"Try me," Eva had said, her eyes practically burning a hole in the star chart where Orion pulsed that angry crimson. Like she was daring the universe to throw its worst at us.
Humans. Gotta love their audacity. Or question their sanity. Sometimes both.
I let out a long breath, the kind that usually means I'm about to either take a nap or explain something really, really complicated. This was definitely the latter. Where do you even start with a story that's probably older than her species, a story etched into the very marrow of mine?
"Okay, Captain," I began, settling onto my haunches. The deck plating was cool beneath me, a small comfort. "But this isn't the kind of bedtime story you heard as a kid. Unless your folks were into tales of galactic schisms, bio-engineered warrior races, and a grudge so old it makes black holes look like teenagers."
Eva pulled up a spare stool, perching on it but leaning forward, elbows on her knees. All attention. No pressure, Bolt. Just explain the potential end of civilization as we know it. To your boss. Who happens to be armed.
"It starts… well, it doesn't really start anywhere I can pinpoint, not like 'on a Tuesday in Sector Gamma-7.' It's more like… a hum. A constant, under-the-surface thrum that's always been there for my kind, even if most Earth-bound dogs just think it's indigestion or the mailman."
I paused, trying to find the right words. This wasn't like describing the taste of synth-jerky. This was… ancestral.
"The 'ancestral trauma' I mentioned? It's not just bad dreams, Eva. It's like… a library. A massive, dusty old library in my DNA, and most of the books are written in a language I barely understand. But I get the gist. Especially the chapter headings. And a lot of those headings scream 'Orion.'"
"Orion," she repeated, her gaze flicking to the crimson-stained section of the star chart. "The constellation. The Hunter, Earth mythology called it. What's its significance in… your library?"
"It's not just a constellation to us, or not just that," I said, shaking my head. "In the whispers, in the feelings… Orion is the Forge. The Cradle. Maybe even the Battlefield. It's where… things began. And where things might have catastrophically, spectacularly, ended. Or paused."
Eva leaned in a bit more, her expression intense. "Began? What began, Bolt? You mean your kind? The Felids?"
"Both," I confirmed, a strange sort of weariness settling over me as I dredged up these… echoes. "The library in my bones, it hums with this idea of a… Progenitor race.
Ancients. Way, way ancient. Powerful enough to play gods, you know? And Orion? That was their workshop, maybe their grand gallery."
I looked at Eva. "The stories, the feelings… they suggest the Progenitors made us. The Canids – my ancestors – and the Felids. Not like we evolved naturally on a thousand different worlds, but designed. Purpose-built."
"For what purpose?" Eva asked, her voice quiet."That's where the books get a bit… torn and water-stained," I admitted.
"Some whispers say Canids were meant to be Guardians, Companions, Explorers. Loyal. You know, dog stuff, but on a cosmic scale. The Felids? Stealth, independence, perhaps… hunters of a different sort.
Maybe even internal security for the Progenitors, keeping their creations in line. Or maybe they were just two different, brilliant projects."
I scratched behind my ear with a hind paw, a nervous habit I hadn't quite managed to shake despite the whole 'sentient space-dog' upgrade. "The point is, we were both theirs. From the same Forge in Orion. Different, but… kin, in a manufactured sort of way. Like two models of starships from the same mega-corp, one a freighter, one a fighter."
"So, what happened?" Eva pressed. "If you were both from the same 'Forge,' why the eternal grudge match? Why did that hiss we heard sound like pure, undiluted hatred?"
"Ah," I said, looking away towards the star chart, towards that angry red stain. "That's the chapter titled 'The Great Schism.' Or maybe 'The Betrayal.' Or simply 'The Cataclysm.' Depends on which dusty, half-translated scroll you're pulling from my internal library."
I took another breath. This was the heavy part. "Something went wrong. Horribly wrong. Whether it was a flaw in the design, a competition for the Progenitors' favor, or maybe the Progenitors themselves engineered the conflict… the whispers are confused there.
But it broke us. Split us. Turned brother-models into bitter rivals. The Felids believe one thing, the Canids another. And Orion… Orion became the first great battlefield. The place where the first howls of war were answered by the first hisses of vengeance."
"The 'Last Bark of Orion'…" Eva murmured, connecting it. "Is that part of this? A weapon? A legend?"
"It's… significant," I said, feeling a shiver despite myself. "It's a phrase that echoes with finality. Maybe it was the last command given in a losing battle. Maybe it's a prophecy of a final stand yet to come. Or maybe," I added, my voice dropping, "it's the key to waking something up. Something that should really be left sleeping in the ruins of Orion."
The words hung heavy in the recycled air of the command deck. Eva stared at me, her expression a mixture of disbelief and a kind of grim fascination. Before she could voice the dozen questions probably queueing up in her head, the ship itself decided to interrupt.
A sharp, insistent blare cut through the quiet hum of the Wanderlust. Red lights flashed briefly across the consoles – proximity alert.
Bleep-Bleep-BLEEEEP!
"Report!" Eva snapped, instantly all-captain, swiveling back to her main console. The star chart vanished, replaced by rapidly scrolling telemetry.
"Energy surge, Captain!" I barked out, my own senses flaring in alarm, sharper and more defined than before. "Multiple contacts, emerging from that… that disturbed region near Orion. Not natural, definitely not.
They're small, fast… and they feel like a nest of vipers just got stirred with a very big stick."
On the main viewscreen, the distant specks of light from the Orion Arm were now joined by several new, brighter pinpricks. Too organized to be debris. Too fast to be civilian.
Eva's fingers flew across her controls. "I'm picking them up. Unidentified signatures, high energy output… they're not broadcasting any transponders I recognize. And they're… vectoring. Looks like they're spreading out in a search pattern." Her jaw tightened. "Or a patrol."
"The welcoming committee, perhaps?" I muttered, my tail thumping nervously against the deck. "For whoever, or whatever, made that hiss?"
"Or," Eva said, her eyes narrowed, "they're responding to that initial blip we saw. The 'scout' you mentioned. Maybe it reported something." She brought up a tactical display. Our ship, the Wanderlust, was a small, unassuming icon. The new contacts were a spread of angry red triangles moving with unsettling speed and precision. "And our current trajectory takes us right across their front porch in less than three days."
She drummed her fingers on the console. "Standard procedure is clear: avoid contact with unidentified, potentially hostile forces. Report to Sector Command, let the big guns handle it." She glanced at me. "But Sector Command is days away at best, and they'll probably just tell us to sit tight or run, filing it under 'another Orion anomaly to be ignored later.'"
"And those 'whispers' I heard," I reminded her. "The ones that felt like a beacon or a warning? Still think they weren't meant for just anyone?"
Eva nodded slowly, a thoughtful, almost dangerous glint in her eyes. "You heard it, Bolt. They didn't try to mask it from specialized senses like yours. Which means either they don't know we're this close, or they don't care… or perhaps, just perhaps, someone wanted a witness. Or a participant."
She stood up, pacing that short line between her chair and the main viewscreen. "We have a cargo hold full of non-perishable goods that can wait. We have a ship that's not much of a fighter, but she's got good sensors and a decent enough engine to run if things get too hot."
She stopped and looked at me, then at the red triangles on the tactical display.
"What we don't have," she said, her voice firming with decision, "is a clear picture of what in the blazes is actually happening in there. And if your 'ancestral library' is even half right, Bolt, something big is stirring in Orion. Something that could affect a lot more than just our delivery schedule."
She turned back to the console. "New mission parameters, Bolt." A ghost of a smile touched her lips, the kind that usually meant trouble was about to become our primary occupation.
"Objective one: cautious reconnaissance. We alter course slightly, run silent, and try to get a closer look at these contacts and what they're up to".
"Objective two: find out if there's any truth to these 'whispers' – is there a signal, a message, anything we can actually verify beyond your gut and my curiosity?"
She looked at me. "Think your 'other senses' can handle a bit of stealthy poking around the edges of a potential warzone, partner?"
My ears perked. My tail gave a hesitant, then a more decisive, wag. "Someone's gotta sniff out the trouble, Captain."
I grinned, or the doggy equivalent. "Just try not to get my fur singed."