Space Fleet Sagas Foundation Trilogy: Books One, Two, and Three in the Space Fleet Sagas

by Don Foxe

  It happened after Intro to Environmental Technology, in the hallway. He stepped in front of her, barring the path down the hallway. His little pack of sniggering friends behind him.

  “Hey, Cow Girl,” he said, looking down at her . . . looking down on her. “I was wondering. If you look like a cow, do you have udders? I mean, you actually have a nice enough body. But, honestly, are the tits real? Do you have udders under there, somewhere?”

  He laughed loudly, joined by his buddies.

  She knew she blushed red. She stood caught between embarrassed, hurt, and angry.

  Chaspi recalled pushing him to get around, only he was too massive to move. It made her even madder.

  She stepped around the clown, covered her chest with crossed arms, and walked away, refusing to run.

  Refusing to cry.

  Rosz, and their new human friend, Billy, exited the classroom as the confrontation ended. They raced after her. Rosz knew Chaspi well, and made no comment. Billy made all the wrong ones.

  “Chaspi, let it go,” he spoke to her back. “The guy’s one of those dumb jocks. Besides, calfs are cute, right?”

  His lame attempt at support stopped her. The face she turned on Billy more fearsome than cute.

  “You think I look like a calf?”

  “No. Not what I meant,” he stammered. He backed up a step. Rosz took a step to the side, getting out of the way of incoming fire. “I meant, you’re cute. Not a cow, or a calf. Just, the guy was wrong. You’re slender, and maybe you’re not chesty, but that would look funny on you.”

  Rosz took another step away.

  Chaspi closed to within inches of Billy’s face.

  “I’m skinny and flat-chested. You think I’m skinny and flat-chested. Boobs would look funny on me. Anything else?”

  “Chaspi, you’re taking everything wrong.” Her eyes narrowed. “I mean, I’m saying everything wrong.”

  She turned and disappeared into the public restroom. The restrooms at university co-ed, but the two boys did not follow. Billy might have except Rosz placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. He shook his head in the universal ‘don’t do it, bro.'

  Two girls stood talking in the public space with the sinks and mirrors. They watched as she entered and quickly exited. Perhaps because she was the alien girl, but more likely because she looked ready to hurt someone.

  Chaspi placed both hands on the edge of the metal sink, took a deep breath, and watched as the tear formed in her reflection.

  After wiping away the offensive drop of salty water, she took a few more deep breaths. When the ruddy complexion returned to a more normal light pink shade, she decided it was time to leave.

  Billy paced the hallway outside the restroom, moving away when she exited. Rosz sat on the floor, his back against the wall, his ever-present music playing through top-of-the-line earbuds. He looked up, gave a tiny smile, and winked.

  When Billy turned and saw her, before he could say anything more, she held up a mittened hand and warned him, “Don’t speak. For the foreseeable future, whatever you think you should say, don’t say. I’m not mad at you . . . yet. Understand?”

  Getting smarter, instead of answering, he nodded.

  The Stadium

  Two weeks before the end-of-year holiday break, and snow still not falling on Toronto. Flakes normally filled the skies in December. Even without the white blanket, the cold air arrived with a vengeance.

  Chaspi pulled her jacket tight around her neck, the mitten hiding her two-fingered right hand clenched the collar closed in a futile effort to keep the chill wind at bay.

  “You two have to buy warmer clothes,” Billy said. He earlier offered his winter parka, with fur-lined hood, to both aliens, only to be rebuffed. “Doesn’t it get cold on Osperantue?”

  “Cold, yes,” Rosz answered. He had a difficult time acting cool and unconcerned while his teeth chattered, the rhythm faster than the music coming through his earbuds. “This is outer-space-without-a-ship freezing. New Zealand has snow in the mountains, but nowhere does it get this cold.”

  “Let’s cut across the soccer pitch,” the human said. He strategically placed his body to shield Chaspi from the crosswind, which took the frigid air temperature down double digits to a feels-like minus-impossible degrees. If the girl noticed, she did not comment. “The stadium and halls will cut the wind, and we’ll get to the dorms quicker.”

  Leaving the Environmental Engineering building, they walked quickly across the parking lot, toward the futbol stadium. Not late in the day, but the sun already lingered low in the sky. They were the only people outside. The prospect of the stadium blocking even a little of the wind enticed more speed.

  They rushed through an open entrance. Even without a door, the covered corridor reduced the sickening cold. Rosz pulled his mitten-covered hands from over his ears, blew out a cloud of fog, and sighed. Chaspi stomped in place and ran her hands up and down her arms, trying to get feeling back into her extremities. Billy, comfortable in his parka, woolen winter pants, and lined hiking boots, waited patiently. At the first sign of real trouble, he intended to wrap either of his new friends in his parka, and screw their protests.

  The three walked to the end of the corridor. It came to a landing with a raised view of a stadium of uncovered metal benches surrounding a track. The track created an oval circling a soccer pitch. They needed to hurry down the cement steps to the track, race across the grass field, and into another open corridor on the far side. That hallway would take them to one final open entrance. From there, it was a quick trip to the building housing their dorm rooms.

  “Those people are idiots,” Chaspi said. Billy followed her stare. Eight guys huddled near the middle of the pitch. From the equipment in hands, lacrosse players having a mid-winter practice.

  “They probably have on enough thermal layers, they don’t even feel the cold,” Billy said. “Jocks aren’t regular people, Chaspi. Besides, when you know how to dress properly, you can deal with almost any weather.”

  “What about that other idiot?” Rosz asked.

  Chaspi and Billy turned to look at the North end of the stadium. A sole runner rounded a curve at the top of the oval track. Covered in thick sweats, hood pulled up, and a balaclava protecting their face from windchill.

  “Nice stride, though,” Rosz added.

  “We’ve put this off long enough,” Chaspi said. She headed out of the corridor and down the concrete steps. The wind arrived to greet her, but not as fierce, partially tamed by the stadium walls. Rosz and Billy followed. The three making slow time as the steps changed from steep, to wide spaces for rows, and back again to narrow and steep.

  As they made their way towards the flat space below, two of the lacrosse players hurried away from the group, making for the entrance of the corridor leading to the dorms. The laughter and shouts from the remaining six wafted over to the pitch.

  The three friends, engrossed in hurrying without tumbling, payed no attention to anything but their feet hitting the cold, hard surface.

  Chaspi, still in the lead, stepped onto the flat pad in front of the first row of benches, took a single step, and vaulted over a three-foot chain link fence and onto the track. Knowing the boys were close behind, she ran across the frosted green field toward the far side. Rosz passed her, vaulting the far fence. Billy caught up at the fence, and went over just before she made the jump. He knew better than to treat Chaspi as a helpless girl, so he continued after Rosz. Chaspi blew fog like spitting fire. She hated that the guys caught her, but she appreciated they did not hold back.

  The race down the steps and across the pitch heated her. Unfortunately, it also warmed her sinuses. She either needed to blow snot out, or suck it down her throat. She swallowed. Gross. But she did not want snot ending up on her jacket, or hear Rosz berate her if she needed to wipe her nose with the sleeve.

  Billy’s shouts made her forget the phlegm in her head. She ran forward to see a lacrosse stick across his upper chest. A large male holdi
ng it tightly enough, his toes barely touched the ground.

  Rosz, slightly to his left, struggled with another over-sized guy. Also pinned by a stick, his back against the bigger male’s chest. The guy wore a ski mask, but his teeth, grinning, showed through the opening in the lower half of the head cover.

  “Chaspi Run! Go back!” Billy tried to get his hands around the stick, but his lined gloves provided warmth, not grip.

  She was not going to leave her friends. She was not about to turn and run. She was also not exactly sure what she was going to do, and then choices were taken away.

  “I do believe it’s the Cow Girl.”

  Chaspi turned. The six lacrosse players who remained on the pitch, now stood between her and the hallway exit. The one in front, his hood off and his balaclava pulled low to his neck, was the dumb-ass who caused her tears earlier. The oversized bully who made it clear he did not appreciate aliens at his school.

  “Let them go,” she said to him. “Let us all go.”

  “Or what?” he asked, and then chuckled. It was a fake laugh. He wanted to sound amused. He sounded strained instead. “Help Dick and Stan,” he said to his cohorts, eyes never leaving Chaspi.

  Two of the group separated, brushed past Chaspi, shoulders roughly bumping her aside, once, then twice, as she refused to move for them. They joined the first two bullies. She watched helplessly as Rosz and Billy, outnumbered and overweighed, were pushed, face-first, against the corridor wall.

  While she watched, her brain attempted to think of something she should say. Her hormones screamed, asking her to do something physical. She wished really hard for a laser pistol, or a bat. The lead bully moved up behind her.

  “So, Cow Girl . . .”

  Startled, Chaspi jumped forward three-feet, pivoting as she landed. Big and bulky as he appeared, he was also an athlete. He crept behind her without a sound. He chuckled again, not strained this time. Deeper. With more menace.

  “I keep wondering about those udders. I keep thinking, does she really have cow udders, or tits like human girls? Is she pink all over? Maybe cowhide under those clothes.” He handed his stick to one of the others. “I think we all want to find out.”

  Chaspi stepped back, realizing the predicament and possible outcomes. Cold about to become the least of her problem. Rosz and Billy were squirming, trying to shout. Gloved hands pressed their heads harder against the cold concrete wall. Jaws too mashed against the rough surface for words to form.

  One of the back-ups, a smaller version of the others, reached a hand onto his shoulder. “Aimsley, you said mess with them. Don’t take this too far, man. We could get into serious trouble. I mean, they’re protected. I think. Like endangered species or something.”

  Aimsley grabbed the hand on his shoulder, squeezed until the smaller male’s eyes grimaced behind his ski mask. He threw the hand off.

  “We aren’t going to hurt them.” He looked down on Chaspi, ignoring the grunts coming from the other two. “I just want to see what Cow Girl looks like. Without clothes. Are you going to take them off, Cow Girl? Or do you want me to do it?”

  “SHIT!”

  The exclamation echoed in the tight, enclosed area. All heads turned, except for Chaspi, who already looked in that direction.

  One of the lacrosse players was bent backward, his body bowing, hands outstretched.

  The runner from the track held a fistful of head cover and hair, and was pulling him back and down. Before he could shout again, a kick to the back of his left knee sent him down, smashing both knees onto the hard floor.

  “SHIT,” he said again, with less volume and more pain. The runner let go of his head, and used a backhand, closed into a tight fist, to club the guy in the temple. His eyes rolled up, and his body rolled forward. No one considered catching him before he landed nose-first on the concrete pad.

  The next guy in line received a kick to the gut, which bent him forward, followed by an inside crescent kick to the side of the head. He spun into the wall, connected hard, and dropped. The player standing beside him used the time for his friend to fall to raise his lacrosse stick in defense. The runner grabbed it in two hands and pushed. In spite of giving up several inches in height, and a whole lot of pounds, the composite shaft drove straight back and up, momentum abruptly stopped by the guy’s nose. Blood splattered and tears welled in his eyes. He let go of the stick. A fist connected to his chin before his hands could cover his broken nose. Knocked senseless by one well-placed punch, only Aimsley, the head bully, stood between the runner and Chaspi.

  Like a mad bear, he charged the smaller opponent. Arms wide, snarling, teeth showing, and scream of anger tinged with fear beginning to emerge. Screams choked off as the runner grabbed the front of his parka, used his forward momentum, and rolled backward. Legs curled, knees bent, and two feet placed against his lower abdomen, the runner squat-pushed Aimsley high. By holding onto the coat, the smaller fighter flipped the big jock over and down.

  His back and buttocks crashed into the hard, cold, mostly hard floor. His head bounced once and spittle poured from his open mouth. The concussion would last nearly as long as the bruises.

  The runner used a two-hand push jump to end up standing, facing Chaspi, staring past her at the six remaining males. The four lacrosse players released Rosz and Billy. They stood mute, unsure how four teammates had been beaten, badly, in less than one minute. The runner started forward, passing Chaspi without comment. The four tough guys, sticks in hand, ran.

  They fought and pushed and pressed each other, attempting to escape the confining corridor and be first to freedom.

  Rosz and Billy did not notice. Eyes wide, mouths open.

  The runner pulled back the hood, and pulled down the face cover. Gold and orange-amber eyes, shaped like a jungle cat’s, sparkled. Her smile displayed small fangs where human’s had canine teeth, and lit a beautiful blue face, covered in a sheen of perspiration. She shook her head, loosening auburn red hair with bright yellow highlights. The tresses had been pressed down by sweat and the hoodie.

  “That was fun,” she said. “I suppose we have to call someone to collect the trash.”

  Campus Security Office

  Stacey, the blue female alien badass, sat on a plastic chair with her feet crossed on the seat of a facing chair. Her eyes closed, making a point of ignoring the commotion within the campus security office.

  Rosz, Billy, and Chaspi sat beside each other, using the chairs next to Stacey’s feet.

  Billy could not not sneak looks at the girl from Fell. He teetered between enthralled and afraid of the girl who looked like a model and fought like a marauder.

  The young Canadian kept remembering her in action, and flashed back to the moments after the four remaining goons ran.

  “You okay,” the blue alien asked Chaspi, who stood as if cemented to the concrete. Frozen, not by the weather, but the shear ferocity of the confrontation between the runner and the four bullies about to force her to undress.

  “I’m fine. And thank you. I’m Chaspi. I’m from Osperantue. Are you Fellen? Why are you here? At Bathurst?” Shaken, she mentally shook herself. “I’m sorry. I sound like a starbler bird.”

  “Post stress,” the girl said. “I’m AStasaei, and, yes, I’m from Fell. My human nickname is Stacey. I have enrolled in the aeronautics program, which is why I’m at Bathurst.”

  If it seemed weird for the two girls to carry on a conversation while four over-sized boys writhed in pain, it went unnoticed.

  While they talked, Billy called campus security on his personal com unit. The wrist device included a camera, allowing him to stream the condition of the four attackers to the officer at the other end. He agreed they would all be there when security arrived. He suggested an ambulance, possibly two would be a good idea.

  Rosz joined Chaspi, placed an arm around his childhood friend, pulling her close. “I’m sorry, Chaspi,” he said. “We had no idea it was a set up. The first two pinned us before we realized.”


  “No worries,” she said. The off-hand reply she and many other alien refugees learned during their time in New Zealand. “Rosz, this is Stacey. Stacey, Rosz, who is also from Osperantue.”

  “A bit obvious,” Stacey said. “Bosine. I assume the other one is plain human.”

  “Human,” Billy said, a bit peeved at the term ‘plain.’ “If you’re from Fell, do you know Sky and Storm?”

  Sky and Storm were the two most famous aliens on Earth. They arrived in the solar system aboard the same damaged cruise ship as Rosz and Chaspi. Their heroics crucial to defeat the Zenge armada at the edge of the solar system. They were also in a relationship with Space Fleet Captain Daniel Cooper, who placed his small fighter between the refugees and that same armada. The three kept the spaceship filled with displaced aliens safe until reinforcements arrived.

  The two female warriors were also drop-dead gorgeous. When they arrived on Earth, the combination of aliens, heroes, and beauties caused riots as people tried to get near them. Billy joined the online fan club, but only visited the site occasionally, these days.

  “ASkillamentrae is my sister, and ASterrmalanlan is my cousin,” Stacey informed them. “I came to Earth to join Space Fleet. Captain Cooper is my sponsor. He had my enrollment approved before he was injured.”

  Cooper currently lay in a coma, injured when a vengeance-driven Bosine fired a laser pistol at close range. The Captain killed the man’s son aboard the Star Gazer, after pulling him off the girl he was raping.

  “He’s our friend,” Chaspi said, slipping away from Rosz. “Which makes you our friend, too.” She hugged Stacey, which began awkwardly, until the girl from Fell relaxed and allowed the gesture.

  Rosz nor Billy attempted an embrace. Both remained in awe, and, honestly, embarrassed.

  Billy’s thoughts returned to the present when a slight woman marched through the front door of the security building, straight to the office of the Chief, and in without knocking.

  “Admiral Patterson,” Stacey said. She did not face the right direction to see the woman. “I know the walk, and I’ve only known her a week.”