Piers and the Wolf (Bougene Station ATU)

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One of the most common tropes in romances (and the fan fictions thereof) is the Enemies to Lovers trope.

When you can "mobilize consciousness" between bodies ... ... you wind up with this really WEIRD syncretic mix of "Friends IN Enemies become Lovers" ... ... which only gets weirder when you throw cross-species mobilization of consciousness into the mix.

As much as Piers and Roni might WANT to be Friends With Benefits ... accomplishing that with the DNA sequence of an "enemy" really ought to be something of a No No.
"Breeding" with an enemy, just because my "friend is inside" that enemy ... yeah, um ... no ...?

Fair point. That said,, they are both (non-standard) telepathic, so that kind of dissonance is slightly less of an issue -- she knows who he is on the inside. (A related issue was going to -- and may yet, if I can find a less-problematic approach -- be a key point, though.)

Thank you!

 

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Fair point. That said,, they are both (non-standard) telepathic, so that kind of dissonance is slightly less of an issue -- she knows who he is on the inside. (A related issue was going to -- and may yet, if I can find a less-problematic approach -- be a key point, though.)

Thank you!

I think I've found that less-problematic approach, and am working on it -- it shifts some exposition to characters who are better positioned to make it. I'm also adding additional action/interaction to provide agency to characters I'd basically railroaded in the first draft.

I'm calling Christmas Eve as my last-ditch deadline on this piece.

 

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Holiday Sequence 1:

‘T’was the night of Zinterklasch, and all through the starship, not a creature was stirring – most especially not that Red Vargr that pretty much killed my body a few days back; Veronica drugged him into biostasis and he ain’t going nowhere. (Was that supposed to rhyme or something?)

I can’t sleep. Since escaping my dying human body into this empty spare Vargr clone a few days ago, I’ve had chaotic sleep patterns. I think I want eight hours of sleep out of twenty-four, but my body wants frequent power-naps instead. So, I’m standing at the window staring into Jumpspace again. It doesn’t look like we’re moving 170 times faster than light – outside there’s only a bluish swirl of black and white fog with scattered gold patches. Each observer sees it differently, but it’s always been this for me, long before I met the wolf in my bed.

Ronni’s fur looks like Jumpspace does to me: the same swirling blend of black and white and the same gold patches, that color at her muzzle and paws. She’s beautiful, but I’m biased. I’ve got similarly placed gold patches, but I’m mostly plain black with white blazes. It’s a good thing she thinks I look good to her, since I didn’t get any choice with this body.

Now she’s stirring. “Piers,” she asks, sitting up drowsily, “come to Mama.” How can her eyes sparkle when she’s half asleep? But they do.

“Sure thing, puppy-girl,” I grin, settling back into her embrace while noting our affectionate status game. Didn’t do that with her back when I was human; we just shared intimate pet names, not one-updogship. But then, after yesterday night we’re not just partners but mates -- despite the awkwardness about how we got there and between us since. The awkwardness is still there, but it’ll pass.

We’d barely snuggled in for a brief cat-nap (which is odd -- we’re lupine rather than feline, but apparently metaphors are in the list of targets tonight along with rhyme and meter) when out by the main airlock there arose such a clatter, we switched on the security cameras to see what was the matter.

 

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Holiday Sequence 2 (Sequence starts at post #103):

“Rewind,” I tell the computer. It does. First the three figures aren’t in the airlock, then they are. The outer door never opened! “Ronni,” I declare, “that’s the weirdest Vargr boarding party I’ve ever seen.”

They’re a white-pelted COTCO High Priest, a Suzduek barbarian with spikes a-plenty and a horned helmet – or are those horns attached to his head? -- and a small black Irilitok carrying a large sack. He’s flat-faced and large-eyed, with small down-turned ears.

“And," I go on, "we’re in mid-Jump! How in the Hellworld can they even do that?! Or did they just teleport over from the cargo hold – and if so, what’s the point? They could have just walked!”

“No time for words,” she projects to me, “Telepathy’s faster. Those people are the Zhinterklash Pack!”

“Wait, what? The Vargr childrens’ fable?” I mentally reply. “Even if they are real, and here, why us? Even on their own terms, we’re too old for them to be interested!”

“Looks like them,” she responds. “The tall white one is The Kringle, bringer of gifts; the red barbarian is Krampus the Enforcer, and their small misshapen assistant is Black Peter. Krampus enforces the just use of Charisma by leaders, so he does deal with adults. But neither of us are leaders…?”

“The little one, misshapen? I think he’s kind of adorable, like a Terran Pug. Are all Irilitok like that?”

Veronica’s shocked. “No, this is an extreme case. Of course I’d never say it to that man’s face, but damn the Solmani eugenicists who inflicted this on him and them! How can they breathe with muzzles so crushed back? Or even eat!”

“Damn them indeed. Yesterday night when your Scent of Love drew me in, I was really, really glad I wasn’t human. Sadly, I’m kind of glad about it right now too.”

“Piers, it’s ok – you had nothing to do with it. And we Akumgeda and the Roth Thokken only live at the far corners of the Vargr Extents because we fled genocide at the fangs and claws of our fellow Vargr back on Lair. Everyone’s got their historic evil – Vargr, Imperial humans, Aslan, Zhodani, all of us.

“Anyhow, there they are.”

“Ok,” I think at her, “If it’s really them. Then again, if it’s not, then they’re still beings so advanced they can break into our pocket universe within a higher dimension which is going a hundred and seventy times faster than light in normal space, and match vectors like it’s nothing – and they want us to see them as figures from children’s stories. May as well take them at face value either way.”

“Piers, it has to be them. Nothing else makes sense. Even if it doesn’t make sense, everything else makes even less sense!”