... six years earlier ...

"It's easy, Wilco."

"I don't know ... " The flying squirrel hesitated. Looking out. And looking down. At the blinking pre-dusk of the town in the valley. It was getting to be, with the minutes, later in the afternoon.

"You just ... jump," said his sister, spreading her paws. In mimicry of flight. She closed her eyes. She was fifteen. He was sixteen. And he was closer to her, really, than he was to his other siblings ... not just in age. He appreciated her more. Which is why he'd asked her to teach him to fly.

"Jump?

"Jump. Jump," she repeated, eyes fully open now (and so expressive). They were on the edge of a rocky outcropping, where the grass was sparse and the dirt left foot-paw prints ... and where trees lined the slopes below. And where you could see the river glistening as it snaked through everything (and even through the town).

"What if I fall?" he asked, in a whisper, looking to her.

"That's why God gave you wings, Wilco. So you WOULDN'T fall," was her pure reasoning.

Wilco nodded, sighing out through the muzzle, his nose twitching. Whiskers testing the breeze. It was a light breeze. It felt rather nice. The day, itself, felt nice ... one of those crisp-at-first, warming-as-you-go days that early October liked to raise (what a colorful brood did fall begat!). The sky so blue, with a wisp here, and a wisp there ... of the white, stretching clouds. What kind of clouds were those? The wispy ones? Cirrus?

"If you're just gonna stand there," his sister teased, "I'm gonna push you off."

"You will not!" Wilco squeaked, backing away from the edge. "You're not pushing me ... "

"I'm teasing, I'm teasing ... "

"It's not fair," he huffed aloud, "that femmes are able to fly before males."

"We enter puberty earlier."

"So?"

"So, that means our membranes," she said, of the filmy, wing-like material on the sides of their bodies, "finish growing a year or so earlier than yours."

"That doesn't ... "

Deal with it. Now, are you gonna fly or not? I'm trying to teach you ... "

"Then you go first!" Wilco motioned.

She rolled her honey-brown eyes. "If I do THAT, there'll be no one up here to make sure that YOU follow me ... you might get scared and go back home, leaving me down in the town." They lived in a cluster of tree-houses about ten minutes behind them, in the forest up here.

"Wouldn't do that," he muttered.

"You're going first." She moved behind him. "Arms," she went.

Whiskers twitching, he did as told. Spreading his arms.

"Your stance."

"My stance is fine."

"Your legs are too close together. You have to be ALL spread," she insisted, "to catch as much air as possible. Remember, we don't fly like birds," she told him ... " ... we simply ... well, we fall," she reasoned, "with style."

"That's not reassuring me."

"It's a CONTROLLED falling," she told him. "And you're in control."

"I thought the gravity was ... "

A sigh. And her head leaned back. And she took a deep breath. And then she settled, saying, quietly, "Look, okay, I have to get going in a while ... so, can you do this? We've been here for an hour!"

"Where are you going?" Wilco asked.

A slight flush from her. "Out."

"Out?"

"With friends."

A tilt of his head. "What friends?"

"What, are you my keeper?" she asked, with a bit of a teasing smile.

"Yes, I'm my baby sister's keeper ... so ... ?"

"So?"

A sigh. "Who are you going out with?"

"My friends, Wilco. Cause I have friends," she said. A bit of a bite in her voice.

His cheeks stung, hot beneath his fur. "I have friends," he whispered insistently.

"Yeah. Me."

Wilco frowned. "I don't want you breeding. Especially not with that ... Broccoli squirrel."

"His name's Barclay."

"I don't want you breeding with him."

"I'm not breeding with anyone!" she said impatiently, frowning a bit. "I'm waiting ‘til I'm mated. Happy?" A pause. "Anyway, it's none of your business ... "

"Maybe," he said, nodding. "Just ... I ... "

" ... love you, too," she said, shaking her head slightly, with that familial tolerance that all siblings have for one another. "Though, sometimes, I don't know why." A pause. A sigh. "And I didn't mean to make fun of you ... just ... I'm trying to help you fly, okay?"

"And I'm just trying to make sure you don't get your heart broken," he told her, whiskers twitching.

She paused for a bit. "I appreciate that," she whispered, "but ... we're here to fly. So ... fly?"

He flushed. And let out a breath. And nodded. "Alright," he whispered, sucking in air, and turning back around. To face the valley. "How, uh ... how far down is that?"

"I've done it before."

"You didn't answer my question."

"Because you don't really want to know," she insisted. "Now ... " She made sure his arms and legs were properly spaced, and she smoothed out his fur-covered membrane, the wing-like attachment that ran all down his sides, attached to his wrists and ankles ... the membrane, with limbs extended, stretched out like a parachute. With limbs together, it sagged in folds.

"So, I don't land on the ground, right?"

"Never, EVER ... make a ground landing. Never," she said. "You've seen mom and dad fly ... and you've seen my fly, and you've seen ... "

" ... yeah, yeah ... "

"Have you ever seen a flying squirrel make a ground landing?"

"No."

"That's right. You go for a tree ... a large limb, little limbs. Any tree that can hold your weight."

He nodded, nodded.

"I know you know all of this already," she told him. "I know you can do this."

He swallowed, eyes closing. Saying a silent prayer. Dear God, grant my wings ... grant my body ... buoyancy.

"So, go as far as you can go ... and I'll land near you, okay? Then we'll walk into town. I got some money, so ... we can get a bite to eat down there before walking back up here."

A nod. "Okay," he said quietly, breathing deep. Letting it out. First time for everything ... for loving, feeling ... launching into the blue. It was never, afterwards, as grand as your anticipation made it out to be. Was it? First times just became next times became last times. They all ran together ... and each time added to the whole of a story. Added to growth. But, to get that flow started, he had to ... jump.

"Jump," his sister whispered.

Jump, he told himself. Not moving at first. Tensing, drawing in a deep breath, and closing his eyes, and, despite his fear, he began to smile, and he squeaked out the loudest of unchained squeaks as he ...

... jumped!

Launched off the jutting outcropping. Out into the air, and keeping his arms and legs spread, and falling, falling ... like a rock! Like a heavy, furred thing!

He squeaked, shrieked ... as the wind whistled past his angular ears, and as his bushy tail flicker-flapped in the up-rushing wind. Caught in a plummeting whirlwind, and ... his membranes, indeed, like sheets, like parachutes ... lessening his fall ... he wasn't falling half as fast as he'd thought he'd been at first.

The air rushing ...

... out. His voice squeaking ...

... out.

And in.

Out. Exhale.

Suck in air! In! And draw your arms and legs in, and curl into a ball, and fall, fall, fall!

The force of the downward motion was unbelievable, as he tumbled, like a light-brown cannonball, through the autumn air, beneath the clouds and all.

Oh, fall, fall, fall!

Like tongue-tied lightning!

Until he unfurled, realizing he was staring up! And he wriggled round, as best he could, so his belly was toward the ground, and he spread his arms and legs again, and ...

... WHOOSH!

His descent slowed dramatically, almost seeming to lift him up a bit! He chittered out, heart pounding, and the trees were so close, and he only had seconds to adjust, and ...

... his foot-paws brushed through leaves, and then hit limbs, and he stretched out his arms, and how far down the slope was he, and where was the town, and ...

... what a rush!

CRASH!

He collided into a thick tangle of tree-top limbs, squeaking out, paws clasping for holds, and leaves batting his nose and ... and ...

" ... d-damn," he whispered, sucking air. He craned his neck upward. "Oh ... " He felt a bit dizzy, and a bit disconcerted. He just rested in the tree-top, panting, panting, fur matted with sweat ... feeling pretty good about himself!

"You moron!" came his sister's voice, as she landed in the same tree (with a heck of a lot more finesse). "First, you're scared to jump, and then you're, like ... like ... don't do that again!" she finally managed, sighing heavily.

"Did I do good?" Still panting, he looked to her.

"You scared me BAD ... " Pant, pant. "C-cannonballs? Think you were jumping into a lake, huh?"

"I guess I just go ta bit ... heady," he said sheepishly, finally catching his breath.

"Well ... flying does that," she said, calming down. With a bit more understanding in her voice. "It's a bit like being drunk ... except you're cognizant enough to appreciate it." A pause. "Not that I've ever been drunk," she assured.

A playful squint from him.

"Hey, I haven't ... stop it ... "

" ... I'm not the one who used the analogy."

"I'm just generalizing."

"From experience," he said, looking down, and ... starting to step to lower branches. His claws digging into bark.

"From general, societal references," she corrected, following him down.

"So, I did good, though? For my first time?"

"Aside from a sudden snap of boyishness ... you did fine. But, seriously, Wilco, please," she begged. "Don't try aerial stunts until you've been flying for a while. I'm serious."

"I won't, I won't ... "

"But you just did!"

"I was just ... excited."

"Well, we're gonna do this again, and next time, we'll jump at the same time. I should've jumped at the same time THIS time, but ... I wanted to watch your descent."

"Mmf," went Wilco, letting go of the lowest branch. Dropping to the grass and dirt (and the first, fallen leaves). His knees bent, and ... he slowly stood, sighing heavily.

His sister dropped beside him, bushy tail flagging. "Now," she said, "we're pretty close to the town."

"Which way."

"That way. Seriously, do you just NOT pay attention?"

"I'm a day-dreamer. I live in my own head."

"Well, in the real world, the town is that way ... where it's always been."

"How am I supposed to tell directions when I can't see the sun?" he said. The deciduous canopy was turning golden-yellow and pumpkin-orange, and was blocking the direct sun-shadows.

"You just know," she said, ending it. "That way," she said, pointing a paw. "Where the slope goes DOWN."

"Oh."

"Oh ... "

"Well ... at least I'm learning, right?"

"Yes," she said, smiling. "You are."

They walked a bit, and as they walked past trees, they would run their paws along the bark. As squirrels had a habit of doing. Feeling up all the trees. Making the trunks to blush ... and leaving the rodents with a smile.

Wilco stroked the smooth, chalky trunk of a sycamore ... as he moved by it, and said, "We gonna fly again today?"

"No, I'm going out, remember ... anyway, you take too much energy out of me. Have our brothers teach you. They're the oldest."

"They push me around," Wilco said quietly. They had three older brothers, and two younger sisters ... but they were too young to fly.

"Well, we'll fly again tomorrow," his sister promised. "Now, more importantly: where do you want to eat?"

A smile ... as he thought about it. "Mm. I feel like fresh bread! Like ... seeds, nuts. Salads."

"Well, there's that place we went on mom's birthday," she said. "I don't remember the name, but I remember where it is ... "

"Is that where they had those peanut butter buckeyes?"

"Yeah." A smile. A nod. "Yeah ... "

So, the two siblings, chatting amiably, having shared (his) first flight, continued to the valley ...



... present day ...

Wilco, standing, was leaning against the kitchen counter ... with the large open window that looked back into the kitchen. Behind him, the dining area of the mess hall.

And, out the windows, streaming, streaking stars. Arctic having been fully repaired (finally!), and again on its way ... to patrol and explore the perimeters of snow rabbit space, out here on the edge. And the snow rabbits had all recovered from their spells of dementia, so ... things were actually settling down. And everyone tried not to worry about how long it would stay that way.

Ross, with comical-looking gloves over his paws, moved a boiling pot off a stove. And put another pot on ... and, letting out a breath, the vole turned back to the flying squirrel. "So, you're gonna fly for her?"

A little nod. "Yeah ... tonight."

"So, you're on the same shift, now?" Ross carried the steaming pot to the sink, where a strainer was straddled. And he poured out the contents. Vegetables. Fresh from the hydroponics bay, and just in time for lunch. Wilco had been let on his break early ... because the ship, for now, was on auto-pilot. And, anyway, some of the engineering staff were tinkering with the helm, so ...

The flying squirrel sniffed the air. "Mm."

"Wilco?"

"Mm?" A blink.

"You and Arabella ... you're on the same shift?"

"Oh. Yeah. One of the snow rabbits agreed to ... transfer to the night shift, and, uh, let Arabella come to the day shift."

"That was nice of the snow rabbit."

A little huffing sound. "Yeah, you'd think ... but everyone KNOWS what the snow rabbits on the night shift do." He let that statement hang in the air.

There was a pause. Until ...

... Ross asked, with a bit of a helpless grin, "Well, what else is there TO do on the night shift?"

"Heh ... " He giggle-chittered.

Ross, too, squeaking a bit, and ... checking the oven.

A sniff-sniff. "What's in there?"

"Square corn."

"Square corn?"

"Corn casserole. It's ... " A trail. And an ear-swiveling, tail-snaking look. " ... instead of hangin' in the window there, you could come back here and help me, you know," the meadow mouse teased.

"I'm not a good cook. I even burn replicated food."

A giggle-squeak. "I'm sure you don't."

"Mm ... but, uh ... I said I was gonna fly for my mate. But ... "

Ross went to the window, and put his elbows on the counter. "Yeah?" he asked, all ears.

"She can't fly with me. She's not a flying squirrel."

"No, she isn't," Ross said thoughtfully, nodding. "But, as I recall, that was ... sort of the hook that snagged you. Love at first sight."

"I don't mind that she's a kangaroo rat. I love that. I just ... you know, if I'd stayed home, you know, and mated a femme of my own species, then I'd be able to fly with my mate," he whispered. "That's ... really intimate. Really special. I just wish I could've felt that at least once ... free-falling love." He went quiet. "I mean, I used to dream about that. And, now, I've set myself up with a ... rodent who can't fly. So, it's rather moot, anyway." A sigh. "But I can't get the want for that," he whispered, "out of my head. It's like it's in my instincts."

"Well, it is. I mean, you were made for ... a flying squirrel femme."

"Then why'd I fall in love with Arabella?"

"Cause your heart went roaming ... some hearts do that," Ross said. "Mine did. I didn't mate a mouse ... " A pause. And a whisker-twitch. "At least you KNOW you can have children ... "

"Can't you? You and Aria?"

"Rabbits and mouses are ... on the very edge," Ross said, starting to turn away. Busying himself with arranging spatulas and spoons. "Right on the edge," he repeated, "of genetic compatibility. It's not like mouses and bats or ... squirrels and chipmunks, or ... you know, it's a farther link than that."

"Meaning ... "

"In documented mouse/rabbit mate-ships, only ten percent of the time ... was the male able to fertilize ... well, successfully." A hesitation. "I tried. Last time. Her last heat. I tried ... and nothin' stuck." His whiskers twitched. He let out a breath, swallowing ... " ... I know it's not my fault," he whispered. "I know it's totally not. But, somehow," he whispered, as if conveying a secret, "I feel it is."

The flying squirrel didn't know what to say. Only a weak, "Well ... it isn't, though, Ross ... it's not like you're sterile. You're just not a snow rabbit."

A quiet nod.

"So, it's still possible," Wilco offered, giving a warm, little smile. Trying to help his friend out. "And if it's not, there's ... other ways. Artificially. That's what most inter-species mates do."

A nod. "I know. I don't even know how I got onto that ... we were talking about YOU," the mouse said, forcing a smile, trying to shake off heavier, life-moving things. "Not me." He was finished arranging his things. "Anyway, Arabella may not be able to fly with you, but she can certainly watch."

"I know, but it's not the same." A pause. "I guess we're both comical cases, huh? Fallin' for that which is different?"

"Well ... believe me, I wouldn't change it for anything." A genuine smile from him. A breath. "I wouldn't."

"Neither would I ... " A bit of a giggle-chitter. "It is kind of funny, though. I mean, we're both submissive, shy rodents. You'd think, you know, we would've been the types to stay at home, you know, with our own species."

Ross just nodded. Wilco didn't know that the meadow mouse ... had used to be a human. That he could never go back to his real home.

"Why'd you leave home, anyway?" Wilco asked Ross.

Ross, eyes staying still, replied carefully, "I just sorta ... got swept away. By things. Events. I didn't plan on leaving."

"Oh." A bit of a nod.

"What about you, then?" Ross asked, returning the question.

Wilco's eyes darted a bit. He didn't really answer the question, either. "Um ... same thing," was all he said. And, after a moment, he returned to the subject of his mate. "I'm just worried she'll feel left out. Arabella, I mean."

"Well ... I doubt it. She loves you, right?"

"Yeah. I mean, it's a young love ... a new love, but it IS a love. We're making sure of that."

"That's good." A moment of quiet. Filled by the sound of bubbling water in the pots and pans. "And if flying is such a vital part of ... your life, your expression of being, you know, then ... she'll love watching you. Besides, that's what you get with inter-species mate-ships. Differences." A helpless smile. "But I think we've well-established that."

"Yeah ... " A quiet nod. And a returned smile. "But, I, uh, got the simulation room for tonight, so ... " A nod. Another nod. And he sniffed the air. "Are you making dessert?"

"For supper. Not for lunch."

"What are you making?"

"I'll let you know ... if you help me," Ross said, smiling.

"You don't need any help. You only serve forty-four furs."

"Kitchens aren't meant for solitary stays. You gonna join me, or not?"

"I'm on my lunch break."

"And if I don't make lunch, you won't get any."

"Fine, fine ... you drive a tough bargain," Wilco said, rounding the corner. And heading into the kitchen. "Now, where's my chef's hat ... "

A giggle-squeak. "No one actually wears chef's hats!"

"Sure, they do. In cartoons ... "

"This isn't a cartoon. Anyway, how could you wear one ... with ears like these?" Ross gestured at his own ears.

"I don't know, but that reminds me of something ... you ever make elephant ears?"

"Stop it!" Ross squeaked, giggling, giving the squirrel a playful shove.

Which made Wilco reach for a tomato ...

... which made Ross draw his breath. "You wouldn't DARE," he whispered.

Wilco tilted his head. And grinned.



"A food fight?" Aria asked, raising her brow.

Ross's whiskers twitched. "Wilco started it," he said.

"Hey!" was the flying squirrel's response.

"Boys ... "

They both looked to her.

A sigh. "We grow fruits and vegetables in our hydroponics bay ... to lessen the strain necessary to power the food processors. It's not advisable to waste food."

Nods from the both of them. They were standing in her ready room. She was behind her desk, standing properly, paws clasped behind her back.

"Crew-fur Mortimer got pelted in the nose with a grape ... "

Ross, muzzle closed, made a snorting sound.

Wilco started to follow ...

"That is not amusing," Aria told them.

"No," Ross said, trying to keep a straight face. "No ... "

"From verbal reports, your melee came to involve about seven furs. Am I correct?"

"The others are, uh, cleaning up the mess hall," Ross said, a bit sheepishly. "We're gonna help them, but, uh ... I mean, when we're done here."

"Sir ... uh, Madam Captain," Wilco said, constantly bungling up his titles for those in authority. "Uh ... well, we didn't MEAN to do it, you know. You're not gonna reprimand us, are you?"

A tilt of her head. "A few days ago, I was tearing up the ship with my compatriots ... in a feral, animal state. I was forgiven," she said, meeting her mate's eyes, "for that. I can hardly slap you on the paw for ... playing with your food."

Wilco let out a sigh of relief.

"However ... I do not want this to become a habit. Food play is to be confined to private areas. Is that understood?"

"Like the bedroom?" Ross asked, raising a paw.

A tilt of her head. She eye-smiled at him. "If you will ... then, yes."

Wilco flushed. "Uh ... so, uh, we can go?"

"Yes. Make sure the mess hall is cleaned. And wash up yourselves ... "

Nods.

"Dismissed."

Ross started to filter away. Wilco, still standing at attention, nodded.

"That means ‘get out,' ensign."

"Oh. Yeah, I, uh ... " A flush, and the squirrel turned and followed the vole out of the Captain's ready room. But, before the doors swished to a close, Ross leaned in ... to give a wink to his mate.

The snow rabbit eye-smiled back, biting her lip ... she would deal with him later.



"Well, here we are," said Wilco, later in the day. Evening. And standing outside the simulation room.

"Mm-hmm. Now, how about opening the doors?" Arabella said, smiling.

"Oh. Um ... okay." He reached for the computer pad on the wall, tapping in the program he wanted to pull up, and ... when the doors swished open, there it was.

"Mm ... a forest!" she breathed, stepping in.

He followed her, taking a deep breath. And letting it out. "Yeah, it's ... well, it's not JUST a forest. There are valleys and peaks and rivers, and ... lots and lots of trees," he said, dreamily.

"I come from a desert," she whispered. "Not many trees there."

A little nod from him. "I, uh, but ... but, uh ... "

She waited, patiently, for him to spit it out.

" ... I do wanna fly for you."

"I know," she whispered. "You told me."

The simulated birds chirruped in the simulated trees, all of it awash in a simulated breeze.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "that you can't fly with me ... I don't mean to leave you behind ... "

"Wilco, it's fine ... "

A nod. A breath through the nose. And he closed his eyes. "I'm ready," he whispered.

"Don't you have to be on the edge of something?"

"Well, I'm MENTALLY ready," he said, chittering. Smiling. "I'm priming myself."

"Okay." A smile.

"But, uh, after I fly ... would you like to go into the forest at the bottom, and, uh, just lay, and ... talk, and ... "

"That'd be nice." She put her nose in his neck. And breathed inward. "Mm." A nod. "Mm-hmm." And her eyes met his.

And he beamed. "I think my heart is ALREADY flying ... it didn't wait for my body," he confided.

A giggle-chitter at his words, and a bright smile, and a reply of, "Hearts are cheeky like that."

"They are." He, in turn, was sniffing at her fur. Nose in her neck. On her cheek.

"Honey ... "

"Mm?"

"Maybe we should get your flight out of the way ... before we launch the fireworks. I mean, I ... "

" ... good idea," he whispered, lips so close to hers. At a whisper, his voice. "I will fly," he said, brimming, now, with confidence, and with joy, "for you."

And a little bit later, he did just that.