Alex reclined in his midship seat, looking out the window. It wasn’t actually a window, of course, but the image was quite good. They had left their ring-borne shuttle behind and completed their fueling procedures. Now they were on their way, traveling at full warp.

He had wanted to call it ludicrous speed, but the labcoats at DARPA had objected. As Doctor Sullivan, who had developed the annihilation engine that drove Alex’s warp technology, had been head of the team, he’d gotten the final say. Well, it was Alexandar Hagen written on the Nobel prize for the mathematic proof of warp travel and the one for the design of the warp drive. He didn’t see why he couldn’t give his innovations funny names.

The joke was ultimately on them, though, because that old design was illegal now, and he’d beaten the government to the punch on the quiet variant, so he was making money hand over fist. Thanks, onerous government limitation of private industry.

Not that it was a fair race; he had a head start and ran faster, as it were. He’d spent a lot of time sifting through the information provided by their Shalkoth allies. A lot of subjective time, anyway. Two years of living, two hundred of learning, all at the low, low cost of invasive brain surgery. A functioning bio aug hadn’t been created yet.

For all he’d learned, though, there were worrying gaps. The Community, as they called themselves, were the hegemonic power in the galaxy and had made a hobby of sterilizing planets they deemed incapable of harboring sapience but which had the poor manners to produce it anyway.

Planets like Earth and his wife’s homeworld, Nyx.

Humanity had been fortunate enough to gain a ready source of intel in the Shalkoth, a race of alien centaurs who had settled a Deathworld, as the Community called them, and now lived in terror at the prospect of a genocide that could come at any moment. And though he had no reason to doubt the completeness of their information….

The economy, for instance, some called the Community communist. That was nonsense, of course, because the Community appeared to have class and property, borders, expansive ones, but-. Socialist, maybe, national socialist.

Honestly, the similarities between the Community and Mussolini’s Italy were a little- did post-industrial totalitarian regimes naturally converge on a single governmental model or- not enough data. Not really the problem either; fascism was comprehensible; what was not was the lack of numbers. The Community produced things, knew what they made but didn’t appear to know the how or how much of what they made. Maybe they were communists.

But then, even their Shalkoth allies couldn’t give the federation hard numbers; their production had helpful descriptors like “sufficient.” What was “sufficient?”

No one knew! It was as though industrial production had been given over to an outside entity, but how could that be? They’d centralized the entire galaxy. Automation? But surely, they would still have metrics if they’d automated all industry. Maybe GDP was just classified internally? But then, why could Sahlkoth governors give him military and technological secrets but not production numbers?

He had to stop; if he didn’t, he’d twist himself into knots the entire flight and end up meeting the Empress mad. Didn’t want to make a poor first impression there.

He looked up, and saw Lisril in the seat opposite him, stooped over her book. “How’s the reading, Kitten?”

“Difficult and boring,” she scowled.

He smiled; Lisril had insisted she learn human philosophy after their conversation. “You asked for this,” he crossed the cabin, slipping an arm around her, his other hand pulling at the waistband of her pants. “Maybe you need a break….”

She rapped his knuckles with the book. “You’re still in trouble for your disobedience.”

“Oh,” he pressed a kiss to her neck. “Don’t be mad; I told you, my conversations with Ross are classified; I had to accept it on a secure landline; it’s policy.”

“Excuses,” she sniffed.

He grinned at her, “yup.” Then, he sobered, “how are you holding up?”

Lisril’s people were funny about space, they had a long history of alien abductions, and as a result, outer space had taken on a role not dissimilar to hell in their religion.

It drew a smile from her.

“Your concern is touching,” she scoffed. “But I assure you, my mother didn’t raise her daughters to be so fragile as to be unable to handle a mere trip into space.”

He rested his chin on her shoulder. “My brave Dyrantisa lady.” In their language, they were the people of the night, and humanity were Dyrantoro, the people of the day.

“Flatterer,” she tousled his hair, puffing out her chest a bit.

“I am rather courageous, aren’t I?”

Some would call such a proclamation arrogant. But Alex was just glad he could make her smile like that. Besides, “you really are.”

“Always angling to get what you want,” she chuckled, one of her hands coming to rest on his chest, her fingers tracing circles over his shirt.

“Only telling the truth.”

“Wicked,” she hummed happily at the praise. “Well, we have an hour or two; what’s the harm….”

She cupped his cheek and pulled him close, her tongue flicking over his lips. The Dyrantisa method of kissing. He smiled and rested his forehead against hers. It was almost frightening how easy and comfortable being with a Dyrantisa lady was.

She sighed, shaking her head. “Honestly, Alex,” she murmured. “Why do you insist upon being so difficult?”

He pulled back, stomach twisting. “You really want to know?”

“Oh,” she crossed her arms over her chest. “There’s a reason now?”

He scratched his chin, and she huffed a sigh. “Let’s hear it then.”

“You- intimidate me.”

She blinked. “Beg pardon?”

He scrubbed a hand through his hair, hesitant. Opening up was never comfortable for him. “Lisril, I don’t like asking for help at the best of times. It makes me feel-” he shook his head. “Well, you’re beautiful, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known,” she favored him with a gratifying blush, and he drew her fingers to his lips. “I don’t want you to think I’m incapable.”

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“Nonsense,” she said, hiding neither her scorn nor her hurt.

“Angel, you must know I’m here for you. I’d pluck the sun and the moon from the sky for you if I could.”

She pulled him to her. “No more, Alex,” she said. “Promise me, look me in the eyes, and promise, if ever you need anything, anywhere you need to go, tell me, and I’ll do everything in my power.”

“Kitten-”

“Promise me, Alex!”

He couldn’t refuse her. “I promise,” he said. “If ever I need anything, I’ll come to you.”

“You’d better,” she flicked her tongue over his cheek. “I love you, Alex.”

He kissed her. “Will you promise me something?”

“Of course.”

“If you ever need anything, tell me.”

She laughed and took his hands. “All I need is your happiness.”

He pulled her hands up to his chest and enclosed them with his own. “I mean it, Lisril,” he said. “If you want me to be happy, you’ll let me take care of you.”

She smiled indulgently at him. “Such a sweet man,” she pulled her hands back, tapped his nose playfully, and nodded. “Very well, upon the honor of my name, you shall always know my needs.”

“Now that you’ve seen sense, I think it’s about time you got ready for our arrival,” she said.

He frowned. “I thought we had time to play.”

“We would,” she said, smirking. “If I could trust you to stop once your work was done or not lounge about feeling complacent once satiated.”

She caressed his cheek. “We’ll have time when we lay down this evening, after you’ve made a grand impression upon her Imperial Magnificence.”

“Alright, I’ll go shower,” he laughed.

“Good,” she stood. “And I shall lay out your suit.”

“Thank you, Kitten,” he stood himself and started aft; as he passed her, she gave his bottom a swat, and he turned around, glaring. “Tease.”

She gave him a wide grin, which revealed eight razor-sharp canines. “Just getting a sample of what I’ll be having later. She looped her arm around his and pulled him into a kiss.

“I don’t like waiting either, you know. So hurry up; I don’t want to miss giving you your reward for impressing her Magnificence.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he laughed, reluctantly slipping from her arms and walking aft.

The Sparrowhawk was a long-range scout, officially. Unofficially, it was nothing because the design wouldn’t, and wasn’t intended to be, adopted. A variation on an old terrestrial jet fighter craft, the ship was just a stopgap until a real design could be finalized.

For what it was nominally intended, it did alright, though. Enough room, barely, for three and their food, all the necessary amenities, which was to say, a lavatory and one bunk to share, and had an effective unsupported sortie range of approximately two hundred lightyears.

The crew compartment was cramped even with two, but comfortable wasn’t on the list of requirements, and besides, he didn’t mind the close quarters, not with Lisril.

He stepped into the shower, the water heated by the ship’s generator, and washed. He could hear Lisril outside, moving about, getting things ready, and not wanting to be scolded; he finished quickly and stepped out into the cabin.

He found her nude, ready for her own shower. She stared openly, eyeing him up and down. He didn’t mind; he eyed her right back, slowly running his eyes over the lush curves of her body. First, down her legs, then back up her torso to her face.

She was flushed, eyes dilated wide, ears pinned forward, mouth cracked just slightly, scenting him. His wife was in heat, one of the few differences between Dyrantisa and human women; their cycle was also a quarter as long, the practical result being that she was in heat about three days out of the week.

Her willpower never failed to impress him, denying herself out of a touching, if slightly paternalistic, concern for his honor and dignity.

But he didn’t give a shit about honor and dignity; he cared about seeing her happy and satisfied.

Alex stepped up to her, took her by the waist, and pulled her into a long kiss.

“Alex,” she might have meant it as a warning, but it came out as a needy groan.

Satiating her heat was, he knew, a need as real and driving as fulfilling any other biological function, even if the consequences of abstaining were less detrimental.

He nuzzled against her neck and nibbled on her jaw, a gesture that would have torn flesh had she taken a Dyrantisa lover, but with him, elicited a delicious little shiver that ran down her spine. “Didn’t you just promise to ask me for what you need?” he murmured.

“The Empress-”

“Doesn’t have to know unless you meet her distracted like this,” he said.

She made a sound somewhere between a growl and a whine and pulled him back into the shower.

There was enough room, barely, for her to twist around and turn on the water and then to spread her legs and push down on his shoulders, allowing him to fold his own legs under himself. He reached up to caress her calves, kissing each perfectly defined muscle group.

The greatest phenotypic difference between them, her powerful digitigrade legs were a biological marvel, and he’d come to quite enjoy worshiping them.

Her hand came to rest on his head, fingers twisting in his hair, and he knew she’d run out of patience, so he dove between her legs.

He’d introduced her to oral pleasure, and she’d decided that all their encounters should start that way; sometimes, she would pleasure him, but today, she clearly wanted him to take the lead.

He kissed inside each of her thighs before moving to her lower lips. Other than her head, there wasn’t a whisper of hair on her body. He didn’t know if she shaved or if Dyrantisa were simply less hairy than humans, but it gave him free access to nibble gently on her labia before burying his tongue inside her. He lapped at her inner folds, pulled back to trace his tongue over the lip of her slit, and dove forward again.

She tangled her fingers in his hair, groaned softly, and clenched her thighs. She was close, and he knew what she needed. He pulled away and latched onto the little button at the juncture of her legs, looking up, just able to lock eyes with her past the swell of her breast.

Her body shook, fingers clenched painfully in his hair. She threw her head back, eyes closed, a long, low, satisfied moan escaping her lips as her hands went slack and she slumped against the wall.

She heaved a happy sigh, and her eyes flicked open, lids crinkled with the fondness of her smile. She helped Alex up, licked his cheek, and gave the opposite cheek a pat.

“Thank you, Angel,” she smirked. “Now, go get yourself dressed.”

A growl rose from deep in his chest, and he seized her hips, pinning her against the wall; she responded with something halfway between a laugh and a moan.

This was one of her favorite games; she said she liked the honesty of his pursuit, that it made her feel desired, handsome.

He could relate; she was the most beautiful woman in the galaxy.

He kissed her, bit her lower lip, and kicked her legs apart. She, obligingly, didn’t tear him to pieces with her claws. He positioned himself between her legs and felt her arms wrap around his shoulders, dexterous three-fingered hands tracing the lines of the muscle in his back.

He hilted himself inside her with a swift motion, both of them savoring the connection until her hands left his shoulders and found his hips, pulling him to her as though to urge him deeper, though he could already feel himself pressed firmly against her pelvis.

He pulled back slowly, drove forward again, and found a steady rhythm answered by the eager thrusts of her hips.

On another day, he might have taken things slowly, pleasured her gently for hours, but that wasn’t what either of them needed.

They set a fast, driving rhythm, diving toward their peak together. Lisril rested her head on his shoulder, lapping at his chin.

“Alex,” she said, voice a needy whine. “Give it to me.”

He felt her clench around him, heralding her climax and accelerating his own. She began to milk him, and he buried himself to the hilt, emptying inside her.

She closed her eyes, heaving a long, contented sigh, relief washing over her face as he extinguished the flame in her core.

They basked in the moment, wrapped in each other’s arms.

Her eyes flickered open, and she smiled warmly, her hands leaving his back and coming to rest above the juncture of her legs. “Maybe we’ll have a miracle this time.”

He smiled back; it would have to be a miracle, not because it shouldn’t work, genetically, the similarity between human and Dyrantisa was- well, it was positive evidence of god; no, they would need a miracle because she was an induced ovulator, and he didn’t know how to induce her.

“I hope so,” he said, truthfully. “Nothing would make me happier.”

He wanted children; they both did, desperately.

He had suggested, once, that modern problems called for modern solutions. But the idea that their child might not be wholly the product of her womb had offended her, and so, as long as there was a chance they could conceive naturally, he decided he wouldn’t bring it up again.

She framed his cheeks in her hands and licked his forehead.

“There now, you’ve fulfilled your husbandly duties admirably. Now, you must do as a good man should, and obey your wife, get dressed; I’ll be out soon.”

“yes, kitten,” he kissed her and pushed the shower door open.

“Angel,” she caught him just as he squeezed out into the lavatory. He looked over his shoulder and found her eyeing him hungrily.

“You had better be ready for tonight.”

He grinned. “For you? Always.”