Were-Fox Crazy Like a Fox

[Crash Calestorm 0]

City of Grayson Protectorate

Outer Territories

 

Run, run run!

 

Crash had always been the take charge type. The trait was in her blood. In her younger days, it didn’t always work in her favor and she’d been a bit of a hell raiser. Eventually, the trait had tempered with maturity for command positions.

 

She’d dialed back by virtue of commanding a starship in the BP FTR* Division. She had people - good people - who could handle the assignments and jobs. But, there were still times that she would lead the way and she would never send her people out on an assignment that she wouldn’t take on herself.

 

She hadn’t expected a diplomatic tour to go haywire, however.

 

The last time she ran this fast was when she and some friends accidentally blew an old shed on the property, but that was a whole ‘nother story, this situation was much more dangerous, a lot less funny, and she was most definitely not running from Dad.

 

A blurred ball of fur hurtled into her, taking her down hard in a thicket of bushes and trees just inside the tree line: Jagrissa Honor-Scar, call sign ‘Jumper’. She’d brought the young El Tee along with her for some field experience; there was command potential there and the captain was sponsoring Honor-Scar professionally, the same as been done for her.

 

If they both lived through this…

 

With one hundred and thirty pounds of feline furball on top of her, Cale wasn’t going anywhere, and that was the idea. Honor-Scar whispered in her ear, the Caitians voice a growl from adrenaline and fear. “Stay down! Incoming!”

 

Captain staying put. Totally…

 

Two Hours Earlier

 

Captain Calestorm and Lieutenant JG Honor-Scar accompanied a patrol unit of the Grayson Guard. The tour was intended as a diplomatic overture to introduce the Captain to the local populace in the outlying settlements.

 

The soldiers wore light torso armor, helmets, gauntlets, riding boots, and a tunic of the Grayson Protectorate: gray, crimson and yellow. As with most of the local fashion, the uniforms were a blending of the Medieval and Victorian eras of Earth. The weapons of the patrol unit ranged from swords to crossbows and clockwork-mechanized pistols.

 

Two scouts attached to the patrol wore short jackets and flat brimmed hats. The uniforms were reminiscent of the Mexican ‘vaquero’ of Earths ‘Old America’ frontier past. A senior mage wore the long robes typical of his position, the stripe design on his sleeve indicating that he was a master sergeant per the Grayson ranking structure.

 

The Earth-horse sized domesticated animals used for transportation were two-legged lizards with clawed forearms of limited range, but the claws were capable of damage; the lizards were wingless, but reminded Cale of the dragons of Earth’s myths and legends. Whatever. As long as the damn thing didn’t try and eat her. Calestorm shifted in the black leather saddle, pleased to be riding again no matter the animal. Honor-Scar was hanging in there, but the captain could tell the junior officer was not a fan of mounted travel; the Cait wore a tactical scarf to protect against any dust and wind.

 

Deferring to the patrol leader, Cale nodded in understanding to his hand signals and positioned her mount behind the Grayson flag bearers. Honor-Scar maintained a position behind and to the right of the Captain; the Security escort from Comanche Creek maintained a constant presence near both officers.

 

The tour of the outlying farms and villages was enjoyable. About a quarter of a way into the tour, the patrol stopped in a crossroads settlement to rest the mounts. The local market was busy with farmers selling fresh fruits or vegetables while others sold items ranging from clothing to tools. The ‘first contact’ with the Grayson people was going well, the presence of the two Starfleet officers was considered a normal affair. Other teams had experienced similar acceptance.

 

The farms and outlying settlements were well kept and prospering. ‘Magical’ orbs of reds, blues, greens and orange, depending on the content of the recorded message contained inside, zipped here and there across the countryside, relaying messages to the intended person. Calestorm idled wondered if anyone ever got whacked in the head accidentally by one of the little buggers.

 

It was like stepping through time, into a society that was both modern and ancient. This was Starfleet. This was a textbook mission for the peacekeeping and exploratory organization. Discovering new worlds to learn fr--

 

A bellowed call of “Were-Fox! Enchantment!” from the mage interrupted Crash’s patriotic reverie. As with the attack on the main city, Defender Fhalen had mentioned Count Luca’s marauders and dark enchantments were also plaguing the outside territories and vassal towns.

 

The creature’s roar could be heard in the distance and several energy bolts from the magician went wide, missing the moving target as it beared down on the crossroads settlement. The locals grabbed defensive weapons while others helped fellows to safety, advocating the drill work of a local militia structure.

 

The patrol quickly dismounted and scattered, presenting several moving targets for the beast as everyone dove for cover along the tree line, rocks, buildings and whatever else was available for cover; several guardsman sighted down on the were-fox with long range crossbows.

 

Present Time

 

The pale-furred were fox jumped over the tree lined thicket where Jumper and Crash lay. Catching the scent of Human and Caitian as it cleared the hiding area, the dire beast howled, intent on its prey. At two hundred pounds, it could easily rip apart a full grown man.

 

A tranquilizer dart hit it, followed by another. A dozen more tore through fur and into the flesh of the fox and it howled; the dire animal stumbled, hind claws and fore claws digging into the dirt and grass as if fought to stay conscious against the magic-infused medicine. Weaving into the blood stream, the concoction counteracted the evil magic. Body mass was lost as the indigenous fox fell to the ground, one hundred fifty pounds lighter and a whole lot less nasty.

 

Shouts of the guards could be heard, calling out to the Starfleet officers. Their own Security escort alertly walked the perimeter.

 

Captain Calestorm looked at the younger female; Honor-Scar looked back at her. Both were panting, eyes wide, adrenaline and fight or flight going full tilt regardless of species. Crash cracked a smile, teeth bloodied from the skirmish and the grin made her look downright manic.

 

“Helluva ride, huh, Lieutenant?”

 

*Starfleet Border Patrol First Threat Response Division