(Author's Note: This episode takes place about half a year after 'Victory for the Romantic Muse.')


Her head was on a pillow, and with the fabric of the pillow-sheet being the same color as her fur (a soft, milky-white, a snowy-white), there was, to his eyes, the impression that she was somehow melting into the bed. With a warmth that belied her hues. With a weight that indicated a civilized laziness, an expression born of a long day, and of struggle. And of finally being in a pocket of rest.

The meadow mouse slid over her, above her, in a soft, slinking way. Almost playful in its execution. Creating a rustle-rustle sound against the navy-blue sheets. Creating shadowy movement in the dimness of the bedroom. Creating a stirring of the air, which further mixed their already-mixed scents.

She, herself, made no movements. Made no verbal objections. Just watched him with her icy-blue eyes, reflecting (as they did) like an pale, azure sky. Eyes that could smile. Eyes that could express. But, at the moment, expressing nothing.

Ross swallowed. And breathed out, through his nose. A soft sound. Softer, even, than when he breathed in. Inhales, as they were, being more desperate sounds. And exhales being releases.

The snow rabbit was one to notice this. Rhythms, patterns. Of breaths and bodies. Her mind was prone to analyze such things. Even in such moments, Aria found it hard to be ‘casual.' Always, her instinct prodded her to be civil. Proper. Restrained. Controlled. It was for her own protection. But she had eased those barriers, chiseled little cracks into some of those ‘frozen walls.' Only enough to get the flavor of the feelings. But not enough to destabilize her complicated mind.

"You're tensing," Ross whispered, his nose twitch-sniffed, in an incessant, tickling way, on her bare shoulder. He closed his eyes. And took another breath. Oh, the familiarity of her. Oh, the echo of things shared.

"I'm trying to ... balance," she offered, "myself." Her ears, long, white with pink interiors and charcoal fringes, were bent against the headboard of the bed.

A little nod from him. A nod of understanding. His slender body atop hers, he paused, his weight upon her, chest sinking down upon her supple, snowy breasts (like little mountains, if one were to get poetic). Ross, with a good deal of obsessive-compulsive tendencies himself, said, "I know ... darling, you don't have to try to hard, you know, to ... "

" ... feel?"

Their noses now touched. Ross swallowed. And nodded so lightly. So lightly. Their noses (his pink and hers black) rubbing, both sniffing. His sniffing more.

"You are emotional," she told him.

"So are you," he whispered, raising a bit. Propping himself a few inches higher, by putting his elbows on the sheets. "So are you," he repeated, looking into her eyes. Whiskers twitched. "You just can't express it," was his tiny, little reply, "as good. But I have rubbed off on you," he said with certainty, with his settling-in confidence.

"You have, yes. And, no," was her whisper, "I cannot express it as well." Her tone level.

"But, sometimes, I look at your eyes, and your body language ... you know, your posture, and ... sometimes, I see it," Ross continued, "in you. I see it." His big, dishy ears, pink and getting flushed, swivelled.

"But I cannot smile. I cannot laugh. I cannot frown and ... throw a fit. I cannot cry," she said, going on. And on. Whispering. Eyes watching his ears. And then his nose. Thinking, ‘Look how he goes and goes and goes.' Saying, "I can give you glimmers of what I feel inside. But the meat of the emotion ... is trapped within, frozen," she said, "before it can surface."

"Well, I know the alternative," Ross whispered, swallowing. Knowing, as he did, snow rabbit physiology. Knowing their feral, thawed-out state was a violent, lusty one. Knowing that, over centuries of harsh, Arctic living, they'd been naturally conditioned to repress their baser instincts. Their rawness. A repression that had become inherent, now, at birth. And unable to be broken without chemical interference or extreme trauma. There was only ONE way to safely raise their temperatures enough, just enough, to let some of the emotional expression safely seep out: with love.

A cliche, maybe. Probably. But it was the truth.

Perhaps all truths were cliches, the mouse thought.

"I've seen it in your eyes," Ross said again, knowingly. "I've seen ... you express it," he said, whispering, trailing. His breaths slightly erratic. His silky-pink tail went waver-wave in the air above them. Waver-wave, in a soft, slow-dancing way.

"I wish I could give you more."

"You give me enough. You give me yourself." A pause. An inhale. Elbows no longer propping his body up, and the meadow mouse sinking, again, atop of her. Bare. Close. Caring. "I don't know why you're worrying about this ... especially right now." A pause. "I'm the worrier."

Her eyes met his. From such a short distance. "You do not worry," she remarked, "nearly as much as you did ... when I first met you." She trailed.

"I guess God used you ... to fix me."

"As He used you to fix me." She closed her eyes. "He fixed us both."

After the war, the war between the Arctic foxes and the snow rabbits, she's been unstable. What the foxes had done to her, she could remember. With utter clarity. The violations. The violence. The blood, and the robbing of her dignity. Forcing themselves upon her. And she, disgusted, having to take them. She shook her head, slowly, swallowing. Trying to shake the memories from her head. The memories that haunted. The same memories that had, in retrospect, triggered her further growth. She'd been unstable. And, now, she'd found stability. In her husband. In her faith. In Christ. And she had changed.

Redemption. Stepping out of the shadows of yourself. And living in the light. Not fearing any revealing. Having nothing to hide. Nothing of shame.

I left it all behind.

I learned.

"Aria ... " His note was a note of concern.

"I am fine," she assured, whiskers waggling, her voice at a cool whisper. Her eyes opening. She did her best eye-smile.

Ross smiled back, lightly. "I can tell when someone is lost in their thoughts. I'm a mouse, remember? My thoughts move a mile a minute. I can tell when someone's mind is scurrying ... "

This made her eye-smile more, for some reason. And she turned her head, slightly. Tilting it on the pillow, and then tilting it back. And sighing.

"You okay?"

"Yes," she whispered. And she sighed. And her paws were on his muddy-brown, earthy-furred sides. And she closed her eyes. "For now, I am." For now. When her eyes opened again, they looked past her husband. To the ceiling. To the electrical wires hanging from gashes in the bulkhead. Exposed circuitry, scorch-marks. Remnants of the last attack.

And, once more, she closed her eyes, sinking further into the bed with him. Sink, sink, sink away. Let us sink away. Let us anchor here. Let us never rise.

Ross shifted his position a bit.

Her protruding, pregnant belly making the mouse's lie-down a bit bumpier. A bit comical, in some ways. And he seemed to sense she was thinking this. "I'm perfectly comfortable," he assured her, grinning that innocent, mousey grin. The whisker-twitching, eyes-wide smile. He liked to say he didn't have a sense of humor. But she knew better.

Which prompted her widest eye-smile of the night. And a comment of, "Mouses are adept at getting comfortable in any space or situation, aren't they?"

"We are. In small, dark burrows, in fields full of tall grasses and weeds ... and on big, rabbit bellies."

Her eye-smile holding, she shook her head lightly.

"See ... see, there you go."

"Mm?" She looked to him.

"That shake of your head there ... that was body language. You were amused. You shook your head to show your amusement." His whiskers twitched, nose sniff-sniffing. Sniffing.

"I did not."

"You did."

A relaxed breath. And an admitted, "Perhaps."

"Perhaps ... " He moved his muzzle closer to hers. To feel her breath on his cheek. To nuzzle. To draw closer to the brushing of their lips. To draw ever-closer to a kiss. One of his paws bending back to run over a breast. Her breasts a bit bigger, soon to be lactating (when she gave birth). He thumbed a nipple.

"If you are so adept at reading my body language ... " A sigh.

" ... yes ... " Lips poised, now, above hers. Paw sliding over her breast again. More. And then off, leaving his chest to press against them.

" ... you must know what I want. You must know what I am thinking."

No answer to that. Just a soft, airy squeak, and an effeminate whisper into one of her slender waggle-ears.

"That is a good guess," she whispered back, in response to his own, hushed words.

"An accurate one?"

"Does my body language say it is accurate?"

A giggle-squeak, and he bit his lip, and breathed deeply through the nose. "Um ... yes," he decided. "Yes ... "

"Well, then ... " She trailed, feeling a bit light-headed. Awash, as she was, in want. Pregnant as she was, in possibility and love and consequence.

"You can ... just relax," the mouse told her, swallowing, mind swirling full of irrational thoughts. And even some rational ones.

"I planned on it." An eye-smile, feeling better.

A swallow. A nod. The mouse, as the snow rabbit's belly had swollen, as her pregnancy had progressed (she was due in only three more weeks), had found that his wife's maneuverability and flexibility had been greatly decreased. Whereas, before, she would (more often than not) take unspoken dominance in their physical unions, she found straddling him for long periods, currently, to be hard on her back. Because of her extra weight. And the extra energy expended with her taking the dominating, gyrating positions had, they'd found, tended to wear her out more quickly. Which meant more pauses for her water-breaks, to keep her hydrated.

So, they'd simply accepted that, until she gave birth (and even after she gave birth), they weren't going to be performing with the same variety and youthful spontaneity that they'd been previously accustomed to. Which meant a lot of Aria flat on her back, resting gently. Taking it easy. Which meant a lot of Ross controlling the tempo. Which meant a lot of gentle, easy motions. Nothing frantic, frenetic. No rolling about or doing it on the kitchen counter.

"Just relax," he repeated to her. "Don't worry about, uh ... I'll pace it ... "

"Are you going to get on with it?" was the playful question. "And I CAN move," she said, whiskers waggling. "I'm not beached."

"Yeah, but ... well, I didn't mean to imply that ... "

A slight nod of admittance. Enjoying, as she did, teasing him. The way he blushed. The way he made those little, rattling squeaks. She told him, "Still ... I am a snow RABBIT. I am an expert in ... "

Chirrup!

" ... sex," she finished. She held her breath. Her ears going still.

Chirrup!

Her eyes no longer ‘smiling,' she sighed, stretching a paw to the bedside stand. Curling her fingers around her comm-badge. She pressed it. "Aria," she stated.

"Yeah, it's Jinx."

"Yes?" she asked, simply.

"Am I interrupting?" was the question, after a brief pause.

"Yes."

"Oh, well ... I ... the, uh, casualty reports," the skunk said, trailing. "This week's reports. They came in. I, uh ... you told me to notify you when they did."

Aria closed her eyes, not responding.

Ross's whiskers twitched. His eyes darted, pained. But body still so close to hers. Now, clinging, almost, in his submissive, anxious way, to her warmth. Such warmth, and the meshing of fur, and the tangling of limbs. And the laying out of souls. Waiting for the channel to be cut.

"Captain ... "

"Put the data on a pad. Put it on my desk ... in my ready room."

"You, uh ... don't have a desk anymore." A pause. "The bulkhead, uh ... crushed it, remember?"

An exhale. She did. "Put it on the couch. Is there still a couch?"

Ross injected here, with a very ‘background-like' whisper, "We used it yesterday morning ... to, uh ... we ... " He trailed. "There's a couch," he finally said, biting his lip, nodding. He hadn't actually USED the couch. She had. He'd been on his knees on the floor, busy between her legs.

Aria couldn't help but eye-smile at him. He was so cute. Oh, cute. Oh.

Jinx, on the other end of the comm, simply hesitated. Before saying, "Uh ... your couch. Okay. I'll, uh, do that. And I'll leave you two," he said, "to it."

"Commander ... "

"Yes?"

"Are the sensors clear?"

The sounds of beeps and chirps. And a response of, "For the moment, yes. Short-range and long-range, but ... the wasps ... last encounter, we didn't detect them until they were seventy minutes away. I think they've adapted some kind of stealth armor for, uh, their ships."

"They no doubt ‘assimilated' it from another species."

"Mm ... well, uh, I'm sorry to have interrupted you," the first officer said.

"It is alright. I did ask you to inform me when the High Command," she said, referring to the Snow Rabbit High Command, "sent us the report. However, I may ask what you're doing on the bridge. It is the night shift ... "

"Crew-fur Mortimer, uh ... got an infection from the wound he got last week, and, uh ... he's back in sickbay." A sigh. "And then something went wrong with the tactical array. The whole system was on the fritz. I had to come up here and tinker with it ... weapons ARE at the ready, but ... I never figured out what the glitch was." A pause. "I just hope it doesn't go wrong when we need to use these things ... " He trailed.

"I share that sentiment. However ... return to your wife," Aria ordered. "We all need our rest," she told him, "and recreation." A pause. "We need to stay sane."

"Aye. Alright. Thank you." The channel was cut.

Aria sighed, closing her eyes.

Ross's whiskers twitched.

"Where were we," the snow rabbit said, simply.

Ross, still twitching, said, "Uh ... well ... "

"Yes?" She raised her brow.

"You, uh, were telling me ... " A shy, ears-blushing (so that the capillaries showed) kind of smile. " ... you're a sex expert." A bit-back giggle-squeak. That sounded so silly to say.

"Are you refuting that?"

"No," was his whisper. "No ... "

Their eyes met.

The meadow mouse smiled, sliding a bit. Down, down her body. And he pushed aside the thought of casualty reports. And wasps. And war. "No dark thoughts," he whispered, as he settled on his knees, now, between her legs, looking over to her. He leaned forward, kneading her breasts, thumbing her nipples. "No dark thoughts," he went, as he massaged her. Parted her fur. Paws moving, then, to her belly. Rubbing there, softly. Tenderly.

"No dark thoughts," was her whispered echo. No dark thoughts, no, for now. Just a love that left imprints. Not teeth-marks. Just a love that lived close to the stars. Just a love that left them fluttering, full of color. Full of heat.

Faithfully, dynamically dangerous, devout and lovely.

Ross, afer a minute or two, returned to his lie-down atop her body, hip-pressing. Not wasting any time, this time. But, still, in no hurry.

Grind. Press ... and suck on the side of her neck.

And Aria, head turning a bit, eyes closed, let out a little mew. And her foot-paws, her heels dug into the bed-sheets as her legs moved apart. Willingly. Knees going bent. Sighing through the nose. Yes, indeed, she thought again. Oh, how he goes and goes and goes. Oh, to be the beneficiary of such scurry!



The chipmunk emerged from the bathroom, dressed in only a loose, wrinkled shirt. One of her husband's shirts. She, brushing her teeth, pulled the toothbrush away from her muzzle, and said, in slightly-garbled tone, "Your shirts never fit me ... "

The periwinkle-furred bat, the ship's doctor, looked up. In bed. Reading a book. "No?"

A shake of the head. More teeth-brushing.

A slight smile from him.

Again, pulling the toothbrush away. With the foamy paste in her muzzle. "The sleeves are made for WINGED arms."

"Really, huh?" was Barrow's teasing response.

"Yeah, go figure," Bic went. And she gave a wink. And went back into the bathroom. Spitting into the sink. And then guzzling some water. Spitting again. And, after a few seconds more, she emerged, all fresh. All clean. All ready for bed. "Yeah, your shirts don't fit me," she said again.

"Maybe you should stop wearing my shirts."

"Maybe." She crawled into bed. Pulling off the shirt, haphazardly, as she did so. Gently tossing it aside, to the carpet.

A giggle-chitter. "Yeah ... "

"Mm-hmm," she went, settling beside him. Closing her eyes. Her whiskers twitching, twitching. Her angular ears cocked. Body as bare as his, now. "Mm." A whisker-twitch. Her eyes opening. "You brush your teeth?"

"Mm-hmm. You saw me."

"Even your fangs?"

"Even my fangs," he said.

"I don't want you getting cavities in your fangs."

"I'm sure you don't." A knowing, playful grin. The said fangs had, indeed, gotten their nightly use. "I brushed them."

A sigh. A smile. And she cuddled up against him. Whiskers twitching again. "You gonna read all night, or ... or what?"

"I like books."

"No, you don't," she whispered.

"I do. I'm an avid reader."

"No ... no, you're afraid of sleeping," she whispered, knowingly. And she swallowed, licking her lips. Her brown-furred face, with the darker-brown stripe up the muzzle and middle, expressed worry. "No, you ... darling, you know that I know your thoughts. When we ... " She blushed, exhaling. When they made love, through his bite, they were joined. Physically, emotionally, mentally. A spiritual, pleasured union, and a total one. "I know she's been in your dreams."

Barrow paused. Swallowing.

"She's taunting you. The Wasp Queen."

The bat's eyes darted. And he put the book aside. Let it fall to the carpeted floor, in fact. "I don't know what she wants," he whispered.

"You gotta tell ... "

" ... the Captain? Jinx? The others?" A pause. "They already know she's been in my head. What's the use in scaring them all, in putting them on further edge ... by saying she's getting into my dreams? There's nothing I can do about it."

"I don't know. They just ... I don't know."

"I can handle it."

"You can't, darling. It's ... you're tired." A pause. "It shows."

"Bic ... "

"Can't you keep her out? Block her?"

"Her abilities are more advanced than ... a bat's. Besides, she wants me to tell the others. She wants me to spread panic. She wants us to be afraid."

"Well ... too late," the chipmunk whispered, whiskers twitching. "We are afraid."

The bat was quiet.

The chipmunk sighed, chittering into his fur. Burying her muzzle into her husband's bare, furry chest. "If she's in your head, that means she's near ... that means she's close." A pause. "When the snow rabbit flagship was destroyed two months ago," she continued, "and Arctic was named the new flagship ... you notice, ever since then, they've tried to cripple us, wound us, but they haven't destroyed us?"

"Cause we've escaped."

"No," the chipmunk whispered, her brushy tail flickering on the sheets, and into the air off the bedside. "No, last attack, the ... " She trailed. Let out a breath. Her eyes watered. She swallowed, shoving it aside, continuing, "We lost the Sitak and the Majestic, right ... but we were just SITTING there, unable to move. I ... and they ... they passed over us. And warped away."

"They saw Luminous and Solstice coming from the other direction ... "

"We had ten minutes," Bic whispered, "until Luminous and Solstice reached us ... the wasps could've destroyed us." A pause, licking her lips again. Her paws on his body. Whispering, "They want something ... or someone," she emphasized, "on this ship. Alive. Intact." A shiver. "I ... " Her voice faltered.

"You're afraid they want me," Barrow whispered blankly.

"If the Queen's playing games with you, with this ... telepathic tug of war ... I mean, what else would they want?"

"The Captain. Or ... the technology. We are the most-advanced ship in the snow rabbit fleet. We are the flagship."

"I don't know, darling. I ... it worries me. It really does, and I ... I know you don't wanna sleep. But you have to, and ... "

" ... and, now, you're worried to where you can't sleep, either."

"Well, we've got a close link. What affects you," the chipmunk whispered, "affects me."

A knowing nod. "Well ... we're both worrying."

"That's been established." A pause. A trail.

"Maybe we should ... pray together." A hesitation. "I know we normally say your bedtime prayers privately, in our heads, but ... maybe it would help. Out loud. With each other." Another pause. "Have a glass of warm milk."

"Does warm milk really help?"

"Not as much as prayers. But ... maybe."

"I'm not thirsty."

A quiet nod, nuzzling into her. Whispering, "Computer ... lights." The already-dim lights in the bedroom dimmed, humming off. A breath.

A breathe.

This is the air I breathe.

Your very word spoken to me. Oh, You are the air I breathe.

We are desperate for you. Your holy presence ...

... breathe.

Breathe ...



... breathing a bit unsteadily as she left the lift, Aria lurched forward, leaning on the nearest railing. And closing her eyes. It was morning.

"Are you alright?"

Aria looked up. To Arianna, a fellow snow-rabbit.

"Yes."

"You seem ... dizzy."

"I am." Her whiskers did a singular twitch. And her white-flame of a bobtail went flicker-flick.

"Perhaps you need water."

"I will get some in my ready room." A swallow, and Aria steadied herself, taking a slow, deep breath. "I felt it kick again. It has been doing somersaults this morning. That is the only way I can explain the movement."

Arianna was quiet.

"The baby." A pause. A dawning eye-smile. "Have you felt it kick?"

"Yes. I believe every fur on the ship has had their paw on your belly ... feeling a kick." Arianna eye-smiled back at her superior. She had learned a lot from Aria. Had mimicked the Captain in many ways. Had come to take on her faith, and her beliefs about the advancement of snow rabbit society.

"Every fur?"

"Yes. You have been ... most adamant." A head-tilt, and an eye-smile.

Aria nodded, took a slow breath, and walked, with no hurry, to her ready room. Across the bridge. Passing her chair in the center. And she looked around. Damaged. That's what it was. This place. The bridge, the ship. Maybe even her crew. Damaged. Broken and brittle, and scorched, and blackened, and hanging by wires and tubes and threads. "I often wonder," she said, pausing, "if the baby will still wish to kick ... once he is welcomed into this."

"The repair teams are doing their best," was Arianna's soft response.

The Captain turned her head. "That's not entirely what I meant. But ... I know they are." Her eyes darted. "I was so eager to have a child. We were ... so eager," she whispered. "We didn't stop to think that we were on the cusp of war. Didn't stop to think about ... the universe our child would be exposed to."

Arianna, at first, said nothing. Then replied, "Life is hope. Your child will be a tangible bearer of hope ... in a place that desperately needs it."

A quiet nod. "Yes ... " Aria let out a breath. And looked to the helm. "Wilco ... "

"Ma'am? Captain. I mean ... sir. I mean ... " A sigh. Dammit. Was he ever going to stop doing that? A resigned, little smile. "Yeah?" he finally said.

"Any problems with the ship?"

"No, ma'am. She's flying smooth. Our course is clear, and ... " He trailed, not knowing what else to say.

The snow rabbit looked to the flying squirrel. Energetic. Young (like they all were, in their early twenties ... a ship of young furs, finding their maturity, finding out their mettle). Aria felt a great affection for rodents, being married to one, herself. And her child being half-rodent. She knew how they were. How they worked. What made them tick. And she, often, found herself mothering Wilco, treating him in an over-protective way. "Are you and Arabella well?"

A whisker-twitching, tail-flickering nod. "We are," he whispered. "We are ... we had a nice meal last night."

"That is good."

"Of, uh ... ration packs. Uh, I think it was ... pasta? You can never tell."

An eye-smile. "Alabaster assures me the food processors will be online by this evening."

"I hope so." A pause. The hydroponics bay had been destroyed a few weeks ago. Hull breach. Everything sucked into space. All the fresh produce, all the plants. Everything. The breach had since been repaired, but they'd yet to find a world to safely stop at to replenish their stock. "I can't stand ration packs." There was a tinge of something in his voice. Fear.

"Neither can I," Aria whispered back, with a weight to her voice. And she lingered. And put a paw on his shoulder, squeezing it, and taking a breath, she started walking, again, to her ready room. And ...

" ... the, uh, doors," said Ezri, the squirrel, Jinx's wife, from the comm station. "The, uh, doors don't work," she finally said. "The door sensors, I mean. They stopped working this morning. You have to pry them open now."

Aria nodded quietly, sighing, eyes darting. She put her paws, her blunted claws, too, in the crack that went down the middle, where the two parts of the sliding doors merged. She pulled, pried. And huffed. And stopped. Admitting, quietly, "I need a male's muscles ... "

"I'll do it," said Jinx.

"I can do it," Wilco said.

"I'm bigger," was the skunk's response, already halfway across the bridge.

Wilco frowned, his whisker's twitching. "I can open doors," he said.

"They're fighting over you, Aria," Ezri said, her squirrel tail flagging behind her seat. "Should I tell Ross?"

A little, amused mew-sound. As Jinx opened the door. And Aria stepped through, into her tattered office. And she paused, turning around. "I suppose you can leave the door open ... just a crack." Enough so that she could open it herself, when she wished to come out.

"Alright," the skunk said, nodding. His bold-black and white-striped fur, luxurious as it normally was, a bit matted. And he pulled the sliding doors to a near-shut, leaving a few inches of space down the middle. "If you can't move them, just knock, and we'll come to your rescue." A grin.

"Thank you." An eye-smile. A pause. "Ross should be coming up here in ... at the bottom of the hour."

"Ah." A wink.

A sigh. "He has no reason to be working in the mess hall at the moment. Not without food stores or food processors."

"No need to explain." Another over-obvious, teasing wink. "Well, just let me know when you need the door shut all the way."

"I will," she said, shaking her head (in that amused body-language way).

Jinx just chuckled to himself, moving off.

Leaving Aria, behind mostly-closed doors, alone in her ready room. No desk. The stars streaming by outside the window, and the potted plants that had been spaced about were, some of them, wilting.

You forgot to water your plants.

I've had other things on my mind. Like ...

... the casualty report. Was on the couch, on the cushions. Waiting for her. Like s horrible summons.

The snow rabbit swallowed, her black paw-pads feeling slightly-clammy, her white-fur feeling a bit hot. She moved, in her slow, careful way (carrying the weight of her protruding belly as she did) to the couch. And leaned slightly over. Reached for the pad.

Her thumb poised above the activation button.

She hesitated.

Swallowed.

And pressed the button.

And the names, in white text, were there. Scrolling across the little, paw-held screen. The names. The ships of service.

The first thought, when reading these lists, was, "Do I know any of them?"

And the second thought was: "I'm glad no one on my ship is on that list today." Today. But they had been on there. On other days.

A pang.

Guilt. And relief, too. Sadness. All at once.

She scrolled, scrolled. Seven more ships. Six hundred more lives. Most of them snow rabbits. The snow rabbits were fighting this war. Only three Furry Federation ships had even bothered to assist.

Solstice, Luminous, and Illustrious.

Solstice, her former ship, where she'd been first officer before receiving the command of Arctic, had met with them a short while ago. Had come to Arctic's aid. But then had gone off in another direction, chasing something. Maybe wasp ships. Maybe sensor shadows. You could never be sure.

Luminous (as Solstice did) headed its own squadron, and was in constant communication with the Furry Home-World, trying to convince them of the situation. But the admirals there, being over a month away (at maximum speed) were not convinced the wasps would go that far into the quadrant. They were much more concerned about ‘this human business.' Fixated on the wrong threat. Oblivious. Self-involved. They were being of no help. And if the wasps succeeded in beating the snow rabbits (and the remaining Arctic foxes, who, for the sake of mutual survival, had started serving in the snow rabbit ranks; a very contentious arrangement, but the snow rabbits needed the troops, needed the bodies; and predators were good fighters).

If the wasps succeeded in taking the perimeter of this quadrant, the interior would be next.

The thought of her species going extinct, and the wasps moving on to the next world, the next world.

Furs are dying out there. Every day.

We are the last line.

No further. It can go no further. Not if you wish your child to grow up.

As for the Illustrious, it ran solo. Independent and wily, running wherever, striking the wasps in violent, sudden ways. The snow leopard captain, Kalmbach, had refused to serve as mother to smaller, snow rabbit ships. Had insisted he and his crew would work better under their own jurisdiction. Aria was under the opinion that everyone on that ship was a scatterbrain, anyway, so she hadn't been one to argue about their doing their own thing. Because they produced results. Somehow, they always turned up when you least expected them. And most needed them.

To have Illustrious beside you in battle was to have a decided edge.

And Solstice. And Luminous.

They NEEDED Furry Federation ships to WIN this war. Logically, that was the truth. The situation. But they only had three. Three.

And then the entirety of the snow rabbit fleet. Over a hundred ships.

But they'd lost thirty percent of those ships since the war had started.

They were building more, of course, as quickly as they could, but ... not quickly enough. Destruction was so much quicker and easier than creation.

Scroll, scroll.

Scroll.

Names scrolled.

Ships scrolled.

Scrolled.

Scrolled, and ... and ...

... scroll. The damn, white text. Scroll, and ...

... SLAM!

With a quick, flinging motion, Aria threw the computer pad at the wall. Smashing it, breaking it, letting it fall to the floor.

Letting it join the debris.

Letting her eyes go burning-blank as she sat, delicately, like a lone flower in winter, on the couch-cushions. She closed her eyes and swallowed.

" ... are you okay? Aria?" Jinx asked, prying the doors open, poking his head in. "I, uh ... we heard a smashing noise." His ears cocked. He looked up, half-afraid a bulkhead had fallen from the ceiling.

"I am fine," Aria whispered.

The skunk looked back to her. Hesitating. Seeing the steely survival instinct welling in the snow rabbit's eyes. "I'll, uh ... okay," he whispered. "Sorry."

"Jinx ... "

The skunk, who had started to close the door again, paused. "Yeah?"

"I do not wish to see the casualty reports in the future."

"Well, the High Command wants us to post them to the ... "

" ... I do not wish to see them," Aria repeated.

The skunk nodded quietly.

"They are starting to become nothing more than names."

A little twitch, and a nod. "Aye, ma'am." A pause. Seeing how distraught she was (if a snow rabbit could even be observed to be as such). "Shall I call Ross up?"

"He will come later ... "

"You need him now," was the first officer's gentle whisper. Jinx wasn't the most emotional male. He was very practical. Often stubborn. But he knew enough, nowadays, to be attuned to states of those around him. Ezri had helped him with that.

A quiet, lip-biting nod. "If you would call him, I would be ... grateful."

A soft-smile. "Alright. Uh ... Barrow wanted me to remind you. He wants to scan you later today. Just to check on you. The baby and everything."

A nod.

And Jinx slowly left. Calling Ross on the comm.

And Aria closed her eyes and sat on the couch. Aware that the stars were behind her. Wondering if they concealed as much as they revealed.

How can I turn my cheek, she asked? When they are attempting to cut off my head? Depriving me of the very ability to turn my cheek.

She'd fought in one war.

And, now, was fighting in another.

And she was only twenty-two years old.

She hoped this was a cycle that could be broken. Dear Lord, let it be so. Let us go free. Be our shield. Be our voice.

And forgive us, dear Jesus, for what we do to survive.

She closed her eyes. Swallowed.

Prayed.

Listening for the voice of Deity. Listening for, "Broken and beautiful, come as you are. True and faithful one, begin to mend."

She was sure she could hear it.