Swift Fox and the Pirates of the Jackai, Part Two
Vulpine Shipyards, orbiting Pau Theta 1
“No! No no no!” the blue grey Critainian lizard said as he carefully sat down at the table with his mates. “I’ll not hear ‘nother tale, White Fang. No! You an’ I both know that most o’ what comes from your gob is solar trash.” He set down four steins of liquid on the table, one before each person that sat.
“Oh, c’mon, Gor’dal,” White Fang said with a chuckle. He picked up his stein in a clawed hand and took a swig, careful not to let any drip from his maw. He set down the stein and smiled. “You know I tell the best stories.”
“An’ that’s just what they are,” Gor’dal huffed and took a swig on his drink, the tip of his horn clinking against the metal stein. “Ya really need ta come up with some new stuff, I mean, I’ve heard everythin’ from you.”
“Yeah, but these guys haven’t,” White Fang said with a motion to the two Vulpine that sat with them. One was listening intently to the conversational banter back and forth between the two shipmates, while the other was pouring over a series of star charts.
“Taffy’s too overcome with ‘is chart, Fanger,” Gor’dal replied as he gently nudged the Vulpine who seemed lost in thought. “Taffy, drink yer brew b’fore it gets cold an’ stop thinkin’ o’ the stars.”
The stellar cartographer, one Taft Helmsford, looked up quickly with a sudden ‘huh’ then looked to his stein. “Oh! Thank you, Lonny, I guess I’ve just been too interested in this section of space between Canin and Lupinia.” He pointed to a blank area on one of his charts as he picked up his stein.
“That’s the Wayfarer’s Belt, Taffy,” Gor’dal replied as he looked over the chart. “Certain death ta go inta there.” He gently, very gently for a Critainian, patted Taft’s shoulder, then looked to their final companion. “An’ what o’ you, Mr. Griffin? Awful silent for the ship’s linguist.”
“I’ll say,” White Fang replied as he tried hailing a waitress to refill his stein. “On board you can’t get a word in edgewise sometimes, but here in the space pub seems you can’t find your tongue.”
“What?” Griffin said with some shock before sighing with slight dejection. “I suppose it’s been rather… uneventful, having to pull into port for the past couple of days.”
“Well we did need ta make repairs ta the Revenge,” Gor’dal replied before emptying his stein. “Run in with them Pantheran pirates were ‘nough, I guess just lucky it weren’t the Jackai. An’ there’s nothin’ on the horizon fer us, yet.”
“Yeah, we can’t plan something if we don’t have a heading,” White Fang began. As he spoke the words his eyes widened slightly. The other three gave him the usual look when he did this. It wasn’t uncommon for White Fang to feel a calling from kith and kin, and just at that moment, he felt the song of his sister.
“What? What is it, Fanger?” Gor’dal said as he waited with bated breath for an answer.
“I’m,” he began with a deep breath, his voice quavering a bit. “Getting one of those feelings.”
“Captain’s on the second floor o’ this place,” Gor’dal announced quickly. “Get ta her quick, lad.” Gor’dal knew of these feelings that White Fang would get from time to time, and learned to trust them without question.
“How do you know where she keeps, Lonny?” Fang said with a grin as he quickly rose to his feet.
“I’m the first mate, I better know where she keeps,” he replied as the waitress came around with another stein for him and the others. “Hurry lad. Next round’s on you.”
White Fang nodded, dashing up the stairs of the old pub quickly, taking three of four steps at a time. He knew Crena Clarendale’s tastes well, and he knew her scent. Just a matter of finding the right room. He came to a stop before an ornate wooden door, the richest one in the place. Had to be it. “Okay Fanger, here goes,” he whispered with a deep breath. He knocked quickly on the door, and waited for some response.
“Who is it?” the muffled voice of Crena called out.
“Fanger… er, White Fang, Captain,” he said with a sigh of relief. “I sensed something. Are you decent?”
“Of course I’m decent,” she said with a chuckle through the door. “I’m just getting dressed, wait only a moment, Mr. Fang.” Fang stood back from the door and nodded, waiting what seemed a lifetime for the captain to finish her preening. He knew it was preening, because her philosophy was always though they may be privateers, there was no way they could not appear as though they were not members of The Great Mother’s Fleet. As this philosophy came to mind, the door opened quickly.
Before him stood Crena Clarendale, privateer and captain of the Barrow’s Revenge. Dressed smartly in her jacket, tunic and slacks. All purple and black. Even her boot shaps shined from a good spit polishing. He took note of her clawed feet, even the claws were well tended. He couldn’t help it really. She was a good three feet shorter than he was. For a moment, he caught himself marveling at her orange tail, with the sparkling white tip, obviously the most difficult part of her preening. “No need to stand on ceremony, bosun. Come in.” She held the door open and waved him in. As he entered, Crena walked over to a small tea service. “A spot of tea for you this afternoon, Mr. Fang?”
“Um, no. Thank you, Ma’am. I came to tell you…” He cleared his throat and lowered his voice just a bit. “I sensed a call from my sister.”
Crena perked an eyebrow as she was in mid sip, looking directly at White Fang. Carefully, she placed the tea cup back into the saucer and set them on the tea service. “Important?”
“Yes ma’am,” he nodded firmly.
“Well then,” she said as she straightened her jacket. “Tell Mr. Gor’dal to prepare the crew. Get any and all cargo stored and make certain the ship is ready to depart. Mr. Gor’dal will know the payment that needs to be made to the harbourmaster, he can arrange that immediately. Now, what, Mr. Fang, would our heading be?”
“I sensed my sister at the council chambers,” he replied with another firm nod.
“Council chambers,” she stated with some consideration. “No doubt an important matter if she was to attend the Ambassador’s side.” It was common knowledge among the crew that White Fang’s sister was charged with duties to the Lupine Ambassador. “And, no doubt, there will be a Vulpine escort ready to guide us in.” She ran one long claw through the fur at her neck as she considered this for a moment. “Well then, I suppose we best leave port, Mr. Fang. You have your orders. Go inform Mr. Gor’dal of what he needs to do.”
“Yes ma’am,” White Fang said quickly and left to attend to his duties.
Crena Clarendale lifted her tea again and smiled before taking a sip. “It will be nice to see Uncle Tor again.”
