FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Decklan's ship was empty, his phone was quiet, and he was feeling sorry for himself.

He knew what he probably looked like--a massive grizzly, slumped morosely over his table, listless with boredom. It was sad enough that he wanted to laugh at himself. Instead, he picked up his phone and opened the Freelancer app for the third time that day.

UNDER REVIEW, the app informed him again, followed by the familiar, friendly message: Your rating has fallen below 3.5. A representative will be in touch to discuss the status of your account.

He sighed slowly through his nose and dropped his phone back to the table. He'd already spoken with a representative earlier that day. He'd explained about the one-star review, how the passengers had smuggled illegal and dangerous drugs onto his ship and tried to turn their three-day trip into a three-day party, and hadn't taken it well when he cut the contract short and booted them off at the first jumper station he could dock at. The doe on the other end of the video call had seemed very sympathetic, and had walked him through how to contest a review and assured him that once the review was removed, his rating would come back up and he'd be able to take jobs again.

But she'd also said that it could take a couple of days for his ticket to be processed. When he asked why the submission form said twenty-four hours, she'd given an oblique answer about circumstances, which he took to mean it takes longer if you're an ex-pirate with a criminal record.

Then she'd suggested, in a well-meaning way, that he take the two days off and "look at it as a vacation".

He'd spent the rest of the morning cleaning up his ship, clearing out the mess made by the strung-out passengers. Then he'd ventured onto the jumper station and found himself lunch. Now he was back on his ship, facing down another day and a half with nothing to do but either listen to the silence, or fight the crowds for what little entertainment might be available on the small station.

He briefly entertained the idea of going to another station, a bigger one with more to offer. Maybe one with a club he could visit.

But it was hard to justify the expense in fuel and life support if he didn't have a client on board. Even harder to contemplate the loneliness of passing through space alone, just him on an empty ship. No crew, no passengers, not a soul on board except for him. It'd take eight hours to get to the nearest station big enough to have that kind of venue, and he didn't know if an eight-hour trip alone would be worth it, just to lurk at the back of a club and watch other furs play.

So he was sitting in his ship, alone, listening to the sounds of the station's docking port drift in through the open door, passing the time by wondering if there was something wrong with him that he didn't know how to enjoy a vacation. And when the sounds from outside changed and he heard raised voices, he stood and made his way out to investigate, as much for something to do as to see if anyone needed help.

Decklan poked his head out of his ship and quickly spotted the source of the ruckus. An over-groomed savannah cat was in a pitched argument with a stoat. The stoat was significantly shorter than any other fur in the docking port and was dressed like a rumpled professor in a corduroy blazer, but he was giving as good as he got, his back ramrod-straight as he placed his briefcase aside to point emphatically and accusingly at the cat.

Decklan was struck with a feeling of familiarity. The savannah cat was a fellow pilot that he'd seen in passing around the port, of course, but something about the stoat's unusually light color and the stern edge in his voice...

Then he heard the savannah cat say, "we're a family ship, sir, I'm not allowing that kind of perversion around my son," and everything clicked into place. Decklan was suddenly grateful for the dark, concealing color of his fur as he felt his face heat under it, remembering where he'd last seen the stern little stoat in front of him: in an instructional video, demonstrating beginner bondage techniques on a very enthusiastic submissive.

"We don't plan to fuck in your common room," the stoat said sharply. "What am I supposed to do? This is urgent."

"I don't care what you do. I'm not running errands for a pimp."

Decklan let out a low, rumbling growl and stepped up beside the stoat, straightening up to his full height. As expected, both furs fell very silent and looked up at him. Most people had to; even for a grizzly, he was tall, and he was aware that he looked even larger in the cramped port of an older station that had been built for efficiency rather than comfort.

He raked his mind, trying to remember if he knew the stoat's name, then realized it probably didn't matter. He knew the name of the organization that produced them. Everyone in the BDSM scene knew it. He looked down at the stoat and asked, "you work with the VDA?"

The cat made a sound of disgust. The stoat gave her one more foul look, then turned his back on her, putting his entire attention on Decklan and holding out a paw. "Yes. Marley Prost." Decklan tried to hide his surprise. Most furs only had a single name; two names meant Marley had a claim to some kind of family trust. It didn't necessarily mean he was filthy rich, but it usually meant adhering to some level of respectability politics that'd be at odds with tying up subs on camera for online BDSM 101 courses.

"Decklan," he said, grasping the offered paw and dwarfing it with his own. "Sounds like you need transport?"

"Somewhat desperately, actually. Please tell me you're a pilot." The nasty, trapped-animal edge was easing out of Marley Prost's voice. He didn't handle panic well, Decklan concluded, but recovered quickly once he had a plan and support. Decklan nodded, then gestured towards the open door of his ship, which got him a sharp-toothed little smile from the stoat. Marley grabbed his briefcase and led the way, only pausing briefly to read the name of the ship--BAD PENNY--on the ID display and let out an appreciative little huff.

The savannah cat stared after them, clearly still bristling for a fight. Decklan took Marley's cue and ignored her, and sealed the ship's entrance behind them.

As soon as they were onboard, Marley beelined for the table in the center of the bridge and sat down without waiting for an invitation. Unlike the station they were docked to, everything on board the PENNY was sized for Decklan, and the little stoat looked fairly dwarfed seated on the semi-circular booth surrounding the table.

"Mr. Prost," Decklan started, sitting down on the opposite end of the table.

"Call me Marley, please," the stoat corrected, waving a paw dismissively, and Decklan nodded.

"Marley. I should let you know I can't officially take any Freelancer jobs right now."

Marley paused in the process of unlatching his briefcase and looked at Decklan, which Decklan took as a prompt to explain. He told Marley about the client, and the one-star review, and the representative who'd said it could take up to two days before they made a decision. Then, somewhat reluctantly, he also told Marley about his convictions, because it seemed better than Marley know upfront rather than find out after and feel like Decklan had hidden it.

"A former pirate?" Marley said at the end, sounding more curious than anything. "Well, the situation with your account isn't ideal--not that I care, but the VDA is paying, and they might give me a hard time about paying you directly. They'll have to deal with it, though. I'm between a rock and a hard place here, and I don't want to risk lining up someone else and having that happen again."

Decklan hesitated, then said, "she called you a pimp. Are there pets involved?"

The wry smile disappeared from Marley's face, his lips pressing into a grim line. "Yes. You're familiar with our pet program, I take it?"

Decklan lifted one paw and tilted it in the air in a so-so gesture. "I know it's a training and certification program for elite submissives. Submissives who want to make their lifestyle a career." The pet program was what had made the VDA--short for The Voluntary Domestication Agency--a household name, even outside of the BDSM community. Some pets had become prominent porn stars or luxury sex workers, but most of them were privately matched with a wealthy partner, a dom who could afford to support a full-time submissive.

He'd heard plenty more: from gossip in clubs, from forums online, even from newscasters. But a lot of what he'd heard was conjecture or rumor, and some of it was outlandish. He'd never met a pet in person. He assumed they--or their partners--could generally afford better transport than him and the PENNY.

Marley eyed him, then nodded. "That's a fine summary. We have reason to be concerned for two pets living on Huntsman Station. I need to get there as soon as possible to verify their safety, and help them get out of their situation, if necessary. And I'd appreciate if you'd accompany me once we reach the station, to...de-escalate any situations that might arise."

Decklan was already doing calculations in his head as soon as Marley said as soon as possible, working out the fuel and life support stock on the ship. Huntsman Station was a relatively small, privately-owned station, one of those that touted itself as a lifestyle community project and didn't welcome tourism. Decklan had never visited it, but he knew it was less than half a day's travel away, by the PENNY's speed.

"We can leave now," he said finally. Marley raised his eyebrows, like he'd expected to hear something else, but after a second, he just nodded.

"That would be ideal. Thank you."

Decklan nodded in return and stood, leaving Marley at the table and seating himself in the pilot's seat across the bridge. He filed for priority in the queue, and within ten minutes, they were disconnected from the jumper station. Five minutes later, they were out of orbit, the auto-pilot pointed towards Huntsman Station and indicating four hours to destination. Decklan turned in his chair to look over at the table and the stoat sitting there.

Marley had opened his briefcase and spread paperwork across half of the table. When Decklan stood and returned to the table, Marley didn't look up, engrossed in flipping through a stapled sheaf of paper. But when Decklan sat down, Marley immediately pushed two manilla filing folders across the table to him. Decklan accepted the folders and flipped the first one open.

The first page inside had a photo paperclipped to it. The photo showed a young, attractive canine--a young man, Decklan realized, as he saw that the page clipped to the photo was a bio with some basic information. His species wasn't easily identified on sight; he was rangy and angular, and could have been anything from a coyote to a runty wolf.

Decklan shifted it to the side and opened the other folder to find a similar bio and photo, this one showing a pretty fox girl. The photos were staged to look casual, but were too flattering to be anything other than professionally taken. Both furs pictured wore soft, black collars around their necks.

"These are the pets you're looking for?" Decklan asked, skimming over the bios. When he looked up, he found Marley had turned his attention from the paperwork in his own paws to stare at the photo of the fox girl, grimacing again. "You know her," Decklan guessed.

Marley nodded. "Safrilly. She only graduated the program a month ago. She's lovely. Very smart, fiery."

Decklan grunted and turned his attention on the other profile, the young man. The name under his photo was Jamey. "He'll be older now," he said, spotting the birthdate. The jackal looked young in the photo--early twenties, like Safrilly--but his birthdate was a year before Decklan's, putting him near on forty.

"He graduated before my time," Mr. Prost said. "Almost a decade ago."

Decklan scanned the two profiles, looking for what they had in common. He finally found it at the bottom. "They went to the same patron?" That was the term used on the bio; the dom they were living with, clearly.

"Brandin Wrath." Marley pushed another folder over to him. Decklan raised his eyebrows when he opened it to find a similar profile. There was even another photo--not nearly as professional or flattering--showing a weedy-looking tiger in a button-up shirt.

"You keep information on the patrons, too?"

"Yes. They consent to background checks and some other measures as part of the process. Sometimes we require references." Marley grimaced, showing a couple of his tiny, needle-like teeth. "We do everything we can to be sure our graduates are going into safe and secure living situations."

"But you think these two aren't safe," Decklan concluded, squinting at the dates again. Safrilly had gone to Brandin just a few weeks before, but--"Jamey's been living with him almost since he graduated. Ten years?"

The stoat let out a quiet, frustrated clucking noise, almost a chitter. "I know. We check in with pets monthly for the first year after they're placed, and he never said anything--at least, nothing that was flagged in his file, but he graduated so long ago, and we didn't keep records as carefully then..."

"Is it normal for a patron to request a second pet?"

"It's rare, but not unheard of." Marley sighed heavily. "Because he was already in our system as a successful match to Jamey, we didn't look into him as closely this time. Just an interview."

"He didn't bring Jamey to the interview?"

"No. He was supposed to, but he said they hadn't realized that, and with almost a day's travel time..." he shook his head. "We should have insisted, though. Especially when we hadn't heard from Jamey in so long."

"But you let Safrilly go home with him. And then what? She called and told you something was wrong?"

"No. Jamey did. He called an old number that we don't use any more, but luckily it goes to a voicemail that gets checked occasionally. He expressed...concern for Safrilly."

Decklan frowned. "For her, but not for himself."

Marley looked up at him, then cast a troubled look at the photo of the smiling canine in the folder. "He said, 'if you don't get her out of here, he's going to kill her'."

***

They reached orbit around Huntsman Station on schedule, roughly three and a half hours later, and Decklan got them priority in the docking queue. Despite its small size, the station proved to be a maze to navigate; it had been constructed around the idea of walkable communities, homes mingled together with corner stores, schools, and office spaces in giant cul-de-sacs in a way that was meant to mimic the organic growth of planet-side communities and prevent the need for most residents to ever go further than a few blocks from their home.

The address for Brandin Wrath, once they found it, was in a quiet neighborhood. Comfortable, realistic-looking brick facades lined a carefully cultivated central green space with grass and trees. Real, rooted fruit trees, not the reedy-looking bushes that were standard part of decor and oxygen maintenance on most stations.

It wasn't a surprise, given that the tiger had a family name and had the income to convince the VDA that he could support two pets, but Decklan hadn't thought through how out-of-place he would look in a nice neighborhood. He skulked down the walkway behind Marley Prost and tried to ignore the stares he and his patched, well-worn clothes were getting from passersby.

At least the stoat didn't exactly fit in, either, with his escaped-from-the-campus aesthetic. Decklan had asked about that, during their flight, and Marley had just laughed and said he liked to be comfortable. He didn't seem to notice the attention they were attracting: he walked with a quick, purposeful stride, his back ramrod-straight.

"How will we get in?" Decklan asked, as the numbers on the doors passing by crept closer to the one they were looking for.

"I'm hoping Mr. Wrath will let us in. As far as he knows, this is just a typical check-in." Marley paused, then glanced at Decklan, the corner of his mouth twisting wryly. "And if that doesn't work, I'm hoping you'll have a back-up plan?"

Decklan grunted in assent. It put him a bit off-balance, the way Marley spoke to him--like they were a team, rather than client and hired help. He trusted Decklan's judgement, and hadn't yet expressed doubt in Decklan's abilities or asked any invasive questions about Decklan's criminal history. It was almost like working with a crew again.

Marley stopped suddenly and said, "here." Decklan stopped just in time to avoid walking into him, a rush of adrenaline washing away the melancholy, and looked up.

The door was set into faux brick, but was still definitely steel, as expected on any station. There was no visible knob or handle. Marley stepped forward and touched the door, and a screen lit up, prompting him to enter a code or page the inhabitants, and a little red light flicked on to indicate a camera was capturing video.

Decklan quickly slunk back along the brick until he was sure he was out of view of the camera and watched, running through options in his head. If they needed to get in by force, he could do it. It wouldn't be his first time cracking through a door on a private station. Maybe his first time doing it for a good reason.

But that turned out to not be necessary. After a long moment, someone from inside the home finally answered Marley's page. Decklan couldn't see or hear much from his angle--the speakers and screen were angled specifically to reach only someone standing directly in front of the door--but it was a short conversation, anyway. As soon as Marley said he was from the VDA, the door unlocked with an audible chunk and then swung inwards. Marley immediately inserted himself into the doorway, as if worried it might close again, and Decklan hurried up to follow him inside.

The door opened onto a cozy, domestic living room containing Brandin Wrath. Decklan's first thought was that he should've looked at Wrath's date of birth, too; the photo in his file must have dated back to when he had matched with Jamey. The tiger in front of them was no longer young and lithe, but had grown wiry and hard with age and something else--stress, or maybe steroid use. His orange fur was dusted through with blonde-grey and was strangely uneven, making him look moth-eaten; another sign of poor health. He was wearing a button-up and a pair of belted slacks like in the photo, though, as if he'd just come from an office.

His pale eyes turned on Decklan quickly, obviously startled by his presence, and his lips drew back in something between a sneer and a snarrl.

"This is my colleague, Decklan," Marley said, friendly and polite.

Decklan followed his lead and held out a paw, rumbling, "pleased to meet you." He watched Wrath eye him, saw him take in Decklan's single-moniker name and his worn, practical clothing, and saw the moment that the tiger decided he wasn't shaking hands with the help. Decklan waited for a nice, long moment, just to make it awkward, then dropped his paw.

Wrath cleared his throat. "I'm sure."

"Well," said Marley, "we don't want to take up too much of your time. I'll just need to see Safrilly and Jamey."

"Both of them?" the tiger asked sharply, then visibly reeled himself in, smiling a slick sort of smile that made Decklan feel cold. "Sure. Sit down, I'll get them."

Marley sat himself on the couch. Decklan remained where he was, standing, planted in front of the exit. Wrath gave him a single hard look, then ascended the spiral staircase at the far end of the living room, up to the second floor of the home.

Decklan stayed where he was, and considered whether there might be another exit upstairs. It was hard to know, in privately-owned stations like Huntsman. The architects and engineers liked to get creative.

The fox girl, Safrilly, appeared at the top of the stairs first. Wrath was so close on her heels as she descended that it was amazing she didn't trip. She wasn't wearing the same carefree smile as in the photo. Her fur was powdered heavily with makeup, and the faux-leather collar on her throat--pink, but not quite the right pink to match the babydoll dress she wore--looked cheap and stiff. Her clothes looked uncomfortable, too, the clingy fabrics mussing her fur.

The other pet, Jamey, came down behind Wrath. He was taller than Decklan had expected, and angular, like the years had carved away at him and left sharp points behind. His face was heavily powdered, too, making him look strangely washed-out and ghostly. The black collar around his neck was visibly too tight.

Jamey watched his feet as he descended, as if he was afraid of tripping. But halfway down he paused, glancing up, and his warm amber eyes met Decklan's. He examined Decklan, clearly sizing him up.

Then he tilted his head, giving a small but pointed nod towards Wrath. Towards his left side, specifically.

Decklan narrowed his eyes and looked hard at the tiger. Safrilly was in the way, though. As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she spotted the stoat on the couch, and her face lit up.

"Marley! I mean--" she corrected herself quickly. "Mr. Prost, sir!"

"Safrilly," Marley replied, standing from the couch and holding out a hand to invite her closer. But Wrath moved to stand beside Safrilly and put a heavy paw on her shoulder, keeping her pinned in place.

"I think you can talk to them from there. Safrilly's been under the weather, we wouldn't want you to catch anything."

Decklan moved to stand beside Marley, mirroring Wrath's stance and not bothering to hide how closely he was examining the tiger, looking for whatever Jamey had been trying to point him towards. Wrath's eyes narrowed at Decklan, and he flexed his paw on Safrilly's shoulder, her dress tugging slightly like he was digging his claws into her. Marley inhaled sharply and Decklan knew he'd seen as well.

"Safrilly," Marley said, "are you alright?"

"No, I'm not." Her voice was shaking, but there was an edge of steel to it that made Decklan think Wrath was lucky he hadn't lost that paw yet. "I want to leave. Right now, please."

Wrath snarrled, a sound of pure rage. Decklan let out an answering rumble that only got louder when he saw Wrath's paw flex again, revealing the blood staining the cheap fabric of Safrilly's dress where his claws had broken skin.

"Mr. Wrath, let her go," Marley instructed. "I suggest--"

Before he could finish his suggestion, Safrilly moved, twisting out from under the tiger's paw. Wrath lunged and grabbed her again, wrapping his arm around her waist and locking his claws into the soft flesh above her hip, making her yelp.

Then Wrath reached back with his left paw, pulled out a handgun, and put it to her head.