Wild Beast: A Rough Sci-Fi Romance

“Enjoy, Captain,” Chaser, my second in command says. “We are all very honored and proud.”

He is trying to get on my good side, even at this very late point in the game. I will be down on the planet for at least thirty of its days and nights, gaining a greater understanding of the wild ones. If I survive, I will be inducted into the royal Vulpari court, an honor that I could barely believe I would ever be accorded at the beginning when I joined the military as a cabin whelp three decades ago.

I was not born to greatness, and greatness has not been thrust upon me. I have clawed, bitten, and slashed my way to where I am, and now I stand on the precipice of an unthinkable honor for a boy from the streets.

“You have command, Chaser,” I say, watching his eyes light up at the prospect of having authority conferred upon him.

“Thank you, Captain. I assure you, I will not fail you. We will remain in orbit to assist you if necessary.”

“Yes. You will.”

I have no intention of requiring assistance, but I like to know where my vessel is at all times, as well as each of the three hundred strong crew who run it.

The core command is present to watch me depart the ship. There is a certain momentous weight to these proceedings, a sense that what I am about to do will have ramifications for all Vulparians. The last time any of our species made direct contact with an ancestor was almost fifty years ago. That officer is now king. He obtained a sacred artifact with such power and such ancestral significance that the warrior on the throne abdicated it immediately. Now I am being given a similar chance. The eyes of my crew, my king, and my world are on me, even if they cannot actually see me.

“Be safe,” Scarton says. He is my weapons officer, a master of tactics and he would be my best friend if I were a little girl, and not a Vulpari warship captain. Instead he is my closest ally, and the one to whom I would leave all my most precious personal belongings—which consist of an ancient Vulpari sword and the jawbone of the first enemy I ever slayed.

“I sincerely hope not,” I bark-laugh. I am not undertaking this ordeal to be safe. I am going to the planet of the old wild ones to be challenged, and to prove that I am capable of surviving in the same circumstances our ancestors did. I will hunt for my prey, and consume it raw. I will seek shelter in a den I will dig myself. I will not have a single one of the trappings of advanced society, besides the transporter badge that is necessary for my removal from the planet at the end of my ordeal.

I remove my clothes ceremoniously. Our ancestors did not have weaponry, and so had no need for reflective plating, which can deflect the worst of a disassembly ray and ensure the wearer doesn’t end up in a pile of ashes.

Scarton steps forward with an item I did not ask for, and definitely do not want to take with me.

“It’s dangerous to go alone. Take this.”

“I can’t take that.”

“Listen. You need to do this ordeal for you. You’ll know what you did and did not use. If you don’t need it, you don’t use it. But if you do need it, I’d rather you did, because no ordeal is worth losing our captain over.”

Scarton is incredibly sweet for a warrior who likes to disembowel his enemies while they’re still alive so he can ask them what it feels like. According to most of his victims, it usually feels like indistinguishable screaming.

I take the weapon, though I have nowhere to put it on my naked furry body. I plan to bury it at the site I am transported down to, and dig it up before I am transported out again. Scarton values me as a captain because I am capable of keeping his worst impulses in check. Left to his own devices, he is a walking war crime. I have already instructed Chaser to ensure that he is kept busy while I am away. Plans have been made to distract him as necessary.

“Thank you, Scarton. Keep a close watch on Chase. He may need your help. The whelp cadets are still unruly.”

We have a platoon of fifty graduates from the Vulpari war academy serving their first tour of duty with us. Some of them are excellent. Others are quite good. A small number, three or so, are more trouble than they’re worth. Those are the ones who will one day compose a command core. There is a future captain among those currently sitting in the brig. Assuming Scarton doesn’t massacre them all for disrespect.