In sickbay.

"You have a strain of ‘water flu' ... "

Advent's eyes darted suspiciously. "Water flu?" she echoed. The eye-darting stopped, and she looked directly at him. Her eyes a bit itchy. It was one of the symptoms. And it caused her to blink repeatedly.

Welly, standing in front of her (the jaguar sitting on a med bed) ... nodded. Handed her his scanner. "Yep."

The feline bristled at his matter-of-fact tone. Snatching the scanner. Squinting. "Mm ... why is no one else sick? I wasn't the only one to be within proximity of those ... egg-laying mammals," she managed.

"I don't know," the skunk said coyly, eying her.

The jaguar's eyes darted. She sighed.

"Now, are you gonna tell me how you contracted this?" the skunk asked. "Or am I gonna have to guess?" A pause. And an added note of, "I'm a good guesser."

Another sigh. She gritted her teeth a bit. Before admitting, "I ... bred," she said quietly, "with a platypus."

"You yiffed with him ... "

"That's what I said!" she hissed. And caught her breath. Closing her eyes. Breathe, breathe ...

"Well, to answer your question, then," the skunk said, taking his scanner back from her. "The reason no one else on the crew is sick ... is that this strain of ‘water flu' is yiffy-transmitted. It mainly afflicts water-based furs only, but ... it CAN be caught by non-water furs during intercourse. It's a rather peculiar illness, actually ... it's ... "

"That's absurd," she stated, keeping him from rambling about the medical fascinations of this.

"Check the readings again," the skunk posed.

She squinted. Growling lightly from the throat. "I sniffed him thoroughly!" she said, of the platypus she'd bred with. "I detected no sickness!"

"Well, he wasn't a piece of produce, Advent. He was a fur. And, as much as your ego would disagree ... predatory senses are NOT foolproof. He WAS sick. Now, maybe his symptoms hadn't started yet, or maybe he was naturally immune ... but he had the virus in his system. And, now, you have it, too. And it's NOT dormant in you, as you're no doubt feeling."

The feline's angular ears flattened against her skull. She took a breath. "Is it ... permanent?" Her heart skipped a beat.

"Of course not," Welly whispered, trying to be gentle with her (which was hard ... considering her attitude, and knowing what she'd done to Herkimer). "It's a flu, Advent. That's all ... the symptoms should last for another five days. After a week, it should be gone." He tapped at his pad. "You'll feel nauseous, have dizzy spells. May want to throw up. I wouldn't advise over-eating ... but DO drink plenty of fluids, okay?"

The jaguar stared at the floor. With a bit of a grimace.

"Okay?" the skunk repeated.

"Okay," she finally responded.

"You'll feel achy, too, and ... may get some chills. You've only contracted a MILD case, so ... shouldn't be too bad."

"My stomach is churning."

"And that's why I'm giving you a hypo," the skunk said, turning around and fishing for it. It was on one of his equipment carts. He grabbed it, and pressed it to the side of her neck. Injecting her. "I'll need to give you one of these every day. For at least a week."

"Too many rules," the jaguar decided.

"If you wanna get better ... then you'll do what I say. I'M the doctor. Anyway, if you didn't want help, you shouldn't have come to me."

"Believe me, doctor," she stressed ... " ... it was not easy for me to come here."

"Predators believe asking for help ... is a weakness," the skunk remembered. "So, you had to choose between suffering through the sickness or asking for my help."

"I chose the latter. And I do NOT," she hissed, "want this spread around the ship."

"That you caught a yiffy-spread flu?"

She let out a breath. "Yes," she whispered, ears still flattened to her skull. In embarrassment? In what ... ?

"Don't worry. I'm not gonna tell. But will you take some advice?"

"Advice?" She squinted, tilting her head. Her lazy-day tail ... not snaking casually (like it normally did). But hanging limply off the med bed. Her golden, black-spotted fur ... a bit matted.

"Next time you yiff a fur you've never met ... make him wear a condom. Or, better yet, DON'T yiff with strangers."

She scowled indignantly. "Is this a public service announcement?"

"Advent ... "

"I do NOT need to be lectured!"

"Apparently, you DO," Welly replied, with equal force. Shutting her up. And the skunk took a breath, trying to speak gently ... without patronizing her. It was SO hard to speak with predators. Felines, especially. So hard to make them listen. They thought they were so tough. So invicible! "Advent," he said again, taking a breath. "I'm serious. With your ... loose," he said, choosing his words carefully, "behavior ... look, we may not see eye-to-eye. We're not even friends," he admitted. "But I do NOT," he stressed, "wanna have to look at my scanner one day and tell you that you've contracted something that's ... a lot worse than a flu," he whispered, not elaborating. "Alright? Please ... not everything can be cured," he whispered. "Alright?"

"Why do you care?" She squinted her eyes.

"I'm a doctor. I care about furs. I'm here to keep everyone safe ... and healthy. And your behavior isn't healthy. And, if you mind me saying so, your attitude isn't healthy, either."

"I DO mind you saying."

"And I don't care," was his immediate counter. "You're a loose canon. And a few other things ... that aren't proper for me to say out loud."

"I did not come here to be insulted!" The jaguar slipped off the med bad, stalking toward the door.

"Advent!"

The jaguar stopped, her breasts heaving. She turned slowly around. Raising her brow. "What?" she whispered dangerously.

"I'm just trying to help. You wanted help, right? You came here ... "

"As I said, coming to you for help ... was the lesser of two evils."

The skunk rolled her eyes. Shook his head a bit.

The jaguar lingered, sighing. Feeling woozy. "I ... I am dizzy. I ... "

"Come here," Welly whispered.

The jaguar swallowed. Shook her head.

"Come here," the skunk repeated, more forcefully. Knowing that predators respected nothing less than force.

Grudgingly, the jaguar returned ... and sat on the med bed again. And slumped. Growling in physical misery.

"Can I ask," Welly whispered, "why you did it?"

"I was in heat," she said, casting him a vicious glare. "Your holographic ... programs," she said, "weren't satisfactory. I needed the real thing."

"And a platypus was ... exotic. Different. Bit of a thrill, wasn't it?"

Her eyes darted. "He was good." A swallow. "If not moronic."

"Moronic?"

"He started to fall asleep ... after. He only came once, and he conked out on me! It was humiliating."

"Platypuses have very ... unique," Welly said, "yiffy physiologies."

"So I've discovered."

"Well, when you casually yiff with someone for nothing more than lust and carnal instinct ... that's what you get. Maybe you'll learn your lesson."

"Your self-righteous behavior is unbefitting," the jaguar glared, "of a doctor. You are to be comforting me."

"Comforting, yes. Not validating everything you do. I don't CARE if certain things are ... predatory instincts, or predatory habits ... you don't HAVE to do it. And if, by saying I'm acting self-righteous, you're indicating that I think I'm on a higher ground than you ... we're all equal. As hard as that is to accept sometimes."

She shook her head, squinting hard.

"What you did to Herkimer was disgraceful."

"We've been over this before ... "

"Yes, we have. And we're going over it again." A breath. "You seduced him, used his own faith to ... trap him into a mate-ship. His faith, and then his need to breed. You used yiff to keep him hooked to you. Like a drug. You beat him, abused him, and ... Lord knows what else. All I know is that you hurt him. And that platypus you bred with? I'd bet anything you really hurt him, too ... "

"He was already sick. He hurt ME."

"You know what I mean ... I'm sure you didn't sleep with him. You left him lying there, I'm sure, to have horrible nightmares. You USED him. You USE furs, Advent. It's a habit. It's a pattern. It's something you do time and time again, and ... you have to STOP."

The jaguar heaved. She was being lectured. Spoken down to. That's what it felt like, and ... oh, it stirred such resentment in her. Such bitterness. If she were at full health, she would've lunged forward and strangled that skunk, and ...

"Anyway ... maybe contracting this flu will temper your lust a bit. Make you think twice before ... "

" ... doing what I am built to do. I did NOTHING wrong. You're trying to impose your own, narrow ... moral beliefs," she said, "on me."

"Advent ... "

"You are intolerable," she said, getting up again. Wobbling. And ... sitting back down. She leaned her head forward. "Ow ... " A pause. "I ... I need more medicine."

"You need bed-rest."

"You are not telling anybody! You told me. You promised ... "

"I said I wouldn't tell HOW you got sick. But ... I'm gonna have to tell the Captain that you ARE sick. Alright? You shouldn't be on duty. You're gonna have to take it easy for a few days."

A heave. Huff, huff ...

"Alright?"

She nodded weakly, gritting her sharp teeth. "I ... I feel sick."

"You are sick."

"I know! But give me more medicine!"

"I can only give you so much," he countered, starting to get frustration. She was so damn stubborn.

But, then, she was thinking the same thing about him.

"Now," Welly said, "do you need help getting back to your quarters? I can help you ... "

" ... walk back to my quarters? Do not TOUCH me," she threatened. "I can walk on my own." Her eyes burned. With predatory dominance. And with ... itchiness. Burned from itchiness, too, and they watered, and she had to shut them. Hating this. Itchy, watery eyes ... if any fur saw her like this, they would mistakenly think she was crying. Felines NEVER cried. Never ... she would ... never do that ...

"Alright," Welly said, sighing. "But be careful, okay? Take care of yourself. And, please, TRY to ... rethink your outlook on life. You're gonna give yourself heart disease or something. You interact with us every day ... how you feel and act DOES affect the rest of us. You should ... "

" ... get a new doctor. Is what I should do. I did not come here to be given a ‘prey makeover' ... I am a predator. Respect," she demanded, "that."

"I do," the skunk whispered carefully.

"No ... you have a bias against us," she assured, nodding, glaring at him, "that is WORSE," she declared, "than my ASSUMED bias against you." Another shake of her head. "You are a hypocrite." And she got up again. Wobbled. Took several breaths. And, with steely effort, made it to the door, huffing.

"Bed-rest," Welly told her again. "That's an order."

She nodded. For once, not arguing. And weakly leaving sickbay, mewling with discomfort. Almost ... a vulnerable sound. Almost. But Advent, like most predators, kept her vulnerable, emotional core so guarded ... and her heart so heavily fortified ... that getting to know her took TOO much energy. More than any-fur could afford to spend.

But, still, Welly ... felt sorry for her. He knew how bad a flu could feel. And it must be hard for the likes of her, for someone whose entire personality was built on strength and dominance ... to be reduced to a sickly state. To lose all control like that. It must be hard to suffer through ...

... but, then, she'd brought it on herself.

The skunk sighed, going to his office.

His faith led him to forgive the feline ... even when his mind and heart still held grudges against her. But, no ... no, he forgave her. And ... would do his best to keep trying to reach her. Keep trying to get her to change.

Even if he got bloodied by her claws in the process.



"Chef?"

No answer.

"Maybe he's not here," Handel whispered.

Ross looked to the porcupine. And then looked back into the kitchen (in the mess hall). "Chef?"

And still no answer.

"Hmm. Well ... Captain said it was okay for me to start today. So ... "

"Maybe Chef's on his lunch break," Handel said. "I mean, like we are ... right now."

Ross considered. "Does Chef GET a lunch break?"

Neither of them knew.

But the vole wasn't about to stand around and wait for the answer. He was eager to get started! His new job ... as a cook in the mess hall. Mm. And, as promised, he said he'd make cookies on his first day. But he wouldn't make cookies FIRST. He would make those later. He had to make some sort of lunch first, really ... some kind of actual meal. Or plan a meal for later. Or ...

"What are these?"

Ross turned. Nose sniff-twitching. "Onions."

"Really?" The porcupine squinted.

"Green onions, yeah ... mm ... snap peas. Broccoli. Mm ... I love vegetables." A turn. "Ooh, spices. Ooh, cinnamon ... "

"Heh ... like a mouse in a cheese shop."

Ross grinned. "That reminds me: what would you think of ... BAKED macaroni cheese?"

"Baked? Like ... in an oven? In a pan?"

"Yeah. It's good, actually. I ... one of my favorites," Ross whispered, looking around. At all the hanging pots and pans. At all the vegetables and fruits from the hydroponics bay (and from the planet they'd just visited). "Mm." His nose sniffed. "Smell all that?" he asked, taking deep, deep breaths. In and out. "Mm ... smell all that food. I'm getting hungry just standing here."

"Heh ... well," Handel admitted, his rudder-like tail brushing one of the islands in the middle of the kitchen. Which had a smooth top. For doing dough and cutting things on, and ... " ... well, you have a much better nose than I do."

"Do I?" The meadow mouse's nose sniff-twitched. Twitched. Sniffed!

"Don't you?" A grin.

Ross giggle-squeaked. "Huh ... guess I do." Another deep breath. "What about pizza? Ooh, I could make pizza."

"Yeah, for, like, eighty-three furs? No, if you're gonna do pizza, you gotta make it with the food processor. Not from scratch."

"Mm. You might be right ... " A sigh. And the vole walking around.

Herkimer, in the mess hall (with Opal ... taking their lunch break in the mess hall today, rather than stellar cartography) ... the grey-furred mouse poked his nose in one of the wall openings that allowed visual contact between the kitchen and mess hall. "How's it going back there? Getting the hang of it?"

"I just got back here," Ross said. "But ... yeah, I'm excited." His ears swiveled. And tail snaked.

"Heh ... I can tell," Herkimer said. "So, what's your first meal gonna be?"

"Um ... well, Handel and I were thinking baked macaroni."

"I wasn't thinking anything," the porcupine assured defensively. "Hey, I'm an awful cook. Mm ... no, I'm just exploring. I'm ... out of here as soon as my break's over."

"I don't wanna be in the kitchen by myself," Ross said quietly. "Mm ... "

"We could always assign Aria to be your assistant," Herkimer suggested brightly. "Then we can all sing rounds of ‘Someone's in the Kitchen With Ross' ... " A giggle-squeak from the grey-furred mouse.

"Very funny," Ross said, making a silly face. "No, Aria's not a cook, either."

"Seems no one is. No one but Chef, anyway," said Herkimer.

"Where IS Chef?" Ross asked ... still wondering. Maybe Chef was a figment of their imaginations. It was beginning to seem that way ...

Herkimer shrugged.

"Anyway, Ross, you won't be in here by yourself," said Handel. "You can see right into the mess hall. Talk to whoever's out there ... you know, if you want. It's not like you're gonna be holed away."

"Yeah, and us mouses LIKE holes. We're burrowers."

"I know that," Ross assured. "Mm ... I don't know. I just ... guess I'm nervous." His nose sniffed. He looked around. "What if no one likes my cooking? I mean, what if I'm not good enough? THEN what'll I do ... "

"You'll do fine," Herkimer assured. "Mm ... anyway, I gotta be going."

"Your shift doesn't start for another half hour," Handel noted.

"I'm, uh, not ... um ... "

Opal came up behind Herkimer. Looking into the kitchen. "Hey, guys," she said, nodding brightly at the other two males. And looking to Herkimer "You coming, hun?"

"Mm-hmm," the mouse went shyly. And he tail-waved at Handel and Ross. "Later ... " And he and the cow sidled off. Both of them glowing ALREADY.

Handel and Ross, when alone, exchanged a glance.

The porcupine swallowed. "I, uh ... I need to go, too."

"Now?"

"I haven't had one in seven hours," he whispered. "And ... it's ... it's contagious."

"Yiffyness?"

"It's like yawning, Ross ... if you know two furs are doing it, it ... you have to do it, too!" He inched toward the door. "Besides, I feel a headache coming on."

"You just don't wanna help me organize Chef's mess!"

"Ross, you'll do fine!" said the porcupine, making for the door. It swished open. And he, too, tail-waved (though it was a lot harder to do with his clunky tail).

"Now I wanna yiff, too!" Ross called out ... the doors swishing shut. And the vole crossed his arms and frowned. "Mm," he grumbled. And ... looked out the kitchen opening. Flushed. And, ears turning rosy-pink, he whispered airily, "What are you all looking at?"

The crew-furs eating in the mess hall turned their attentions back to their meals (and each other). And chatter resumed.

Ross took a deep breath, trying to reduce the flush in his ears and his cheeks. And he cleared his throat, padding about. Mm ... now, he couldn't think about anything but Aria, his mate. He ... dang-it ... he was gonna have to paw soon. Really, sometimes being a fur was ... like a physical, sensory overload! A lot different than being human, that was for sure. Mm ... but ... he wasn't OBJECTING to any of this. It was ...

Mm ...

... focus. Focus, Ross. Clean up the kitchen. Then you can paw in the bathroom. And ... yiff with Aria tonight. You're not gonna suffer from yiff-deprivation. Mm ... no. No, maybe not, but I COULD.

You're not, okay?

Just focus ... clean up this mess. Paw. And then come back, and plan tonight's supper, and ...

... he padded about, whiskers twitching. Nose sniffing. These pots and pans were organized ALL wrong. They were organized by color! What kind of system was that? No. No, they needed to be organized by size.

Size.

And these vegetables! Why were they sitting out? They all needed to put pushed against the wall, in their own piles. Or stored away. Or ...

... macaroni noodles. Do I have macaroni noodles?

You can get some from the food processor.

Oh. Right. Oh ...

... well ...

... and, as he went, and as he organized everything, and smelling all this food, and hearing the chatter out in the mess hall, and hearing the furs wish him luck as they left ... it made him feel a flush of pleasure. He had a job, now, on this ship. Had a task. He could contribute. And ...

... it made him feel more like ... well, even MORE like he belonged.

A mate. A duty. A sense of love, and a sense of place.

Things felt good right now. And the smell of fresh, potential ingredients! Such possibilities!

Oh, he had a supper to make!



"There's a squeak in my ready room."

Audrey blinked. "A squeak?"

"A squeak," Advance insisted, sitting in his chair on the bridge. Looking over to her.

"Well, of COURSE there is, silly." A point. A grin. "It's you."

"No ... "

The squirrel and desert mouse were alone on the bridge ... with Aria. Herkimer was on his break. And Ensign Tess, who was filling in at helm for the ill Advent ... was also on break, so ...

"Perhaps you are imagining it," Aria said, raising her brow. The first officer AND tactical officer, she was, as always, at tactical.

"I don't imagine squeaks, Sub-Commander."

"No, he just makes them," Audrey said immediately. Giggling.

"Aud ... "

"I'm on a ROLL!" the squirrel chittered happily.

"You are not. Aria, is she?" Advance asked (almost sounding like a little mouse).

The snow rabbit made a puzzled face. "I don't know ... if I'm qualified," she said, looking from the mouse to the squirrel, "to answer that."

This only caused Audrey to giggle more.

"Look, I'm SERIOUS. There's a squeak in my floor. Something's wrong with the deck-plating or something. Like there's a mechanical gremlin in there ... "

"Should I have Bell-Bell's team rip up your floor," Aria asked neutrally, "and replace it?"

A whisker-twitch. "Mm ... no, that would be an overreaction."

"Yeah ... but, honey," Audrey said, "if you don't tear it all up ... that squeak may end up ‘flooring' you." Another giggle.

Advance made a face, but ... couldn't help but smile a bit. "Will you stop?"

"Stop what?" the squirrel asked innocently.

"With the cheesy jokes. Stop."

"A mouse? NOT liking cheesy jokes ... ?" She chittered, leaning back in her chair. "Oh ... oh, I'm too good, sometimes."

"Apparently so," Aria said, ears waggling.

"Don't worry, Sub-Commander. Her sense of humor's not contagious."

"One would hope not."

"Oh, you two!" Audrey scolded playfully, eyes glinting. "You KNOW I'm funny. You KNOW it ... "

"Aud, I'm SERIOUS. There is a squeak in my floor! What am I gonna do! It's annoying ... like, every ten minutes, this grating squeak. It hurts my ears," he said, his paws subconsciously going to his large, dish-like ears. "Mm." He had sensitive hearing.

"Alright ... mm," Audrey went seriously. "I'll ask Bell-Bell to check it out. Okay?"

"Okay," Advance replied gently. Adding, "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Aria eye-smiled at the exchange between the two mates. The Captain and the communications officer. Desert mouse and tree squirrel. Those two really did love each other. And seeing them banter like this ...

... made the snow rabbit think of Ross. Her own mate. He was in the mess hall. Today was first day as a cook. He was going to make the crew's supper.

Perhaps, after the meal was a success (which she was sure it would be), they could celebrate appropriately ... in private.

The snow rabbit (again) eye-smiled, looking down at her console.

"Something on your mind, Aria?" Audrey asked. The squirrel lounging at her station. Solstice was between planetary systems. And ... as of right NOW, the human threat was ... not evident. So, they could momentarily relax. (Though, deep down, the entire crew was on edge. No-fur expected the humans to simply go away ... there was a deep-rooted fear of meeting them again ... )

"Nothing on my mind," the snow rabbit said diplomatically, "that I wish to elaborate on."

"Ooh ... heh ... gotcha."

"Do you?" An eye-smile.

"Think I do." The squirrel winked.

"That is not the ONLY thing on my mind."

"Course not," Audrey said, smiling. Tilting her head a bit.

"It is not."

"Alright."

The snow rabbit sighed. "I am serious. I am thinking about MANY things ... upgrading our aft torpedo launchers. Starting a human combat training regimen in the simulation room ... "

"Uh-huh. An' yiffin' it up with Ross."

The snow rabbit opened her muzzle to respond, but ... shut it. Mm. No, a response would only FUEL the squirrel's sense of cheek. No, don't answer. Don't answer her. Just do your work.

Audrey chittered with amusement ... as Aria freed herself from the teasing. "Mm ... I love ya, Aria."

"I DO have a sense of humor. It is just ... a logical one."

"Yeah," the squirrel said. "But I still love ya."

Advance, from the Captain's chair, giggle-squeaked. "Mm ... hey, we should play a game. Since we're not busy. A numbers game. A word game. Or a color game ... "

"Or perhaps we should adhere to our duties," Aria said.

"Hmm." The Captain considered. "Or perhaps ... we should play a game!" he suggested enthusiastically. Clearly, he was going to keep suggesting this until the two femmes agreed.

So, they did.

And the furs enjoyed this relative respite ... from intergalactic tension.

Enjoying it while it was here.

For what lurked behind every nearing star? One could never know.

And that was why they were out here.

To find out.