hairdryer whirrrred he rubbed her dry with a fluffy towel. Only then did he release her paws, to lead her to his bed.

The more Blackstone thought about it, the more he was sure the mouse was a threat. Those that hide secrets generally think that others are hiding secrets as well, and he was positive the mouse had abilities beyond what he let others know about. There was only one way to find out ... and that involved following up on a rumor he'd heard.

Blackstone leaned against the ready room wall, sipping coffee. "I still don't understand it. This Trouble is someone important in the Intelligence department, and yet she's still a slave? How can that be?" The sable shrugged; "The boss believes in using everyone to their best ability. Trouble's got some talent in the intelligence area, and he's making use of it. On the other hand, he's insisted that her talents in other areas not ... atrophy." The latter was said with a leer and a knowing wink. Blackstone shook his head; "So it's possible to make use of her as a sex slave?" The sable just grinned and nodded. "Has to be when she's not otherwise occupied, and it's a real shame that she's had a full schedule lately, but if you can find a hole in her schedule, you're allowed to fill it. The bear moaned in mock horror at the pun but then grinned.

It had been another exhausting day, culminated with mock dogfights in her piloting class. Somehow Trouble had found herself outnumbered three to one. While it had been difficult to hold the other attackers at bay while she concentrated on her target, she'd found that she'd taken out one, and then a second, before the aggressive attack of the third, coupled with the cumulative "damage" from the others, had finally cost her the engagement.

"Rookie Three from Team Leader; that wasn't half bad. I think you're actually showing some improvement ... feel ready for a serious challenge, though?" Blackstone grinned to himself; If it worked for that Jenny bitch, it should work for me. Trouble listened to the voice in her headphones and shook her head; Blackstone was being unusually ... well, if not "nice" then less hostile and abrasive than usual. Was she really doing better? Shaking her head, she figured there was only one way to find out; "Lead from Rookie Three; yeah, I'm ready for a challenge, whatcha got in mind?" Blackstone grinned, "Rookie Three from Lead; you and me. Same wager as you had with the she-wolf, just to make sure you don't wimp out on me when the going gets tough. What do you say?"

Trouble shrugged to herself; There probably isn't anything the bastard can do to me that hasn't been done before ... Keying the mike she purrrrred, in her best teasing voice, "Why sure, Lead, as long as you honor my Master's requirements that I not be harmed, that I'm returned to him in good condition, I'd be glad to make that wager!"

Blackstone growled to himself, Should have known there'd be that caveat; and she had to say it over the comm, so everyone knows she told me. Grrrrrrr. Doesn't matter, though. It would be too risky to actually dowhat I'd like to her; but then she doesn't have to know I won't actually follow through. That's the whole point. I just have to make her think I will, and then we'll see if the mouse comes charging to the rescue...... Keying his mike in turn, he growled with satisfaction, "You're on. Retreat to an even 100,000 kilometers and then come and get me! Lets see just how aggressive a slave can be!"

Trouble grinned and shoved her throttle forward. Her fighter leapt towards the bear's fighter, but when she was sure that his sensors had registered her acceleration, she yanked back on the throttle. She didn't want to close on him too fast; it would make it too difficult to turn once they'd flashed past each other. However, she wanted to give him the idea that's exactly what would happen.

Blackstone saw the burst of speed and he grinned. He increased his own throttle, letting her come to him. As they closed, he prepared several of his training missiles ......

Trouble centered his ship in her sight, shifting more power to her forward shields, and to her longer-ranged energy weapons. As soon as the computer told her she was in effective range, she began firing, but when he drew closer, entering the effective range of the more powerful but shorter range ion guns, she broke off to fly an evasive pattern.

Blackstone smiled, his fangs showing as she broke off. "Good, you little bitch, but not good enough." Slewing his fighter around, he launched two IFF missiles. These missiles would hunt around for any ship other than his, and home in relentlessly. He then turned his ship, not to where she was, but to where he thought she'd go to evade the missiles.

Trouble caught the launch from the corner of her eye and immediately launched countermeasures, and one of her own missiles, an image recognition. There wasn't much difference between Blackstone's ship and hers, just a few minor variations in the paint job, but with luck, the missile would spoil whatever he had planned.

Blackstone chuckled and nodded, turning his fighter back towards Trouble's. His best hope was to evade the missile on its first pass, and then get his ship close to Trouble's to confuse the missile's seeker. With luck, it would go after her, instead of him.

Trouble jinked hard, the first IFF missing, "exploding" at the end of its run; but the second one had better luck. It "exploded" on its proximity sensor, the computer recording "damage" to her systems. First blood to you, Blackstone, she thought grimly.

Trouble saw him swing around, and pulled a hard turn; she knew she was spoiling his weapons aim, but that didn't seem to be what he had in mind. His ship flashed by, just off her stern, and then she knew; her image recognition missile! Turning to present her bow to it, she watched as it headed right for her. However, she was able to jink again at the last instant and it too flashed past, amazingly reacquiring Blackstone's fighter. As Blackstone tried to evade the persistent missile, he jinked right into Trouble's guns and she was able to score some points.

Blackstone snarled, "Hit? She hit me? She'll pay for that, the little twit!" Growling he pulled his fighter around in a gut-wrenching turn to launch his remaining two missiles, heat seekers, at Trouble's fighter. Trouble missed the flare of his launch, but the computer didn't; it screamed warnings at her, automatically launching flares, chaff, and decoys. Trouble took in the situation at a glance and decided on something risky; she went to full throttle, and charged Blackstone. It was a high angle deflection shot, but still, she centered her sights where the computer told her she should fire, and pulled the trigger. She grinned as she saw her lasers score, and then the computer screamed again in warning, and she wrenched the little fighter around, trying at the last minute to evade the missiles. She didn't.

Blackstone snarled again as his ship "shook" under her fire. He watched aghast as he lost his starboard shield, and the weapons on that side of the fighter. His power was reduced, as was his maneuverability. Then his missiles hit and he screamed with delight!

Trouble bit her lip and worked with what was left of her ship. Most of her weapons were gone, with the exception of one missile. She should have used them when she had the chance ...... shields were gone completely. Power was down to battery backup, and maneuverability was almost zilch. Still, she horsed what was left of her ship around, trying to get off her last missile at the bastard ......

Blackstone circled slowly, knowing he had her. She was his! She couldn't turn fast enough to track his fighter, as if she had anything left to shoot with. Those two missiles should have killed her outright, but as they hadn't, he was more than willing to deliver the coup de grace. Grinning wickedly, he moved in.

Trouble saw him come; saw him head in for the kill. She had only one chance. Making sure her helmet was sealed, that life support was nominal, she waited until just the right instant and blew the hatch to her fighter. The puff of atmosphere rushing out shoved the nose of the fighter around to starboard, and as it passed Blackstone's fighter, she triggered her last missile.

Blackstone saw the hatch blow, saw the nose of the fighter swing around, and he braced himself for the laser fire he thought could not possibly be coming. He blinked as the nose of her fighter swung past, and then grinned. "She must have had a missile left," he chuckled to himself. Glancing down at the remote by his pilot's couch, he grinned. Its lone red light glowed evilly ...... "Glad I thought of that," he chuckled.

Trouble stared at the flickering weapons screen. "Missile drive malfunction. Launch sequence aborted." She sighed and shook her head Why, when it's down to a critical instant, do the systems fail? she wondered ......

Blackstone keyed his mike. "You're mine, little slave. In space I am the master, as you shall well learn tonight!" And with that, he fired his lasers, scoring a "kill" on Trouble's fighter.

Trouble tossed her helmet into her locker. Yes, he'd outfought her, but she'd had a chance right up to the point her missile had failed to launch. She was too tired to twitch as paws suddenly started massaging the back of her neck. It felt good, and turning her head just a bit she saw the distinctive white fur of Mark's paws. "MMmmmmm, hello, Mark. You heard about my latest lost wager?" Mark chuckled, "Yeah, as with everything else, it's already all over the station..."

Trouble sighed, leaning back into his massage. "I thought I had him. Even after I took those two heat-seekers, I thought I had him. I had one missile left, but it wouldn't launch. Not a problem with the ship; some glitch in the missile. I'm having the worst string of bad luck." Mark smiled as he worked at the muscles at the back of her neck. "Not necessarily. Someone had done some interesting rewiring on that other fighter you were flying. Someone told it to malfunction. And then later told it not to, to make it look as if it was just you, an inexperienced pilot blaming the hardware for her failure." Trouble turned to look at Mark, staring deep into his eyes. "Surely Jenny wouldn't ... no. Blackstone. He did that so his prize pupil would win, and then he did it again to me ... " Mark shrugged, "Sometimes missiles don't light off like they should. Don't jump to conclusions. We know something was done to you last time for sure, but not this time ... yet. And there are other suspects than Blackstone." Trouble's eyes widened. "Yeah, like who?" Mark smiled and kissed her on the nose. "Who would not want to see you qualified to fly? Someone who perhaps would go to extraordinary lengths to keep you safe perhaps? Perhaps someone who caused the hull numbers to be switched at the auction, so you couldn't buy that raider? You do have to admit that raider crews don't have the longest life spans ... I don't know; do you think there's anyone around who might care for you that much?"

Trouble stared at Mark. Her first thought was that he was talking about himself, but she'd been with him the whole time at the auction; he hadn't the opportunity to change those hull numbers. Had he? Then her thoughts flew to the lion. But if he wanted her not to fly, all he had to do was to order her not to fly. She wouldn't be too happy about that, but she'd obey his orders ...... shaking her head, she stripped out of her flight suit and headed for the showers, her mind a whirlwind of confusion.

Blackstone waited for Trouble in the cafeteria. He wanted her submission to him to be public and humiliating. As he waited, there was a lot of good natured joking about what he had planned for the evening, many of the pirates relating tales of Trouble's talents, talking about what they'd want if they'd won the contest.

Mark watched from a corner, quietly eating his dinner with a few of his friends from Engineering and staying well out of Blackstone's sight. He'd taken the rest of the day off in exchange for a double shift at some later date. He knew Blackstone too well by now to leave Trouble alone with him unsupervised, and work would just serve to distract him. Especially not after a stray thought had alerted him to the bear's plan to get at him though her ...

Trouble presented herself to Blackstone, padding quietly into the cafeteria, to kneel before him. She had showered, and washed her hair, tying it behind her in a simple ponytail. She'd decided against perfumes, or jewelry, thinking that this one wasn't special enough to warrant her extra attention. She was clean and neat, striving for that "natural beauty" look ... or at least that's what she'd say if questioned. On her way in, the cafeteria had echoed with catcalls, whistles and crude remarks, and Trouble found it difficult to keep a straight face, to keep her eyes downcast. She wanted to give this furr a grin, or that one a wink, but decided that she'd better play it straight for this one. He seemed to delight in having power over others, and she thought she should give him no excuse to punish her.

Blackstone watched her from the corner of his eye as he finished the conversation he'd started with one of the veteran raider pilots. Finally he turned to Trouble, to glower down at her. "You're late. I expected you here a half hour ago. No, don't give me your pitiable excuses. You're not to talk unless I tell you to talk!" Blackstone reached into his pocket to pull out a short length of chain. Wrapping it around Trouble's neck, he passed the ring at one end through the slightly larger ring at the other end to form a choke collar, as if disdaining the collar Trouble normally wore. Pulling it tight, he reached into another pocket to retrieve a leash, which he clipped to the free end of the choke chain. Pausing a moment he fished another length of chain from his pocket, to toss it to Trouble. As Trouble caught it, she noticed there were two double-ended harness hooks clipped to it. "Hobble yourself," the bear growled at her, and Trouble rose from her knees to a crouch. Wrapping one end of the chain around her ankle, she connected its loose end to a link along the length of the chain, using one of the double-ended hooks, forming an anklet. Repeating the procedure with the other end, and her other ankle, she found that she had maybe a foot of chain between her feet. Tiny, quick steps, she thought to herself. Seeing her finished, and without bothering to take his leave of the others in the cafeteria, Blackstone rose to his feet, to jerk Trouble to hers. Turning, without preamble, he stalked out of the room, dragging Trouble behind him.

The room had grown quiet as Blackstone had collared Trouble, and was deathly still as he dragged her out, all eyes watching. As the pressure door closed behind him, someone growled, "I think Trouble's in for a rough night with that one." After a moment, the room was again filled with the subdued murmur of conversation, a few voices venting the opinion that Trouble had grown too big for her britches and needed to be taken down a notch, but the prevailing opinion seemed to be that she didn't really deserve what was in store for her, if Blackstone followed true to form. Unnoticed among the discussion, Mark got up and slipped away, heading for his own cabin.

The sound of the rattling chain links was loud in the corridor as Trouble moved her feet as fast as she could, trying hard to keep up. But it seemed no matter how hard she tried, the pressure of the choke collar around her neck was constant, and she had to fight for each breath. Dimly she noticed they weren't heading for his cabin in the residential section, but instead seemed to be heading for the gymnasium. Blackstone led her to an exercise room, and after shoving her down, making her kneel on the mat in the center of the room, he turned to make sure all the doors were locked.

Mark locked the door to make sure he wouldn't be disturbed, turned off the light, and laid down on his bed, slipping into a half-trance almost immediately. Letting go of his breath in a soft whisper, he focused on his link to Trouble, quite intent on missing not a single detail of what went on. Wish I could make it easier on Trouble ... but if I did, Blackstone might notice and take his frustration out on her in earnest. I'll have to settle for watching closely and prying a few secrets from him while he's distracted, and somehow make it up to her later.

Trouble watched as Blackstone removed several items from pockets, and then slowly disrobed, folding his clothes and setting them aside neatly. Finally, he turned and padded over to her. With another length of chain, and some more double-ended harness hooks, he looped the chain around one wrist, and tugging it behind her back, looped it around the other wrist. The chain was then jerked up harshly, and clipped to the ring of the choke collar, now turned to dangle down her back. Unless Trouble struggled to keep her wrists held high up in the center of her back, the choke collar made it difficult to breath. Using another chain, he hooked her wrists to the chain between her ankles making her bow her back ... As she struggled, she watched the bear ......

"Having difficulty breathing?" he rumbled. With a grin, he stepped closer, his hard cock swaying before him. Grinning, he placed his paws on either side of her head, stroking her fur. Then, suddenly his thumbs dug into the corners of her jaw and with a gasp she felt her mouth forced open. Hard rubber was shoved into her mouth, an open ring pulled towards the back of her head by heavy straps, buckled behind her head. The ring forced her to keep her jaws apart. She was familiar with the ring gag, also known as the oral rape gag, but even at the Academy she'd never had one crammed into her mouth so brutally. And this one had sharp little points on the inside, along the bottom, forcing her to lay her tongue through the ring, or get it pricked.

Blackstone grinned down at her. "Well, now that we've made sure your mouth will stay open, that you can't bite, let's see what we can do about your breathing ... " And with that he stepped closer, one paw directing his shaft to her mouth. With his other paw behind her head, he grunted and shoved his cock into her wide-open muzzle, pushing it over her tongue, through the ring. She gagged as she felt its head press against the back of her throat, but he didn't let up the pressure. In fact, wrapping a paw in her hair, he jerked her head back, to stand above her, pressing his cock into her until it slipped down her throat.

Trouble struggled against her bonds; the bear, like so many of his species, was rather large, and this one was rather well hung, even for a bear. His cock stretched her throat painfully, but worse than that, it was long enough, thick enough, to close her air passage, to keep her from breathing. And she knew that was just what he wanted, as he didn't move; he just held his cock deep in her throat, waiting for her to get short of air ......

Mark frowned lightly and tuned in closely to Trouble's vital functions, keeping his thoughts grimly to himself. Careful there, Blackstone, Mark thought to himself, be very careful. I know you're not planning to kill her, but get carried away and loose control, have an "accident" and you won't ever know what hit you ... and secrecy be damned.

Trouble's struggles were increasing as she slowly ran out of air. Her vision was narrowing, being reduced to a small spot surrounded by gray, her lungs burning fiercely, when finally he pulled back some. She was barely able to gasp for air before he drove his meat down again, closing off her throat. She swallowed instinctively, the gag reflex causing her throat muscles to ripple and spasm around his invading shaft. And he loved it. From the look on his face, this was the kind of control that he sought, a terrified, helpless victim under his complete control, to live or die at his discretion.

Blackstone loved the look of terror in her eyes, the mask of agony on her face. It had been so long since he'd done this, he was savoring every second. But it had been so long, that he was on a hair trigger ... she'd only come close to passing out three times when he lost it, howling as his cock pumped his pent-up load down her throat. Finally he pulled back, to wipe his softening cock against her cheek in derision, first one side, then the other.

Trouble gasped, and panted, trying hard to recover her breath, to hold herself in a position where the choke chain didn't make it more difficult than it already was. She'd heard stories of those that said suffocation during sex made the orgasms much more powerful, but somehow she'd doubted it. And there were rumors of accidents among those who went a little too far in pursuit of that particular fetish. She'd also heard of those who liked to kill slaves while having sex. There was a story at the Academy about one customer who had a device that went around the neck; every time he pumped her, it got a little tighter, until she couldn't breath, and as her body spasmed in death, that was the extra sensation he needed to orgasm. Even the instructors in the Academy thought that was sick, and cruel, and Trouble agreed. But it was also a sad fact that such folks did exist. And that one was reputed to be a regular customer.

In his cabin, Mark slowly relaxed. The worst -- the one real danger to Trouble, if he'd read the bear correctly -- seemed to be over. The rest would 'merely' hurt ... one more reason to get back at the sick bastard when the time was right, to be sure, but it could wait until then. Now let's see in how much detail he's planned his betrayal yet ...

After he'd regained his breath, Blackstone turned and walked over to one corner of the room. He wondered at the fact that the mouse hadn't come running yet. Could his link with Trouble be an on-again/off-again thing? Perhaps I can force the issue another way, he thought with a chuckle. Flipping back one of the exercise mats, he revealed a selection of whips, canes, and crops. "Now then, I bet its been a long time since you were properly whipped, eh, slave?"

Trouble hung from her chained paws, balanced on tiptoe. Blackstone had taken a spreader bar from its hiding place under one of the mats and had connected it between her ankles, forced her right foot high into the air. At least I can breath again, Trouble thought to herself as she balanced precariously, trying to watch Blackstone as the bear circled her, a crop in one paw. As he walked he idly slapped it against his thigh ... Trouble knew that he was going to make her loose her balance, to wind up hanging from her wrists, but the chains were hard and bit cruelly into her wrists, and she wanted to put that off as long as possible ...... and that meant holding still, very still ......

Trouble moaned through the ring gag as yet another blow landed. He was being careful, she thought, not to let the blows overlap, to leave any blemish that could be detected tomorrow, and yet each stroke HURT! She'd had more experience with being whipped at the Academy than she would have liked, and from this end at least, considered herself something of an expert ...... he'd been cropping the insides of her thighs, and her ass, with an occasional stroke against her unprotected sex, or her breasts. As another stroke struck her pussy, square on her slit, Blackstone let out an "OHO!", looking at the leather tab at the end of the crop and then bending to examine Trouble's sex he shook his head in amazement. "Do you mean to tell me, slave, that this cropping is getting you hot? Why, your pussy is dripping! Well, slut, I guess I'll have to find something a little less pleasurable ... "

Trouble shook her head. This hurt; how could she find it exciting? She wasn't aroused; she was certain of that! Was he making it up, just to torment her? Absurd ... and yet she'd heard of slaves that fell in love with the lash ...... with a moan she shuddered and again wondered just what had become of her.

Blackstone considered his options. He thought that if the mouse really had a telepathic link with her, he either would have come running to rescue her by now, or that he was enjoying this too. Maybe the little snot was into the slave's torment, and was sitting back somewhere, watching, enjoying what was going on. Blackstone reveled in terror and control, and right now, he had the slave in his complete control. The only problem would be if he went too far, giving in to his desires. He could kill her, but that would ruin his plans, and with a sigh, he decided she wasn't worth that. Maybe when the pirates had been captured he could buy her, and then ... but in the meantime, he'd gotten the information he needed. But just in case, just for the possibility that the mouse was watching, living vicariously through Blackstone's actions, he'd give him a finale that would make him sit up and take notice.

Blackstone had re-tied her, on her stomach, wrists tied to ankles, her body bent back in a bow, exacerbated by the fact that the spreader bar still held her feet wide apart. He had the crop again, and she didn't like the look on his face ......

The first stroke landed on the pads of her left foot and she knew what he was after. It was called "bastinado", the whipping of the soles of the feet, and it was very painful, and if done right, didn't leave a mark ... and as she howled through her ring gag as the next stroke fell, she knew she'd have difficulty walking when he was done with her ...

Trouble groaned when she smelled the menthol aroma of the liniment. I hate it when they do that, she thought to herself. Blackstone had untied her, and retrieving short fiberglass rods from their hiding places, he had lashed two on either side of each of her knees, making her legs rigid from hip to ankle. Similar rods lashed by her elbows made her arms stiff as well. He had then tied her wrists to her knees, making her torso and legs form an "L". The spreader
bar still held her ankles wide apart, and she sat on the floor wondering what he had in mind.

She didn't have long to wait. He chuckled and came up behind her, to lift her, tilting her forward, until she balanced most uncomfortably on forehead and feet, her ass sticking high in the air. Trouble moaned; it was only moments before her head and neck were hurting ... and then he stepped up behind her, to smear the foul smelling liniment over her ass.

Trouble couldn't move; she was tied too tightly, bound into a rigid posture. However the ring gag permitted her to moan and then to howl as he shoved his cock into her ass. The liniment lubricated, but also irritated, making her ass burn! She howled louder and writhed as he reached around her, to take a gobbet of liniment, to rub it on her clitty ......

He fucked her slowly, taking his time, making it last. He knew the slave was in torment, the liniment burning her harshly; and yet, by tomorrow, there would be little sign of his mistreatment ...... but she'd know, and remember every time she looked at him. And maybe the mouse would know too ... but he obviously wasn't going to do anything.

Mark growled unconsciously in his trance, sounding more like a hunting cat than a mouse for a moment. 'Not going to do anything', indeed. Hiram F****** Blackstone, you don't know how lucky you are. I can't just get rid of you, whether openly or by 'accident' -- this station isn't that kind of 'hive of scum and villainy'. There'd be an investigation for sure. And knowing your plans doesn't help me prove anything since you've been canny enough not to leave any physical evidence so far, so it'd come down to my word against yours. Congratulations.
But don't think you're safe forever ... in fact, something tells me I won't have to wait much longer.

Blackstone came with a growl, his body shuddering. After a moment, he pulled his softening cock from Trouble's ass and pulled back on her, returning her to a sitting position. With a wicked grin, he moved around her, to take her head in both paws. Presenting his still slick cock to her mouth, he chuckled, "Clean me, little slave; clean me well, and we'll be done for the evening."

With the ring gag still strapped into her mouth, with the way she was tied, there was no way Trouble could resist, no matter how much she wanted to. He shoved his foul cock into her mouth, and when no tongue action was immediately forthcoming, twisted her ears until she complied ...

Trouble lay curled up on the mat, in the gym. Blackstone had freed her, gathered his toys and implements and departed without a backwards look, or a single word. She knew she should return to her quarters, if for no other reason than to clean herself of the still burning liniment, but for the moment, she didn't have the energy to move. And her feet hurt so!

When she woke up in the morning, she was in Sickbay, with the lion looming over her. The doctor padded over seeing that she'd awakened, and then turning to the lion, shrugged. "She's had a rough time, but there's no sign of permanent damage. Lucky that mouse fellow found her in the gym, although why he was going for a workout at that time of night is beyond me ... somehow carried her all the way here, too ... but I bet she won't sit down for a bit, and walking, well, that too is going to be a problem for a while." The lion growled, obviously not happy. Looking directly at Trouble, he growled, "No more wagers. Understand?" Trouble just nodded.

Blackstone grinned to himself when Trouble failed to show for her class that afternoon. He was feeling quite pleased with himself, confident that the mouse was no threat. Things were going according to his plan, and soon he'd be out of here, and rich enough to indulge himself for the rest of his life.

The next day, Trouble kneeled at her workstation in Intelligence. She still was too sore to sit down, still too sore to walk with ease, and standing was pure torture. Still, she'd survived, and anything that didn't kill you makes you stronger, right? Besides, she thought to herself, I can't be too wrapped up in this sex slave thing, if I didn't enjoy that ... And yet she wondered about his claim of her getting wet from the cropping ......

Blackstone grinned when Trouble showed up limping for the next day's class. He dropped innuendo after innuendo, letting the class know exactly what he thought of her, and of the things that he'd done to her. Trouble maintained a stoic silence, and she was pleased to see that most of the class were distressed by Blackstone's verbal assault and foul stories.

But there's always the few that don't go with the group. The badger was excited by what the instructor had said. He'd always dreamed of doing things like that, of having a sexy female in his complete power. Was this cheetah really available for anyone to use as they saw fit? His imagination ran wild as he thought of what the instructor had said, and of the things he might do to her ... she was only a slave, after all, wasn't she?

Trouble winced with each step. Her feet were doing better, but it still hurt to walk. Still hurt to sit, too. It had been a long day, between the routine Intelligence work, her flight training, and the preparations for her first "logistics" mission in her freighter. It was late at night and she was heading back from Intelligence, and some late night "catching up", towards the lion's quarters, wanting nothing more than a hot bath, and maybe some cuddling, when a form moved out from the shadows to pounce her.

The badger growled. "Not a sound, slave," as he brought his knife up to her throat. With a paw wrapped in her hair, he dragged her back, into one of the deserted offices. "You 'n me gonna have some fun, bitch," he growled, and Trouble mewled as she felt the point of his knife prick her skin.

Normally, Trouble's unarmed combat training would have kicked in, but she was having too much trouble just walking to be as effective as she'd like; and his knife was pressed hard into her throat ......

The badger grinned and looped a thin strand of wire around her throat. It had been formed into a noose and he pulled it tight as he pulled his knife away. Tossing the end of the wire over a sprinkler head on the wall of the office, he pulled her up until she danced on tiptoes, her paws grasping at the wire around her throat. "Betcha can't scream for help, eh, bitch?" the badger gloated. Moving quickly, he pulled her paws around behind her back, to tie them together with more of the thin wire. Having secured her to his satisfaction, he retrieved his knife, to cut off her clothes.

Mark sat bolt upright in bed. Trouble! A moment's concentration confirmed his suspicions, as well as her location. Not Blackstone for once ... but if anything, this guy is worse. Can't lose a single moment. Grabbing his pants, he dashed out of the room and nearly ran into a couple of familiar figures.

The badger, thinking of what Blackstone had said, had duct-taped one of Trouble's feet to a desk chair, forcing her to spread her legs. He chuckled as he watched her wobble for a minute, balancing on one foot as she swayed. The desk chair was on wheels, and that made her stance particularly unstable. After a while, the badger took the ruler he'd found in one of the desks and slapped her hard across her left breast. Trouble tried to scream, but only a strangled squeak emerged. The next stroke was upwards, between her legs, and again she danced and wobbled, trying hard to maintain her stance, for to fall would be to be garroted.

The ruler had a sharp edge, and the badger was amused to note that in a number of places her fur was tinged pink. He grinned and wondered what would happen if he struck with the thin edge, instead of the flat ......

The door was the usual type of door in the station; powered and sliding, capable of standing significant differences in pressure, but not explosive decompressions. It certainly wasn't up to the assault that caused it to crash from its frame. The badger spun around, a surprised look on his face. And then as Slasher pulled his fighting knife, stepping forward, the badger's eyes rolled up in his head, and with a shuddering convulsion, he keeled over. Slasher shot a glance at Reggie, who just shrugged, and then they both turned to look at Mark ... who wasn't there anymore ... He had already moved over to cut at the wire suspending Trouble against the wall with a short blade, sparing the badger not even a single glance. Slasher and Reggie looked at each other again, and shrugged, and then moved towards the badger, who was convulsing on the floor, foaming at the mouth now. Picking him up, they dragged him out the door, even as Mark caught Trouble with a soft 'oof' as she fell.

The badger's last thought, as the door crashed in, just before his brain seemed to explode, was that he didn't understand; she was just a slave, wasn't she? No one cared what happened to a slave, did they?

Mark cycled the airlock, and turned away without a second glance. Reggie looked out the window, as the blast of air pushed the still writhing badger out the open outer door. He just couldn't figure out why the badger looked so surprised.

Trouble found herself again in Sickbay, the doctor clucking over her in dismay. The lion was furious that something like this had happened, and he was pacing back and forth in the confines of Sickbay, generally being in the way. Mark, Reggie, and Slasher had been thanked for their timely rescue, and then sent to retrieve the body. The lion felt that leaving it in its low orbit around the asteroid station was just "trashing the neighborhood" and had sent them to dispose of it properly.

Blackstone found out about the previous night's events at breakfast. The whole station was buzzing about what had happened, most of the personnel feeling that what had happened to the badger was too good for him. The sable nodded sagely. "See, told you Mark and Trouble had a special link. He knew she was in danger!" Blackstone shook his head and wondered.

As he sat at his "desk", a tiny workstation assigned to the instructor pilots, and worked on his training report, Blackstone's mind drifted. He wondered again if the mouse knew what he'd been doing with Trouble. Had he known it was only a test of their link, of his capabilities? Or was his talent hit-or-miss, unable to pick up on Trouble's little session with him, and randomly picking up on the badger's little escapade? I'm just going to have to plan for the worst, he thought to himself. If the mouse might be able to divine what I'm up to, I'll just have to make sure he can't interfere. Trouble may be a favorite of the Boss, but there's no sign Mark is. His demise should be much easier to arrange.

Trouble sighed and hit the "save" key. The report on current Imperial activity was complete, and appended to the next operational plan. One of her agents had put together the data that suggested a major convoy would be departing from Elysium for the Wolmart trading station in the Gurpta sector. Other agents had given corroborating evidence, and the read on the Imperials were that they were busy elsewhere, that this wasn't a trap, or a set-up. The convoy's departure was scheduled for eight days from now, with the interception point 16 hours after that. Now all she had to do was to watch for changes in schedule, and changes in Imperial routine.

Blackstone saw the ops plan show up in his e-mail and grinned; this was the key, the final piece of information that he would need to prove to the Elysium government that what he was saying was true. If he delivered that to them, with all the other information he'd gathered, it would give them the perfect opportunity to trap the pirates.

The compressed gas cylinder was easy to swipe from the maintenance bay. There'd been many advances in fabrication over the years, but some metals still had to be fused, welded, or in some cases even cut in an inert atmosphere. Argon was the gas of choice, and it was commonly used for those purposes. The day shift was over and it was unlikely that the cylinder would be missed before tomorrow. By then it would be too late.

Blackstone was way too big to fit down the ventilation duct, but he could read a schematic, and determine where they lay, what paths they traveled. The one he wanted passed through this storage cubicle in the residence sector. He'd already used a cutter to slice through its bottom, a square sheet of polyboard shoved through the slit to dam off the airflow. A hose from the argon cylinder disappeared through a hole in the downstream portion of the duct. Opening the valve and adjusting the regulator, Blackstone grinned. There was enough gas in the cylinder to completely fill several rooms, but he was interested in only one. The mouse's sleeping quarters. "Foresee THIS, you little bastard. I bet even you can't read my mind while you're asleep!" As he departed, he broke the key off in the door's lock, making sure that no one would detect or disturb his scheme for quite a while.

Trouble was up early; it was becoming her routine as there always seemed so much to do. She'd put in an hour in Intelligence, seeing what had come in over night, then get some exercise, and then meet the lion for breakfast, and the impromptu conferences that it always spawned as folks came to talk to him, knowing they could catch him there.

Blackstone was moving too; his "exit" plan was in motion, but he thought it would be nice to kidnap Trouble, to use her as a hostage to help insure his escape. And nicer to use her afterwards ......

Trouble growled as the lift sailed right past the floor Intelligence was on. She grumbled and hammered on the control panel, until the turbolift stopped two decks above where she wanted.

Blackstone watched the turbolift indicator, waiting for it to open, waiting to pounce the cheetah slave. He blinked as it didn't stop.

The otter looked up from his magazine as the buzzer went off. Being an asteroid station, environmental concerns were a priority, and any change in the atmosphere, even local ones, tripped alarms. The otter's mouth fell open as the computer told him the oxygen concentration in sector III block 2 was down to 3% from its specified 21%!

Trouble was headed for the stairs, pissed at the turbolift, and intending to just trot down the two flights of stairs. Just as her paw touched the door handle, the intercom crackled, "Trouble, please report to Room 4225." Trouble blinked; that was her Master's suite, but that hadn't been his voice. In fact, it didn't sound like anyone she knew ... with a sigh, she turned back, to trust her luck again with the lift.

Blackstone waited just outside the stairwell door, all set to pounce. The flashing lights on the turbolift panel however drew his attention, and he blinked as the lift descended back to the residential level. "Bitch can't make up her mind this morning. Dammit, I've got to go, I'll mess up my schedule if I wait. Oh, well, I'll deal with her after the pirates have been captured ... " With that, Blackstone stalked off towards the launch bay.

Trouble had just re-entered the lion's suite when the environmental alarm went off. She'd been through the drills enough times for her to find her breathing mask. Turning, she found the lion already had his, and was charging out the door, still nude. Shrugging, she grabbed his pants and followed him at a dead run.

The otter was scratching his head; he'd dispatched teams to check on the occupants of the rooms in block 2, and was trying to figure out WHY there was such an anomaly there. The rest of the station was fine ... the only thing strange was a high discharge pressure on one of the air circulating fans.

Trouble caught up with the rescue team as they carried Mark's body into Sickbay. "He's still alive, I think," the leader called to the doctor. "At least we still have a pulse, but there's no telling how long that'll last. Hurry!"

The otter shook his head. The concentration of argon was slowly diffusing through the station, and he bled more oxygen into the system to compensate. Still, he had no idea where it had come from. He directed one team to check Engineering to see if something had leaked, and another team to find out why circulating fan 24 was running with a high discharge pressure. The latter didn't seem important, but at this point he was grasping at straws.

Blackstone tucked the case into his fighter as he prepared to take his morning class out for their final evaluation. They were down to three students, none of them were really very good, in his opinion; nothing close to his own skill. But that only made his day easier.

"Hey, Charlie," the team leader called to the otter, "we got one argon cylinder missing from Maintenance, but that's all we can come up with. Everything else is either tagged empty, or still holding pressure." The otter hmmmmed and nodded. Turning, he pressed a button on his comm panel. "Better get me internal security ... "

Trouble sat by Mark's bed. He was on a ventilator, but that was about all they could do for him. His heartbeat was very, very low, as was his respiration. Brainwave activity held some resemblance to that of a coma, but there was some other activity, in other areas, that the doctor didn't recognize ......

The janitor tried the doorknob again. Funny, I never lock this door, he thought to himself. Pulling out a ring of keys he tried to find the right one. However, his first attempt came up short as he found he couldn't get the key in the lock. Bending down to examine it, he hmmmmmed. Straightening, the skunk looked to his left, towards Block 2, where all the excitement had been earlier, and then right towards Environmental. Suddenly his eyes grew wide and he dashed for the nearest comm panel.

Charlie watched as they cut the lock out of the door, sliding it aside. He nodded. "Uh-huh. 'fraid of that." Stepping back, he let the guys from Internal Security get a look.

Blackstone grinned. It was time to make his escape. By now, they MIGHT have uncovered his foul deed, and he thought he should, as always, stay one step ahead of them. Centering his sights on one of his students, he armed his weapons.

The duty officer in Operations came awake in a hurry as the scanners showed a power spike. Checking his display, he relaxed as he realized that it was just the fighter pilot class on another practice mission. Then he tensed again as he realized it wasn't some dumb bunny hitting the wrong switch, but the instructor that had powered up his weapons. Keying the comm, he called, "Flight Leader from Ops; why have you armed weapons?"

Jameson heard the call from Ops, but it barely registered on his consciousness before Blackstone's first volley destroyed his fighter.

Jenny gasped as she caught the explosion from the corner of her eye, even as she heard the call from Ops. She wondered if they were being attacked, but her scope had shown nothing but their own training flight, and a single ore freighter. Instinctively she wrenched her fighter around in a tight turn, not knowing what was wrong yet, but deciding it would be prudent to give no one a clean shot at her.

Blackstone ignored the voice on the comm, concentrating instead on lining up on his next student. This idiot had put his ship into a gentle turn, as if trying to come about to see what the matter was. Not nearly paranoid enough to survive, you little twit, Blackstone thought as he fired his weapons again, watching as the student's fighter was left drifting, helpless.

Trouble watched the monitor. Something was happening in Mark's brain, neurological activity spiking in certain areas. Everything else made him look like he was still in a coma ... Maybe he's dreaming, she thought ...

Jenny was terrified. Her instructor had just destroyed two of his own class, and now he was after her and closing in ... and then, from one moment to the next, her consciousness "switched off" and there was nothing at all anymore ......

Blackstone chuckled as the remaining student, that wolf bitch, brought her own weapons on line; "Does she seriously think she can take me out? I'll blow her away and then I'll be out of here before they can send anyone to stop me!"

Pulling his fighter into a tight turn, Blackstone tried to line his sights up on the bitch, but suddenly she put her ship through a dizzying sequence of twists, turns and dodges, always staying just outside his targeting reticule. Growling at his inability to kill her as easily as he had the others, he armed two heat-seekers. When he got tone, signaling a lock-on, he launched them, and then broke in the opposite direction. As he turned he watched in amazement, as the other fighter spit out exactly two flares several fractions of a second apart. Each flare decoyed one missile perfectly, and then the bitch was turning back towards him.

The lion looked at the argon cylinder, and at the forensic evidence they'd gathered. "Blackstone? I admit the guy's a sadistic jerk, but why would he want to kill those ... ah, Mark. Of course. And you say one of the other rooms in this block was vacant, and all the others are occupied by furrs currently embroiled in an all-night poker game?" When the otter nodded, the lion just shook his head. "That's remarkably lucky, that no one else got hurt. In fact that's incredibly lucky ...... "

Blackstone watched in amazement as his Image Recogntion missile failed to recognize its target, sailing past as if it were locked on a far star. He pulled his fighter around yet again, still trying to get the bitch in his sights.

The lion burst into Ops, took one look at the tactical display and growled, "Magnum launch. Get everything after that bastard. We can't let him get away!"

Blackstone's computer screamed at him. A dozen assorted ships had just launched from the mining station, everything from fighters like his, to a cruiser. And they were all powering up weapons. Twisting his ship about wildly, he took a potshot at the wolf bitch and shook his head. "Going into warp with a pursuit like this is risky, but hanging around would appear to be riskier still." Reaching down, he threw the switch to feed power to his FTL systems.

Ben watched from the bridge of the Intimidator, the cruiser that had been the closest to flight status when the order came in. "Whoever that student pilot is, she's good," he rumbled, half the bridge crew nodding in agreement. "The boss says to fry that bastard, but let's not try and fry her too; she's a keeper."

Blackstone gasped as the ion bolt from the cruiser missed his fighter by meters. The residual charge danced across the surfaces of his fighter like crackling blue lightning. Now or never, he thought to himself, hitting the key for warp. And then he hit it again, with the same negative result, a single red light mockingly informing him that the near-miss had fried a critical connection and the replacement would take thirty seconds to come on-line. OH CRAP, he thought.

Ben watched as Blackstone's fighter tried to go to warp. Power was building; that was plain to the cruiser's sensors, but somehow didn't get where it was supposed to go. And that moment's distraction obviously was all that the student needed, as she whipped her fighter around, to fire all weapons at Blackstone at point blank range.

Trouble smoothed the fur on Mark's brow as she watched the brainwave activity drop in those unexplained areas. She wondered if he had stopped dreaming, or did that mean he was dying?

Ben shook his head. "Whats wrong? She's just sitting out there ... " After Blackstone had been destroyed, Jenny's ship had just drifted to a stop, and now just drifted, motionless. With a shrug, Ben turned to the cruiser's tactical officer, and directed him to tractor the fighter into the cruiser's small docking bay.

Jenny blinked and jerked her head back violently. The medic grinned and capped the smelling salts. Jenny blinked the tears from her eyes and looked around; her fighter was in some ship's docking bay, and a whole crowd of folks were standing there looking at her. Looking at her as if they expected answers, or explanations ... she blinked and searched her memory, wondering how she'd gotten there. The last thing she could remember was Blackstone shooting up the other students ... looking up into the face of the chief of Operations she withered and whispered, "Oh Lord, now what have I done?"

Trouble smiled as Mark's eyes fluttered and then opened. Somehow he knew she was there, and turned his head to look directly at her. After a moment, he mumbled "Oh ... hi, Trouble. You wouldn't believe the dream I just had. For some reason I was out there in space, shooting it out with that Blackstone guy, except it wasn't really me ... uh ... um, we're not in ... this isn't my bed! Where ... what happened?" Trouble blinked for a moment, then pulled herself together again. "What happened is that Blackstone is dead. He apparently decided to sell us out, tried to flee the station and shot up his piloting class. But it didn't work. One of his students held him at bay until help could arrive, and then actually managed to destroy him herself before they could do much to help. Interesting things were found in the wreck of his fighter. Apparently he'd been spying on us for some time. Oh, and on the way out, he tried to kill you. By some random stroke of luck, you were the only one in that residence block when he made his attempt, and to the amazement of the entire medical staff, you didn't die ... and now I'm starting to wonder just how your 'dream' ties into all that. Especially since Jenny -- she was that student out there, by the way -- insists she doesn't remember a thing ... "

Mark looked thoughtful. "I suppose there could be a connection, yes ... I'll have to look into that. Not now, though, I'm still too tired, and you don't look all that fresh either. Go to bed, will you?"

The lion stood just outside the door, listening quietly, barely breathing, then quickly and silently made himself scarce as he heard Trouble get up. He went off to find Ben. "Anything new from Mark yet? I know Trouble's down there," the wolf asked. The lion nodded. "He's woken up for a few moments. Probably is back asleep now. Claims he's had a funny dream while the dogfight with Blackstone went on ... I suppose it could be a coincident ... " Ben nodded
Slowly. "But you don't really believe that, do you?" The lion shook his head no. "Listen, I want you to run a very thorough background check on our little dreamer again, just to see if he's really as innocent as he looks. Don't tell anybody else if you can avoid it, and most of all don't let Trouble find out. I don't know just how good a telepath he is, he might just have fooled us all with that double-blind test by seeing through it and playing along anyway, but let's at least not make it too easy for him to figure out we're checking up on him." The wolf-morph nodded quietly as he finished. "I'll do that, boss. Might take a few weeks, but if there's anything to be found, I'll find it."

Mark watched Trouble leave, watching the way her ass swayed under her short dress, and smiled, half asleep again already. Good thing I was ready for something like that gas attack; old Blackstone simply was too predictable for his own good, in the end. He reached inside for a moment and lightly touched the invisible matrix that had kept him just alive enough to survive. And everything else can wait until tomorrow, just this once. With that, he closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep ... one without dreams, this time.

The lion watched Trouble enter the cafeteria, and shook his head. Loudly, he said, so that all could hear, "Yes, Ben, I think you're right. Trouble did all the prescreening for our recent recruits, and with respect to both that badger and Blackstone, she severely dropped the ball.

Trouble stopped and stared, her muzzle open. Yes, she'd done the pre-screening, but there's been a whole committee that approved the final selections. But then as she looked around, she realized that most of the committee was present, and all nodding their heads in agreement. Trouble smelled a set-up, but didn't quite know what to do about it ......

Ben nodded. "I think she's already paid the price for the badger ... but I think she still should be punished for her mistake with Blackstone. That bastard could have destroyed us all!" The lion just nodded. "I'm told that Blackstone said that that she hadn't been whipped enough, and I'm beginning to wonder if perhaps he wasn't right on that score. What do you think? Think that would be a suitable punishment?"

Trouble had set down her tray, and had kneeled at the lion's feet, knowing something was coming, but when he mentioned whipping, she looked up at him with shocked, pleading eyes.

But the lion was unmoved. "Lets see, who'd like to do the honors? We need some volunteers to see she's properly positioned ... " He hadn't even gotten it out of his mouth when half the pirates present leaped forward to pounce Trouble. In moments she was nude, her paws bound over her head, suspended from a hook by soft braided rope. Someone came up with a spreader bar, and there was much discussion as to just what Blackstone had done, and how he had used it. Despite the fact that she had no intention of helping them, they finally figured it out and she balanced again on one foot, the other held wide out to one side by the bar. They debated whether or not she should be gagged, but finally the lion convinced them that she should be left ungagged, so they could hear and appreciate her cries.

As Trouble dangled, still aghast that they would blame her for what had happened, the lion moved into her view, holding a long and wicked cat-'o-nine-tails up for her to look at; he snapped it quickly, the loud pop making everyone jump. He grinned and gently drew it across her chest, the tails tickling her nipples as he caressed her with it. Still grinning, he moved around behind her, and snapped it again.

Trouble sighed; she didn't want to be whipped, and yet, if her Master said it must be, she was willing to suffer through it. She searched her feelings, trying to sort out the ambivalence she felt ... finally she decided that she had to trust him; he was her Master, and she knew he cared for her. But she still didn't think she'd enjoy this much ......

Unseen by Trouble, no sooner had he snapped the whip a second time, he handed it to one of the pirates, to take the real whip he intended on flogging her with. This too was leather, about as long, but soft fur strips of synthetic mink, incredibly soft and sensual, about a foot and a half long, graced the ends of each of the nine tails. The lion grinned and took one, to caress Wanda's face with it, smiling as she giggled at its softness.

Trouble didn't have time to ponder Wanda's giggle; she really didn't think the wolverine lass was into pain, but ... she caught the shadow as the lion tossed the tails of the whip behind him, and she braced herself for the blow ......

But when the whip wrapped itself around her middle, what came out was not a scream, but a giggle; she twisted and turned, trying to catch a look at what the lion was wielding, but then it struck upwards between her thighs and she laughed as fur stroked from her pussy to her tummy. The lion flogged her "hard" and the harder he flogged her, the more she giggled, writhed and laughed! When he "botched" a stroke, it was like being hit with a furry mitten; but when he did it right, the fur stroked her hard and fast, and in the right places it tickled wildly ......

Finally the lion was exhausted, and he handed the whip over to Ben, who stared at it as if not having the faintest idea what to do with it. Trouble had long since lost her footing and was hanging by her paws, swaying back and forth. At least the wrist cuffs were well padded. Her chest was still heaving, and she was finally catching her breath. That thing tickled! Ben shrugged and gave her an experimental swat with the whip, and then three or four furrs, including Jenny, pressed forward to show him the "correct" way of wielding the whip.

After the whip had been passed down from the lion, through three or four other furrs, Trouble was giggling and begging for mercy most piteously. The lion finally consented, and they lowered her, to let her work off the rest of her punishment by satisfying the lusts of those who chose to remain in the cafeteria.

This time, Trouble noted with a smile, the lion stayed, watching, until as if to close the ceremony, he took her roughly, as was his fashion. As the party broke up, as he led Trouble towards his quarters, he waved good night to Ben and called, "Now that's the proper way to whip a slave!"

End of Chapter 19

Chapter 20

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