They were in the ‘repli-mat,' the open eating area on the Promenade, which had tables, chairs. Food processing kiosks. From where they were sitting, they could see the infirmary doors, as well as the lift that led to the science lab. The simulation rooms were around the corner, a level up. The Promenade consisted of two decks, which ran in a circle, the occasional spiral stairway leading up and down, as well as the lifts, of course. Embedded in the curving, exterior walls were oval-shaped windows. Looking out at the planet below and the space beyond it. You could see the moon, too, coming into view.

But such details were currently lost on the furs. For they were engaged in food and conversation. Two things that always seemed to grab at the senses.

"Green?" Amelie went, raising a brow. A shake of the head, her tall ears twiddling. "No, thank you. I only eat red apples."

"Heh," Petra went. "I s'pose you only eat January snowflakes, too?"

Amelie just blinked, not getting it.

"What? Only red?" Peregrine asked.

"Green apples are too ... " The snow rabbit looked for the right word. " ... tart." Her head tilted as she said this, as if emphasizing it. Her snowy-white pelt looking so soft and pure. With little charcoal fringes on her ears. As well as having a black nose and black paw-pads and claws.

"They have a juicy kick to ‘em," Petra insisted, picking up an apple slice. "Dunno if this is granny smith or golden delicious." Her pink nose sniff-sniffed, trying to figure it out. Her whiskers gave their necessary twitches. And she soon took a crunchy bite. Chew-chew-chew. "Mm." Chew. "Well," she said, chewing some more, licking the juice from her lips. And then swallowing. "Well, I still don't know the name, but it's good. But I know what you're sayin' ‘bout red apples. They have their moments." She took another slice from the fruit plate. "But apples have the oddest names, sometimes ... "

" ... I prefer gala, myself, as far as taste goes," the snow rabbit said. "It is also visually appealing. However, I believe I will take a strawberry at this moment in time." She reached for one. The seeded skin colored a heart-red. And, truth be told, strawberries were rather shaped like hearts, too, weren't they? Turning it over in her paw, she said, "On my world, foods tend to lack a certain vibrancy in their color. The climate is not permanently icy. Contrary to external belief, it can get warm. But the cooler days vastly outnumber the warm ones. And we do gets lots of snow. So, no tropical fruits." A pause. "A lot of what we eat isn't native to our planet. And, of course, we've become reliant on food processors. I sometimes wonder if it is a weakness," Amelie posed, looking up and meeting their eyes. "To think that our ancestors survived without any of it. And we are so cushioned by our computers and our automated lives that ... we are like slaves. In a way," she said. "Though I am not saying I would like to live without modern technology. I am simply wondering if we rely on it too much." A pause, letting out air through her black nose. "No, my world is not famous for many foods: aside from snow turnips."

"Don't like turnips," Petra said, making a face. "Radishes? I'll eat radishes, though. They're the ones that are small and crunchy, and they get hot the more you eat ‘em."

"I like radishes," Peregrine said, quietly. Nibbling on his food. Nibble-nibble, using both paws to pick up his fruits and vegetables and things. There was also bread on his plate. And, for his drink, he had an ice-cold glass of raspberry iced tea. He loved raspberry iced tea.

"I enjoy radishes, as well," Amelie said, nodding lightly. And then finally putting the chosen strawberry to her muzzle. Giving a sniff. Taking a light, tender bite. Closing her eyes and sighing through the nose. Chew-chewing. "Mm." More chewing. And when she swallowed, she opened her eyes and gave one of those enigmatic, icy-blue eye-smiles. "I find strawberries to be most refreshing."

The rat gave a giggle-chitter. "Refreshin', huh? Never heard ‘em called that. I'd say they're ... well, I dunno. I'm not good with adjectives, mostly. But they're sweet, for sure."

"Wheldon likes to feed me strawberries," Amelie confided. "In bed." A bright eye-smile. "He can be very romantic, though he tries to hide it with a casual demeanor."

"You ever use chocolate?" the rat asked. "Me an' Perry ... "

" ... Petra," the mouse said, blushing beneath the fur. Whiskers all a-twitch, all a-twitch.

"Heh. He's shy, y'know."

"I had noticed," Amelie said, giving a light nod. "But that can be a desirable trait."

"Well, I'm not always shy," was his little, squeaky response. Effeminate. "Anyway, I'm not being shy right now. I'm being hungry. And it's hard for me to nibble and talk at the same time ... " He trailed, picking up with, "And, truth be told: I wish Mortimer and Benji would hurry up." The raccoon and nutria were bringing a torpedo turret online. Currently, Redwing Station only had a few phase cannons up and working. There was nothing for launching torpedoes. Or tri-cobalt devices. So, they were remedying that. The launchers were already in place. They just hadn't been hooked up to anything.

The station had long relied on its ablative hull armor, its thick hull plating, for self-defense. But weapons were essential. This was no longer a mining station. It was an outpost, a rest stop, a research facility, and a home. And they needed a way to protect it. Of course, once they got the torpedo turrets online, they'd need torpedoes (and they had none). So, for now, phase cannons would have to suffice.

"Those ruins aren't goin' anywhere, hun," Petra assured, chomping into another apple slice.

"No, they are not," Amelie agreed. "However, I share Peregrine's eagerness to dispose of them. They are ... tempting. And that is trouble."

"So, you're not having second thoughts?" the grey-furred mouse asked his snow rabbit ‘ambassador.' For that was her official rank. Though her specialty was history and archaeology.

"I am not. I admit to ... " A sigh. " ... I admit that, yes, there are many things of incredible value among those ruins. Among all the artifacts that I took back down there." Everything from the surface that she'd brought to the science lab, she'd taken it all back down. Unloaded it. It would be destroyed along with the buildings, the gateway, and the other artifacts. "But I promised my husband that when it was time to walk away ... that I would," she whispered. "And, as I told you the other day, I believe it is time to walk away. Before all of this gets out of control. The more furs that know about these ruins and their powers? The bigger the chance that something will fall into the wrong paws, and ... " Her ears waggled.

And she continued, " ... best to eliminate that threat now. There is nothing of further productivity we are going to get from those ruins. Nothing except information to feed our curiosity. Our understanding of what this planet used to be." A pause. "Knowledge comes with a price. I do not want to play Eve. I do not want my obsession with tasting the fruits that are down there," she said, "to become the trigger that destroys us all. And I do believe that those ancient technologies have the capacity for great destruction."

Peregrine nodded. "Well said," he whispered. And he gave her a gentle, whisker-twitching smile. "And I'm glad you'll be staying with us."

"There is an entire planet to explore. We've been fixated on one tiny sliver of it. The rest of it? Perhaps we can start a colony. Or find great resources to build ships, grow crops. There is plenty left to be done."

The mouse nodded again. "There is, indeed." A deep breath from him. And he looked around. "I really wanna put this place on the map, you know? I mean, not ... not to be, like, drawing furs like magnets or anything. I don't like crowds, and I don't wanna host one." A tiny squeak. "But I'd like for it to be just a little bit livelier, you know?"

Amelie tilted her head, opening her muzzle to respond when ...

... Wheldon came padding up to the table, sinking into his chair. "Silly squirrel," he went. "Don't know where they get their energy from. She made me jump through hoops."

"What?" Petra asked, blinking.

"Not literally," the rabbit replied, shaking his head a bit.

Amelie, looking to him, raised her brow. "So, you got them?"

"I got ‘em, I got ‘em," the tea-furred rabbit mumbled, ears getting a bit hot. He patted a paw on one of his pockets, which was slightly bulging.

Petra and Peregrine both blinked.

Amelie explained, "I shall be entering my heat soon. He needs ‘protection'."

"Ah. Heh," went the rat, giving a toothy grin.

"Which reminds me," the snow rabbit said, looking to Peregrine. "We shall need three days off to ... "

" ... granted," the mouse said. "I, uh ... you don't even have to ask. It should be a given."

A gracious head tilt, and an eye-smile.

Petra took a sip from her drink, looking around. And, setting down her glass, said, "Perry's right. This place could use some liveliness, y'know? I mean, there are all these empty rooms, meant for shops an' stuff. Restaurants. Bars."

"Well, I'm sure this place was bustling back when it was processing all that ore every day," Wheldon said, scoffing down his food. Chomp-chomp-chomp. "I mean ... " Chew-chew. " ... you can comfortably house half a thousand furs on this place. Not to mention just as many passers-by ... " Chew. " ... all those docking pylons and ports."

His wife, raising her brow, said, "Manners, darling? Do we speak with our muzzles full?"

"Do we?" he asked, chew-chewing, eyes wide.

A slight squint. "No."

Wheldon just grinned at her, swallowing. "I'll try to restrain myself. You know I've got an appetite. And so," he whispered, "do you." A wink, returning to his food.

Amelie eye-smiled patiently, looking to the two rodents on the other side of their small table. "I am constantly having to corral him. He greatly benefits from my serene logic."

"Saying I don't have any serene logic of my own?" Wheldon asked, no food in his muzzle this time. He sipped at his water. "Mm?"

"I am saying it would not hurt you to have more of it. And, so, I provide it."

"Hmm. Well, you need a bit more spontaneous passion in you."

"Do I?" Her bobtail flicker-flicked, sticking out of the tail-gap built into the back of her chair.

"You do. And I hope I adequately provide you with that," he said, in as proper a tone as he could manage (without giggling), "as adequately as you provide me with your serene logic."

"I believe you do, darling. I believe," she said, warmly, "you do."

And he did giggle this time. A giggle-mew or two, returning to his food. Almost finished. Of course, Prancer had held him up. Being that she was the only source for condoms and contraceptive injections, et cetera, on the station (being the chief medical officer; stuff like that couldn't be replicated with food processors, but sickbay had an industrial processor, which replicated non-organic items; the engineering section, down in the central core, had an industrial processor, as well, but it was mostly used for tools and such). Anyway, the squirrel often dished out a few teases before she'd dish out the desired items.

"Well, we don't get no traffic," Petra said, returning to her original point of conversation (before the rabbits had sidetracked the whole thing), "is the problem. But I know there's some deeps-space merchants an' stuff. Maybe we could get ‘em to stop."

"How?" Amelie asked, blinking.

"Send out a ‘hello, stop here' message. Or attract ‘em with somethin' sweet."

"Such as?" Wheldon pressed.

"I dunno. We could be like ... an oasis. In the middle of nowhere, we can be a somewhere."

"Well, broadcasting ourselves would be a bad idea, I think. That'd be just as likely to attract pirates as it would be merchants or travelers. We might even get pirates posing," Peregrine imagined, "as merchants. If someone finds us, they find us, and we'll welcome them, but ... in the meantime, let's stick to ourselves and try and get everything organized on the station. And see if the planet has anything else of interest. "

A few nods, the conversation getting a bit more sporadic, drifting slowly to an easy stop. Eventually, all four of them were leaning back quietly, finished with their meals. Their appetite for food having been sated. But their other appetite?

Peregrine began to twitch in cute, submissive ways, his silky-pink tail snaking delicately behind his chair. His swivel-ears swiveling. Twitch-twitch, he went, biting his lip. And then bringing his tail round to his front where he could hold it with both his paws. He stole a few glances at Petra.

Petra, herself, squirmed. Less refined than her husband, her ‘need' was more obvious. Based on how she kept licking her lips, and how her thicker, usable tail seemed to be snaking toward the mouse's lap.

Wheldon, on the other side of the table, drummed his fingers on the edge of his empty plate. It made a soft sound, his blunted claws tick-tacking. He blew out a deep, extended breath through his muzzle, and then gave a nod to himself, licking his lips from the inside. "Mm," he went, shifting positions in his chair. He sat up a bit straighter, his bobtail flicker-flicking behind him. Flicker-flicker. Flick.

Amelie, next to him, twiddled her ears noticeably. Twiddle-twiddle. Stop. Switching to waggles. To a non-rabbit, all rabbit-ears might seem to move in the same fashion. But twiddles and waggles were not the same thing. Waggles were more weighty. Twiddles were flightier. And she was doing both, feeling quite a mixture of things bubbling, brewing beneath her freeze. Unable to break through. But making its repressed presence known. Steam. Steam seeping through, creeping out. If the steam were kept in? Well, that couldn't happen. It needed to be released. And her pupils dilated, and she swallowed. Cleared her throat. And took a slow, steady breath that seemed to feel so hot. She felt hot. Was it hotter in here? She took a long, long drink of her ice water, nearly polishing off the entire glass.

"Well," Peregrine finally breathed, twitching. So cute! "Uh ... "

" ... I gotta have sex," Wheldon blurted out, panting. Unable to help his bluntness. He looked to his wife. "Mm?" he pleaded, almost whimpering.

The snow rabbit nodded as cooly as she could. Which was hard to do. She was losing some of her control already. "I believe all of us are nearing our peaks," she admitted. "It was," she told the two rodents, "an enjoyable lunch. Ops? Later?" Her chair scooted back as she quickly (but politely) stood.

"Mm-hmm, sure," was Petra's chittering response, already trying to drag Peregrine away. The mouse, wide-eyed, gave in and followed, cutely squeaking.

While the two rabbits hopped off with virile eagerness.



It was about an hour later.

In the infirmary, Prancer and Nin had just stepped out of the shower. There were a few showers in the back. Small ones, with curtains. But big enough to fit two bodies in (and still give them room to gyrate about). They'd done it standing. Well, okay. He'd stood. Her legs and foot-paws had been in the air, wrapped round his waist. Arms around his neck. His paws holding to her rump, keeping her up. Her back pressed to the wall, as well.

The main doors whooshed open, in coming Desmond. His gait was a bit tender. "Prancer?" he called, somewhat quietly. His ears stretched, trying to hear her.

A chitter, and she poked her head around the corner. "Oh, uh ... hey. Uh ... wait a second?" she asked, smiling nicely. And then she disappeared.

The toffee-furred cottontail blinked. And let out a breath, looking around. He went to the nearest bio-bed, taking a seat. And began to sniff the air with his pink nose. It smelled like breeding. Wet breeding. Which had washed away the strongest of the scents, but enough of it was left to be picked up by his nose. No wonder Prancer had told him to wait. She probably had no clothes on. As for him and Hyacinth, they'd last bred an hour ago. And they'd had lunch after. You worked up quite a hunger that way (as opposed to if you ate lunch before).

Finally, the squirrel emerged. Her fur matted, not dry. "Sorry. Uh ... heh," she went, giggle-squeaking modestly. "You understand," was all she said, clearing her throat.

"It's alright," the cottontail assured, giving her a friendly smile.

A tiny sigh. And with her smile getting brighter, Prancer asked, "What seems to be the problem? Your foot-paw?"

"It still hurts," Desmond insisted. "Not as bad, but ... especially my smallest toe. My pinkie toe."

"Mm." She grabbed her scanner. "Well, nothing's broken. I already told you that. It's just some bruises. Might be swollen for a few days, but ... " She ran her scanner over his foot-paw. "Looks better than yesterday. You want a hypo?"

"I do," he said, asking nicely. "Please?"

"Alright. But, look, it'll feel all better by tomorrow night, I'm sure." Letting out a breath, the squirrel scampered off. Returning with a hypo. "How's Hyacinth," she asked, pressing the device to the cottontail's neck. It whooshed, injecting the pain-dampeners into his blood.

"She's real good. She's in Ops right now, monitoring the sub-space comm traffic. Milka gave her some of the comm frequencies the space pirates use, so she's listening in on those. You know, in case they're talking about us. Or Terrence."

A nod. "Well, hey, you and her should come over to our quarters tonight. Have supper with me and Nin?"

"Really?" A smile.

"Sure. Petra and Peregrine were just having lunch on the Promenade with Amelie and Wheldon ... made me think that I don't have lunch with my friends as often as I should. I've no excuses, really. It might be a big station, but it's a small crew. We're close-knit. We should make time for each other."

"Well, uh ... should we bring anything?"

"Aside from milk?" A wink. And a giggle-squeak. "No ... "

"Well, I'm sure Hyacinth wouldn't mind sharing her milk," Desmond said. "But best leave that for dessert, or we'll be drunk all through supper."

"Mm." A smile. "I can make square corn or something. Nin?" she called. "You know how to make square corn? I mean, not just replicate it, but make it from ingredients?"

The porcupine, smoothing his shirt, came round the corner. Fully dressed but his fur still a bit wet, just like his wife's. Fur tended to look darker when it was damp. And his brown looked darker than its normal color. "I can make square corn. Why?" A glance to Desmond, and a friendly smile. "Your foot-paw better?"

"Mostly. It just still hurts a little," was Desmond's response.

"Thought we could have Hyacinth and Desmond over for supper tonight," the squirrel told her husband. "And, uh ... "

" ... she can't cook," the porcupine confided to the cottontail. "I'm her kitchen slave."

"You are not my kitchen slave." A giggle-squeak. "Darling, I appreciate all the meals you prepare. My breakfasts, suppers ... I do. I really do," she told him.

"I know you do," he whispered tenderly. "And I'll make square corn. But you're gonna help me. You can't mess it up if I'm supervising."

"Don't be so sure. I once tried to make cookies," she told Desmond. "Twelve cookies went into the oven, and when they came out? They'd melted into one giant cookie blob."

Desmond giggle-mewed.

"I was there. It's true," Nin said, nodding. "It wasn't pretty."

"So, uh, seven-o'clock?" the rabbit asked. "Is that good?"

"Six forty-five, how ‘bout?" the squirrel said. "Gives us an earlier start."

"Alright." The cottontail, feeling a bit better, flicker-flicked that puffy-white tail of his, slipping off the bio-bed. "Thanks for the hypo. I didn't have any left in my quarters."

"Well, I can give you some more, but I don't want you to overuse it. It's easy to think that if you take more, the pain will go away more, but ... you only need the dosage you got. The pain will go away. It'll heal," she assured.

A little nod. "I know. Thanks, and, uh ... see you both later?"

"Later," the squirrel agreed.

And the rabbit hopped (gingerly) away.



Finally, later in the afternoon, they were ready.

Almost.

"They said they were done ten minutes ago. Are they okay?" Peregrine asked, whiskers twitching, looking to Hyacinth.

The brown Swiss flapped her ears, offering a mellow, "They had to crawl through a lot of access tubes. Like a maze. They'll be here." Her hoof-like hands gently played on some consoles. "I keep thinking there's a ship moving into sensor range. But it might be just a sensor echo."

Peregrine bit his lip, considering. "Mm. Well, keep an eye on it. It could be a stray asteroid from that belt ... "

" ... could be," the cow agreed. "It's nothing to worry about, Peregrine," she assured. "I've been monitoring the pirate's comm traffic, and they've said nothing about coming this way. So, it can't be them."

The mouse gave a little nod. And then looked over to Petra, who was at tactical. "You look like you wanna fire some weapons."

"Heh. I'm not so belligerent once ya get to know me." She gave her husband a wink.

Peregrine just smiled and looked away. Soon looking back to her, replying, "Such is the truth." A tiny sigh. He glanced over at Amelie and Wheldon, who were chatting quietly in a corner. Desmond was in Peregrine's office, sleeping on his couch. The others weren't here yet. Everyone wanted to be present when the ruins were destroyed. The event, in their minds, signaling a hurdle cleared. A burden removed.

"You're cute, know that? The cutest," the brown-furred rat told him.

"I'm not that cute."

"Y'are."

His ears got a bit rosy-pink as they swivelled atop his head like fleshy dishes. Even the movement of his ears was cute!

And she told him this. And then added, "As for wantin' to fire some weapons? I am the chief o' security. The constable. It is my job."

"A rodent being into tactical things? How'd you get interested in that?" Peregrine asked. He'd never really pressed her about that.

"I grew up in a city. In a poor, dark part of a ... " She trailed. "I lost my parents pretty young. I had to defend myself from predators." A tilt of her head, whiskers twitching. "I got good at it. I'm a rat. We're scrappy," was all she said, not elaborating on anything that may have happened to her. Or anything she may have done. "Felines, though, that's ... that's the only thing that really scares me." A pause. A story behind that. But, again, she didn't offer it. Not right now. "But, darlin', we both have pain in our pasts, and it doesn't matter right now. We're better. We're together." A smile. "‘Kay?"

"Okay," he whispered, wanting to nuzzle her all over.

But the lift came into view, whirring to a stop. Off padding Mortimer, Seldovia, Benji, and Milka.

"We were gonna send out search parties," Hyacinth teased.

"We're fine," Mortimer insisted, his ringed, grey and black tail swishing behind him. His masked face looking a bit tired. "Got it done. Finally. One torpedo turret up and running. Don't ask me to do another anytime this week."

"I won't," Peregrine assured, smiling. "You and Seldovia can go to your quarters, if you want. And ‘rest'. Same with you and Milka, Benji."

"And miss the show?" was Mortimer's response. A shake of the head. "I wanna see it." He pulled at his wife, drawing the skunk close to him. Her back to his belly. "Didn't bring the popcorn, so I'll have to nibble on my skunk."

Seldovia giggle-mewed happily, replying, with a sultry tone, "I'm food, now, am I?"

"Food for a hungry heart," was Mortimer's reply.

Petra, from tactical, just looked down at her controls and giggle-chittered.

Benji, meanwhile, leaned against Milka, both of them shuffling aside, sinking into some chairs.

"You two look tuckered out," Peregrine said.

"A nice swim will do us good. We're gonna go to the simulation room, actually, after this," Milka said. "A freshwater lake simulation, I think."

The lift came back, whirring again. And Prancer and Nin stepped out of it. The squirrel asking, "We haven't missed it, have we?"

"Nope," said Petra, looking up. Looking to Peregrine. "Well?"

"Well, uh ... Hyacinth, should we wake Desmond? Does he wanna see?" The toffee-furred cottontail was the only crew-fur not in the room.

"I'll get him," the cow said, nodding, moving up to Peregrine's office. Her hooves sinking into the carpeted floor a bit.

"We need to vacuum in here," Nin noticed.

"I vacuumed Ops myself. This morning," Peregrine said. A sigh. "I'll be glad when shedding season's over."

"One of the many prices one pays for bein' a fur," Petra said. "But I'd say the advantages outweigh the nuisances."

A small smile from the mouse, his whiskers twitching. Before he could give a response to that, Hyacinth reemerged with Desmond. The cottontail rubbed his eyes a bit, blinking, his ears twiddling. And, taking a deep breath, looking all around, Peregrine said, "I didn't want to be sent here, you know, at first. I was scared, and ... " He trailed. " ... but I'm glad I'm here. And, uh ... love you all," he said, voice shy and quiet. His ears going rosy-pink. "Amelie?" he asked, clearing his throat. "You, uh, wanna do the honors? Fire the device?"

"Thank you," the snow rabbit said, eye-smiling, moving to tactical.

Petra stepped aside, her rat-tail snaking. "You know how t'work these controls?"

"I believe so, yes," the snow rabbit said, posture proper and refined. A big contrast to the rat's relaxed, less academic nature. "Is every-fur ready?"

Squeaks, chitters, mews, and a moo.

Hyacinth brought up the target-site on the main viewer, magnifying it.

And Amelie took a breath, trying not to think about what she was doing. It went against all her teaching to destroy such an ancient, valuable site. But it held dark things. She had to do this. She had to let go. She acquired the lock. She fired the device.

It spewed forth from the torpedo turret, sparkling a purplish color, twinkling, going, going, down, down, down. And it smashed into the ruins, breaking down the shielding of the gateway, dismantling the elements. Exploding everything into a great, billowing blast.

A few breaths let out.

And Peregrine twitched his whiskers, letting out his own sigh. "Well ... "

" ... Peregrine."

"Mm?" The mouse blinked, turning. "What is it?" he asked Hyacinth.

The cow tapped at her controls. "That, uh ... that thing on the edge of our sensors? It's in sensor range."

The mouse tensed.

But the cow's smile eased him. As she said, "They're asking to talk to you. I think they're friendly."

"Think?" Petra asked, suspicious.

"Put it up," the mouse whispered, turning to the viewer. And squinting a bit as the image blinked on. A muskrat. Semi-aquatic, brown-furred, a pointed nose and whip-like tail.

"Hello?" said the muskrat.

"Hello," was Peregrine's echo. "Do you require assistance?"

"Are you a station?"

"Yes," the mouse answered slowly.

"My crew and I have been traveling for some time. We need a place to rest for a bit. Uh ... do you welcome visitors?"

Peregrine beamed, giving a satisfied squeak. Thinking, not for the first time, that God had sent him out here for a reason. To meet Petra. To fall in love with her. So they could heal each other's bruises and help each other grow. That maybe he was supposed to help make this station a better place. And to help its small, discarded crew feel wanted and useful. And with potential visitors? Maybe that was a start to making this place lively again. And, so, he replied, "We'd love to have visitors. We'll welcome you with open arms."

Open arms.

Something sweet, indeed.