FIVE DAYS BEFORE NOVA ...

The snow mouse entered the room, eyes red, cheeks matted ... and he slammed his paws down upon the nearest tabletop, prompting several sounds of surprise. Multiple glances. "Who ... who," he stammered, "did this?" He sniffled, nodding to the shredded Bible he'd just pinned to the table's smooth surface.

The room was full of Arctic foxes. As well as a few snow rabbit security guards (not members of the crew ... the Snow Rabbit High Command had supplied each ship with supplemental security forces for this mission). Jinx, also, was present, and padded toward Ollie, asking, "What's wrong?" The skunk's luxurious tail lazily swayed.

Ollie, swallowing, sniffling, picked up the torn Bible again ... " ... I found this out there. The pages were all over, and it was ... this is blasphemy," the mouse declared, wiping his eyes with a paw. His whiskers twitched ferociously. "One of them did this. I know they did."

Jinx looked to the foxes. This group was being housed, for the short transport between the Arctic fox Home-world and the snow rabbit Home-world (or, rather, the moons in orbit of) ... this group was being housed in here. The church (cargo bay two). Cargo bay one was full. As was the shuttle-bay. As were all the guest quarters ... as many foxes being ferried as space would allow for ... some foxes spilling into the corridors.

"I did it," came a voice.

Ollie, eyes still red, sniffled, turning his head ... and locking eyes with one of the foxes, who was lounging against the wall, knees bent. At a sit. His brushy, snowy-white tail tipped with charcoal-black. And looking like a spectre.

"Why?" the snow mouse whispered demandingly, with a burning, combative hurt.

"Would faith have won us our war? Would faith have saved our sun?" the fox asked.

Ollie just glared.

"Faith isn't real, mouse. It's a lie. It's a crutch," he stated, "for the weak."

Ollie shook his head so, so slightly, whispering, "No, not a crutch for the weak ... but an admittance of weakness, of humble grace ... by the strong."

"My world is gone," the fox said, pausing to breathe through his black nose. "God let that happen."

"God didn't set into motion ... what you did. The hatred, the war, allowing the wasps to manipulate the background ... "

"So, the rest of you," the fox demanded, "are saints?"

"No. Not a single one of us," Ollie assured, stepping closer to the fox, radiating an eerie kind of calm. Tail a hanging line behind him. "And that is why, before there was time, redemption was already arranged. But if you wish to have no hope beyond what you can see ... and if you wish to believe that there is no eternity ... then, by all means, do as you will. Die into nothingness. But do NOT," the mouse said, shoving the torn Bible down at the fox.

The fox quietly took it, stoic. No remorse. Claws on display.

"Do NOT do this again." Eyes burning, the mouse sniffled, and turned to go, and ...

... Jinx gently grabbed his arm.

Ollie's head turned. "Let go of me," he whispered, voice quivering. On the verge of crying again. "Don't touch me," he squeaked.

"Don't drink," Jinx whispered pleadingly. "I know you wanna go and do that, now, as soon as you leave here, but ... "

The mouse held the skunk's gaze.

"Don't," the skunk whispered again. "Just calm down ... I know your pain."

"You have NO idea what my pain is," Ollie said, violently twisting his arm out of the skunk's grasp. Almost losing his balance in the process. The tears streaming down his cheeks. And he shook his head slowly.

"Ollie ... promise? Just go lie down, okay?"

The mouse paused in the now-open doorway, and with back turned, tail hanging, he nodded. Nodded again, and left.

"Sensitive, isn't he?" the fox asked. His fellow foxes, sitting around, were chatting in low, somber voices. A few of them, now and then, would give an audible chuckle, swishing their tails, but ... the tone, generally, was not upbeat. Not at all. Their angular ears flicked. But their eyes were stationary. Blank.

"Fox, take my advice: don't mess with the mouse and his faith ... just don't do it."

"No?" A tilt of the head. A showing of teeth.

"Don't mess with him," Jinx said strictly.

"Or you'll mess with me?" the Arctic fox supplied.

"That's right," was Jinx's unflinching reply, eyes moving ... and catching a duo of foxes hassling one of the snow rabbit security guards. "Dammit," the skunk sighed, and rushed over to defuse the situation ...

" ... we did not ASK for you to save us, ‘bunny'," one fox spat. ‘Bunny,' in this vernacular, being used as an insult. A belittling term.

"Your government did," the snow rabbit guard said coolly. His whiskers doing a single twitch, and his ears standing tall.

"Our government lost us the war. Our government had NO right to be making decisions like this without ... "

" ... there a problem here?" Jinx demanded, showing his phase pistol.

"No," said one fox.

"Yes," said the other. "How long until we reach your world?"

"It's not MY world," the skunk replied.

"Whatever. The bunnies' moon. How long ... "

"Do not call us ‘bunnies' ... we are rabbits ... "

"Another forty-five minutes."

"You must be enjoying this," the second fox continued. "Now, you have an ENTIRE species of predators ... in your debt. You're going to lord this over us for as long as you can ... "

"We're saving your species," the skunk replied, his black-and-white masked muzzle ... showing signs of exasperation. "We're helping you. You should be grateful that ... "

"Do not bother," the snow rabbit guard said, interrupting, bobtail flicking with tension. "Do not bother trying to argue with them. They're too primitive to understand the ... "

SWIPE!

One fox slashing at the snow rabbit ... drawing ruby-red blood, and staining the pure-white fur And a punch, a kick from the rabbit's strong, bare foot-paw, and wrestling to the ground, and ...

... CHOOM! CHOOM!

The room went quiet. Jinx firing his phase pistol at the ceiling. The red beams ... almost as red as the blood. "Alright!" he barked. "That's enough!"

The assembled group of refugees and guards settled.

The skunk swallowed. Sighed. "Alright," he whispered again. "Settle down. We're all civil creatures ... we'll be at the moon soon, and ... just calm down," he pleaded, helping the downed snow rabbit to his foot-paws. Another sigh. "Go see Barrow," he ordered. "You need a dermal regenerator."

The bleeding rabbit nodded. Ears drooped in pain.

Jinx put a paw on his shoulder. Squeezed. And patted him toward the door ... and then nodded to the remaining guards. And then went back to his corner near the door. Pausing before sitting in a chair. Closing his eyes. And opening them. And ...

... the door to the bay opened (again ... traffic).

"Ezri," Jinx stated, blinking.

"Jinx," she said, wringing her bushy, mahogany-brown tail in her paws. "Jinx, I gotta ... I, uh ... " She knelt down next to him, whiskers twitching and nose sniffing. Next to his chair. "I gotta breed," she said sheepishly, obviously tired.

"Honey ... "

"Jinx, I ... I can't put if off ... any longer. I can't concentrate," she whimper-chittered. "I can hear my heart in my ears. I ... " She stammered, clutching at his fur with her paws. Sucking in his scent. Oh, wanting his warmth, his male ...

"Ezri ... "

"Jinx, I ... I know you gotta, too, so ... please, come on. Hurry," she pleaded, squirming. "I ... "

" ... pawed," the skunk whispered, avoiding her eyes.

The squirrel leaned backed a few inches. "What?" she whispered, almost inaudibly. Whisker-twitch. And a blink.

"I'm good for another six/seven hours," he assured. "I pawed."

She just nodded dumbly, licking her lips. Looking wounded. "Oh." An inhale through the muzzle. She looked a bit befuddled for a moment. "I'm your mate, Jinx," she told him, her voice breaking.

"I know that ... and I ... "

" ... love me?" Her eyes watered. She blinked. Blinked. "Mm-hmm." A nod. "I'm your MATE," she said again, more strongly. "I ... I held off as long as I could, cause ... I wanted to breed with you. I thought ... you would've wanted me more than your paw," she said, cocking her head, making a sad, little chitter-sound. "Now, I'm a wreck ... and, now, I gotta find a bathroom, so I can ... " She bit her lip, not finishing the sentence. And she stood back up. "I got a breeding drive to defuse," she said, with an edgy tone.

Jinx sighed wearily. "Ezri, please ... "

Tears were weighing down her whisker-tips. "See you ... t-tonight," she stammered, and she turned and left ... her tail fanning her sweet, soft-furred scent back at him, making him feel sharp pangs. Making him hold his breath.

"Every prey that leaves this room," said the Arctic fox holding the shredded Bible, "leaves spilling blood or tears."

The skunk just gave the fox a glare.

"Just an observation," he said.

"You can keep your observations to yourself."

"Only if you do the same with yours," the fox countered. "Which, from all I've seen since being brought aboard, you have no intention of doing."

Jinx gave no reply.

"You take your mate for granted. You should not have pawed. You should have waited for her ... "

"I'm BUSY," the skunk said, "overseeing a mass, life-or-death exodus. I don't have time to be distracted ... "

" ... by the natural, daily cycles of furry instinct? Breeding is like sleeping, eating. Necessary. It's what MAKES you a fur. Ten minutes in a room ... was all you would've needed. Not much more time than it probably took you to paw. Now, she feels unloved."

"As I recall, Arctic foxes have breeding parties ... they don't take mates. So, you're in no position to give me advice."

"As a predator, I do not take a ‘mate,' as you will, but I have a natural ability to peg prey ... to read them. To intuit their moves. I wouldn't be a good hunter if I didn't have that skill." A tiny head-tilt. "And I'm telling you that you're taking your mate for granted. She wants MORE from you. And you do not seem to be giving it ... and I do wonder," the fox said, "why that is ... some psychological scar from childhood? Some growing pain? What prevents you from loving her at full-flower, skunk?"

"Shut up," was Jinx's closed-off response. Looking away. To the door (that his mate had left through), and to the floor. And he took a breath, and closed his eyes, and ... slumped a bit in his chair. Tail limp. Ears flattening close to his skull ...



THREE DAYS BEFORE NOVA ...

"We are holding up," Aria said, slumped at her desk. In her ready room. Looking to the screen of her personal computer. "However, various forms of deprivation ... have affected the performances of the crew. We are not operating at full mental capacity. I fear this may slow our efforts. And may result in less lives saved."

"I think that's a problem on every ship," Captain Advance said, from the other end of the channel. His big ears swiveling. "But we're doing our best, you know ... I'm just glad to see you're okay. I would, uh ... have some of the crew talk to you. They've been wanting to. We all miss you ... "

A quiet nod, her normally tall-standing waggle-ears drooped a bit.

" ... but, uh, no time for too many pleasantries. But I'm glad you contacted me."

"It is difficult," she said, eyes a bit distant, and then blinking back into focus. "It is difficult," she said, "when you captain a vessel ... suddenly, you become, in the eyes of others, impervious to weakness. You become a leader. A rock."

"They all look up to you," Advance whispered knowingly. "They rely on you to instill them with confidence."

"Yes," was her whisper. And a pause. "I am blessed to have Ross," she said, of her mate, "to confide in."

"A mate-less Captain ... is never a Captain for long."

"Indeed." A pause. "How is Audrey?"

"She's doing well." A trail. "Still not pregnant ... we ... after what happened, we were gonna try again. But, uh, hasn't happened yet."

"I, too, have been trying," Aria confided.

"Are snow rabbits and mouses ... "

" ... compatible? Yes. But not fully. So ... "

"Well, I'll keep you in my prayers. I'm sure, eventually, he'll get his little seeds to stick."

"I hope so," was her slightly-sheepish whisper. She stretched her strong legs and foot-paws ... beneath her desk. What she wouldn't give to do a tundra-sprint right now ... to have her bare foot-paws imprinting her steps in the snow, her exhales showing as vapor, and the heat of her blood and her pelt, and the stinging cold ... to just run through that until she had to fall down.

"Life," the desert mouse whispered. And a smile melted on his muzzle. "I think life and love must be the same thing."

"Two letters removed," she agreed, nodding, and allowing an eye-smile. "They are great hopes, life and love."

"Well, in the midst of this ... mission," the mouse whispered, "I think it'd serve us well to keep that in mind."

"Agreed."

"You've got a nice, little ship, I must say. I stared at the schematics and pictures for ... a bit too long." A weak giggle-squeak. "She's pretty."

"Little?" was all Aria responded with, eye-smiling more.

More giggle-squeaks. "Well, SMALLER ... not little, but smaller, then."

"Size is not everything." A gleam.

"True. True ... it's not," Advance whispered, and let out a breath. "It's really good to talk to you. We're, uh, about five minutes from the second moon, so I'm gonna have to go."

"We are on our way back to the Arctic fox Home-world," she said, of Arctic. "I feel ... I feel as if we are moving in slow-motion. That sun will explode in three days."

"I've never seen a sun die," the mouse admitted. "Guess I'll get, too, now." A sad, sad twitch, and his eyes darted.

"The sun is not dying ... it was murdered," Aria corrected.

And Advance, on the screen, met his eyes, and nodded. "Just makes you wonder ... you know, if the wasps can do THAT to the Arctic foxes ... what's stopping them from taking out the rest of us?"

"If they destroyed us all, there would be no one alive for them to torture," the snow rabbit said quietly, cryptically. Her words hanging in the air.

Advance let out a shaky breath. "I gotta go," he said, looking past the viewer, and nodding at someone (who must've been in his ready room doorway). "Bye, Aria. God bless ... "

"The same to you," she replied, the channel going black. And she leaned back in her chair, rubbing her silky-furred neck, slumped in her chair. And she paused. And reached for the audio comm., tapping it ... " ... Ross."

A chirrup. And his voice. "Yeah? Aria?"

"Yes. I ... how busy are you?" she asked. Ross was cooking, arranging meals around the clock, seemingly, feeding the refugees ... giving them warm food. Trying to boost their morale. But the weight of such a job was taking its toll on the vole ...

"I'm, uh ... I'm done with lunch. I ... just gotta clean up." A sigh. "This ... such a mess," he said, words blurring.

"Can you leave it a mess? Just for now?"

"Are you in your ready room?" he asked softly, no hesitation in his wispy, little voice.

"Yes," she replied, swallowing.

"I'll be there. Just a minute. I love you," he blurted out, voice cracking.

She closed her eyes. Whispering back, "I love you, too. I will be waiting ... "



ONE DAY UNTIL NOVA ...

"Arctic wasn't designed to accommodate this many furs. The life support systems NEED to be reinforced ... weapons have to be taken offline."

"If we take the weapons offline, shields go offline, too ... that is unacceptable," Alabaster declared, walking briskly through the upper levels of engineering. Arianna right on his tail.

"The Captain has ordered it."

"And what if the foxes hijack one of our rescue ships ... and turn against us?"

"The foxes are in no condition to attack anything or anyone. It is in their own interest to cooperate with the evacuation. Anything to slow it down ... would be a detriment to their species. They are not that stupid. And the wasps," Arianna added ... " ... we are no match for the wasps, weapons or NO weapons. It hardly matters, either way. Take the weapons and shield offline. Transfer ALL their power to life support."

Alabaster, his black nose sniffing, his whiskers doing a bit of a twitch, nodded. "Very well," he whispered, nodding again. And he leaned against the blue railing, looking down to the lower level, and then looking to the swirling, cylindrical warp core. "I talked to some of them."

"The foxes?"

"Yes," he whispered, unblinking, and ... when he finally did blink, turning to her. "I talked to them ... not on purpose. But they baited me, and I responded, and ... instead of arguing, we ended up talking. I did not expect to have anything in common with them. But ...we talked, and I felt pity," he whispered, eyes darting. "I felt for them."

"That is understandable."

"They killed my mother and ... my ... my sister," he said, his emotions showing as much as his emotional freeze would allow. Which was only slightly. But enough to be noticed. "And I ... "

"It is alright," Arianna said, putting her paw on his shoulder.

The chief engineer closed his eyes again. "I did not realize how much pain I was still in, myself," was his confession, sighing. "Not until I saw THEIR pain. And ... now, I know," he said, swallowing, opening his eyes. Meeting her gaze. Ice-blue to ice-blue. "Now, I know," he whispered.

"When this is over, you must speak to Barrow. He can help you."

"By swimming in my head, you mean? Isn't that what bats do?"

"He can help you ... if you are unhappy, I wouldn't wish for you to STAY unhappy." She slid her paw down into his. Fur meshing with fur. Fingers linking. "I do consider you a friend." A breath. "I did not reject your offers to join your breeding party because I did not like you ... you are very desirable," she confessed. "But I needed a different way. I needed ... someone else," she whispered.

"I do respect that," he whispered. "And I even see," he confessed, "why it appealed to you ... but I am afraid I am too set in my ways."

"Only as much as you think yourself to be," was Ariana's certain response.

A quiet nod from him, and ... he leaned forward. And kissed her softly, sweetly on the cheek. Black nose lingering for her scent, and the heat of her. Swallowing, pulling back. "I have wanted to do that," was his breath.

A flush from her. "It is okay ... "

"Your mate is to be envied." A pause. "I, believe, for the right femme ... I could give up the breeding parties. I could learn to love," he confessed, starting to walk away. Moving with that rabbit gait.

"Alabaster?"

He stopped, turning his head. Half-looking back to her ... " ...yes?" he asked quietly.

"Are you going to be okay?" Arianna whispered. Her own tail flicking unconsciously behind her, and her whiskers doing a twitch or two.

A sad, little eye-smile. "That is a question for the ages," was his response. And he kept walking, going to the lift, and taking it down to the lower level.


NOVA ...

"We have seventeen minutes to get out of this system," Aria said.

"Sir, I'm ... ma'am. I mean ... Madam Aria, Captain, I ... "

"Ensign ... "

" ... I'm ready to go!" Wilco finally stammered out, anxiously stumbling over his words. "But our pods AREN'T back!"

"I am aware of that," the Captain said, standing behind the flying squirrel's chair.

"The pods aren't back!" he repeated, sounding frantic. Arabella, his mate, the kangaroo rat ... was one of Arctic's two pods.

"They will arrive in time," she assured. "I am just telling you," she continued, "to be ready. As soon as the bay doors shut, take us out. Maximum warp."

"I know, I know ... "

"Ensign?"

"Yeah?" was his scared whisper.

"It will be okay," she assured, and she squeezed his shoulders, and put a little kiss on his head-fur. "Please, calm down," she said. Mated to a rodent, herself, she knew how to calm them ... they responded to soft, physical touches. "Please," she whispered.

The flying squirrel swallowed. "Okay," he whispered back. "Okay ... "

"Thank you," Aria said, leaning back, and turning around, and ... glancing back at Jinx, who was, right now, back on the bridge (and leaving the guarding of the foxes to his deputies and the snow rabbit guards). "Commander ... where are they?"

"Two minutes out," he responded. "Ezri," the skunk said ...

The squirrel, without meeting her mate's eyes, replied, "Yeah?"

"Can you tell them to hurry?"

"I told them twice. I'm not telling them again," she whispered.

Aria looked from one to the other, and said, "It has not escaped my attention that, for the past few days, you two have been at odds ... with each other." A sigh. "Whether you realize it or not, your attitudes have been affecting the rest of us. You are our friends. Love is important. Whatever has been happening between you ... SOLVE it," she ordered directly, "at your soonest chance. I do not need this affecting your duties."

"Yes, ma'am," was the squirrel's shy reply.

And Aria looked to Jinx. Who nodded sheepishly. Stealing a glance at his mate, wishing they could both say the right things. Wishing for ...

" ... the sun is sending out massive solar flares," said Bic, who was, for this, working at the science station on the bridge ... rather than down in the science lab itself. "We don't have anymore time. We have to leave NOW ... or we're not gonna escape the shockwave." The bold stripe down her head and on her tail, the bold stripe of brown ... seemed almost more intense. More dramatic. But, then, everything looked more dramatic right now. And everything surely felt it ...

"The pods are beginning their docking sequences," Jinx stated.

"Ensign Wilco ... "

"My paws are on the buttons," the flying squirrel assured, his ears cocked, bushy tail twitching about through the tail-hole in his chair's backside.

Silence on the bridge. Filled with thoughts, wishes ... and many fervent prayers. For the ships. For the crews. For the species ... for those still down on the planet. They would feel no pain, would they? Not with how quick that shockwave would come ... praying that their souls had been, in life, well-invested for their upcoming eternal trips. The sound of hums, beeps. All coming from the computer. Little, helpless chitter sounds from someone, and ... a squeak from someone else ... and ...

" ... pods are in! Pods are in," Ezri squeaked.

"Engage!" Aria said, voice raised.

Wilco already had the ship turned away from the planet, and already ... wove them away from the other ships left in orbit, and ...

... gunned it.

The stars turning from sparkling dots to streaking arrows of light.

"We should have a minute to spare," Bic said, "in getting out of the system."

"The other ships?" Aria asked, swallowing. There must've been about eleven ships still there ...

"They're all starting to leave ... but they're cutting it down to the second."

"Aria," said Jinx.

She turned to meet his eyes.

"Shall I put the ... " He trailed, and then piped back up with, "Shall I put the nova on the screen?"

There was total quiet.

And Aria, taking a breath, eyes tired, whispered, "No. I think we all posess adequate imaginations ... we do not need to encourage further nightmares."

A weak, weak nod.

How many Arctic foxes had they successfully evacuated? A few million? That was more than enough to ensure the survival of the species ... but all their femmes would need to start having babies (even if, previously, they had never wanted children). They would need to rebuild and repopulate ... to get strong again. But that was just one of many, many concerns best left to tomorrow, and the day after that, and ... work out later.

Aria slowly went to her chair. Slowly took a breath. And sat down, closing her eyes.

Giving a prayer for a murdered sun.