Like a Fox on the Run

grass below.
“Never mind,” Ridley shook his head, looking away as Tiger continued his capitulation to natural order. “You know … they put me up those special disposable canisters all around the pad. Just for that purpose. And here you go and puke all over my fresh-cut Bermuda.”
“Sorry,” Tiger coughed and spit. “If you bring me one …”
“Naw, you just do what you’re doing … over there. I’ll stay over here.” Even after all these years, some things you never got used to. Most of the side effects of re-entry had long ago been addressed with various drugs. However, all drugs have their side effects. Turning away to give the man some privacy, Dee took in Jenny Lou. “Anything I need to know?”
“I’m only rock side for three days, so just standard maintenance.” Tiger pulled a wet wipe from his flight bag and wiped his mouth. He pulled out the meal bar he had stuffed into his jacket pocket. He tore the wrapper open and quickly wolfed it down. A wizened veteran, he knew this would not be the last time he would succumb to the vomiting. It was better to have something on your stomach when you did. He turned back to Ridley once he got his legs back under him. “I’m gonna need to schedule Jenny in soon for her ten-year overhaul.”
“Yeah, she’s what … about two years overdue?” Dee gave him the typical mechanic’s scornful look. He’d always been a stickler about maintenance and upkeep.
“Alright, don’t get all high and mighty on me. Just send me some dates you have available over the next six to twelve months. There’s also a lot of nit-picky stuff that’ll need fixing too. Jenny can send you the list.
I do need you to check some servo relays in the cargo hold.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
Tiger leaned in close and stuck several hundred-point cash cards into Ridley’s ribs. “I also got a special cargo coming I need slipped past Customs and dropped in the hold,” he whispered, glancing cautiously around the pad. “Be coming from Cutter. Think you can handle that too?”
Ridley looked down and took the cards. Slipping them into his pocket ever so subtly, he gave Tiger a slight nod. “I think we can handle that.”
“Good. I’ll have the rest of your share before blastoff, just like always. Same cut for you and your crew. We good?”
Ridley smiled a mouthful of teeth and nodded. The same cut was a nice cut. “Oh, we good! This might even get you a mess of my mama’s Mexican cornbread waitin’ in Jenny’s pantry when you blast off.”
“Roger that! You know how much I love your mama’s Mexican cornbread!” Tiger drawled appreciatively, as he made for the terminal. “Right now, though, I’m headed for the barber. You got my number if anything comes up.”

 
The Cap’n once told me something about his racing days that has always stuck with me. He said you’ll never outrun your competition if you’re constantly looking in your rearview to see how much ground they’ve gained on you. You keep your eyes and your throttle forward.
My Old Man told me something similar once. He said if you spend all your time looking back, you’re never gonna see what’s coming.
It was all good advice. Many times, I wished I’d listened better.
 
~ “The Ponderings of an Old Spacer” ~
By
Tanner “Tiger” Thomas
June, 2203


Chapter 2
Inside the spaceport, Tiger passed through Customs, where he got his first look at … one of them.
Jesus H. Christ! What the hell is that? He was totally unprepared for what he saw. He’d heard it mentioned somewhere that such things existed. Maybe he had heard it on one of the news networks. Maybe he’d seen a blurb on the ultranet. But stuff like that never clicks, never really sinks in, until you actually lay eyes on it. It’s just so far out there that your mind can’t comprehend. More than likely he wrote it off as bullshit … typical net tabloid crap. And yet, even when it’s standing there right in front of you, you still have trouble digesting it as bona fide.
At first, he thought it was a joke, somebody in a mask. But as he moved closer to the security checkpoint, waiting to pass through the scanner, it slowly became obvious it was no joke. What he was seeing was disturbingly real.
He couldn’t decide if it was an animal with human characteristics or vice versa. Whatever it was, it was some kind of unholy genetic abomination, spawned somewhere in a lab by scientists playing God. Apart from obviously being humanoid, it was canine in nature, male and covered in a fine fur over what appeared to be its entire body. Of course, he could only assume this, since the creature’s torso was covered by a black tactical vest with the word “POLICE” stenciled across it in yellow, the same as the human cop he was working with. With more than a little concern, Tiger noted he wore a gun belt with a rail pistol holstered on his right hip. A friggin’ dog-man with a gun? You gotta be shittin’ me! Did they all lose their minds while I was away? Black, baggy fatigues covered his lower body and legs, although a grayish-black tail protruded from a hole in the rear of them near the lower back. It was barefooted, and as he moved hastily to and fro, Tiger could make out the black, leathery pads on the bottom and the long, curved nails that sprouted from the four wide toes on each foot.
But it was the face that captivated Tiger. For all intents and purposes, it was the face of a man. Yet, it was covered in the same fur that covered the rest of its body. The nose was black and leathery, but the