José, Soren, Grundle, and Sapphire all stroll down the Slipstream's forward-facing entry ramp, then wait as the ship closes up behind them.

"Keep an eye out for my signal," José says, his words reaching the remaining crew inside the Slipstream. "This operation could always go wrong. If necessary, you might need to drop by and pick us up."

"Yes, Admiral." The Slipstream's crew reply.

José glances at his three accompanying Kraktol and nods. "Let's go."

The four of them start exiting the narrow canyon, its forty-foot walls barely worth mentioning compared to the practically bottomless ravines of other planets. The desert-like rocky ground and air don't bother José much, but the swamp-dwelling Kraktol clearly seem annoyed by the arid climate.

"I'm going to need to soak my scales for a week after we leave," Sapphire complains. "Let's hurry up and get to the city's limits. Our comfort will improve greatly once we pass the border walls."

"Have you visited New Pongi before?" José asks.

"Of course! Kyargh!" Sapphire replies. "All of us have. Me, Soren, and Grundle too."

"Actually, I haven't," Grundle counters. "Lord Drall visited a few times, but I had to stay aboard the Red-Tongue along with the other low-ranking crew. We weren't allowed off-ship."

Sapphire waves her claw dismissively. "Then you're in for a ride, little bro. New Pongi is the most technologically advanced city in the whole galaxy. It's got all kinds of fun stuff you can do, but also a bunch of real bad warm-bloods you have to keep your eyes on."

José scratches his chin. "I'm surprised the Mallali allowed Lord Drall to come here. Aren't the Kraktol and Mallali enemies?"

"We are," Soren replies. "However, despite that fact, we aren't yet at the point of unyielding conquest. The Mallali still grant Rodaks certain concessions. Politics is a tricky business, Admiral."

"You're not wrong..." José murmurs.

...

It takes Admiral Rodriguez and his three Kraktol officers more than a full day to reach the city's limits. Having to set the ship down so far from civilization forces them to walk much further than necessary, but even so, with minimal rest, their party of four eventually travels the ten or so miles to the absolute edge of New Pongi's borders.

Before them, a huge wall sixty feet high rises. Above it, the new arrivals can see all sorts of distant towers, buildings, and skyscrapers. Some particularly giant factories even loom directly over the walls, poking past their borders to try and swallow up the airspace.

While Grundle oohs and ahhs, the other two Kraktol and their Admiral appear much less impressed.

"What a dump..." José mutters. "If I wanted to cross the barrier, I could hop the border effortlessly. The Mallali surveillance equipment is pretty ramshackle."

"New Pongi's borders aren't really intended to do much more than keep out the local wildlife," Soren explains. "The local officials would like to monitor new arrivals too, but beyond that, the city is mostly open to travelers."

"I see..." José mutters.

They walk over to the only opening in the wall for multiple miles in any direction, where a short queue of Mallali species line up to wait their turn. After falling in at the back of the line, José eyes the Mallali in front of him, a scraggly rabbit-looking creature with torn-up ears. The poor fellow looks as if he got in a fight with a huge monster and barely made it out alive.

Sensing the Terran's eyes boring into the back of his head, the Rabbit turn around and scowls.

"You lookin' at me?"

José stares the Rabbit down. "I am. What's it to you?"

The Mallali glances from side to side, noticing the three Kraktol behind José, one of whom towers like a mountain of scales. Whoever José is, the Rabbit quickly picks up he must be someone of an uncommon origin.

"...Err, sorry. Sometimes I run my mouth," the Rabbit says, before turning back around.

"No harm, no foul." José says.

José's iris-scanners retrieve the Rabbit's body parameters, then pull together a genetic profile for the Terran's perusal.

Species: Tirbi. Galactic population density: Low. A nomadic species that likes to keep to themselves, the Tirbi tend to avoid confrontation except for self-defensive purposes.

"Hmm..." José grunts.

Half an hour later, the Admiral and his crew reach the front of the line. When they step forward, two skinny Dakkit guards look at the Human with questioning gazes.

"Species?" One of the Dakkit, a fellow resembling a grey wolf, asks.

"Terran," José replies.

The Dakkit guard scrolls through his datapad slowly, perusing all the species in the 'T' section.

"Tirbi... Trellut... Tromdol... ruff! Never heard of you! Your kind doesn't show up in my logs."

Having already worked out what to do in this situation with his officers a year before, the Admiral merely nods. "Yes, my people are a Class III Mallali species. I've come to New Pongi to apply for a Classification ID on their behalf."

The Dakkit guard eyes José warily. "Mallali, huh? Where's all your fur?"

José points at his scalp. "Here."

"Arf! What kind of self-respecting fella only has fur on the top of his-?"

Before the guard can continue, his companion, a fearsome-looking Great Dane, barks. "Borf! Horace! Not all Mallali have fur. You know that. Stop holding up the line with your incessant questions."

Horace shies away at his companion's words. "Alright, alright. I'm just following procedure. Doesn't this fella look a bit suspicious to you? He's even got a trio of slime-scales following him. I bet they're here to cause trouble."

Hearing the vicious slur casually slip from the Dakkit guard's mouth, Grundle's eyes flash with fury. "You little punk. Say that again! I dare you!"

He takes a step forward, startling both guards. Only when Grundle starts to approach them do they realize how gigantic the Kraktol really is.

"Borf! Mother of Dakkit!" The loudmouthed guard squeaks in fright, while taking two steps back.

"Grundle, calm yourself," José says, holding up his hand. "You two. Have you approved our passage, or are you going to cause us trouble? I'd advise you not direct any more insults toward my companions. Grundle here isn't the best at controlling his anger."

Both of the Dakkit nervously glance at one another, then nod.

"Right, uh, everything seems to be in order," Horace says. He quickly steps aside, then gestures with his paw. "M-move along."

José nods and walks through the border, while his followers trail behind him. Grundle, at the back of the line, snarls at the guard as he passes.

"You'd best watch yourself, little puppy."

After they leave and put some distance between themselves and the Dakkit guards, José sighs.

"Grundle, please try to limit your primal urges during this trip."

"My apologies, Admiral," Grundle says, straightening his posture. "I didn't like the look in that mutt's eyes. Had to remind him how scary the galaxy can be."

José admonishes the massive reptile. "I'm sure that dog wet himself twice over, but if he'd called for backup, we'd be in a bit of a pinch."

"Right. I'll rein myself in next time," Grundle mutters, slightly embarrassed.

...

José and the gang stride through the border into New Pongi, arriving within a city steeped in depravity. Countless posters stick to the walls of an adjacent building, depicting vile sexual acts involving all different sorts of species, each one directing the reader to a titillating nightclub on the city's western side. Graffiti covers up some of the posters, with many words written in cryptic languages not even José's universal translator can decipher.

Soren's eyes widen as she glances at one of the sexually depraved posters. "Goodness! I didn't know you could do that with a Rodak tail."

Sapphire laughs. "Oh, you're too innocent, Soren. Perhaps you, me, and Darling can try experimenting later."

José ignores them. His eyes flick around the dilapidated buildings to the residents sitting inside and nearby the housing complexes. All of them look somewhat seedy.

"Seems we've landed in the bad part of town," José says. "We'll be hard-pressed to find a taxi here. Let's keep heading north until we reach a better area."

Hardly has José finished his words before a giant, armored hover-van descends toward them. The doors fly open as it reaches the ground, and half a dozen Mallali donning patchwork combat gear jump out while aiming guns at the Admiral and his crew.

"Hands where we can see them, slimeballs!" A hulkish bull-type Mallali, a Bulin, bellows. "Braaam! Hand over your credits, or you're dead meat."

To José's surprise, a five-foot-tall Kessu also stands among the gangsters, his appearance resembling Ruuki's, but significantly taller. Like a tiger waiting to strike, the Kessu pops out his claws and drops low to the ground.

"Mraaaow! Filthy Rodaks! How dare you trespass in our territory!"

Not one of the gangsters pays José the slightest attention. Instead, they direct all of their vitriol toward his Kraktol companions, making José realize how poorly the Mallali and Rodaks must get along.

Soren, Grundle, and Sapphire all stare at their would-be attackers with slackened jaws, as if a group of toddlers had marched up and proclaimed themselves kings. Each of the Mallali gangsters wears ripped-apart black leather outfits, sometimes with cheap armor plates stitched onto the chests, offering only the most meager of protection.

"...Are you serious?" Grundle asks. "Leave while you still can, punks. I don't want to hurt a bunch of hatchlings."

The nearest Mallali, a muscular yet obese Boar-alien, snarls derisively. "Shut your mouths! Heeork! I can't stand the sound of a Krak's tongue slappin' around! Hand over your shit, now!"

José shakes his head. What a pain.

The Admiral doesn't even issue a direct command. He simply takes a few steps backward and gestures toward the gangsters.

"Have at 'em."

Soren and Sapphire don't bother moving, but Grundle does. The giant crocodile suddenly starts stomping toward the Mallali, startling them and making the Bulin swivel his energy-shotgun toward Grundle.

BLAM!!

A thunderous boom erupts from the weapon's barrel as its payload flies at Grundle, only for those bullets to bounce off a powerful energy shield surrounding him.

For a split-second, every Mallali gangster stares at the incoming crocodile with confusion.

That confusion turns to terror.

"F-force field!" The Boar-Mallali shouts. "He's got a force field!"

"Skreow!" The Kessu curses. "Since when do Kraks have those?!"

The tiger-Kessu pounces at Grundle, intending to use his speed and claws to dive behind the Kraktol and take him out in a single blow. Instead, Grundle steps to the side and slaps downward with his hand.

Whap! Whump!

With one decisive strike, Grundle smashes the Kessu's face into the concrete, killing him without mercy. Not even his time with the Kessu aboard the Bloodbearer has stunted Grundle's killing instincts toward their species. He doesn't hold back at all.

The sudden death of one of their comrades disturbs the other five Mallali, shaking them out of complacency. "He killed Morgu! Shoot him, quick!"

A hail of gunfire, consisting mostly of low-tech ballistic weaponry, splatters against Grundle's energy shield. The Kraktol continues calmly stomping into his enemy's ranks.

Slap! Slap! Whump!

Grundle doesn't even use one percent of his combat skills. He rips apart and impales the gangsters with such ease that his friends can't miss the boredom on his face.

A minute later, he slays the Boar-Mallali, then turns back to the rest.

"Looks like we've got a ride now," Grundle says, gesturing toward the gangsters' van.

"Good work," José says, walking toward the passengers' seat. "Soren, you drive."

The Admiral stomps across the blood-covered dirt, paying little attention to the dead mosquitoes who idiotically stood in his way.

"What's the matter, Grundle?" José asks, as he slides into the passenger seat. "You look disappointed."

Grundle lightly touches his belt, where his Survival Suit rests.

"Graugh. I feel unfulfilled. Those punks didn't put up much of a fight. I'd have had more trouble clearing a D-Rank simulation, even without this suit."

"That's what happens when you fight as Terrans do," José replies, closing his door. "Once you've trained inside a Terran simulation, a lot of so-called 'high stress situations' lose their fear-inducing nature. Just five years ago, you'd have probably been scared to death facing down six heavily armed thugs. Now look at you. You didn't even blink."

Grundle climbs into the back of the van along with Sapphire, a look of contemplation on his face.

"I suppose you are right. Graugh! I did not realize your training would have such... long lasting effects."

"Yeah, well, don't get too complacent. You were still pretty sloppy. Your Survival Suit did most of the heavy lifting in that fight."

A minute later, the hover-van lifts into the air, leaving its deceased former occupants behind, their bodies slowly becoming one with the filthy outer ghettos.

It takes to the skies, guided by Soren's control. While not the best pilot, Soren still controls the vehicle effortlessly, using its built-in navigation software as required.

José's eyes rove around the cabin, where plenty of garbage left behind by the gangsters has accumulated over the years. Food wrappings, drugs, and even some spare cash sits haphazardly here and there, meshing poorly with the vehicle's other characteristics.

Despite the van's overall filth, its technology level appears relatively decent, sitting at the apex of the 12th Era. It looks to have been scavenged from a junkyard and then rebuilt to military standards, making it substantially more armored and agile than a civilian-grade vehicle.

"This van ain't bad..." José mutters. "It even has a few covert weapons. Not much firepower, but decent for taking out lightly armored targets."

"Most weapons are forbidden inside New Pongi's city limits," Soren says. "This vehicle is almost definitely a stolen military transport. I don't know how those low-level thugs got ahold of it, but they probably have a decent backer. There's likely a bigger gang running things behind the scenes that equipped them with this rig."

José shrugs. "If they want to make trouble with me, they can try. I don't mind. We won't be sticking around for long anyway."

...

An hour passes. The armored vehicle's top speed proves much worse than expected, slowing the trip to New Pongi's city center substantially. José stares out his passenger window, eyeballing the scenery below. As time passes, the filthy outer ghettos give way to moderately cleaner inner-ghettos, and eventually, mere low-level poverty housing.

The closer José and his crew draw to the city center, the higher the standard of living becomes, though it frequently drops off a cliff at random as they pass over areas best described as 'hellish warzones.'

"Damn," José says, while he watches a duo of gangs blasting each other to shreds below, their bodies exploding as bullets tear through their organs. "This city is a complete shitshow. It seems like every quarter mile, we stumble across another civil war."

"Don't let anyone pull the wool over your eyes," Soren says tersely. "The Mallali may all fall under the same prime-species umbrella, but they are far from unified. If the Mallali aren't fighting the Rodaks, they're infighting among themselves. Enchillon is one of the less politically violent worlds colonized by multiple species, and it still suffers from mass-gang-warfare. Only worlds led by a single dominant species, such as Dragua, can achieve a high level of internal stability."

The Admiral nods. "I see. Funny, I assumed that aside from inter-species conflicts, each 'prime-species' wouldn't fight much among themselves. Even Terrans within the same coalition rarely fought, and certainly not to the point of gang warfare."

Soren surprises José with a rare laugh. "Hahaha! José, you're quite the dreamer, you know? The real conflict comes down not to one species versus another, but herbivores fighting carnivores. If you ignore the bloodlust of those who consume meat, such as the Kraktol and Kessu, you will also miss the bigger picture right in front of your face."

José nods knowingly. "I see. It's not that the species all fight at once, but that the herbivores and carnivores tend to fight each other collectively."

"More than that," Soren corrects, "carnivores fight other carnivores, and they fight the herbivores. The herbivores actually stand together much more often in solidarity. They even possess most of the galactic power, with only the Dakkit standing as a pinnacle carnivorous species. Once, the Dakkit and Kessu stood at the apex of Mallali society, but the herbivores worked together to undermine both of their rule."

Soren pauses for a moment, then frowns.

"...Huh. Now that I think about it, perhaps the herbivorous factions were the ones most directly responsible for the Kessu's disappearance. The Dakkit did become the galactic leaders once the Kessu fell, but the carnivorous factions lost far more political power than anyone else."

José's expression becomes solemn.

"I think you might be onto something. Just because a species doesn't eat meat, that doesn't mean they can't act like vicious killers in the shadows."

While José contemplates this new information, Sapphire pokes her snout between the driver and passenger seats. "Hey, Darling! Do we have time to drop by the shopping district? If not now, then maybe after you visit the Mallali leaders?"

"We're not here to sight-see," José replies.

"Aww, but don't you want to spend time with Soren and me? We can all go on a date, visit a holo-movie..."

"We can always do that on the ship," José answers, glancing back at the blue-scaled Kraktol. "The Holodeck is more than capable of replicating any sight you can imagine."

Despite his tone of rejection, Sapphire's eyes light up. "Eeeh! So you'll go on a holodeck date with me and Soren?! Maybe even just me? The two of us alone, together?! Finally, after five years, you've finally started warming up to me, Darling!"

José gawks at the crocodile. "W-well, that isn't exactly what I... never mind. We'll talk about it when we return to the Bloodbearer."

Sapphire nods repeatedly. "Okay! Alright! I'm super excited now!"

Soren glances at Sapphire, noting the eagerness in her eyes. After Sapphire retracts her head and starts singing to herself in the back, Soren lowers her voice.

"José. Are you ever going to simply reject Sapphire? It's not good to keep leading her on like this."

José's jaw drops as he gazes at his First Officer in dismay. "Not good to lead her on?! I've told her a million times I'm not interested, but she... she won't stop chasing me!"

Soren shakes her head. "Tsk. Such a playboy, Admiral."

"Dammit woman, I'm not!"

...

Eventually, a dozen high-rise buildings appear in the distance. Soren slows the van's speed and drops down to the ground, where she picks out a random parking spot.

"This is as close as we can get, Admiral. Any further and we'll enter the restricted airspace of the Mallali leadership. This vehicle might be durable enough to take a few hits, but we do not want to come under fire from their numerous anti-air batteries. They'll chew this shuttle apart like Ruuki ripping into a Terran steak."

Admiral Rodriguez chuckles. "A funny metaphor, but I get the picture. Alright, set us down and we'll walk the rest of the way. As for the van, just leave the keys behind and the doors open. Someone else can take it if they want."

He and the Kraktol all clamber out of the van, with Grundle having the hardest time thanks to his oversized body. The big Kraktol smacks his head on the doorframe at he clambers out, but his Survival Suit absorbs the impact.

Sapphire glances around. "Stay sharp. The gangs near the city center are far better equipped, and significantly more ruthless than the gutter trash we saw before. Those six idiots weren't anything special compared to the big boys living in these parts."

José barely listens to her warning. "Right. If they come, we'll deal with them. Let's get a move on. I'd like to make it to the bigshot's executive area by nightfall. The cover of darkness will aid me greatly in infiltrating their base of operations."

Sapphire starts walking, leading the way deeper into the city, toward the towering skyscrapers a couple of miles away.

"Darling, are you really going to enter all by yourself?" Sapphire asks. "That sounds awfully dangerous. You won't have any backup if things go south."

"I won't need it," José reassures her. "Trust me. I've infiltrated a million bases in my time, some of them the most fortified and highly advanced bases in Terran space. Compared to them, these primitive defenses won't protect the Mallali leaders for more than a few seconds."

"If you say so," Sapphire mutters, clearly displeased by José's choice. "But we'll stay nearby, ready to rush in if you need our help."

"Hopefully it won't come to that."

José and his three officers head toward their destination, drawing ever closer to completing their ultimate goal:

Saving the galaxy.