Morning featured a chipper Magarce, joining Jens in search of breakfast food, and carrying the gun with her at all times. It seemed to improve her mood- Jens wondered if it was vanity, as there was a buzz each time she was spotted. Word had got around about the petite Nerre who outshot Ungovernment’s best sniper, and perhaps the tale had grown in the telling, though it would be quite difficult to embellish it much beyond the startling truth. Magarce ignored the buzz, her ears flattening slightly, otherwise showing no sign of distress. She picked at breakfast, the gun lying on the table inches from her hand.

She wasn’t the only buzz, either.

“Kragensch are coming here? Seriously?” said Jens, glancing toward the door as if he expected them to burst in at any moment.

The guy beside them in the cafeteria nodded, and he looked at the door too. “Brin has some connections with the Tompar. I think they’re interested in some of the weapons technology, obviously they can’t get that in any normal way.”

“But what the hell do we want from them? This is crazy.”

“Well… obviously they’re not going to be short of money…”

“But still!”

The guy looked between him, and little Magarce, with particular attention to the gleaming target pistol. “I don’t know. Maybe we can use your girlfriend’s talents? It’s funny that she should turn up now. From what I heard, she’s probably just as good as them…”

“Better!” said Magarce. “Way better. Who are Kragensch?”

“Well, you know how cops are trained armed authority figures enforcing what they like to call the law?”

“Yeah?”

“That, without the law.”

“Oooh. What do they want?”

“I told you, they must want Brin’s connections. That means we have some bargaining power, but the trouble is dealing with guys where you need to have that balance of power…”

“Yeah,” said Jens, wincing. “I guess we can’t really teach them, you know, mutuality?”

“It’s good your girlfriend is here.” said the guy flatly. We’ve got to be realistic. And you might want to hurry up with your breakfast because…”

A speaker in the corner of the room sputtered and popped to life, first with an irritatingly edgy hum, and then a female Runge voice.

“Hello, we have sighted the Kragensch ship on its final approach. Anybody who can act in our defense, please come to the loading dock. Please. We might need you a lot.”

Magarce blinked at the tone of it. “What kind of captain’s orders is that?”

“That’s us,” said the guy, “being desperate. You’re going to go, I hope?”

Magarce stared at the plate of Runge breakfast. It was such odd stuff anyway- she’d developed a taste for it long ago, but when she ate it she became giddy and felt like nothing was real, and when she didn’t eat she became giddy from that in turn, so the whole Runge food thing was becoming annoying and her patience wasn’t holding up very well. She poked at the breakfast with a fork. Why did eating it make her dizzy? It mocked her. She might as well skip it.

She banged her paw on one edge of the plate, and it flipped several sorts of Runge porridge merrily across the table, where they lay in non-Nerre-nutritive puddles, which Magarce ignored. She seized the gun, and the safety clicked off with one decided motion.

“Let’s go!”

Jens had to run to catch up, for Magarce hadn’t waited or even looked back at him.

She wouldn’t talk to him as they marched down the corridor toward the loading dock, and she seemed angry, but it was some sort of suppressed angry. Jens wasn’t sure whether he wanted to catch her arm and hold her back, or let her go, but he was certain that it wasn’t safe to do that, and he stayed back, feeling foolish or worse. He towered over the mad gun-kitten, he’d fucked her twice, but there he was keeping his distance and not daring even to touch her, and there she was tramping down the hall toward her meeting with danger, her dainty jaw set, her eyes slits of annoyance.

By the time he got to the loading dock, Jens didn’t dare speak, and his tail was between his legs in shame. Magarce didn’t notice.

“Where are they?” rang the shrill feline voice.

“Oh, thank goodness,” said Brin, “I hoped I could count on you. Well done! Ganstig’s here. I see you’re prepared?”

“Where are they?”

“Let me brief you.”

“Okay.” said Magarce.

“Kragensch will be here any minute. Their ship is armed, and of course so are they. There’s at least five of them. We need them to send a single delegate, while the others remain in the ship. The delegate will go with me, to look at some samples from Tompar- you don’t need to know more about that, probably best you don’t ask about it, if that’s okay? The others will stay here until we get back.”

Magarce’s tail swished. “What do you need me for?” His seriousness impressed her, and his deference steadied her- though he was laying out information about what would happen and what she needed and didn’t need to know, the tone didn’t suggest she was a subordinate. It was as if she was being brought into the operation as an equal, someone valuable and trustworthy, and this was both unexpected and unfamiliar.

“I’m pretty sure I’ll be okay with the delegate. We’ll have Ganstig nearby, though of course we can’t have him come with me…”

“Why not?” said Magarce.

“They’re only sending one delegate, and they were… not happy about it. It should be obvious. I can only do this if I go alone with the delegate. If I tried to bring a bodyguard, forget it.”

“But you’ll have him nearby? What about me, then?”

Brin winced. “Ours is an imperfect world. I’d like to be more honest with them but Ganstig… put it this way, there’s no way I could persuade him not to try and guard me, nor would I really want to. He’s not going to accompany me, anyhow. And you’ll be needed here. I understand you’re an awfully quick shot?”

“Yeah.” said Magarce. “I can show you?”

“Not right now,” said Brin, “this isn’t a good time. Everyone’s jumpy. I need you here watching the ship. If I can, I’d like to have a bigger guy who looks more heavily armed also here…”

“As a decoy?”

Brin looked around, disappointed. “Yeah. In our imperfect world. Because I don’t have one. Jens! Can you hold something that looks like it might be a gun?”

“Um…”

“If anything happens, dive for cover as fast as you can. You don’t really have any sort of weapon but we’re talking about a situation where Kragensch suddenly attacks, and we’ve got to get Magarce a few moments to shoot without them targeting her.”

“Can we hide behind stuff?” said Jens. “Like, big solid stuff? And poke gunlike stuff out where they can see it?”

“We have to stay visible if we expect them to comply with our needs here. They won’t even come out if it looks like we’re staging an ambush, and that ship of theirs could take this dock apart, though it doesn’t look it. We’re supposed to be welcoming them peacefully.”

“While carrying guns?” said Jens.

“They will. You’d better believe they will. You just stay here, and they stay in their ship, and the delegate comes with me. Okay?”

“Is that them?” yelped a lady Runge.

It was a speck in the sky, visible in the red-grey of a Runge dawn, lost in the atmospheric haze but gradually more visible.

Nobody spoke as the speck grew larger, but the tip of Magarce’s grey tail began flicking about, more and more agitatedly. Brin noticed this, and said, “Take it easy…” in a worried voice, to which Magarce didn’t reply.

“That? Really?” said Jens. Brin nodded. “I told you, it doesn’t look it. Fast as hell, too.”

Kragensch’s ship was a small air/space shuttle, with wings and tail to handle atmosphere and three rocket engines that, given proper control, would manage attitude and direction in space. It had large, luxurious windows, and tripod landing gear, and objects at the ends of its wings that had a complicated look- they meant little to Jens, but Brin knew they served a dual purpose, as retro-rockets for more attitude control and as small turrets. He watched in disappointment as the ship landed and rolled into the loading dock, for the turrets swiveled and tracked, targeting him every second. They were going to be like that, again.

“Keep clear.” he said. “Don’t do anything. Keep your hands where they can see them.”

“Like with cops?” said Jens.

“I don’t like that.” said Magarce. Her tail twitched worse.

“I don’t either, okay? Just keep cool. Remember, don’t even approach me. I go alone with the guy. Don’t move in our direction. When we start to head back toward the corridor, don’t get between us and the ship, no matter what. Don’t do anything that looks like you’re trying to protect me… here we go.”

The gangplank rotated out of the side of the ship, small hisses and pops echoing in the silence as the air-seals released their grip. It made a small, expensive whir as the section of hull tilted down, curved like a claw, revealing steps on its underside, coming to rest against the ground.

There was a bit of movement inside- and then, nothing. All that came out of the ship was a voice, and it didn’t sound happy.

“There’s a new one! Who’s the Nerre?”

“That’s Magarce,” said Brin. “Yes, she is new. She’ll be staying here.”

“She’s got a gun!”

“So do you.” suggested Brin.

There was a little pause, then: “Tell her to put it down.”

“Are you going to put yours d…” began Brin, but he stopped. The turret mounted on the end of the wing pivoted, with a little whir of servomotors, to target him.

“Tell her to put it down.”

Brin’s ears were well back. “We had an agreement. You send your representative, and we will go alone to look at what I’ve got for you…”

“You broke the agreement by bringing this Nerre. Time for the new rules, friend.”

Brin’s jaw was set. “You’re joking. Look at her, she’s tiny! You can’t seriously think that…”

“Wait.” came the voice.

They did, and inside the ship, a muttered conversation ensued, one that seemed to meet with the approval of Kragensch, for there was a hint of chuckling by the time they were finished.

“Okay, how’s this?” came the voice. “Our guy’s gonna be like your hostage, alright? So you have to send a hostage. Send in the Nerre girl and we’ll go ahead. We’ve got your money, that goes with our guy. No tricks.”

“That’s not how…” began Brin, and corrected himself. “You ask her. I don’t control her. Don’t ask me to make her do anything.”

“Brin?” stammered Jens, and then froze. Magarce had stepped forward, and the turret had whirled to target her instantly.

“Put the gun down.” said the voice.

Magarce glanced at Brin, her tail flicking, and made a face, her eyes flashing with anger. Brin shrugged. “Up to you.” he said, and with great reluctance, Magarce laid the shiny target pistol on the ground, giving it a little pat as if to comfort it, standing up and staring at the unseen criminals with seething resentment.

“Look at that. She could have weapons anywhere. She’s all mad. …make her strip.”

“I told you, I don’t control her…” said Brin, as Jens’ expression slowly collapsed into horror. “They’re gonna…” he began, but Brin cut him off. “Cool it! Magarce, up to you. I wish I could say I was surprised. They probably won’t hurt you…”

“She’s got ten seconds to start or we hit you first.” said the voice, and the turret whirred back to target Brin again. “Nine…”

“God damn it.” hissed Brin.

“Eight!”

“No, don’t!” whined Jens.

“Seven!”

Magarce turned. She glanced at Brin, then Jens, with a look of complete exasperation- and shrugged the dress off her shoulders, using the Faisand-taught technique of letting it drop around her in a pool of silky grey, including the part about not letting it catch on her tail- and stepped out of the puddle of sheer fabric, deliberately, toward the ship.

“Hot damn.” came the voice. “Come on. Good girl…”

Jens watched in horror as his dainty lover walked demurely, step by step, away from her clothing and abandoned gun, with no weapons except those she’d used on him. His eyes ravished her from the receding curve of her cupcake breasts, softly furred in ivory- he couldn’t see those pink nipples, couldn’t tell if they were calm or aroused, didn’t dare guess- thought he could pick up the hint of pinkness or even a glisten from her feline pussy, glimpsed in the small gap beneath the gentle rotation of her pert rump as she walked unhurriedly to her fate. Jens couldn’t blink. He felt as though his wife was being assaulted- though she hadn’t given him many reasons to believe she would be faithful to him, much less marry him, and yet his feelings tore at him until he could hardly breathe.

Magarce walked onto the gangplank, one paw up on the first step in a fetching pose, and hesitated, but not to look back at Jens or Brin. She licked a finger, and ran it between her legs, and then proceeded to ascend the steps, in prim little motions, her tailtip flicking about in a strangely jittery way as if electrified, striking contrast to the unusual elegance of her motions. As she reached the level of the cabin, clapping and hooting broke out from within the ship, and she stood looking in for a moment.

And then, as the clapping subsided, Magarce prowled demurely in, and was lost to sight.

Jens whimpered, and then fell utterly silent, straining his ears in self-flagellating horror so he could hear the sounds he expected- sounds he’d heard up close, sounds he thought would belong only to him. Brin seemed to be ready to help, for he stared and was just as silent- the silence was so great, that the ticking of a clock could be heard, not in the loading dock but in a corridor leading up to it. No sound came from inside the ship, just the distant tick… tick… tick…

Jens’ desperate, shame-hyped ears picked up a noise that crushed his spirit- a wet little sound he would never have been able to make out at this distance, except for his manic state. A sound of fat Runge cock thrusting into Nerre vagina, unresisted, not a word of objection.

Then, before he could draw a breath or shed a tear- a word of objection, but not from a feline voice.

“Hey!”

The air split with gunfire, a fusillade of shots that rang painfully against the ears of the silence-steeped listeners.

Jens yelped. Brin froze, in the act of charging toward the ship, apparently trying to work out if he had to turn and shield Jens somehow, unable to decide what to do. From the corridor came a cry of “The fuck??” and running feet, and Ganstig burst into the loading dock, his eyes only on Brin. “You’re okay? You’re okay! What?”

“Stop!” snapped Brin, and Ganstig did stop, clutching his gun tightly, his eyes scanning between Brin, Jens and the abandoned gun on the floor.

All three jumped, as one more gunshot barked from within the ship.

A small figure appeared silhouetted against the ship’s interior.

Magarce stepped demurely down the gangplank, pausing to smooth the fur over her intimate parts as if they had been left untidy, as if she was offended by this untidiness for a change. With the other paw, she held a gun. She padded away from the ship, back to where she’d been, bent with the suggestion of a wince as if something had left her uncomfortable, and picked up her own shiny target pistol.

“They shot at me.” she said, contemptuously.

Ganstig and Brin stared. Jens began to cry.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” hissed Magarce. “Go and collect the guns and stuff. We’ll give them to your friends here. The ship’s mine, I’m keeping it, okay?”

Jens hurried, sobbing, into the ship, and the next unseen sound was him throwing up, which got him a “Jens! Damn it!” from Magarce.

“You’re… okay. Right. You’re keeping it, huh?” said Brin.

“Yeah. I like it. Look, now I have two guns! You can have the others.”

“Uh… okay,” said Brin, “maybe we’ll take you up on that but do you know what? They might have had people watching. Or expecting them to come back out of here alive, and with a bunch of Tompar bio-weapons, know what I mean?”

“Oh! So I should keep some more of the guns then?”

“No, that won’t matter, but you need to get that ship out of here. Quick!”

“What?”

Brin shook his head, barely keeping a grip on the situation. “You just killed gang members. That wasn’t all of them. You have to get that ship out of here and do something with it. I’m hoping it has a transponder, though I’d bet anything they’ve defeated it, and they’re here undercover…”

“I have to take this ship away? But I can have it?”

“Yes! It’s too dangerous for us to have here. We’d probably have to scuttle it, strip it for parts…”

“Noooo!” cried Magarce, pleading in her eyes and guns in both paws, one still smoking a bit.

“Alright alright… you can have it, but you’ve got to get it away from here. Do you know anywhere you could take it?”

“How about Erckt Point?”

Ganstig’s jaw dropped again. Brin stared. “Um. That sounds… appropriate…”

“Okay!” chirped Magarce, and began to scamper back towards the ship. She hesitated, darted to the side and snatched up the dress she’d got from Faisand. She rushed up the gangplank.

“Hey!” cried Brin. “You’ve got to ask Jens if he wants to…”

“I’m keeping him too!” called Magarce. “Right, Jens?”

“But…” began Brin, and stopped when Ganstig caught his hand.

“Get her out of here…” hissed Ganstig. “In this imperfect world… right?”

“But…”

“Bye!” called Magarce. The gangplank began folding up. The engines whined to life.

“But… Erckt Point? Jens in Erckt Point? Ganstig!”

“Look who’ll be protecting him. If you want to call it that…”

They stood, locked in indecision, as the gangplank closed and sealed with a hiss. The ship swung around, rolling ponderously, set in motion by blasts of its engines that turned the loading dock into a hurricane in a confined space. The wingtip banged into another ship, scraping it with a harsh metallic screech, but didn’t break. It narrowly cleared the side of the arch that served as an entrance door for the area. Another blast of engines nearly knocked Brin and Ganstig over, and a few others who dared investigate, and then the ship was out of sight, rolling towards the hidden runway, going to full throttle in a withering roar of rocket thrust, clawing for the sky and gone.

Brin broke the silence. “We’re going to rescue him.”

“Come on, hon.” said Ganstig.

“We’re going to.” said Brin. He was quietly weeping.

“Come on. Let’s get inside. Lock up, go dark, radio silence…”

“He didn’t agree to that.”

“He walked into it.” said Ganstig. “He was fucking her, I guess he made his choice?”

“This imperfect world…” said Brin, bitterly. He said the familiar phrase like, this time, it was a curse.

The Ungovernment members made their way back into their compound. The lights went out. The door shut. The door clicked.