Kota, along with his sister finally made it to the used ship lot.  Kota made this place, in the deep south of the northern Americas continent, the last stop for two reasons: They haven't updated their inventory on the net in slightly over ten years, and public records records of Indentured Servitors here that fit his requirements....or at least an appetency.  Both otters don't even make it to the office before an ermine rushes out to greet them.  It was to be William Coustin, Kota surmises to himself.  Assuring the owner of the lot that they were indeed looking to buy, both Kota and Neersa were led onto the property.  William's monologue was like the spicule end of a metal shard to the bubble that was his attention when it became apparent that all, as it sounded, were yachts, pleasure cruisers and planet hoppers sprinkled in.  Neersa was looking at each of the mechanically uninteresting ships with disdain at the mechanically uninteresting ships and letting out a sharp huff through her nose in derision at the unneeded opulence and splits from the small group to search on her own as she was tired of the baseborn driveling included caducity.  It was almost another thirty minutes before Kota got a message on his com unit from Neersa indicating he should come to the back of the lot; there was something a lot more interesting there.  Kota had William steer him in that direction.  William was still droning his various sales pitches when Kota seen the vessel in question, and immediately interrupted the ermine.
 "Bill--"
 "--William, please."
 "Whatever, Bill.  I'll take that ship," Kota says pointing to the one in question.
 Bill sniffs in appalment, showing that the otter clearly doesn't know what he's talking about.  "That one won't do you at all.  Not with you staying in space for an extended time..."
 "Now, listen 'ere, omae.  Yain't never see one-a these tin cans pull at leas' ten gees when enterin' atmo an' stay intact wit only min'mal damage an' the crew walkin' away.  That a Zhanshi ship.  I want a peasant woman, an' yer tryin' tuh sell me super models.  Now, whadya want fer it?"
 Letting out a sigh, but knowing he'll finally be able to get sell a ship that the Terran mechanics couldn't start, he quoted a price.  "Five hundred thousand credits, but it'll take a few days for the loan and title transfer to go through."
 "Four and a half.  Creds up front, an' you file the paperwork how I say.  
 “Throw in yer indent an' I'll add 'nother ten thousand.  It's worth more 'an his contract was worth startin' out."
 "Make it fifteen and you have a deal," William says after thinking over the offered deal.
 "Deal."
 Kota pulls out a small handful of credsticks, all but a couple that are secured, and looks through the black sticks that look like old USB flash drives.  Pulling out one with a gold-colored tip on the back he hands it to William, who quickly plugs it in to a small device.
 "Secured, eh?  Need identity confirmation.  Voice and retinal will suffice.  Keep your eyes open and say your name."
 As William holds up the scanner to Kota's face, the red light flashes into his eyes, causing him to blink hard a few times at the after images.
 "Kota Mattias Rello, Service Identification Number one-one-three-eight-one-one-nine-zero-seven-zero-two-eight-emm-oh."
 "Identity confirmed.  Creds transferred.  Now how do you want the paperwork filed?"  William pulls out the stick and hands it back to the otter as Kota explains.
 "File wi' Terran Republic Dominion authorities, usin' my S.I.N assa header.  Then file wi' the local Terran authorities using the same.  Using that, yuh should getta response no later 'an ten hours from now.  By six this evinin' it'll be min an' sometime 'morrow we'll get'er outta yer fur.  An' when all the paperwork is filed an' yer indents's contract transfer is confirmed, send 'im over.  We'll stay 'ere despite the privation.  Is the ship powered?"
 "Very well.  It shall be done."  Continuing, now sardonically, "Oh, now.  The solar collectors work fine and can power basic and emergency systems, but the power core is deader than John Travolta's acting career.  You have seventy-two hours from the time the transfer is complete and registered to get your ship off my lot, or pay a thousand credits per week in rental space."
 Kota waves a hand dismissing William.  "We'll have the title by six in the morning local time and moved, hopef'lly between noon and one.  Depends on the closest port."
 William just snorts and walks back to his office to start on filing, leaving the 1.9 meter tall otter to gaze upon his new ship.
 Not counting the landing struts deployed from their ingress points, the ship stands at a rough 30.5 meters tall, 61 meters long just in the cargo area, fore extending another 30.5 meters, and the aft extending back 91.5 meters.  And if the cargo pods were standard size, then counting the central corridor on that level, the ship should be about 240 meters wide. Kota couldn't tell for sure as the three thrust pods on each side weren't standard fare for that vessel.  Obviously upgraded.  They stood almost as far out as the cargo pods.
 Kota finally walks to his newly acquired ship, yelling at his sister to stop gawking and get her ass up the ramp on the port side -the side they're both on- and him following closely behind her.  Accessing the keypad, Kota presses the factory standard code of zero-zero-zero-zero, assuming the entire system was set back to factory, and was please when the hatch to the airlock opened.  The siblings step in to the lock and close the outer hatch to cycle the inner one.  As soon as the inner hatch opens they greeted with stale, but breathable air, and a view of a mirrored hatch on the starboard.  The state of the air, and the lack of dust, immediately tells both that the ship's seal were in, for the most part, working order.  They would need to fully check them before leaving the star port to make sure they were in full working order and not in danger if imminent failure.  Turning to the right, they make thier way to engineering to attempt to breathe life back into the vessel.  This time Neersa is the who enters the code into the pad.
 "Firs' thing we need tuh do is git our biometrics logged into thuh so we can disable these fraking pads.  Too easy tuh bypass."
 Kota just mmhmms in agreement as they step into the dark bay.  Lights immediately come on after both fully enter, but they not the standard white light.  They're the red emergency lights.  The siblings stare in shock at what lies beyond the two master and two auxiliary control panels.
 "Is that a Planck Reactor?  Wut the fuckin' hell is somethin' like that doin' onna ship like this?  No wonder they couldn't get this thing powered!  What did they hafta take out tuh git this'n here?"
 Kota just nods.  "Zero-point energy reactors sure ain't standard on civvie ships, that's fer damned sure.  Righ'.  Lets git 'er singin'."
 Kota and Neersa sit at the master controls and start powering up the necessary systems; some only needing to be switch off stand-by.  Diagnostics in ship information related to engineering started scrolling on the screens.    One screen on each of the masters showed that the power cells weren't standard, either.  The cells were some of the newer Conte Volta cells, and there eight instead of the standard two. and the solar collectors were upgraded to the latest Becquerel Arrays and there were two Kleist capacitors tied to the power plant, and one  Sunvault Edison capacitor tied to some part of the engine.  Kota was curious as to why a capacitor was tied to the engines, especially one that powerful, but that would explain there were eight power cells.  Just that super capacitor alone would need all of them to charge it more quickly than the reactor could if it needed to be charged at a moment's notice.  Working in tandem, each otter assigns a two cells to each reactor capacitor to get them charging.  Taking about an hour and a half, most of which was running full diagnostics on the power plant down to auxiliary sub-systems, they managed to get the plant primed and running.  Only near the end does Kota realize that Neersa is speaking.
 "Behold! For you have come into his Lord's grace, neophytes to the word that is your God, and His word is Law!  Clad in the armours forged in in the flames of Zion, you shall be righteous, for Righteousness is on His side.  Listen to His Word and you shall be victorious, for His Word brings death eternal to the heathen that stands against His Word and casts them back to the flames of Hell from where they spawned. Follow His Word, for the He wants your names to shine.  And shine they shall like the stars of the Heavens!  For he is your Lucifer, your Bringer Of Light, and illuminated in His path you shall be!"
 Kota just stares at he fore a few seconds before finally saying, "What.  The.  Fuck.  Have yuh been talkin' tuh Dad, or somethin'?"
 With a chuckles, Neersa responds, "Nah.  Yuh know Dad pretty much disowned us 'bominations after we turned seventeen and joined the Corp.  That little speech was wut me an' yer Lances concocted tuh say tuh th' new boots.  Mobile Infantry, Company I, 666th Battalion, 5th Marines, 1st Marine Division.  Ever wonder why yer company got called the Infernals?  Yuh hadda reputation fer trainin’ yer force so they were a livin' Hell tuh anyone we went up 'gainst.  Rello’s Infernal Demons.  'Member 'em Skints?"
 "Those nasty fuckers with four arms, four legs, and hides as tough as Commando-class armor?
 "Yup, them thuh ones.  Ever wondered why they screamed 'drenost' before fleeing e'ry time we showed on thuh field?  It meant, roughly in a figur'tive translation, 'Demon'.  Yer custom paint job made yuh well known.  That's why yer troops copied similar patterns.  The Lances an' I came up with that spiel jus' tuh reinforce thuh image.  Af'er all, yous bein' Firs' Lieutenant made you our God, an' us simple Sergeants were yer Apostles, and the Lance-Corporals yer prophets."
 "Huh.  That 'splains why Lance-Corporal Miggers always referred to me as 'm'lord'. Thought he was bein' facetious since I made  Second Lieutenant 'fore he even made Lance.  But if he wanted a pr'motion like that, then he shoulda tried out fer Officer Candidacy School.  Well, when yer done here, sis, head up to the medbay an' upload our biometrics.  My new indent should have his latest ones with'im when 'e gits here.  I gotta get the computer up 'an runnin' 'fore we can get anythin' else workin' on here.  Now git tuh work yuh damned ungulate."
 "I better ain't be no damned pig, camel, or hippo!"
 "Yuh look like the first, smell like the second, an' have an ass like the last."
 "Watch it Little Sport, I still know how tuh make yuh squeal in bed like a pig."  Neersa says the first part, pointedly eyeing Kota's groin, assuming it would take the mickey out of him.
 Kota, on the other hand, stares pointedly at Neersa's very flat chest, and retorts, "If yuh say so, brother dearest."
 Kota knows Neersa looks like a male in all regards, from the broad shoulders to the narrow hips, and regularly gets confused for a guy until she speaks.  It's a big consternation with her, even if she does wear jeans and a tank-top when she's not in a mechanic's or engineer's coveralls.
 "Oooooh, yer gonna pay fer that later," Neersa growls.  "Now go fin' me a fennec fer the crew.  I'd give my left nut tuh be with one o' them sand muppets."
 "If yuh keep promisin' yer jublies on everythin' yuh wanted, yuh'd have nuttin' left," Kota says as he leaves Engineering.
 Until he can get the computer up and running, Kota takes the ladder way up to the top deck, which is where the bridge, living quarters, medbay, galley, VR suite, lounge, and computer system is located.  He has to make his way to the back of the ship, again, to the computer control room.  Once again, he has to enter in the code to gain access before entering the room.  With the remaining energy cells being fully charged, and the power plant being worked to needed output, Kota easily booths the system.  Looking over the available equipment, he's surprised that an old International Business Machines system was still in place.  The system was definitely downgraded.  He runs a system scan to make sure the various pieces of the decrepit system weren't going to fail.  Kota's not really put off as he was going to upgrade whatever system was present to a custom built one that he designed, and would theoretically work.  Once the scan is done and the system operational without fear of crashing, Kota leaves to make his way towards the front of the ship and past the myriad of rooms.  He's been on a few of these ships when he pulled Customs as part of his training as a Third Lieutenant as even Infantry Officers sometimes got called planet-based customs inspections or be pulled with a squad for Interdiction runs.  What got his attention that the layout where a couple of the rooms were, and even the size of the rooms were different.  For one, they were bigger.  He really needed to pull up specs of the ship to make sure the hull wasn't thinned to make room.  The bridge, thankfully didn't have lock on it, just the heavy blast door in case of depressurization.  The layout of the bridge was standard: a control system in front of, and on the left side of, the front viewport for navigation; a console in the center of the viewport of piloting; a console in front of, and on the right side of, the viewport for weapons; a console on the left wall for both environmental and engineering; and two consoles on the right wall for security and communications/EW/ESM/ECM In the center of the bridge, with two steps leading to the circular dais, was the command couch.  From, if need be, he could take control of the whole or part of the ship.  The holographic projectors would give him feeds from all of the other consoles, or pull up more detailed information from a single console.
 Taking a seat in the command couch, he activates each system in turn, having each run diagnostics on their dedicated systems.  Pulling up the specs of the ship, he can't let out a "Holy fucking hell!"  It's not just a just a Zhanshi, but a Lang class Zhanshi.  The number made were only in the single digits!  It really was bigger than the specs he knew off-hand, and the hull was even thicker than standard models.  Custom job, too.  Not even the normal Lang's were this big, which solves how the current power plant was able to fit.  Scrolling though the specs of equipment installed he found that the sublight engines were upgraded with an unknown type to him.  But even with six engines instead of four, the energy consumption was decreased by thirty-five percent while the thrust was increased by sixty percent.  His best guess is he could make it out of the Sol System in eight to nine hours at fifty percent thrust capacity.  Also listed was a Hammerhead Class G shield projector, and that confused the otter as to how a Dreadnaught level shield system could fit in this ship, unless it was just one generator and was stripped down to a basic core with only the minim of necessary redundant systems.  A backup shield generator, which is one used for standard shielding for this make of ship, is also listed.  Weapons were of special interest.  Two rail guns that fired steel-jacketed tungsten rounds, one double-barreled plasma cannon, sixteen quad-laser batteries sprinkled around the dorsal and ventral parts of the ship, one Victory-Class ion cannon on each ventral and dorsal aspect, and six proton torpedo tubes with a magazine of sixteen projectiles apiece.  This ship wasn't a normal freighter, it was more powerful than a frigate!  And all the weapons were hidden in ports, where as normal vessels had theirs on display.  The standard old, used Zhanshi would have easily fetched the price William asked, but this Lang-Class easily tripled that, and the load out would have quadrupled the price.  Kota gets out of the of the couch and walks to the back of the bridge, but not to the door he cam through.  He takes another one that should lead to his wardroom.  
 When the door opens, he's treated to a visage of thick black carpeting, walls of dark oak, and subtle indirect lighting.  The room also contains some furniture.  There's a sofa against one of the walls flanked on either side by tables that look to be made of the same material as the walls.  The a curved desk that dominates the room, looking like it is made of black marble, two black leather chairs in front of the desk, and a very comfortable swiveling chair behind the desk.  Resisting the urge to take off his boots and curl his toes in the carpet, at least until the carpet is cleaned, he makes his way to sit behind the next.  An I/O symbol appears immediately upon taking a seat, and Kota immediately flicks a finger though the symbol.  The system lights up and a holographic keyboard forms on the surface of the desk.  From this console, since the entire system was set back to factory, he can configure everything.  He immediately sets himself at O-1 level authority, setting himself as Captain of the ship.  He sets his new indent as O-2 level authority, marking him as First Officer, Quartermaster, and Executive Officer.  He sets  Neersa as O-4 level authority and sets her as Chief Engineer.  He sets two O-4 authority levels and flags one as Ship's Doctor and the other as Ship's Mental Health Doctor.  The next ones were the NO level.  He flagged each one under the headers of two security officers, pilot, and navigator.  The rest of the crew under the E levels as they came.  Except the the crew names he already put in, the others he put place-holders for their names.  
 Next he changed the security code to the doors for himself to six-eight-seven-eight.  Knowing Neersa's preferred code, he set that well.  He would have his Indent set his own code, as well as those of the Officer class when they arrived.  The NO security officers would set thier own code, as well.  The pilot, navigator, and E levels wouldn't need thier own codes.  They would receive a general code for the airlocks flagged at the E level.  The door codes could only be used in case of biometric malfunction, and even then the level set per code could only open certain doors if the lock was engaged, such as the continual lock on Engineering.  Next was setting up the ship's communications protocols and an account per each current member to hold local messages.  No sooner did he finish setting up comm than the little earbud in his left screech to life with his sister yelling that someone was trying to get onto the ship.  Kota flicked the console to the feed from the outer hatch, and cursed its misalignment.  It showed the bottom half of a semi-casually dressed fur, with very obvious holsters slung low on the hips.  Kota cursed and jumped out of his seat and ran towards the lift...which didn't work.  He went to the ladder again, and knowing his abdomen was going to pay for it later, grabbed the edges of the ladder and placed the sides his feet also on the edges, and slid from top of ship to bottom.  He pulls out his Ruger Super Warhawk heavy pistol and jogs the rest of the way to the airlock.  Neersa is there, with her JKE-X2 Kenshin that was being charged.  Both siblings step into the airlock with one of the palming the cycle button.  Since there was an atmosphere outside, it only took seconds for the inner door to close and the outer one to retract.
 Standing on the ramp, is a very startled looking jackal.  Standing 1.9 meters and looking to be 99.8 kilograms of muscle.  The black furred jackal is wide-eyed as he stares at both weapons level at him.  As he opens his muzzle to say something Kota lowers his pistol, relaxing visibly, and turns his head to look at his sister.  
 "Relax an' put yer pistol away.  This is my new Indent.  May I introduce Malnin Khai Escophra."  Turning his head to look at Malnin and continuing the introduction, "Kota Mattias Rello an' Neersa Faari Rello.  Yuh should know who I am from yer former boss."
 Malnin also relaxes as the tension dissipates.  "Yes, I know who you are, sir," the jackal says in an odd mixture of African and British, though the precise clipped syntax suggest more British.
 Neersa gestures with a hand previously holding a pistol towards the jackals hips.  "Why thuh armament if yer jus' an Indent?"
 Malnin pulls out a pistol, showing it to be a Sternmeyer P-41 medium pistol.  "Defense, madam.  I live here on the lot and part of my job is security.  Some of these ships contain valuable material."  Neersa nods in acceptance of the explanation as Malnin holsters his weapon.
 "Well, getcher rear in 'ere an' let Neersa 'ere getcher biometrics uploaded, then meet me in my stateroom.  I 'sume yuh know where it is since ya prolly been over e'ry ship onna lot."
Kota turns on his heels and barely takes a step before the doors to the lift open.  
 "Right, now it works," Kota mumbles to himself as he steps into the now operating conveyance.  Waiting only a couple of seconds before being able to step back off onto the top deck, he makes his way back to his office where he brings a wordoc to start making lists of needed supplies.  A ping gets his attention, and a screen shows he has a new message.  Pausing the list, Kota pulls up the message and quickly scans it.  The part of the message that gets his attention is ship, now registered as the Star Ryder, with the registration code set as NCC-1805, and that the registration would be fully transfer to him 0700 local time.  With that, he sends a request to the Atlanta Space Port Authority requesting a departure 1200 and flight plan with berthing for not less than three days and no more than seven.  He enters one of his credsticks into an available slot and wires the creds, per standard rate, to cover seven days of berthing with instructions to wire any unused funds to his ship’s account. He goes back to the prior task and ends it with the requirements for each job needed, including that all applicants must have at least a minor knowledge of piloting, even if they’ve never been fully schooled in atmospheric and spatial flight, and must pass a weapons proficiency test using at least a pistol.
 He finishes just as there’s a chime from his door, and Malnin walks in.  Now that Kota is better able to see the jackal, it’s apparent that his weight isn’t fat at all.  The short-sleeved, red polo clings tightly to his chest and arms, only slightly loosening around his tapered waist and is tucked into a pair of very snug fitting, khaki pants.  The lower garments do nothing to hide the ample assets incased in the front, or the powerful looking thighs and calves.  Fully on bottom the jackal’s feet are incased in some sort of leather loafers.  As Malnin steps, the gentle sway of his tail shows it’s not fluffy like a regular jackal, but thinner and more whip-like.  His tail marks him from being of an ancient line; an Anubian jackal, said to be descendants of Yinepu himself.
“From what your wife tells me, I may be expected to be the leman of your relationship?. I’d rather be a pursuivant than sexually attend to that…woman.”
 Kota takes a second before recognizing the word, and barks out a laugh, “Hah! Ain’t nuttin’ like that, my dear Kemetic jackal.  She’s my twin sis, so yuh’d be more ‘er compeer.  Now, iffin yuh wanted tuh be my leman, then things coul’be ‘ranged.  Af’er all, if feline is divine, then a knot is hot.”
 Malnin lets out a sigh of relief as he takes the seat to his right.  “Good.  For maiden she seems such a mooncalf, both quean and peccant.  I apologize for assuming she to be betrothed to you.  Though if you if you know of me, then you know my history mayhap?  I am quite fond of lutrinae, which is what led to my current predicament.”
“Oh, yes, I’m quite familiar of what happened on the John Basilone.  And I assure you, that alcohol and wake-shots will be strictly limited.  No alcohol twenty-four hours before or after any scheduled engagement, and no alcohol for twenty-four hours after any wake-shot.  You will also be relieved of duty for forty-eight hours after receiving more than two wake-shots in a twenty-four hour period.  I will not have you raping my crewmembers!”
 Malnin looks perplexed by the drastic change in speech pattern, but doesn’t comment as his large ears fold back as it’s clear his new Captain does know the situation that led him here.
 Kota pulls another credstick containing 500,000 creds, unsecured this time, and slides it to Malnin.  “Now, when we’re done ‘ere, I gotta go an’ get all our crap an’ move it ‘ere.  Yer quarters are ‘cross from mine, the First Officer’s quarters.  Setcher self up there.  Thar’s a list uh what we need, crew spec’fications, an’ me an’ Neersa’s cur’nt an’ pas’ psych profiles.  Migh’ be int’restin.  Now getcher stuff an’ get settled in.  The synth an’ ‘xtraction ‘quipment on’y jus’ started back up, so we ain’t got no water.  Hopef’ly we’ll have ‘nough by mornin’ tuh flush da system an’ load the tanks in port.  Now.  I gotta go.  We’ll discuss yer contract later.”
 Both stand up and Malnin waits until Kota is leading the way before falling into step behind him.  When they exit the bridge, Kota stops to turn and look at Malnin.
 “Order out.  Yuh know what’s ‘round ‘ere be’er ‘an we do.  Order whatcha want an’ get our pref’rences from Neersa.”
 Malnin nods, “Yes, sir.”
 Both ride the lift down to the bottom level and split up to go where they need to.
 Malnin returns rather quickly to the ship with his meager belongings and quickly finds his room, as it has a title plate of FO/XO and an empty name plate below.  Malnin sets his duffel bag on the floor and makes his bed on the standard temperfoam mattress.  Having time before he’s needed to get food, the jackal decides to access his quarter’s terminal, and downloads the psych and medical records of the two otters to his datapad.  Placing it on the desk, he selects the audio and projector.  Views off the twins materialize in full color juxtapositioned  next to each other.  On his terminal he brings up the list Kota created and going over it while listening to the psych reports, which apparently started when they were twelve.  It was almost enough to distract him from reading, but he managed until it the file went through their medical file.  At the mention of ‘his vagina’ and ‘her phallus’, his hand jerks, sending the holographic images catawampus, and somehow zooms in on the twins’ waist area.  Indeed, both of them have both sets of genitals, though Kota’s is much less developed than his sister’s.  Recalling some of the information from Kota’s psych profile, including the genital plethysmograph.  Taking a moment to think, he takes the dimensions of Kota’s sheath and sends it to a fabricator in Atlanta, with a non-standard addition to the device he wants.  He also sends his, Kota’s, and Neersa’s measurements to a clothier there, as well.  The next thing he done was look for available spaces in Atlanta to conduct interviews and shooting range to conduct the final part of the test.  And he both at Cowboy Spiegel’s.  He booked the entire range and the ‘Party Room’ for three days.  Lastly he created the resume needed for each of the positions and posted it to the Sol System’s Net and shot off a copy to an associate.
 Powering down his terminal, he contacted Neersa and gave her a list of the local establishments that done take-out and/or delivery.  It was decided that Chinese would be the better option.  He leaves to pick it up.
 Kota arrives back at the Star Ryder with the help of a local cab and deposits his and his sister’s belongings in the lift, and only takes his out to his quarters, but leaves the bags outside the door.  Inhaling deeply of the faint aroma permeating the ship, he turns and sniffs out the smell as it leads him to the galley where a faint conversation picks up volume as he gets closer.
 “…Wagner is Metal, and Holst is Rock.  Beethoven would be akin to a vid score compose like the great Zimmerman and Williams,” says a voice with more basso voice.
 A more feminine tenor voice responds, “So yuh could say Dragonforce were thuh Vivaldis o’ their time?”
 Kota shakes his head as he enters the room.  “Yuh know damned well Dragonforce sucked donkey dick, an’ not inna good way, durin’ the first two-thirds tuh three-quarters o’ their career.”
 “Well said, Captain,” the jackal says as he salutes with a bottle of Britannic brown ale.  “I prefer classics like ‘The Loco-Motion’, myself.”
 Kota snorts, “Only if yuh mean classic as in music fer children.  I prefer Bassjackers, myself, though I’m ‘cclectic in my tastes.  Now, didja get food?”
 Malnin gestures with a free hand to the bag on the table.  “Pineapple chicken, bourbon chicken, General Tso’s Chicken, pork fried rice with pineapple and Tso’s sauce mixed in, one order each or steamed and fried dumplings, and a two-liter of Orange Faygo. Though I did not get any afters, as your sister assured me this would be sufficient.”
 Kota eyes as though he were famished and plops his well-padded, though not full blown bubbled, rump on the chair closest to the sack and pulls out the containers.  He quickly eats, not even scantling bites, enjoying the food in wassail.
Malnin stares at the quickly diminishing food, only paused thrice in eating to soak from the bottle of drink, think eating that quantity of food was visionary.  He turns his head to look back at Neersa.
 “He can only be slightly less than seventy-nine and a half kilograms, yet he eats like he’s three hundred kilograms.  Does he not gain weight  or rupture his stomach?”
 Neersa shrugs as this is nothing new to her.  “Don’t let yerself be fooled.  Yuh guess right ‘bout his weight, but he can press ‘bout four an’ a ‘alf times ‘is weight an’ run or swim wit’ ninety-one kilograms sixteen kilometers withou’ stoppin’.  If ‘e sprints, then ‘e can only do ‘bout ‘alf that.”
 Malnin’s muzzle gapes.  “Sooth, you say?  How in the darkest depths of the Duat is that possible?”
 Kota finishes swallowing his food and answers himself.  “Augmentation.  My own design.  Used some nanites tuh augment an’ tone my muscles.  Gives me ‘creased strength an’ agility.  Also gotta tracheal filter, which ev’ryone is gonna get.  An’ I increased my lung c’pacity and synthed myocardium.  ‘Nother words, I can hold more ox’gen and my blood gets ox’genated quicker.  It’s thuh next gen’ration of ‘wares.  No more replacin’ los’ stuff with mechanical stuff.  These new ‘wares are bioware.  Still inna tes’ phase, fer thuh mos’ part.”
 Malnin just stares, before exclaiming, “That’s brilliant!  Why aren’t you doing more research or letting medical institutions, or even the Terran military?”
 Kota chuckles, “Oh, I plan on lettin’ some places use it, if they got thuh money.  It’s written in thuh patent on Epsilon Eridani.  Any one tha’ uses it withou’ applyin’ tuh use it per person would be ‘sidered thieves, an’ by thuh Trade Federation agreement enacted by thuh Eridanis and signed by mos’ o’ the gov’ments, an’ I’d get tuh legally ‘liminate any thief an’ reclaim my property.  ‘Less the recipient can pay thuh cos’ o’ the patent license fee.  An’ any gov’ment tha’ didn’ sign….Well, tha’d be a way tuh declare war.  I mean, I have licensed some pr’cedures tuh some people.  Had tuh sign an agreement they, thuh recipients, would forfeit their bodies if thuh process didn’ work.  They’d be forfeit tuh my comp’ny, Rello Technologies.”
 Malnin shakes his head.  “That’s quite mercenary.  And I never heard of Rello Technologies.”
 “’Course yuh haven’t.  Me an’ Neersa are thuh only owners an’ ‘ployees.  Really, yuh think I got all this money from the Mobile Infantry pay?  Nah.  Started investin’, then used thuh returns tuh research an’ patent stuff, then lease it.  Now.  Lemme finish eatin’.”
 Malnin nods.  It would be in complete acquiescence if there wasn’t one last thing he needed to say.  “There was a message delivered to the Star Ryder.  A contingent of four AC-409 Mark 3 Valkyries will be delivered to Luna tomorrow and shuttled dirt side the day after by a Luna dropship.”
Only a twitch of Kota’s left ear was the only indication that he heard as he finished eating.  Once done he pushes himself back from the table and gets up.
 “Right.  I’m gonna check thuh local net fer a bit fer headin’ tuh bed.  Night, ya’ll.”
 “Night, sir.”
 “Night, lil’ bro.”
 Kota gives a one-fingered salute on his way out.  He takes his belongings into his quarters, but only sets up his bedroll.  He strips off his black vest and white-shirt, then his favorite black pants with the red stripe down the outside of each leg.  He’s left in a pair of briefs that show off his padded rump nicely, but are rather loose in the front for someone his age wearing appropriately fitting clothes.  Even if he’s twenty-five he always had problems filling out his skivvies, unlike his sister.  So now that he’s more comfortable in his room, he starts up the terminal and goes to one of his favorite sites as a hand drifts down between his legs….