Krrsh’s Heroic Log, 118–142 1106
At Pithos Base I strode through frozen halls at –120°C, frost in my fur, breath like a dragon. The walls creaked beneath me. Not, as Sharyl claimed, from the weakness of steel at such low temperatures (what Aslan males know of science I could write on my favourite biretta hat) but from awe.
At Cordan, I dazzled a whole bar full of dolphins in robot suits. Yes, dolphins. They sang to me in clicks and whistles, and I replied with a Colliewood jig that shook the floor. Minister Phoil offered us land — 60,000 acres! Obviously meant for me, though he mumbled some formalities about Drinax or the like. I strongly suspect that I shall be asked to rule it in my beneficent style. I shall perhaps allow Sharyl a little corner somewhere: he clearly longs for somewhere to murder things: whenever I speak to him I can see his claws emerging in sheer frustration, no doubt at not owning land. Even my longest and most dazzling accounts of my deeds cannot entirely prevent his growing tension.
At Exe, I drank every man and machine under the table in the Gen Eric Bar & Grill, until even the rather obsessive Captain Kaashukiin of the Retribution forgot about hunting the Excalibur and nodded at me with the glazed expression of one who has seen and heard the unbelievable.
At Falcon, we found the Western Fire, half-dead and gasping. Sharyl led the first boarding wave, of course: the serious, honourable one, but also the easy one with the advantage of surprise!
But then the crew turned to me, with pleading in their eyes. “Krrsh,” they said, “the time has come. Lead the second wave to glory and conquest.” Ah! The wave that sweeps in upon a forewarned enemy, taking the real risks. Cometh the hour, cometh the Vargr! I surged aboard, axe aloft, cloak billowing (yes, without life support in zero-G it billows). The rescued crew were baffled at the sight of me, certain they had been delivered by a benificent, canine god.
I saw the obvious doubt in Sharyl’s eyes at my entrance. He seemed not to be able to believe what he was seeing. This, I was demonstrating, is how one seizes a ship!
The engineer was revived, the captain swore eternal gratitude – I believe he hinted that his firstborn would bear the honourable name of Krrsh – and the bar at Falcon is still retelling the saga of Krrsh the Magnificent, Lord of the Second-Wave, Billower-of-Cloaks, and Liberator of the Western Fire. By next week I expect statues.
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