The rusty-red docking hatch, like a big, round gear (with little glass triangles among the metal, acting like windows), rolled aside. Retreating into the bulkhead with a whir-whir-whir and a clunk. Silence following. The air was comfortable, dim, soothing. With a bluish hue to it (from the lights). It smelled clean enough, if not a bit dusty. But no one was there. No sign of life. The corridor was empty.

"Hello?" the mouse asked, with uncertainty. His fur was a steely, rainy grey, soft like the back end of a warm, cloudy summer day. His whiskers twitch-twitched, and his nose was all a-sniff. Body wracked with ‘mousey motions.' "Um ... hello?" he said again, in his wispy, airy tone (for male mouses were effeminate creatures), before stepping beyond the hatch. Into the confines of this, the upper docking pylon on this space station. He'd arrived by himself, using a small shuttle.

This wasn't an assignment he'd asked for. But a new commanding officer was needed (after the last one ‘mysteriously disappeared'). Not trusting the existing staff (the Federation Council couldn't prove it, but they wondered if the former commander's disappearance had been an inside job), an outside fur was being brought in. Peregrine was the ‘outside fur' they'd chosen.

The mouse gave a sigh, looking around, squinting a bit. Whiskers still twitching. From the looks of it, this was a run-down place. Could use a good tidying. Mouses were obsessive-compulsive in their tidiness, and he had to wrinkle his muzzle a bit. A shake of the head. "Goodness," he breathed. The dust! Sitting in a vacuum, how did a space station get so dusty? The away teams, he answered. The planet below. They must've gone down, brought dust back with them.

He'd been told that this place was an old mining facility, too, but it had recently been converted for other uses, obviously. Research. Some trade, perhaps. But it was mostly out of the way, not in the line of any major space-traffic routes. It was in orbit of an uninhabited planet that was rich with mysterious archaeological ruins. Which would further explain the dust, if artifacts were being hauled to and fro.

In his bare foot-paws (as furs tended to go about with), the mouse padded down the corridor. Slowly, cautiously, sniffing the air, big, dishy ears swiveling atop his head. Trying to adjust to his new surroundings. Hearing the power flowing in the conduits in the walls. Hearing ...

" ... hello."

Peregrine jerked, dark-blue eyes widening. Senses immediately honing in on ...

" ... I'm a rat, yes. Y'don't have t'stare."

"I'm not staring," Peregrine whispered, after a moment. "You, uh ... " A swallow, as he smoothed at his own uniform. "You startled me," he said, trying to stand up as straight as he could. But he was still several inches shorter than her.

The rat tilted her head, green eyes narrowing. Her own whiskers gave a few twitches. "You the new chief, huh?"

"Chief?"

"The fur what's gonna be in charge of us all," she said.

"Oh. Um ... I'm Peregrine. Yes."

"Captain?"

A slight flush. "Commander, actually."

The rat gave him a look-over. "I see they didn't trust us enough t'give us a good an' proper Captain. Weren't willin' to risk it, huh? Gave us a Commander, instead?"

"I have plenty of experience," Peregrine told her, "on both ships and planet-based ... "

" ... yeah," she interrupted, waving a paw. "Doesn't matter. I don't care what you've done, or what your ... history," she said, sniffing her nose at him, "is." A pause. "Our last commanding officer was a Captain. He's not here anymore."

"And why is that?" Peregrine whispered, almost inaudibly. His tail snaked about, silently, nervously. Should he be afraid of this rat? And of this station? His instinct was giving him a resounding ‘yes, yes, yes.'

The rat met his gaze. And replied, in a serious, unflinching tone, "I haven't an idea, mouse."

Peregrine said nothing.

"You'll find," the rat added, "that things happen round here. The planet down there? Strange things," she said, "come from there. Powerful things. Technologies, artifacts ... things beyond comprehension."

"Are you saying something on the planet took your Captain? Is he dead?"

"I told ya," she repeated, "that I don't know. It's none o' my business. Anyway, he had aims above his station." An enigmatic pause. "He was a feline, see. I didn't much care for ‘im." There was a darkness in her voice. Soon pushed aside, her paw extending. "Petra."

"Petra?"

"Prounounced ‘pee-truh' ... not ‘pet-ruh,' okay? Say it right. That's my name."

"Okay," Peregrine whispered, hesitating before taking her paw.

She shook, her grip firm. Her fingers warm. And then she withdrew her arm, clearing her throat. "I'm a lieutenant-commander. Station's first officer. We don't have many high-ranking officers that come to these parts ... by all right, we should be gettin' a Captain, and I should be promoted, but ... I guess we take what we can get, huh?"

A whisker-twitch. "I guess so."

"Station doesn't have a proper name. AR-558. Area Research: 558. Don't like it, myself. You come up with anything better, feel free to use it. Used to be MF-558. Mining Facility. But the ol' captain, that cat, he changed it to AR ... he didn't have much artistry in his bones. His mind was on other things."

The grey-furred mouse just nodded. Blinking a few times, somewhat shyly. Trying to get a good read of Petra. She was, being a rat, bigger than he was. By several inches. Her tail was thicker, not as silky. Her ears were a bit smaller. Her fur was more tufted, more unruly. Colored a plain, darker brown. Not as soft and well-groomed as his own fur was. Her whiskers had a few kinks in them. But she was definitely a rodent. And rats were the furry species most closely-related to mouses. They had a lot in common, physiologically.

But, ideologically?

"I find mouses," she said, honestly, shifting her weight from one hip to the other. She wasn't the glamorous type, but she was attractive. In a strong, commanding way. She had verve. "In the past, I've found ‘em to be simpering, fragile ... too-cute things. I've never liked bein' under their command."

Peregrine, not backing down from the challenging tone in her voice (knowing he couldn't afford to do so), responded, "I've found rats to be impulsive, rough-and-tumble, aggressive ... and lacking a certain elegance. But I won't hold that against you."

Petra, after a moment, grinned, tilting her head. "Well ... you got some spunk in you. You don't back down when you're pushed at. That's good. That's good," she said, chuckle-squeaking, the smile fading. "You'll need that around here. We have some tough characters."

"The rest of the crew?"

"Some o' them, maybe. But they're not the ones you should be worried ‘bout. Worry ‘bout the passers-by. The traders. Ruffians. With no major Federation presence, or any governmental law enforcement from any species," Petra said, "in these regions ... well, laws can be broken more easily. Sometimes, we get raids. We have to fight them off. Nothing serious, though."

"Um ... okay," Peregrine said, nodding. Somewhat worried, now. Raids? Ruffians?

"You didn't ask for this assignment, did ya, mouse?"

"No," Peregrine whispered honestly. "The, uh ... the provisional government thought I'd be a good influence out here. They said I was needed."

"Provisional government? That what they're callin' themselves, now?" The Federation, after the civil war and the debacle at the snow rabbit border, had found itself in a vacuum of power. The former government disbanded. A provisional government was currently running things until new agreements could be reached by prey and predators alike.

But, despite everything, the perimeters of Federation space were much different than the interior. The interior worlds had more resources, more infrastructure. Out here, it was poorer, more of a frontier. They were literally on the edge of civilization. Out there, in the opposite direction, was about two weeks of unclaimed space. And then, past that, the snow rabbit High Command, who owned a sizable chunk of territory. The snow rabbits had unquestionably eclipsed the Furry Federation as the quadrant's main power.

"Yes." A pause. "That's what they're calling themselves. I, uh ... " He looked around. His tail snaked. "Coming here, I didn't know what to expect. I thought I'd be greeted, or ... "

" ... I'm greetin' ya, aren't I?"

"You are," he said, quietly. Another nod. "It's just so ... empty," he said, looking around the corridors.

"That it is." A pause. "As for greetings, well ... consider me your new best friend," she teased, shaking her head. And smiling. "A mouse, huh?" she said, looking him over again.

"There's no other mouses on this station?" He'd been hoping there would be. Mouses didn't like being isolated from their own species.

" ... ‘fraid not. Former Captain, see, bein' a feline ... he had a bloodlust for mouses. Thought they were only good for hunting. He had a tendency to stalk them through the station, toying with them ... before he mauled them with tooth and claw. Most of them lived. But they left soon as they were able, you can believe that."

A shiver raced down Peregrine's spine. He was terrified of felines. They were so scary, so calculated. The way they watched you. And they were instinctually fascinated with mouses. But maybe that was a generalization. There were some good felines. Good feline captains and such. But despite all of that, Peregrine didn't trust them. His instincts wouldn't allow it. No matter how friendly or domesticated they might be, never, ever turn your back on a feline. That's what he'd been taught. And he'd taken it to heart.

"So, they stopped sendin' ‘em. We got other rodents, though. Squirrels, et cetera. And me. But, now that Captain's gone, it's all fit for a mouse. You might just do us some good. Set a good tone. We'll see," was the conclusion.

Peregrine said nothing. Just nodded uncertainly, looking around. Whiskers twitched innocently, helplessly. Pink nose sniffed.

"You came alone, did you? On that shuttle?"

Looking back to her, the grey-furred mouse nodded.

"Not married, then?"

"No," was the answer. Regret, deep pain in his eyes. Loneliness. Something he didn't want to talk about. "No," he repeated.

"Most o' the crew here, they're all paired off. Married, whatever." A pause. "We got some simulation rooms ... for relief," she said. "I got some good programs. I can share them with you, yeah?"

"Um ... alright."

"I'll show you how to use them. I think you'll need it soon, yeah?" she asked, referring to orgasm.

Peregrine's ears were burning. He just bit his lip and nodded, taking a flustered breath. "Yeah," he whispered. Furs, without a doubt, were extremely physical creatures. And Petra had guessed right. His breeding drive was, indeed, nearing ‘peak.' Which it did about two/three times a day, depending. Mouses had average sex drives, for furs. Rabbits had the most powerful, peaking about four/five times a day. The sexual energy built up, up, and up, like steam. Leading to a breakdown in concentration, loss of self-control, et cetera. The only way to reset the cycle, to release the steam, to restore normalcy ... was to climax. Hence why furs bred so manically. It was a biological necessity.

Plus, it felt so damn good. And with that kind of pleasure involved, one didn't really need any bidding to do it. It wasn't like any-fur viewed this biological necessity as a burden (though, at times, it really could be; when used wrong, when used arrogantly, love and breeding could rip you to bloody shreds).

And, aside from need, desire, and pleasure: more romantically, wasn't ‘making love' the greatest form of art? And wasn't the creation of art a noble thing? But such physical art required two parties. And Peregrine didn't have anyone to make that art with.

"I don't got no one, either," Petra said, almost bluntly. "If you want a pawin' partner ... it's much nicer than holograms."

"That's, uh ... " A breath, trying to be polite. "That's tempting, but ... "

" ... don't trust me? Afraid I'll seduce you? Trick you into sex?"

"I don't really know you," was the honest answer. A swallow. A deep breath. "I don't know how comfortable I'd be, uh ... maybe later. Not now." His whiskers twitched.

"I know mouses are like most prey. Sex outside of marriage ... damaging to the soul. Not God's intention for those of sentience. Imprinting. Needs to be for love. All that, yeah?"

A quiet nod. "Yes," was the whisper.

"Hard as it may be to accept, mouse, rats aren't heathens. We're not scruffy infidels. I believe that, too. I got faith, too, okay? Don't go thinkin' you know what I believe."

"I, uh ... I didn't mean to ... " Peregrine sighed, trailing. His cheeks burned beneath his cheek-fur. "I wasn't trying to imply that you were an infidel."

A slight nod, green eyes drifting, and then going back to him. "Well, we all judge, put others in margins, consciously or subconsciously ... only our nature to do so. Anyone who says they don't is a liar." A pause. "Rats have a reputation. So do mouses." A pause. "Just sayin', is all. I can help ya get comfortable. If you want a pawin' partner ... just pawin', is all. You're in a new place. You look nervous," she told him.

"I am."

"Well ... all the more. So?"

"I really do appreciate the offer," he insisted, trying not to sound awkward, "but ... no. No, thank you. I can deal with it myself."

"You can, huh? You want to, though?"

"Um ... Petra, I, uh ... I need to check out my quarters. And, uh, while I'm ... "

" ... defusing yourself?" A grin.

" ... busy. While I'm busy," he told her, flushed beneath his grey fur, "can you assemble the senior staff in the ward room? I'd like to meet with them in an hour."

The rat looked him over, and then nodded. "Alright. Anyway, I'm your first officer. You just remember that. And you might be a mouse, but you're still a rodent, so we share somethin', see? And I got your tail, okay?"

"Well, uh ... thanks, I guess."

"You guess?" She made a face.

"Thank you," he repeated, nodding. Feeling like he was being put on the spot.

After a moment of silence, the rat brushed by him, going back to the docking port, through the hatch. "You got luggage back in the shuttle, yeah?"

"Yeah," he called back to her, staying in the corridor. "Uh ... I'll show you where it is," he said, scurrying back to the shuttle. Feeling a bit overwhelmed.



"I'm Peregrine. I'm your new commanding officer," the grey-furred mouse said, standing at the end of the rectangular table (with its smooth, illuminated top).

"You're a mouse," said one of the officers.

"You're a raccoon," Peregrine said in return. In matter-of-fact fashion. He might've been shy, anxious. Typical mousey things. But, as an officer in the command track, he wasn't a pushover. And also as a mouse, he knew he could show no weakness. Both as a mouse and a commanding officer. He had to put up a front. It was part of the job.

"Just saying," the racoon said, shifting in his seat, squinting a bit. "What do mouses know about being in charge of things, huh? You're the galaxy's biggest subs."

"My being submissive has nothing to do with my ability to command."

"Well, I'm pretty sure it does," Mortimer said. Mortimer was a lieutenant-commander. The station's engineering chief. He was married to a skunk named Seldovia. "You know, me or Petra should've gotten a promotion to that spot you're in now ... but I guess the provisional government doesn't trust us, huh? Well, I don't trust the provisional government."

"I don't care who you trust," Peregrine said, paw-pads flat on the table top. He leaned forward a bit, eying the grey-and-black-furred racoon, with his brushy, striped tail, and with those rings around his eyes. "I'm a sub. And you like shiny objects," the mouse said, an edge in his voice. "So, I guess we know all we need to know about each other, yeah?"

Mortimer said nothing. Just crossed his arms and leaned back in his swivel chair.

"What are you here to do?" asked another fur. A cow. A brown Swiss. She was supple, fur a soft, greyish-brown. She looked very docile and gentle. "What are our orders?"

"Well, I'm, uh ... I'm to do as I see fit. First off, I'd like to clean this station up. And catalogue all the artifacts you've brought up from the planet, and ... "

" ... we haven't been down to the planet since the Captain went missing," said a rabbit. A plain-brown cottontail. A male. He was the brown Swiss's husband. His name was Desmond, and hers was Hyacinth.

"Well," Peregrine said, leaning back, and deftly sitting in his chair. His posture delicate, demure. Effeminate. "Well, we're gonna have to go back down there ... eventually. I don't know what happened here, but ... I was sent here to get things organized."

"I hear mouses are obsessive-compulsive. That true?" asked a femme squirrel. Her name was Prancer (for her excellent agility, even for an already-agile squirrel). She was married to a fellow rodent: a porcupine named Ninilchik. But, owing the complexity of his name, everyone called him Nin.

"Well, if you're a squirrel, a fellow rodent ... do you really need to ask that question? I could ask you how many hours a day you spend licking and grooming your tail to gorgeous perfection. It'd probably be more than an hour. Some would call that obsessive-compulsive," Peregrine said, smartly. "I have my quirks. But I wouldn't be in the position I am if I couldn't do my job."

Petra raised a paw.

"Yes?" Peregrine asked.

"Can we call you Perry?" she asked, grinning.

A few giggle-mews and squeaks from around the table.

"Uh ... no, not really."

"Why not?"

"I just got here," was all the mouse said. "I don't like to be familiar with furs until I, uh ... get to know them. I want to be friends with all of you. I just ... I just got here," he repeated, whiskers twitching.

Petra said nothing further. But thought to herself that he must've had a bad experience. Someone used to call him that. Perry. Someone he loved. And, now, being called by that name was a painful reminder, perhaps, of something in the past? Or was she reading too much into his body language? How could one decipher a mouse's body language? They twitched and moved about too much.

"You got a spouse?" asked Wheldon, a tea-colored rabbit. He was married to a snow rabbit, actually. Amelie. An observer from the High Command who had been dispatched to this region of space as an ‘unofficial ambassador.' Her purpose was to ensure the fair and proper excavation of the planet's ruins. And to give the snow rabbit's a partial claim of whatever was found.

"I don't have a spouse, no. I came here alone."

"Petra doesn't have a spouse," Hyacinth said. The cow was well-meaning. A gentle soul. She didn't mean to make the mouse blush.

But he did. And, letting out a breath, he said, "I, uh ... I know." A pause. "Anything else?"

"A fur doesn't come way out here unless he's running from something or he's got nowhere else to go," Mortimer said. The raccoon was somewhat cynical. And somewhat sneaky. And he still couldn't let it go that he wasn't running things. That stupid cat was finally out of the way (which was none of his doing, thank you), and a mouse gets sent in to order them all about? Talk about trading one extreme for another! A cat for a mouse. Figures it would work out that way.

"I was ordered to come here."

"Why? Why'd they pick you?" Mortimer pressed.

"Morty, leave him alone," Seldovia said. The skunk was sensual, silky. With a much cooler head. Suave, maybe, was a word to describe her. Charming, confident. "Anyone in this room could be asked that question. We were all shipped here, to the ends of society ... for various reasons. Does it really matter?"

Her husband just sighed, making a face. Mumbling something.

"Don't worry about him, Commander," Seldovia said to Peregrine. "Anyway, Morty, mouses don't run. They scurry. Every-fur knows that."

The mouse just nodded a bit, somewhat shyly. "We do scurry," he whispered, for the sake of conversation. Whiskers twitching and ears going swivel-swivel atop his head. He looked around. His crew. His senior staff. They were a solid bunch. They looked competent. He should be able to trust them, to win them over. He should be able to befriend them. So, if that was truly the case, why did he feel like such a blatant outsider?

Because you are, he told himself.

"Give it time," Petra said.

Peregrine turned to look at her.

Wheldon, who was the self-assertive type, nonchalantly raised his paw. "I need to have sex, so ... can I go?"

Amelie, sitting beside him, just raised her serene, snowy-white brow, her antenna-like ears twiddling. "There are more poetic ways to state such a thing," she reminded her husband. "We will have to work on your verbal imagery." And, looking to Peregrine, she said, "Though crude, my husband is correct. We are both nearing our peaks. May we go?" Her bobtail flicker-flicked like a white flame.

"Uh, sure. Uh ... " A nod. "I just wanted to introduce myself, and ... I'll get settled in today, and we'll start doing some things tomorrow." The mouse nodded again, sighing, sinking back in his chair. Whiskers twitching and nose sniffing. As the others, chatting amongst themselves, got out of their chairs and left the ward room.

Everyone except Petra.

Peregrine, after a moment, turned his head. "Did, uh ... you need something, Lieutenant-Commander?"

"You're anxious. You're twitchin' up a storm over there. Wonder if I should take shelter," was the tease.

"I'm a mouse."

"So I noticed." Her voice more serious, now.

Peregrine took a breath. "Look, I'll be fine. I just ... "

"Prancer's the medic. The doctor. She can give you a hypo."

"I don't need to be medicated for being a mouse."

"I've known plenty o' mouses who were," Petra said. "Medicated, I mean. Didn't hurt ‘em."

"I got my faith. And ... if I need medicine, I'll get it. I'll be fine." The grey-furred mouse closed his eyes. "Just a new place," he whispered, "and new faces. Far from home. By myself. I ... it's, uh ... I'll need a few days to calm down, is all." The anxiety made him twitch-twitch-twitch. The nervousness of speaking in front of his new crew-furs. He'd hid it at well as he could while in front of them. But, now that they'd left, he couldn't hold it back. His paws shook. He closed his eyes, trying to stake slow, steady breaths. Praying.

Dear God, please.

Lord, still my soul.

Help me.

"Look, if you're too proud or embarrassed to ask for a hypo, I'll get it for you."

Peregrine opened his eyes and squinted a bit, whiskers twitching. "If you don't mind me asking, why do you, uh ... why do you care? I'm a mouse. You're a rat. Our two species hold grudges against each other."

"True. But, like I said: I'm your first officer ... oh, and your tactical officer, too. I told ya that, right? But you're the closest thing to a rat in a five light year radius. Feel a kinship with you, is all." A pause. And a slight, scruffy smile. "Besides, you give off this ... vibe. I feel I gotta ... "

" ... protect me?"

"And eat you up," she added, pupils dilating. "I've heard a lot about ‘mousey cuteness.' That's your sexual advantage, right? Your vulnerability, your cuteness. That ability to make other furs wanna melt all over you, cuddle you, keep you close. But I always thought the power of all that was grossly exaggerated." A pause. "Now, I'm not so sure," she whispered. "You just give off this vibe," she repeated.

Peregrine felt uncomfortable. And he cleared his throat. "Look, uh ... I'm kind of tired. And I need to unpack and all that, so ... " He trailed, looking out the window. The stars were out there. So many points of white, sparkling light. So far away. And the closest one: the sun of this system, which lit one half of the planet below. A semi-arid world with patches of forests providing enough green to prevent it from being a desert world. There were a few big seas. Two huge oceans. And a moon. And this station was in a high, stable orbit.

"I don't think it's bein' tired that's your problem."

Peregrine said nothing. Biting his lip, looking away from her, he wondered aloud, "I, uh ... rats," he said. "What's the sexual advantage God gave rats?"

"That'd be telling." A wink.

"You know mine."

"Everyone knows the advantage for mouses." Each species had a sexual ‘advantage,' or edge, that helped it attract and keep mates. And that, consequently, aided in sexual pleasure. Rabbits had increased virility. Skunks had pheromones. Felines had barbs. Canines had knots. Squirrels had great agility and flexibility. And so on down the line. Some species' advantages were more pronounced and obvious than others. Some were actually quite subtle. But every species had one.

"What about rats, though? That supposed to be a secret?"

"You'll have to have sex with me if you wanna find out," she said, grinning.

"I'm not your husband." A flush. His whiskers twitched. "My faith comes before my genitals." A crude statement, but the truth. Decisions made with one's biology rarely gave long-term satisfaction. But faith-based decisions did. He tried not to get so caught up in individual moments that he missed the bigger picture. That he missed potential consequences to his future health and sanity.

"Course, course ... I was just teasin'." A chuckle, with some mock-deviousness thrown in. "Look, like I said: I got faith, too. I'm a Christian. I'm probably not as devout as you, but ... you can't say my faith is any less real just cause it's less feverish."

"I never said that." A breath. "I never did."

"No, but being devout doesn't mean you're any purer than the rest of us. As you said: you got flaws."

"I do my best."

"I know, mouse. I'm just sayin' ... I'm lonely, ‘kay? You must be. If you wanna start down a road to some kind of relationship, I won't turn ya down."

"I just got here."

"And I've been here far too long," was her response. "Comin' or going, I'm not sure that it really matters. Fact is: we're both stuck here, see. And this place is ... well, it's strange. I'm a tactical officer, but I can't protect furs from things I can't see or understand. And that stuff on the planet? I can't understand it. It's dark science."

Peregrine just listened. His dishy ears arched, swiveling atop his head.

"Whatever technology that ancient species left behind ... I think it's too powerful and dangerous to be diggin' up. And when furs find out just how powerful it is, we're gonna have a big problem on our paws," she promised. "But we don't know enough yet. And it's been kept quiet, so ... but I got a bad feeling. I wanna get out of here, but I got nowhere to go. And I'm not a deserter."

"Well," the mouse whispered, not quite knowing what to say.

"Just sayin' ... I know I said earlier, you know, that I found mouses to be simpering an' all that. And I do. But ... not the point where I'd keep you away. Just think about, okay? Think you could use some intimacy. You look full o' wounds. I know about wounds. I know how to lick ‘em clean."

Again, the mouse wasn't sure what to say. True, they were the only two furs on this isolated station that were spouse-less. And true also that, when it came to relationships, furs tended to move very fast. Logically, the only fur he could end up with was Petra. Otherwise, he'd probably be single for his entire stay on this station. And for all he knew, he could be assigned here for years. No, Peregrine, you're gonna end up in her bed (and body) sooner or later, and you both know it. She knows it. You know it. Why not ease up a bit, huh? Because you're scared?

It's just too soon to think about such things.

I'm so overwhelmed.

"Want that hypo?" the rat asked. "Huh?"

A weak, pitiful nod, head in his paws. Eyes closed. "Please," he mouthed, barely audible.

"Can you make it to sickbay?"

A shake of the head. He felt a bit nauseous. The anxiety tying knots in his stomach, making his heart race. Stealing his breath.

"Alright. Stay here, ‘kay? I'll bring one back. Just try to take steady breaths. Just pray, okay? And maybe drink some ice water. That always helps me. There's a food processor over there. It can replicate you some."

"I know ... I know what you must think. This is what I get as a commanding officer? This mess of a mouse?"

"We're all messes. Just different kinds. You're no messier than me. I just hide it a lot better. You? Mouses wear their emotions on their fur. Just the way it is. Nothin' to hold against you." A pause. "I think the others, even if they questioned you a bit ... they'll come around. They prefer you to that cat we had, I'll tell you that. He made everyone tense. You don't."

"Yeah, but ... do they take me seriously?"

"Seriously enough. I told ya: give it time. No one's gonna mutiny here." She padded toward the door, her bare foot-paws making soft sounds on the carpet, her thick, naked tail trailing, the tip dragging on the floor. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Thanks," was the weak whisper. And when she'd left, and when he was alone in the ward room, he looked back out the window. At the planets. The stars. All that God had made. And he thought of the promise of eternal life. Given to him by his Savior. He thought of redemption. Hope. Purposeful existence. Heaven. Love. He thought of things much more powerful than anxiety and fear and doubt.

And maybe this wouldn't be so bad. Being here. This new assignment. After all, anticipation was half the worry. Once you settle down, he assured himself, it'll be easier. Dear God, let me do this. I don't to fail again. I've failed at too many things. I want to make this work. I want to make a difference here.

I want to do Your will.

May your Spirit guide me, please.

May I calm down.

And maybe let me open up to Petra. It seems an unlikely match, I know, but it's the only match within sight. And I need to be held.

Giving a small squeaky sound, he took a small breath. Held it. And released it. And repeated this several times. Until his nose began to itch, itch, and ...

" ... ah-choo!" Sniffle-sniffle-itch-itch ... " ... ah-choo!" Whiskers twitched and nose sniffed, ears all a-swivel with mousey bewilderment. Many squeaks! "First thing I do tomorrow, I'm havin' a station-wide cleaning and mopping," he said aloud. And he wiped his nose and nodded. Cleaning always calmed him down. Yes, tomorrow, they would clean this station. You couldn't do an orderly job if your environment wasn't orderly. If ... if ...

" ... ah-choo!"