Cats and Dogs – Return

Kat arrives on the remainders of Sirius. Her heart adjusts itself to the atmosphere, slowing to half its average pace. Next, her equilibrium adjusts, and finally, her eyes. Her landing point is directly next to the marked off wreckage of Cruger's ship. The remainders of his ship are charred, torn, and generally in shambles. She has seen this all before, when they first reported Cruger's disappearance. She doesn't believe them—she doesn't believe he's gone.

Looking around, its two moons are orangish, bearing down on her harshly. She doesn't have the protective scales they do. She trudges on though, looking for the entrance to the tunnels Cruger told her about. He designed them himself just after the Troobian Empire started its campaign.

Kat first met Cruger when he arrived on her home planet just before its destruction. He was SPD, she was a bioengineer; he rescued her amongst the wreckage of her destroyed sector. He was valiant and honorable, she, a half–dead survivor of a massacre. He took her from her home and to earth, where she built her SPD career. He is the reason she is here now. She owes this to him. "Doggie!—Doggie, answer me, please!"

The wind and dust answers her.

"Anubis Doggie Cruger, you answer me!"

Kat sighs to herself, wasting precious oxygen. Soon enough, her lungs will start to feel compressed and, with prolonged exposure, she'll die of asphyxiation. Sirius is a conditioned planet, only the technology of atmosphere control allowing for visitors to stay safely. Now, everything is a barren waste land. "DOGGIE!"

She continues walking heavily, kicking pieces of blackened metal out of her path. There's no giving up, though, and she'll die looking for him if she has to. In fact, she has been planning on this for quite a while. Sky will do fine in their absence and she has hidden a cyber–will and testament in her files for Boom to find. Sweat pools around her speckles, the moonlight, merciless. She licks her lips and swallows thickly. "Cruger, get out here, you bastard!"

More silence answers her.

"Okay, I take back the bastard part," she growls, more and more tired by the second. Finally, she reaches the furthest reaches of the wreckage sight. Recovery detail has left behind the larger, unrecognizable pieces. Pft!—she never would have been so careless. Even Boom is more thorough than those morons. Some huge chunks are still more or less in tact, but blackened like the cookies Syd tried to make at Christmas.

"Bzzzz...this is SPD Commander Cruger...bzzzz...repor...bzzzzzzzz...underground, I will try again in one hour, repea...bzzzzzzz..."

Kat searches desperately for the transmission device. She coughs and spits as the effort grips her body but she keeps going. The sound comes from one of the blackened chunks of metal, more in tact than most. There's no way for her to answer, the receiver having long melted to the body. Still, she hits the button until it moves independent of the shell. "Doggie!"

"Bzzz...zzz...zzzz...Crug...zzz..."

"Doggie, it's Kat! Where are you? Repeat: where are you?!"

"Bzzzz...zzz...direct..."

"Where, Doggie, where?!"

"Bzz...direct...under you..."

Kat looks around her on the ground, digging around for seams of a door. The dust rolls around and finally she finds the discernable line of the door. Using her claws, she digs it up. If she had Sirian claws – stronger, thicker, more durable – it would be easier. Still, she pulls and pulls, though. She has to reposition her claws and get her grip again several times. Blood begins to drip down her fingers from their tips, the claws being lifted and slowly torn off the fingers. Still, she doesn't stop. With one final scream of exertion she throws the door on its hinge. She can peer down the hole a fair distance, but her vision is blurring. "D–Doggie!"

"Kat!" comes a faint shout.

"Thank the earth Gods," Kat whispers as she starts down the staircase. She slides down a bit and reaches the bottom in no time. The tunnel is completely dark, but a Sirian could hear and smell their way around no problem. She perks her ears and her pupils dilate. "Doggie?"

Soon, a large figure appears at the end of the tunnel, in front of a light. It stands quite tall and large, with pointed ears at the top. It speaks: "Kat, is that you?"

Kat doesn't remember answering, but just running at the figure. She knows it's him as soon as she hears his rough breathing, smells his familiar scent and feels his comforting embrace. Tears flow out of her eyes, dehydrating her more. Her harried gasps are shushed by him. "Everyone thinks you're dead!"

"I know," he says in sympathy.

"They told me the ship crashed and that your body was gone!—some sergeant tried to make me sign the declaration of your death. Even the rangers didn't think you'd survived the crash. I've been waiting for some sign of life, for a whole damn month, you canine jerk!" Kat hits his chest halfheartedly. "What happened?"

Cruger leads her into the safe room he has set up. There's a radio, a heat lamp, a pile of blankets and a couple of cans of dried food. His charred commander's coat lies in the corner. "I'm glad you didn't get caught in the sandstorms. I think that's what sent the recovery teams away." When he looks up again Kat's face is dark and wrathful. "It's no one's fault, Kat."

Before he can fully finish the word she snaps, "they should have kept looking! They should have been more thorough—they should have found you!"

"Come here," Cruger gestures, sitting Kat atop his pile of blankets while he sits on a rock. "Kat, there's nothing you or anyone could have done. What's important is that you've found me. I didn't think anyone was coming back here. I've been trying that radio for three weeks, thinking someone would come back and hear me but they never did—been trying every hour on the hour."

"Doggie," Kat whispers, touching her shaky hands to his muzzle. She can't believe he's real and there. The image of him is almost surreal to her, she has missed seeing it every day so much.

As he touches her hand with his paw she sees how he has been surviving. His scales are still healing, some with scorch marks on them, others with deep gashes through the plating. One long scratch goes down the left of his muzzle and to his collar bone. Some of the scales are discolored horribly in bruises, some scales, torn off with new ones trying to regenerate in their place. One of his ears has a nick in the side of it. From the medical supplies in the corner she can gather he's been treating his own injuries. "How bad is it?" she asks.

"Better, with you here," he says earnestly, tenderly. He kisses her hand gently and nuzzles her. She purrs in return, weakly. The weakness in her is evident, and he looks at her, worried. "Kat, how long were you up there?"

"I don't care," she declares as she embraces him fully. She clings with desperation. "I don't give a damn about anything, so long as I have you back."