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  He typed it all out for Admiral Snout’s eventual review: land one newly captured freighter under a false flag, secure the dock with shock troops, fan out to capture nearby stations, and land additional craft. Pretty simple really. Travel on captured shuttle vehicles to the police headquarters and to other sections of Star Pussy (using the facility’s transportation network much like they did back on New Australia with the old Service Tunnel).

  Eliminate all resistance. Capture the police headquarters. Kill the police chief. Basically a complete takeover of the station accomplished within a day or two; then land additional freighters for the extraction of females. They could use the space station's own shuttle vehicle system to transport captured females out to the waiting Naustie freighters; and in a matter of hours pile them all in… and as always... get the hell out before Star Fleet warships arrived.

  Next day, Admiral Snout read through the report on the bridge of the Anarchy, looking up occasionally to glare at his trusty First Mate. The Admiral snorted a few times with apprehension. This was a really dangerous plan thought Snout—and he wondered how the generals would react to it. Kscheeech could understand his Admiral’s hesitation. This was certainly ambitious. But Kscheeech felt the need to stage a massive attack which could last three full days if Star Fleet hadn't responded already. In his mind they needed to seize the entire facility. That made the most sense; and was probably the safest bet.

  As he had watched the video "Your Safety on Star Pussy" Kscheeech most certainly grasped how big of a challenge this would be. Star Pussy Police were far more than just security guards in a cushy job. These were well-trained riot police... with military backgrounds in most cases. They had regular fitness training it claimed, and were located throughout the facility strategically so that response to disturbances could be both swift and decisive.

  Because of that, a small attack would be pointless, thought Kscheeech. If the SP Police responded, they'd be in force. And if there was to be a battle, Naustie troops would become completely engaged in full combat; with little chance to focus on rounding up captured females, at least until the SP Police were completely defeated or destroyed. This is how Kscheeech saw it anyway. Snout didn’t agree… he just thought they were “nothing more than bouncers in a whorehouse.” Nevertheless, Snout gave a big snort and muttered to Kscheeech, “Tall order, this plan.” Snout was more of a fan of hitting quick, grabbing loot, rounding up captives, and getting out fast….

  Kscheeech did some more calculations after meeting with Admiral Snout. His casualty estimates were starting to look ominous: There were five main Environs, he’d learned from one of the videos he'd watched the day before. If each Environ had about 300 police patrolling and monitoring it, plus fifty to 100 police patrolling each of the docks and maybe another 100 working around the shuttle vehicle routes…? That could mean nearly 3000 police to have to fight for control of the space station.

  And besides that, what about the deluge of people clogging the walkways and actually engaging with each other inside the venues and attractions? This could be a very, very difficult attack. Star Pussy had the capacity for up to 10,000 guests at any given time. Maybe the Admiral was right. Maybe a full takeover was too tall of an order….

  Later that week, Kscheeech held his staff meeting with the different Brigade Commanders and their ship captains via a ship to ship short range communication signal. In deep space, this signal was too weak of a transmission to be detected at long range by Star Fleet but it was sufficient for the nearby ships to be able to communicate with each other while they were far from any shipping lanes. Eventually the signals would bounce off something in space and arrive on some Star Fleet computer appearing as nothing but gibberish, because it was in code. But this static-laden garble could be triangulated back to its origin within a few days of its original transmission, and Star Fleet could possibly know something was coming their way out of deep space. That's why the Nausties had to be so careful.

  Of course, once they got near shipping lanes, all communications between crafts would be forbidden. This had always been Naustie practice when attacking in squadrons. Strict instructions and timetables. Orders followed specifically. All bodies of slain comrades had to be accounted for and returned to the extraction point or port of exit. No communication between ground units and the orbiting pirate fleet, so no recorded transmissions. It made all Naustie attacks impossible to identify as to their origin. There were not even dead bodies left behind of the raiders themselves.

  All these brigade leaders attending the conference call with Kscheeech had already been promoted to GENERAL by the Tribal Confederation. It sort of made all of them recognize that however they distinguished themselves in the upcoming mission, it would have some bearing on their future prospects for being made Commanding General of the Naustie Army. There hadn't been one since Hicks had ridden with Perry up that ramp during the final assault on the Terminal headquarters. But if war ever came; most likely one of these eight creatures would be chosen.

  For the meeting Kscheeech sat in the ship's conference room. He watched a wall with a giant video monitor which showed an animated display map of Star Pussy. The map was actually a fifteen second video which he'd excerpted from a commercial about luxury vacation packages on the Star Pussy Channel. He’d recorded it onto a loop which played out over and over again while he conducted the meeting.

  When he spoke in Galactic during the meeting, it translated into the Naustie Ship2Ship code for transmission, then his words would appear on the screens inside the conference rooms of all nine other craft hurtling through space together. When they replied or asked questions, he'd see pop-up boxes along the side of his giant room video monitor display and be able to move his laser pointer over to select a box and address their question verbally. The computer would again translate his spoken Galactic into code and transmit it to everyone.

  In this first meeting though, things didn’t go very well for Kscheeech. The Brigadier Generals... well four of them anyway... objected to the scope and far too aggressive objectives of his plan. Certainly three of the generals merely nodded in agreement, wanting apparently to toe the line. Wanting to seem loyal. For example, the brigade commander of the unit assigned to Anarchy… a Pumalar named Bengal… just sat patiently through the meeting and purred softly in a deep rumble. No emotion. Just waiting for the chance to order his troops into battle.

  But these four dissenters from other ships expressed their concerns almost immediately. “And what about Star Pussy sending out a distress call?” one General asked onscreen. “That should be no problem,” Kscheeech replied back to him promptly.

  Slarts back on New Australia had developed an amazing jamming device using captured existing technologies from Earth freighters. The device basically flooded star fleet with fake distress calls and pointless inter-space banter which confused the network and made it difficult to discern between what was actually real and what was really fake. This would buy them time before Star Fleet triangulated the origin of the message and responded with a patrol squadron just to check things out. It would take several days to calculate this and respond to the scene in force.

  Kscheeech boldly estimated that it would take two days to capture the entire facility, but if they eliminated all police quickly, they could have a fully secured space station filled with people to sort through and take whichever ones they wanted. Tactical planning was to be delegated to the Brigadier Generals themselves, he added. And that's when the arguments came popping up onscreen. Before he had even opened the floor for questions, they were already chiming in!

  “Too ambitious” the first one said. “Too risky” another one of them said. A third said, "This is too much." And the fourth? He just replied "Fuck it, this is crazy." Kscheeech hissed out a little chuckle at that last reaction, and actually had to suppress his laughter for fear of being detected by the computer. The drawback, one of the generals alerted everyone to, was a valid one indeed. This was a space station, not an oxygen-rich
breathe-able planet. “In space you can't make mistakes,” said one message. They had to land, dock, deploy troops, and capture additional docking stations. They had to eliminate trained riot police, drive toward some headquarters at the very middle of the wagon wheel; and then Kscheeech wanted them to secure the capital command complex at the center of the space station? No, this was indeed too much.

  Basically the whole meeting turned into a fiasco at one point, with Brigadier Generals lighting up the screen with so many rebuttals and objections that it began to degenerate into chaos. They even argued with themselves and hurled insults at each other. Kscheeech had to actually stop the meeting just to let things cool down. He clicked on a “pause meeting” button on the ship’s computer screen; and soon a very large typed message came across the video display at the center, saying MEETING RECESSED FOR 15 EARTH MINUTES.

  The screen froze; as message pop-up windows continued to be displayed with comments like, “I’ll get my men killed,” and “How the fuck are we gonna get all the way across this thing in a day, fighting the whole way across it?” That particular message was from General Vladimir “The Impaler” of the Arian Knights, and he was just the type of general to speak that way. Ambitious and determined this former Russian mobster was. Basically second in command of the Arian Knights during the final assault on the terminal two years before. He knew only two ways to rise to power; and one was to try and keep his best men alive; always surrounding himself with them in combat.

  But he had a very good point. Just one pitched battle in that shuttle vehicle tube, or near the Employee Dormitories, and a whole Brigade could be pinned down for hours. And all this… just to capture a couple thousand females? For the Arian Knights, who were all homosexual, women were only needed for cooking and cleaning. They were for trading the pretty ones for valuable supplies and putting the rest to work; that’s all. There was no honor, no desperate fight for survival in this upcoming battle. They weren’t starving for food or seeking to overthrow an evil oppressor, after all.

  Kscheeech sighed, sat back, and thought about it for a little while. General Bengal seated down at the end of the conference table chuckled to himself, muttering about the vociferous debate earlier. Snout heard him and snorted humorously as well. Neither spoke. They knew to just leave Kscheeech alone with his thoughts. He’d come up with something. They didn’t doubt it. And it didn’t take long either.

  Kscheeech glanced up suddenly at the screen, then he began staring with an intrigued look at the section called “Pumalar Environ”. He remembered a video he’d watched earlier during the journey. A saved program about a particular Pumalar… a female named Felina. She was an Empath, it said… mysteriously talented beings who could anticipate male thoughts. They were legendarily skilled at the sensual arts as well. Trained to be a submissive, completely adaptable mate to any male they were paired with. That’s what the documentary video said. Of course he’d never actually met one, but Kscheeech remembered them from his earlier days as a pirate. Virtually impossible to acquire, but usually consorts to wealthy businessmen, noblemen, conquering Chieftains, superstar athletes…. Suddenly it gave Kscheeech an idea. It glowed like a light bulb in his little lizard brain. He looked over at Snout and Bengal sitting down the table and grinned….

  Kscheeech looked at the map again. There was a docking station right near the Pumalar Environ… and the Roman Empire venue was a mere half mile away from it as well. They’d only need to capture one more docking station after the false flag ruse got the first freighter safely docked. They’d form a bridgehead to block police reinforcements from one direction; while rampaging toward the Earth Environ in the other direction. One Brigade could pull off the whole thing, really. But if a second warship landed after that initial dock was secured; that would put over two thousand battle-ready warriors on Star Pussy with superior weapons. All the Star Pussy Police could do would be to contain the attack in those two sectors.

  Kscheeech told Admiral Snout of his thoughts. Snout chuckled and snorted, “That’s what procedure would dictate too, wouldn’t it?” They were police after all. They’d treat it like a riot; because that’s what they were trained to do. Losses of territory meant little. Losses of valuables meant nothing. Their own losses meant everything to them. And the losses of customers would be devastating. The only real disaster would be for the entire station to fall; and everyone held hostage. That would ruin business for the resort and customers would be terrified of ever going there. Then they’d be out of business completely. All they would want was for the pirates to take what they wanted; and leave. Containing the attack to a small section of the station would suffice for them. They had no ability to carry out a counter-attack… just be glad to see the pirates leave. “Not to mention the fact that they’re not expecting us in the first place,” added Snout with a loud grunt.

  General Bengal agreed. That truly was the answer. Kscheeech reopened the transmission channel and awaited all the confused agitated and angry Brigadier Generals and Captains to sign back in to the meeting. While they returned, he switched the video temporarily to a clip from another “documentary” on Pumalar Empaths, which concluded with an interview with “Felina, the Star Kitten”. As the participants returned to the meeting, and started signing back in, Kscheeech sent message after message explaining his revisions to the battle plan.

  He kept the video going in the background—with sound; and let the generals and captains all see what was actually awaiting them on this galactic pleasure palace called Star Pussy. “Empaths… sexual fantasy goddesses from the mystical ancient culture of planet Pumalar,” said a sexy human male voice. Cat-like humanoids, some over six feet tall… cavorted and undulated in front of the camera. Sexy soft jazz music played in the background. Male beings from various different species sat with them at tables or lounged on beds of pillows while the Empath sat or lay with them in the video. Cat eyes were riveted to those of their partner’s, nodding seductively with understanding. The deep sexy narrator voice continued, “Imagine the most perfect lover in the Galaxy… who steps right out of your deepest most intimate fantasies and becomes reality right before your eyes. Whatever you’re thinking, the Empath… she already knows. And baby… you best believe… she understands.”

  Replies started popping up along the side of the broadcast screen image. Most were affirmative and some were even downright sarcastic, like “Christ if I had one of these at home, I’d never leave the house!” Kscheeech sat back in his chair and kept on detailing his revisions to the plan. Two ships landing. Two brigades deployed. Secure areas and capture prisoners. Load prisoners and leave. No takeover of the whole space station. No pitched battle with determined defenders on an isolated space station.

  He’d needed to be a good salesman, and this was certainly not in his nature… but the buttery smooth funky music playing on the audio, accompanied by the sexy deep voice… that was doing some measure of the work for him. Snout winced a bit about the security breach but he let it slide. In a few days Star Fleet would pick up this transmission and wonder what the hell was going on out there!

  And it was working. Replies started turning into positive and even enthusiastic acceptance, even from General Vladimir of the Arian Knights (especially when Kscheeech mentioned in his transmission that he’d send The Impaler a video recording about hunky male Gladiators at the Roman Empire exhibit). “Sssssex ssssells,” he muttered humorously under his breath to himself as he watched the replies coming in. If this worked, all the Brigadier Generals would go back to their troops proclaiming, “We can do this.”

  And by the time this meeting concluded, it seemed all seven generals were clearly on board. If nothing else, Kscheeech had them all quite motivated to attack the place. How ironic it seemed really. They’d fought to the death for their survival against insurmountable odds to capture the terminal headquarters two years earlier. Then they practically decimated each other in bloody civil war over access to food depots. Yet now… they were all somehow willing t
o risk their lives quite willingly and enthusiastically—all because of a cat video.

  Kscheeech signed off with one last message of encouragement, stating “We have been charged with this mission because our planet… our fellow Nausties… felt they could trust us with the task. Now the future of our planet rests squarely on our shoulders. Let our troops fight bravely and swiftly to bring this mission to a successful conclusion. Good luck to all of you….”

  As the screen flashed a message stating in bold letters, END TRANSMISSION, Admiral Snout looked back down the table at his diminutive old friend Kscheeech and nodded with approval. General Bengal growled with delight as well. He’d done it. Kscheeech had sold the generals on a battle plan to raid Star Pussy. And with just a little bit of decent luck, nothing would be able to stop them… certainly not the Star Pussy Police.

  “Nothing but Bouncers in a Whorehouse,” that’s what Snout called them.

  Chapter 15:

  Attack on Star Pussy

  “Deep Space… that’s an ironic term, isn’t it?” asked Snout sarcastically. “All of its bloody deep,” he then +added with a schnerrrk. Some of the crew standing and working nearby the Admiral heard him but Snout’s words only sank in with a few of them. A couple of them snickered with acknowledgment. They’d been on patrol now for several days, looking for an unsuspecting freighter, and the boredom had made a lot of them on the Captain’s deck just a bit punchy….

  Snout was standing on the bridge of the Naustie flagship looking at a massive video screen display spread across an entire wall of the command deck of the Anarchy. It showed seven views of space surrounding the craft, with one large image in the center and four smaller views that showed Starboard and Portside views as well as the rearward view from the craft; as well as below it. He’d been staring at the screens for hours (not that it did any good really) just like he’d already been doing for days on end.