The Wanderlust's ion drive. Just a hum, you know? Most days, I barely even register it anymore.
I'm Bolt, by the way. Siberian Husky, with a few… quirks. Right now? I'm sprawled out on the observation deck, kind of just watching the stars do their blurry, whiz-past-your-face dance. Yeah, it's pretty. Pretty mind-blowing, if you stare long enough.
But this recycled air? Ugh. Still smells like old metal and… sniffs dramatically… yep, whatever nutrient paste Eva's decided is on the menu this week. Always something beige. Always.
"Gotta say, Captain," I rumbled – my voice is deep, tends to catch people off guard coming from a dog, even a talking one – "another stunning light show out there. All that… sparkly space dust."
Eva, oh captain my captain - bless her, didn't even glance up from her console. Typical Eva. "Glad it meets your high canine standards, Bolt. Altair checkpoint's still on the ETA. Anything… unusual pinging that special doggy radar of yours?" Heh. That's her little joke for my 'other senses.' The ones that catch the stuff her million-credit ship sometimes flat-out misses.
I let out a big stretch, my claws making that little click-click-scratch sound on the deck plating. I'm not your average Earth-mutt, you get me? Siberian Husky, through and through, sure, but with a few extra features. Talking, obviously, is the big one. Gets complicated.
"Nah, all quiet out there," I told her. Then I paused, tilted my head. You ever get that feeling? "Almost… too quiet? That kind of loaded silence, like right before a massive thunderstorm hits back on Earth?"
Ahhh, Earth. Feels like a whole other lifetime ago, that place.
Seriously. I was, get this, a lab experiment. Sounds dramatic, right? They were trying to "unlock ancestral memories" or some sci-fi mumbo-jumbo. Guess it worked.
A little too well. Gave me this weird take on things. Like, dogs and cats back on Earth? They bicker, they chase, they have their moments. But mostly? They figure it out. Live on the same planet, share the same sunbeams. It's not… this. Not whatever this ancient, galaxy-spanning grudge match I keep getting whiffs of out here is.
"Humans sort it, you know?" I muttered, just loud enough for her to catch. "Dogs, cats, living together. Mostly chill. This whole cosmic vendetta thing, though? That's a whole different league of crazy."
Eva finally swiveled her chair around. One eyebrow arched way up. You know the look. "'This' what, Bolt? You're being even more of a broody poet than usual today."
And then it hit. Like a tiny, electric shock. A faint, weird whine shivering through the comms system. Just static, but… wrong.
Made the fur on my neck prickle right up. This wasn't some stray radio wave from a passing freighter. This felt… old. And seriously bad. Like a half-forgotten nightmare trying to shoulder its way back into your head.
"That," I said, my voice dropping low, all the playfulness gone just like that. "That's a whisper, Captain. The kind my ancestors were tuned to. The kind that means big, capital-T Trouble."
On the main viewscreen, a flicker. A tiny, almost invisible blip, way out on the edge of the Orion arm. Too far. Too faint. But it wasn't random space junk. I could feel it in my bones.
I was on my feet in a second, a growl rumbling deep in my chest. Eva doesn't hear that sound from me often.
"Back on Earth, Eva, a dog chases a cat, it's a Tuesday afternoon, maybe some barking," I said, my eyes locked on where that blip had been. "Out here? Feels like they're playing for keeps. Like, total annihilation, winner-take-all kind of keeps."
The static on the comms crackled again. Just for a microsecond. But in that tiny slice of time? A hiss. Not just any hiss. Pure, venomous, undiluted feline rage, echoing across the cold, dead void. Then… absolute silence.
"Yeah," I said, my voice barely more than a breath now. "The old war drums are definitely starting to pound, Captain. And I've got a really bad feeling about the upcoming playlist. "
Eva just stared at me. Her usual cool, calm, collected captain-face? Looked, for about two solid seconds, completely and utterly… flapped. Then, snap, the training kicked back in. Her eyes, laser-sharp, darted from me to the viewscreen – now showing nothing but stars where Orion glimmered – then back to the comms console, which looked all innocent and quiet again.
"War drums? Playlist?" she echoed, her voice a bit strained. "Bolt, that… that hiss… you're saying that was—"
"Felid," I cut in, no point beating around the space-bush. "With a capital 'F.' The kind that don't just purr when they're happy, you know? More like when they're about to pounce. And that blip? No way was that a comet or some lost asteroid. That felt like… like a scout. Or something ancient stirring in its sleep." I gave my head a hard shake, a shiver tracing its way down my spine that had zero to do with the ship's internal temperature. "Look, Eva, my ancestors? They weren't just howling at the moon for kicks and giggles. Some of those old instincts? They're less 'instinct' and more like… like hard-earned, species-wide trauma, all crammed into our DNA. And right now, every single one of those ancient alarm bells is screaming red alert."
Eva levered herself off the console, started pacing the small command deck. One lap. Two. Her boots made these soft, rhythmic thuds on the metal flooring. "Okay. Okay," she said, mostly to herself. "So, we've got a possible hostile scout. Unknown capabilities. Potentially linked to some kind of epic, interspecies grudge match that you're basically genetically programmed to lose your fur over. And it's all happening conveniently close to the Orion transit route, which just so happens to be our exact path in… " she checked her chrono, "seventy-two standard hours." She stopped pacing, planted her hands on her hips. "Standard procedure is log it, report it to Sector Command, and steer well clear.
But that 'whisper' you picked up on earlier?"
"Felt like a beacon," I had to admit. "Or maybe a warning. Or, hey, why not both? The kind of signal that's not exactly meant for general broadcast, if you catch my drift."
"And you, of course, caught it," she stated. It wasn't really a question. One corner of her mouth quirked up. That's Eva's 'I'm running a million complex calculations and you're about to hear the result' look. "Which could mean 'they' – whoever 'they' are – might not know we're even here. Or at least, that you're here. Could be an advantage." She tapped a thoughtful finger against her lips. "Or," she added, her voice dry, "it means we're about to nose-dive straight into the opening act of your delightful 'war drum' concert."
She spun back to her console, fingers dancing across the holographic interface like it was a piano. A detailed local star chart shimmered into existence, the whole Orion arm glowing a rather ominous-looking crimson right where that blip had blinked out.
"Alright, Bolt," Eva declared, her voice back to its usual crisp, decisive tone, though now there was this new undercurrent of… steel, maybe? "Let's not hang around waiting for the encore. Magnify all telemetry from the last known coordinates of that blip. Scan every single frequency, tight-beam, wide-spectrum, the works. And you?" She pinned me with a look. "You tell me everything – and I mean everything – that 'ancestral trauma' of yours is screaming at you about Orion and these cosmic damn cats."
My ears practically shot up. This was it, wasn't it? The exact moment where idle curiosity grabs the leash and drags the unsuspecting dog – and his equally unsuspecting captain – into something way, way bigger than a routine cargo run.
"Everything?" I asked, my gaze drifting towards that angry crimson stain on the viewscreen. "That… uh… that might take a while, Captain. And you seriously might not like all the tunes on this particular album."
"Try me," she challenged, her eyes glued to the screen. "Frankly, it's been a boring couple of milk runs. A little intergalactic species war might be just the ticket to spice up the itinerary."
I had a sneaking suspicion the 'spice' was going to be less 'mild paprika' and more 'Carolina Reaper straight to the tongue,' and we were both about to take a very, very big bite.