WHOOP! WHOOP!
Hearing the alert, the large, gray-furred male jumps from his cot, grabs his uniform and rushes out into the hallway, dressing while running.

"The situation," the elderly man at the front of the room states, "is that four hours ago three ships -- a freighter and two fighters -- dropped from hyperspace not far from the asteroid belt. They kept to a normal approach vector, then, two hours ago, they did an abrupt turn to follow the belt. They've not made any attempt to announce their presence, nor are they broadcasting any identification signals. At present their heading will bring them to an abandoned mining outpost that we know contains substantial amounts of semi-processed ores. We can therefore only assume that they are pirates."

"Any idea of what kind of fighters they have?" one of the males in the room asks.

"Not really," the human replies. "But we only registered one hyperspace exit, and that can only mean they were attached to external points on the freighter. This would indicate that they are short-range models for close-in support. Or, they may believe that they're safe here, and didn't want to waste reaction mass by dropping them in hyperspace to reappear further away from the freighter. Anyway, it's to our advantage. As long as they stay close to each other, their constant maneuvering will make their gravitic scanners less accurate." Switching on a projector and bringing up a map of the planetary system, he continues, "Now, for the battle plan; we launch the Talon fighters in pairs, the first pair in one hour, the other pair five minutes later. You'll accelerate at maximum power as long as you're hidden by the third planet, then use the gravity field of the planet to slingshot into an intercept course. The first pair is to take out the fighters, and the second pair is to take care of the freighter."

"Why can't the first pair do both tasks?"

"There may be fighters we don't know about. The first pair's speed should be too high for them to get an accurate lock, but we hope that if there are additional fighters, they'll give themselves away. If there are no other fighters, and the leader of the second pair deems it safe, the second pair is to decelerate and try to capture the freighter as intact as possible."

"And if there are additional fighters?"

"The second pair is to destroy them before dealing with the freighter." Turning towards a second man, he adds, "Sarge, what's our fighters' status?"

The sergeant steps forward, glances briefly at a sheet of paper, then states, "The techs are topping up reaction mass right now, and will start arming them in ten minutes. We're equipping the first pair with six decoys and the other pair with two decoys and four hedgehog missiles each."

"No rail guns?"

"No," the sergeant replies. "They're still too unreliable for active use, so you'll have to trust the plasma guns for short range. So, any volunteers for the mission?"

The eight wolves on the front row stand as one.

"Thank you pilots," the sergeant states dispassionately, only a slight upturn at the corner of his mouth giving any indication of his pride. Turning and picking up a bowl on at table, he continues, "I believe the only fair thing is to let chance decide." He then proceeds to pull four slips of paper from the bowl and reads the names out: "Marrmat, Korhal, first pair. Mehram, Lahhtok, second pair."

"Be in the bay in fifty minutes, in full suits," the first man adds, "and good hunting!"

"Hello Sheila," the large gray male states as he steps up to one of the matte-black fighters in the cramped hangar. "Is my ship ready?"

"Your ship?" the blond-haired woman in dirty coveralls counters, grinning widely. "It's MY fighter; we only let you fly-boys use them when we're not tinkering with them." She then pulls up a short stepladder and places it beside the fuselage for him to climb aboard. "Hurry up, Korhal. Marrmat is already seated in his ship."

"Thank you," the male states as he climbs up and begins to strap himself in. "Are we still set for dinner and a movie when I return?"

"You know that I never date pilots," she replies, shaking her head, making her golden hair fan out and shimmer in the light. "Even if you weren't such an overbearing, chauvinistic, macho furball, I'd never date you."

"I love you, too," the wolf states, grinning cheerfully as he slams down the canopy, shutting out her snide remarks.

Five minutes later, when the last technician has cleared the hangar, the air is pumped out and the large doors at the end slowly open up onto a bleak landscape; gray sand, large and small craters, a stack of antennas over to one side, all silhouetted against a coal black sky.

"Alpha wing, this is Ghost control," a tinny voice can be heard in the pilots' helmets. "Report status."

"Marrmat here; my board is green."

"Korhal here; I'm green, too."

"You're both cleared for takeoff. Have a nice flight and a happy landing!"

"Thank you, control."

The two fighters then begin to move as one in a well practiced routine; lifting a foot off the floor, drifting through the large door and picking up speed as they begin to curve up towards the distant stars. Then the computer takes control and the ships accelerate abruptly, forcing the pilots back into their seats as their bodies suddenly weigh six times more than before.

Five minutes later, the second pair of fighters glides through the doors and disappears into the black sky before the doors close as silently as they opened.

Aboard the second of the first pair of fighters a screen suddenly lights up to display a grainy picture with three dots; two small and one large. Then a voice issues from a speaker, "Alpha two, this is Alpha leader. I will be targeting Bogey one, then two. You will slow down and do your run five seconds after me. Target bogey two, then bogey one in case I miss. Drop a decoy at the beginning of your run. Click to accept."

Reaching out with a gloved hand, Korhal taps once on a button to send a micro-pulse of carrier wave into the ether, then begins to adjust his speed, braking slowly so as not to be detected by gravitic scanners.

A few minutes later the first fighter drops a decoy missile which immediately accelerates away from the still coasting ship, gravitic impellers fluctuating and electronics working overtime to create the signature of a much larger object. Small puffs of gas appear briefly around the fighter as it uses chemical jets to rotate around its axis and aim itself towards the first of two targets. As the ship coasts towards the enemy, the opponents, registering the decoy, start to maneuver. A lance of pure energy flashes out and intersects the first of the pirate fighters, melting away one of the impellers and large parts of the hull, sending it spinning out of control. Another lance of light reaches out to graze the next target, but strikes a piece of debris and deflects, only damaging the pirate fighter slightly.

As the first fighter accelerates away, the second wolf fighter launches his decoy and starts the attack, skewering the undamaged pirate fighter with a powerful lance of energy, making the ship buckle and vibrate for a moment before it disappears in a flash. As the wolf fighter reorients itself to aim for the wildly spinning second target, a beam of light flashes out from the freighter, destroying the wolf fighter's impellers and causing its systems to overload and shutdown, leaving it a slowly spinning wreck to drift towards the far reaches of the star system.

"Bravo two, this is Bravo leader! The freighter is armed with energy weapons! When we reach missile range, do not decelerate to engage; instead, drop decoys, then launch all Hedgehogs and accelerate away using random pattern five! Do NOT acknowledge message!"

Minutes later the two fighters reach an otherwise insignificant point in space and the first ship launches its pair of decoys, then, two seconds later, several lumpy missiles before it turns abruptly and accelerates away. The second fighter repeats the first one's maneuvers, but accelerates away in a different direction, leaving several missiles speeding at one hundred gravities towards the freighter. Ten seconds later, when the missiles' impellers burn out, the outer casings split open to release several long, spear-like objects, each with its own impeller, creating flowerlike patterns in space, before they accelerate towards the large ship.

Aboard the freighter, computers and gunners work frantically to target the new threat, lashing out once, twice, three times, even managing to destroy a fourth spear-like object before it's too late.

Then the missiles strike, tips of depleted uranium penetrating the hull with ease, leaving the long, hollow shafts embedded in the holes to hamper self-repair systems while the points continue onwards, ripping through interior walls and creating supersonic shockwaves that bounce throughout the ship until one of the glowing projectiles strikes the reactor casing.

--*--

Knock, knock!

"Enter," the room's lone occupant, a large gray wolf, mutters.

The door opens and a woman enters. "I heard you were awake so I decided to see how you were doing," she states, pulling up a chair and sitting down beside the bed. "So, how are you doing?"

"My arm will heal, and so will the leg and ribs," he replies slowly, lifting his left arm to display the heavy plaster cast, "but I got a few knocks on the head, too."

"Yeah, the doc mentioned that," she comments, laying a hand on his shoulder and squeezing. "Rattled your balance a bit, I understand. Still dizzy?"

The male doesn't reply, just stares down on his blanket.

"Don't worry," she adds, reaching up to ruffle his headfur, "you'll soon be flying again. But not in the same fighter. You have no idea the trouble we'll have, trying to make the cats believe that the fighter was destroyed on a training mission near Earth, instead of here. We still can't figure out how the pirates managed to track your ship well enough to fire on it, though."

A week later.

It's evening, and Korhal is in bed, trying to fall asleep, when the door to his cabin slides open and Sheila walks in.

"What are you doing here now?" he asks, confused.

"The rumour is that you got some bad news from the doctor today," she replies quietly as she sits on the edge of the bed.

"The only flying I'll be doing from now on is as a passenger," he replies to the unspoken question. "My sense of balance is too badly damaged. I'll be lucky to be able to walk with a cane."

"I'm sorry to hear that," she comments, grabbing his hand and squeezing it gently. "I was so worried when the others towed the remains of your ship back here. I couldn't sleep until the doctors told me that you would survive." Then she quickly removes her uniform and, wearing only a t-shirt and panties, slips under the blanket and snuggles up to his relatively whole right-hand side, resting her head on his furry chest.

"What?" he asks, confused.

"I don't date pilots," she whispers. "Now put your arm around me, please."

...

"Move that hand back, furball, or I'll break every bone in it!"