Her white, sharp-clawed paws danced, lazily, on the aesthetically-smooth and pleasing surface of the computer console. The fur of her paws being a snowy-white, and the pads being a charcoal-black. She tap-tapped here and there, bringing up images on the screens. Running long-range sensor scans. But she didn't tap the buttons with her fingertips. She used those dangerous, black claws. And, as a result, there was a constant ‘click-click-clack' sound. ‘Click-click-clack.'

Bic tried to shut it out. She kept her eyes downward, focusing on her own work. She was sharing the science lab with the female Arctic fox, Volga. Arctic's repairs and retrofits had been completed, and the ship had left the snow rabbit home-world, beginning its search for a new home for the Arctic foxes. There was a fear that, the longer the Arctic foxes stayed on the snow rabbits' second moon, the more comfortable they'd become there. The more entrenched.

The harder it would be to get them to leave.

‘Click-click-clack.'

Bic drew a breath. Her brush-wire of a chipmunk tail flagging up and down, and then to the side. And then stopping. And then flagging again. Concentrate, concentrate.

‘Click-click-clack.'

The chipmunk sighed.

Volga heard the sound. And looked up, peering. "Is something wrong?"

"No," the chipmunk whispered, avoiding eye contact.

"You are agitated."

"I'm a rodent. We like to be agitated."

"You are making a joke," she realized.

"No, really, we're ... we like to twitch. We're just ... I'm not agitated." Still not making eye contact. And swallowing, her throat dry.

"Now," Volga observed, "you are lying." Her voice was level, cool. Controlled. Very, very controlled. The Arctic fox tilted her head, narrowed her eyes, and left her station.

Bic, now, did look up. And asked, very quietly, "What are you doing?"

"I am walking over to you."

"Why?" the chipmunk demanded.

Volga gritted her teeth. "Now, I," she stressed, "am agitated. I am trying to work," she declared, gesturing at the controls. "I am running scans and topographical surveys of planetoids within our sensor range ... "

Bic said nothing.

"However, you are proving to be a distraction."

"Me?"

"Yes. You."

"You're the distraction!" the chipmunk declared. "You're ... you're ... "

"Your whiskers," the fox whispered, squinting again, "are quivering."

"Just ... just go back," Bic said, looking away, "to your station. You don't have to stand so close to me."

Realization fully dawned in the Arctic fox's eyes. "You are terrified of me."

Bic just closed her eyes. And tried to steady her breath. "Just ... just go back to your station," she whispered.

A pause. And an also-whispered, "No."

The chipmunk swallowed.

And the Arctic fox took a step or two closer, until she was literally standing right next to the rodent, almost breathing down her neck. "In the four days I've been aboard this ship, we've been working together," she said, "closely. Have I harmed you? Have I given you reason to believe I would even do so?" Her voice held that measured, icy cool. The Arctic foxes, like the snow rabbits, had a kind of emotional freeze. It didn't work in the exact same way that the snow rabbits' freezes worked. But it had somewhat the same effect on their expressions, postures, and tones. Their personalities.

Bic, taking a deep breath through her twitching, sniffing nose, swallowed.

"Well?" Volga pressed.

"N-no," the chipmunk said, barely audible.

"You will look at me," the Arctic fox ordered, "when you speak."

A vigorous shake of her head.

"I am not accustomed ... " A show of teeth. A small, throaty growl. "I am not accustomed to being disrespected by prey. You WILL look at me," Volga said, "when you speak."

Her whiskers still quivering, Bic did as told. But her eyes darted, darted. Went still, locking gazes. And then darted a bit more.

"That is better. Or, at least," Volga allowed, "it will have to suffice."

The chipmunk twitched. The multi-hued browns of her fur soaking the soothing-white light of the lab. "Your claws," she whispered.

"What?" An icy blink.

"You asked me if something was wrong." A breath. "Your claws."

"What of them?" was her defensive, aggressive demand.

"They're not ... you didn't blunt them."

"Blunt them?" A blink. "You mean, file them?" A head tilt, and a throaty sound. "Yes. Prey file down their claws ... however, we do not ... "

"I know. I just ... "

" ... and I have no intention to. I will not ‘dull' them."

"I just," Bic repeated, stammering, trying to control her prey anxiety. She'd never had this kind of trouble before. She'd been around predators before, of course. It wasn't like Volga was the first predator she'd ever worked with. But the Arctic fox was such a detached, unreadable kind of predator. An ice predator. And that made some kind of difference. It was intimidating. "I just," the chipmunk continued, "I, uh ... I hear your claws clicking and clacking on the consoles," she tried to explain, "and I ... I look over, and I see them, and they're so, so sharp, and ... and it's just making me very, very," she stressed, "nervous!" She was squeaking by the time she finished the sentence.

Volga was quiet for a moment. "I see," she whispered, betraying no emotion. And her cold, charcoal-black nose sniffed. Sniffed slowly, carefully. "It is most curious," she whispered, as if making casual conversation.

"W-what is?" Bic whispered back, her whiskers twitching. She made a chittering sound.

"How emotions can have scents." More slow, steady sniffing. "I can smell your fear. Yes. I can. Would you like to know what it smells like?"

"Not particularly," was the honest response.

But the Arctic fox told her anyway. "It smells like the wind when it wavers. When it can't decide which direction to blow in. The wind ... when it's torn. It smells like sweat and tension. Coiled, ready-to-run muscles. Your blood gets hot, hotter, your body following suit. Everything seems to speed up, doesn't it? Every sense ... is heightened, isn't it? In the worst, worst way. When the fear grips you, everything becomes vivid ... as if you were on a drug. But the drug is completely controlling you. Gripping your heart. And, soon, it becomes like an overdose, and that's when the instinctual fear," Volga whispered, "bleeds into panic. And then all rationality goes outside the window, and all you can think about is ... "

" ... that's enough," Bic whispered, ghost-like, tail twitching.

The Arctic fox trailed. "I was just giving you some predatory insight ... on prey physiological and psychological responses."

"I don't care what you were doing." Her voice still at a whisper. Barely audible. "I want you to stop talking. I want you to stop clacking your claws on the consoles. And I want you ... to go back to your station," the chipmunk said, "and get back to work."

"I see," Volga whispered, and she tilted her head, and then gave a polite nod of acknowledgment. "Very well." And she stepped away from the chipmunk.

And Bic let out a breath.

And Volga stepped back. Quickly. Her paws going to the chipmunk's arms.

Bic chittered in terror, hardly able to writhe away. Rather, almost paralyzed. "L-let me go," she whimpered, shaking her head.

"You REALLY are afraid of me," Volga whispered, fascinated. And she let go. And nodded thoughtfully. "I had to be sure," she said. And, at that, she showed her sharp, white teeth. And gave an off-kilter smile.

The chipmunk's blood ran cold.

And Volga, again, gave one of her polite nods. And returned to her station.

The chipmunk, her whiskers quivering worse than before, said fervent, silent prayers, trying to calm down. Trying to focus, focus. Focus! This is ridiculous, Bic. You're an adult, aren't you? She's an adult. You're allies, right? You're overreacting. It's only instinct. Only instinct. Ignore it.

"If I wanted to harm you," Volga said, eyes on the computer monitors, and her paws tapping on the consoles again, "you would not see it coming." She turned her head to meet the chipmunk's eyes. "You would not be able to stop me." A pause. "That being the case, where is the logic in fearing it? It is outside your control. It is not in your paws. Just accept it. You are prey. I am a predator. Respect me," the Arctic fox said, "and I will treat you well."

Bic swallowed, her eyes burning with emotion. "How dare you ... "

" ... speak the truth of our respective biologies?"

" ... speak DOWN to me," Bic said. "I've been nothing but kind to you, okay? I've been ... I've been accommodating, and ... "

" ... a bumbling wreck. Your fear is in my nose," Volga insisted, once more abandoning the work she'd been doing, turning to face the chipmunk again. "Your fear is in my nose," she repeated. "I can smell it. Do you realize how distracting that is? Do you realize what it does to me?"

The chipmunk shook her head.

"I smell your fear, and ... my heart quickens. My pulse picks up, the blood rushes, and ... I feel the taste of a ... a bloodlust," she managed, "on my tongue. It is a very," she assured, "difficult urge to control. But I HAVE controlled it. I DO," she insisted, "control it. Now, if you would stop being afraid ... then I would not have to smell your fear, and my hunting instincts would not be aroused."

"I'm not arousing your hunting instincts ... just by being in the room."

"No. But, apparently, you cannot be in a room with me without being afraid."

"So ... so, what, fear ... arouses you?"

"I believe I just said that," Volga replied. "Stop being afraid of me."

"I can't help it," Bic said, almost desperately. "I'm ... I ... " She let out a heavy, shaky breath, and then drew a breath in. And then sat down in a chair, unblinking. And shaking her head slowly. And then whispering, "I'm ... I don't wanna hate you," she confessed, her voice cracking with emotion. "I don't wanna be afraid of you. But ... I can't help it. I don't know what to do," she confessed, her voice dropping below hearing levels. And then piping back up again with, "Other than pray. Other than ask the Lord to still my beating heart."

The Arctic fox said nothing to that. Remaining quiet. After a few moments, she sighed, saying, "I do not wish to harm you. I do not wish to hate you ... either."

"So, what are we gonna do?" Bic whispered, looking up and over to the Arctic fox, who was bigger than the chipmunk, naturally. "We gotta work with each other for, like ... you know, weeks. Months. Who knows. Until we find your species a new home."

"I do not think our search will take too long. We have narrowed the parameters ... I believe it will only take a few weeks."

"That's still a long time."

"Time passes more quickly than we would like," Volga said.

"Except when you're uncomfortable. And then it drags," Bic injected.

The Arctic fox tilted her head, relenting, saying, "That is true. But ... we do not have a choice. You have your orders. And I have my own orders from my own species. We must work together."

A nod. And another nod, and a swallow.

"And if I may make an observation ... " Volga trailed.

Bic looked up, whiskers twitching.

" ... I believe you are more afraid of my species, and of predators in general ... than you are of me, personally. You still do not know me."

"No," the chipmunk whispered. "Nor do you know me."

"We have conversed very little."

"I ... I don't trust you enough to ... to tell you personal things," was all the chipmunk said. "Do you blame me?"

The Arctic fox could only shake her head. "Then we will have to give each other faces."

A blink. "What?" was the timid whisper.

"We will give each other faces. Make each other out to be more than a generic predator ... and a generic prey. Get to know each other."

"Oh."

An inhale. And a deep exhale. "Perhaps we should start right now."

"Right now?"

"We obviously need a break from our work. We are obviously distracted." The Arctic fox took a seat near the chipmunk.

Bic watched her.

Volga had a very brushy, very white tail. So snowy-white, with the end, though, being fringed with black. Femme foxes were called vixens. And she did qualify, by her looks, as a vixen. She moved with power and confidence. She did make you look twice. Though, in Bic's mind, predators were never that attractive. Probably because of their personalities.

The chipmunk brought her own tail around to her front. And held to it. Busying her paws.

"Where shall we begin?" Volga finally said, breaking the silence.

"I don't know," Bic confessed, her posture and tone submissive. And she scolded herself for being so typically prey-like. But it was almost beyond her control. A sort of compulsion.

"You breed, I take it?"

"What?"

"You breed." Volga had always found breeding to be a stimulating conversation-starter.

Bic shifted in her seat, swallowing. "Yeah," she said, nodding. "Uh ... I do. Yes."

"With who?"

The chipmunk flushed. "Barrow."

"Barrow," Volga repeated. "He is the ... blue bat?"

"Periwinkle," Bic corrected, "bat. Yes. He's ... he's my husband."

"I see." A pause. "When we came aboard, he scanned us with his medical equipment. He put us into his database, and checked us for ailments." A pause. "I had a very brief conversation with him. He ... " Volga stopped short. And then went ahead and admitted, "He intimidated me. I ... he has telepathic abilities, does he not?"

"Yes," Bic whispered. "Bats do."

"I figured as much. I could not tell if he was reading my mind. I could not tell ... what he knew about me." An exhale. "As a predator, I do not like being held at a disadvantage."

"I noticed ... "

Volga looked directly at the chipmunk. "I felt at a disadvantage around him."

"Well ... " Bic wasn't sure what to say about that. "I'm sure he wasn't violating you, if that's what you're worried about. He, uh ... he used to be a bit unwieldy with his telepathy. But he stopped that when I met him. Anyway, we're linked, now, so ... if he'd been in your head, I would've found out about it when we, uh ... well, when we ... " She trailed, not wanting to get into the particulars of sex with bats.

"But he seemed ... fit. He smelled healthy. Virile. You chose well," Volga commended.

"Well, it's ... it's not like I was picking produce," Bic said, frowning a bit.

"Males, though ... they are like produce. They're better when they're fresh. But not too ripe."

"Uh ... okay." A confused frown.

"I have heard rumors about the breeding habits of bats ... "

" ... and, uh, I'm gonna leave them at rumors. I don't know you well enough to trade information about our sex lives," was the honest, blushing-beneath-the-fur response.

"A shame." And what looked to be an eye-smile. Sort of like the ones the snow rabbits did.

"Uh ... " Bic cleared her throat. "What about you? I see you with your, uh ... partner," she said, "but I don't know his name, or ... "

"Ural. His name is Ural. And you are correct. He is my breeding partner."

"So, you have breeding parties, then? Like the snow rabbits do?"

"To put it plainly: yes. Although our breeding parties are more loosely-structured than theirs. And, as I've witnessed aboard this ship, some snow rabbits are beginning to abandon the breeding parties for ... commitment."

"You should try it some time," the chipmunk suggested, genuinely.

"I am not a Christian."

"Well ... "

The Arctic fox interrupted the chipmunk with, "I am content in my situation. I need to breed. So does Ural. We breed with each other, and if we wish to breed with others ... we do so. Ural is only ONE of my breeding partners. I have more. He just ... was the one assigned to come with me on this mission."

"Well," Bic said again, getting in her words this time. "Maybe spending all this time with him and JUST him ... maybe that'll, uh, make you love him?"

The Arctic fox seemed, suddenly, strangely vulnerable. Whispering, "I doubt it." But she didn't elaborate. Just straightened in her chair, saying, "Fortunately, Ural provides me with great pleasure. He is a very skilled breeder."

Bic just nodded. Not knowing what else to say. Wanting to ask, ‘Why can't you love him?' But she kept quiet. They were just beginning to know each other. Don't press her. You don't want her pressing you, so don't press her.

But the Arctic fox, seeming to intuit the chipmunk's thoughts, offered a genuine, "There is a difference between snow-prey ... and snow-predators. The snow rabbits, as your Captain and some of the others have apparently discovered, can find ways to love through their freezes. If they so wish. But they are prey. They can allow themselves a degree of vulnerability."

"And snow-predators can't? To a predator, love is a weakness? A liability? I know at least a few ‘warm-blood' predators have loved before ... I know you're a snow-predator, but couldn't you ... "

"Perhaps. I would not know." A pause. "I have stayed away from attachments and commitments. As I shall continue to do," Volga said. "They too easily become traps."

And Bic wondered how anyone could really mean that.

A breath. "So, shall we keep conversing? Or shall we get back to work?"

"I don't mind conversing," the chipmunk whispered.

Volga nodded. "I do not know what else to talk about."

"Are you, uh ... you're asking me to take the lead in the conversation? Me? Prey?"

"I suppose I am," the Arctic fox admitted, very quietly. An uncomfortable pause. "Do you mind?"

"No," Bic said, gently. And she took a breath of her own. And she tried to smile.

And Volga sniffed the air. The chipmunk still smelled like fear.

And Bic, too, sniffed the air. And was still afraid.

But, all the same, they continued to talk ...



"Whose child is this?"

"He's mine," Ross said protectively, picking up baby Sterling's baby carrier. It was a cushy, rocking basket, with a big handle atop it. Snug inside, the baby moved his little arms, and opened his little paws. "He's mine," the meadow mouse repeated. He'd been keeping Sterling with him, here in the mess hall. Aria was on the bridge. So, Sterling's baby carrier was sitting on the wide, flat counter that separated the dining area from the kitchen. Right in the open window-space.

"He is half-rabbit."

"Half-snow rabbit," was Ross's correction. "Yes. It's ... my wife. Aria. She's ... "

" ... the Captain." Ural nodded. And made a grunting sound. "Hmm. Very well, then." The Arctic fox was separated from the meadow mouse by the counter. On the other side of the opening. And said, "I desire food."

"Well, uh ... my food's, uh, set out, and ... "

"You do not have what I want."

Ross swallowed, his anxiety spiking. Mouses were anxious creatures to begin with. Maybe the most anxious of prey species. And he was finding it very hard to concentrate with the fox's scent in his ever-twitching, ever-sniffing nose. "Uh ... I, uh ... "

Ural squinted. "Yes?"

"Uh ... um ... " Whiskers twitching and tail snaking. Ears at a super-swivel.

"You are scaring him," was a new voice. Alabaster. Who was taking his lunch break the same time as Ural. For the Arctic fox had been working with the engineering staff today.

The Arctic fox peered at the meadow mouse. And made that grunting sound again, which was like a brief, throaty growl. "It appears so." A heavy sniff. "Yes, I smell his fear."

"You may take your child and sit down," Alabaster told Ross, with a friendly tone.

"O-okay," went the meadow mouse, clutching the baby's carrier. The baby starting to stir, starting to make little, crying noises. His nose now having gotten the fox's scent. And they went to a nearby table.

Leaving Alabaster and Ural standing at the partition.

Ural grumbled, his brushy tail swishing through the air. "This is getting tiresome. Have these prey not met predators before?"

"They have. ‘Warm-blood' predators. Species they grew up with. None of them have met an Arctic fox before. Your smell is very new to their noses. Your emotional freezes ... intimidate them, as well. It makes them harder to read your body language."

"So, us Arctic foxes really so different a predator ... as to inspire this type of reaction?"

Alabaster had several biting answers for that. Most of them referring to the war between the snow rabbits and the Arctic foxes. But, instead, he said, "You will simply have to be patient with them. They will adapt to your presence ... in time."

"You are not afraid of me," Ural pointed out.

Alabaster was quiet at that. Oh, he WAS afraid of him. He was just able to hide it. But, yes, the fear was there, and it was pulsing, and it was real. But he wasn't able to express it like the mouses and chipmunks and squirrels were. Surely, the Arctic fox knew this. He couldn't be that dense. Surely, Ural could smell the hint of Alabaster's fear, as well? And Alabaster said, aloud, "Snow rabbits are intimately familiar with Arctic foxes. There is nothing about you that is new enough to throw me off."

"Mm." A throaty sound. "Anyway, I do not care. I simply desire," the Arctic fox repeated, off the subject of his powers of intimidation, "food."

"Ross has cooked the lunch. And there are food processors ..."

" ... that are not giving me what I want," Ural insisted. He huffed. "I would not be asking for food if I had been able to get what I wanted."

"And what is it," Alabaster asked, with as much patience as he could muster, "you want?"

"Meat."

The snow rabbit's whiskers gave a twitch or two. He saw, as his eyes strayed, the stars streaking by outside the windows. And then he looked back to the fox. He swallowed. "I see," he whispered. As a vegetarian, his stomach unable to even digest meat, the sight and smell of meat made him queasy. A sigh. "The food processors are programmed," he said, "for a few select ‘meat items.' Mainly for bugs and fish."

"Bugs and fish?" An odd squint. As if the combination of those two was a culinary disaster.

"For bats and otters," was the explanation. "However, as far as further ‘meats' go ... I'm afraid they are not in the programming."

"I wish for red meat."

"You cannot have it," Alabaster insisted, getting antsy.

The Arctic fox narrowed his eyes, nodding very lightly. "I guess I shall have to have fish."

"That would be my recommendation," said Alabaster.

Ural sighed. "Have you seen Volga ... "

"She was in the science lab with Lieutenant Bic." A pause. "What do you need her for?"

"Use your imagination. But, I suppose you cannot, for," was the Arctic fox's biting addendum, "snow rabbits do not have imaginations."

"I didn't know you had them, either," was the immediate retort.

"We have the ability to fantasize."

"As do we."

"Mm." Again, that throaty growling noise. "I wish to breed with the vixen. You will tell her to meet me after I am done eating."

Alabaster bristled, his tall, slender antennae-ears waggling. "You may tell her yourself. I am not your subordinate."

Ural looked, for a moment, as if he wanted to challenge that statement. But didn't. Instead, he padded toward the food processors.

Alabaster followed. Just to keep an eye on him, if anything. But also to say, "Do not think that I did not notice you ‘ogling' my wife in engineering."

"You wife," Ural said, as if thinking. "Oh, yes, that ... pretty, powder-colored thing. Olivia, is it? It was not my fault she kept flicking her bobtail. It drew my eyes."

"She was doing that for me," Alabaster said, sighing, getting as flustered as his emotional freeze would allow.

"Well, even so ... I have a right to look." The Arctic fox's eyes met the snow rabbit's. And they stared, unblinking. But Ural was several inches taller than Alabaster (not including Alabaster's ears, of course). And he squinted, saying, "I will look where I wish ... when," he emphasized, "I wish."

"You will not look at my wife," Alabaster whispered, steely and insistent.

"Wife. She is your wife. I did not think snow rabbits married. I did not think they committed or ... "

" ... loved? Some of us do. Our society is ... "

" ... changing? For the worst, obviously. I do not approve of your ... restructured breeding habits."

"What difference is it to you? You are not a snow rabbit."

"No ... " A sly, toothy smile. Oh, those teeth were sharp, and his breath was too hot. "No, I am not, but ... despite the past skirmishes between our two species, I have always admired your ... physicality," he said. "The physicality of your femmes, rather."

"Is that so?"

"Rabbits are extremely virile. I admire that trait ... even if I admire nothing else about you."

"That is good to know," Alabaster said blankly. And he could tell, just tell from Ural's eyes: that fox had bred with snow rabbits before. During the war, probably. And probably by force. Alabaster was assuming this, of course, but the way Ural was talking, and the look in his eyes, oh, he was sure of it. The damn fox.

"You are tensing, Chief." An eye-smile from the fox. But not necessarily a gentle eye-smile.

"My title is Lieutenant-Commander. Not Chief."

"Are you not the chief engineer?"

"I am."

"Then I will call you Chief," Ural said. "Now, are you going to leave me to my lunch? Or are we going to stand here and stare at each other all day?"

Alabaster's paws quivered just a tiny, tiny bit. His freeze keeping him from expressing what he was feeling deep down. "You killed my mother and sister," he whispered, his voice raw, almost delicate.

The fox looked to him. Eyes unmoving. "I assume," he said quietly, "by ‘you' ... you mean my species."

"Yes, your species. You killed them."

Ural tilted his head. "I lost my big brother ... and do you know who killed him?"

Alabaster said nothing.

"Snow rabbits," was Ural's whisper. And the edge was gone from his voice. He exhaled, deflating. "So, Lieutenant-Commander, I think we can call ourselves even." An inward breath. "Agreed?"

Alabaster swallowed. And nodded very quietly. "Agreed," he whispered, and he turned to go.

"Will you join me?"

The snow rabbit paused. His back to the Arctic fox.

"For lunch?"

Alabaster had the thought to keep moving. Snub him. Leave. Keep your back to him. Keep your tail to him. But what good would that do? And, so, he turned around, and simply nodded. "I do need to eat," he confessed.

"Good," Ural said.

So, they got their food. And sat down. And ate. And it didn't so much matter that the conversation was sparse.

At least they were at the same table.