I have discovered, looking back on the past year of my creative writing, that I've not written a damn thing that hasn't been about Panthera or about World of Warcraft. There have been one or two exceptions, but barely a drop in the bucket.

I am disappointed in myself for lack of diversity and lack of quantity in my writing.

Time to rectify this.

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There was a new voice in his ear this morning, and Fek Omisa swore up and down in five tongues for forgetting to remove his comunit before he fell asleep in a pile of blasted paperwork.

'Good morning, venerable Simnohs Omisa. I wish to inform you that there is a new student assigned to your command pool.'

A woman's voice. She hadn't even flinched at his vulgarity. Blasted customer-service types - made great bearers of bad n..ew...s... wait, did she say new student?

"Woman, Omisa's command pool is overflowing. The btsa you mean, I have a new student? A transferred Aelt dahn I could see--"

'With all due respect, Simnohs, your command pool can fit one more. You are summoned to the forequarters of Station, room 10-13, in two hours.'

Fek pried his eyes open just for the satisfaction of staring indignantly at the marbled lavender-and-rose ceiling. "You did not just--"

'It will be a pleasure to see you there, sir. Refare.'

Silence. Fek pondered the ceiling, sprawled on his back in his nest. "Did someone I don't know," he grated to himself, "just order me around like some scrub?" He lifted a heavy hand to scrape the sleep out of his eyes, then flexed his folded wings to push himself into a sitting position. He was a big Olashi, well-muscled and well-scarred, a feared and well-known veteran of many battles and political movements. A war hero. And someone had just told him what to do.

The grey-furred general sighed heavily and stood, talons pressing into the soft rubber flooring of his private quarters. Two hours to get to the other end of the moon-sized space station didn't leave much time for groggy musings.

...

It was a meeting of big names, of racial heroes, of men and women who exuded power and authority. Nine Simnohs and their Aelt Simnohs - ten members of the most advanced spacefaring race to ever emerge from the Tri-System.

Fek Omisa strolled in late and unhurried, sturdy grey leggings belted around his waist and reaching well past his knees. The Aelt Simnohs looked up as the door stretched open, waited until it had relaxed shut, and offered him a tight-lipped smile that only served to emphasize her fangs. "Welcome, Omisa."

"Aelt Tanra." He inclined his torso in a shallow bow, then looked around at the small room filled with his peers. "What's the occasion? I thought our branch was closed to new fish."

Tanra gave him a slit-eyed look. "You should know by now, Omisa, that our branch has gained such repute that we only received the brighest and most promising warriors and pilots."

"...the most unusual and the most useful, as well," another Simnohs murmured. Tanra nodded.

"And so our branch is never fully closed. Simply .. very selective."

"Right. So what elitist standards did these fish meet?" Fek simply grinned, all teeth and no humor, at the annoyed look his own Simnohs shot him. He and his had never been Tanra's favorites.

"You, Omisa, are scheduled for a vidchat with your new recruit. As a student, she is still on Lavana. The rest of us are headed out now to meet the new crop."

Fek saluted sardonically as the room emptied, and he sprawled on the overstuffed couch with a yawn. The vidchat eventually lit up, showing a petite Olashi woman with pretty green eyes. She stood in an empty classroom.

"You the new fish?" Fek asked skeptically. He was surprised when she shook her head 'no,' then the vidcam angled to her left to reveal his new recruit.

Fek stared.

...

The Olashi professor ended the vidchat with the infamous Fek Omisa after nearly an hour of his grilling her new student. Said student looked nothing short of bright-eyed and strong-willed after the encounter, a credit to her strength of character. Omisa was always a hard one, and the Olashi frowned at the thought.

"You can petition for a change of Simnohs, you know, Raskesh," the professor said quietly.

The Korat dropped her jaw in a fanged grin. "I don't think that will be necessary, mri'qua."