The lighting in the small, screen-filled room was a dim, soothing blue. And it made Talkeetna's fur look darker than it actually was. "Have you turned off the devices? Lowered the magnetic field?"

"Yes," was the simple, soft reply from Mariposa. Her multiple, spindly butterfly-legs all moved about, bending. Touching little buttons and panels. "The ship of the ... bunnies? It will soon be entering orbit."

"We prefer rabbits," Cordova emphasized, a seriousness to her tone. Her arms crossed. Her black bobtail gave a flicker-flick.

Mariposa's proboscis furled and unfurled, and her black, compound eyes, all glittering, looked to Talkeetna.

"Don't ask," the red squirrel said, with obvious mirth. Her tail arched. "Just take her word for it."

A slight fluttering of her big, bold, orange-and-black wings. And she turned back to the screens and controls. "The ship of the rabbits," she corrected, "is drawing near. As is the ship of the others."

"Others?"

"A Furry Federation ship," Antioch supplied, also in the room.

Cordova's ears waggled. The piebald-furred rabbit whispering, "What are we gonna do about them?"

"Shall I turn the magnetic field back on ... yes?" Mariposa asked, slowly.

"No. No ... no," the red squirrel whispered. "We don't want anyone to crash." A breath. "How long can you keep the field down, you think?"

"We do not feel comfortable with the devices turned off. We do not ... "

" ... I know," the captain said, still whispering. There was something about being underground, in a dim, blue-lit room, and with butterflies, no less, that made her want to whisper. "I know, but how long are you willing to keep the field down?"

"A day. If you are not rescued after a day ... we shall turn it back on."

"If those ships are squaring off, stalling for time ... still in orbit after a day, then their engines will be disrupted by the field. They'll end up crashing," Antioch injected, reiterating what they'd already been over. The marmot was worried. Not just because he was a rodent. But, being a tactical officer, he always tensed at the thought of a fight. Especially the thought of being helpless during . Having to sit by and watch, unable to affect the outcome.

"A day," was Mariposa's simple, calm reply. It was clearly not up for debate.

Talkeetna drew a breath, whiskers twitching. "Well ... can we, uh, use your comm systems? Can we hail those ships from here?"

"You can." The butterfly made no motions. And said nothing further.

After a moment, the red squirrel, whiskers twitching, asked, "MAY we?"

A graceful fluttering of her wings. "You may." Her antennae waggled and steered around, her eyes glittering.



Yellowknife easily slid into a high orbit. An aesthetically-pleasing ship. And very functional, too. Could anything less be expected from snow rabbits?

Graham, sitting in his seat in the middle of the bridge, nodded lightly at something being told to him. And then stood up, sighing, padding toward the helm. His bare foot-paws scuffing softly on the carpet. "Don't flinch from our course."

"Aye, sir," replied the helm officer, whose waggle ears were waggling.

Putting his paws on the back of the helm chair, Graham sighed, narrowing his eyes. And he stared at the viewer. "Why does no one inhabit this planet? It looks ripe for living on."

"From a distance," answered the rabbit at tactical, "there appeared to be an unnaturally high build-up of magnetic forces ... but as we got closer, it just disappeared."

"That does not answer the question. But it does raise a few ... " The captain arched a brow, removing his paws from the helm-chair, and turning around. He padded back to the center of the bridge. And then stopped, turning back to the viewer. "Where's the Federation ship?"

"She'll enter orbit in another minute."

"Put her on-screen."

A tiny beeping sound, and there she was. On the screen. A few mechanical whirs, and the image was magnified.

"What class is she?" Graham asked, voice quiet.

"Looks like a mesh ... a hybrid ship. She has components of three different known classes."

"Are you saying she's been patched together?"

"Most likely."

Graham eyed the screen, taking a breath. And letting it out. "What is going on," he posed, squinting, "in Federation space?" That they would have to resort to making ships of broken pieces? How desperate were things back there? Who was winning? The predators? Were there even defined sides? Was there any form of working government?

"Graham ... "

He turned his head. "Yes?" he asked Ada, softly. His wife at the comm station. Looking poised. Looking beautiful.

"We are being hailed."

"By the ... "

" ... no, not the ship." Her ears waggled. And her whiskers gave a singular twitch. "It is coming from the surface."

"From the survivors of the crash?"

"Yes."

A slight nod. An eye-smile. "Well," he said, letting out a breath, raising his brow. "Shall we answer them?"

A returned eye-smile. "I believe that would be prudent." Her white, furry fingers danced over her computer console.

And Graham turned back to the viewer. Seeing a squirrel washed in blue light. A marmot. A regular rabbit. A butterfly?

"This is Captain Talkeetna ... of the star-ship Reverie. Snow rabbit ship?"

"Yes. Greetings. Would you like some help?" Ice-blue eyes smiling, in that warm, enigmatic way that only snow-furs could do.

A sigh, and a nod. And a muzzle-smile. "We would," she whispered. "We didn't know if anyone would come ... you didn't have to go out of your way ... "

"We were only six days away. On deep border patrol. With nothing suspicious on our course, we decided to render aid ... "

" ... well, I'm grateful. Including myself, we've got ten furs down here. That's our entire crew. Reverie's a small ship ... " The squirrel trailed. Her whiskers twitched. "She's not able to be salvaged, so you needn't worry about, uh ... there's just us. Should take only two shuttle-pods to ... "

" ... I think that may be a problem. As you've no doubt noticed, if you have access to sensors ... "

" ... the Federation ship?" The squirrel paused. "I noticed."

"Do you know any access codes? Weaknesses? Shield harmonics?"

"They rotate them ... they ... they've changed things. I'm no longer ‘in the know.' Me and my crew are refugees."

"They would claim you are ‘fugitives'."

"Well, they claim a lot of things ... "

"Indeed." Pause. "Their ship is no match for ours. We are a Crystalline-Class vessel," he said, proudly. "However, I do not wish to risk having our shuttle-pods fired upon ... so, we need to either disable the Federation ship's weapons. Or turn them away."

"Whatever you do, you gotta do it soon. The butterflies," Talkeetna said, looking off-screen, and then back to Graham, "are mining and amplifying the magnetic forces in the planet's crust. Using it to ... bask in. Keeps them vibrant. And chases off germs ... they're adamant about not keeping their magnetic field down for too long. If you're still near the planet when they put it back up ... "

" ... our engines will backfire."

"And you'll end up in the same predicament we're in."

The snow rabbit nodded, sighing through his black nose. And his ice-blue eyes darted a bit, before settling on hers. "We did not detect the butterflies on our scanners."

"They live underground. I'll explain the whole situation to you, uh ... well, later. Right now, we should ... "

" ... focus on more immediate issues." Waggle ears waggling a bit. "We will attempt to deal with the Federation vessel as peacefully as we can. Afterwards, we shall contact you on this same frequency."

"Sounds good." A nod.

"Until then ... "

" ... good luck," she wished. "God bless."

"God bless," was the response. And he turned his neck, looking back to Ada, who cut the channel. And, Graham, returning to his seat, sat down with a sigh. Saying, "Ada, hail the Federation ship."



The rest of the Reverie crew-furs were waiting. In the forest. Sitting, congregating among the trees.

"So, who do you think came for us?" Emerson asked. "I mean, someone must've come ... if the captain's still gone."

"Any number of furs could've come for us," was Konka's blunt, blank-eyed response. "My guess is that it's trouble."

"Trouble?" The mouse's whiskers twitched.

"Trouble," the coyote repeated, meeting the mouse's eyes.

"Don't listen to him," Azalea whispered. Her big, dishy ears were at attention. But, then, they always were.

The coyote squinted. Mouses. They were intolerable bundles of sweetness. He shook his head.

"Are we still passing the basketball, or what?" Kempton asked, widening his eyes. His cinnamon-furred ears waggled a bit. And he tossed the orange basketball. Bounce. Bounce. And into the arms of Taylor.

The chipmunk, in turn, blew out a breath. And lobbed it over to Emerson.

An easy catch. And a pass to Wasilla, who squeaked and dropped it. The ball rolled a few feet away. "Sorry," she apologized.

"It's alright," was Kempton's response. His mind elsewhere. "Uh ... maybe we shouldn't play anymore."

"I'll catch it next time," Wasilla assured.

"That's not what I meant." The rabbit, sitting on the ground, his back to a tree-trunk, sighed. "I don't think anyone's in the mood."

"I could sing," was Aspera's eventual suggestion, raising a black-and-white wing. She clacked her beak. "I don't mind ... "

No one objected.

So, the warbler sighed, and then took a deep breath. And closed her eyes. "Any requests?" she asked. Trying to clear her mind.

"How many songs do you know?" Emerson asked, curious.

"Hundreds. Thousands. I have a good memory for, uh ... well, notes. Notes and lyrics. It's a natural ability."

"Wish I could remember things," Wasilla commented, her roundish ears swiveling. "I've never been very artistic."

"I'm not artistic," Kempton added. "I'm sure you aren't, either, are you, Konka?"

A low growl from the coyote. He was still somewhat miffed with the rabbit.

"Thought not." A slight smile, and Kempton looked away. "Mouses, though," he said, nodding at Azalea and Emerson. "Mouses are always artistic. It's in their blood. Mouses and rodents ... but, Aspera, you're not a rodent."

"Not unless rodents have feathers. Not that I wouldn't mind being a rodent," she acknowledged. "I married one, after all." A tender look given to Taylor.

The chipmunk flushed a bit, but smiled back. "I like you with feathers ... I wouldn't have you any other way."

"Look what you started, rabbit," Konka said. "You got them onto romance."

"Oh, we were already onto romance," Aspera assured. "I don't think we're ever off it."

"Nothing wrong with that," Wasilla said, giving Konka a gentle ribbing. "Nothing wrong with never getting off romance ... "

"It is ... energy-consuming," was the coyote's excuse.

"So is sex," Wasilla replied. "You don't have a problem with that."

"Different kinds," the coyote whispered, "of energy."

The pika had to smile at that. Narrowing her eyes, keeping her giggle-squeaks at bay. "You're just ... whatever. I'm gonna infect you with romance sooner or later. One of these days, it'll take hold of you. You won't know what hit you."

"I think I shall be on the lookout, then. Since you have brazenly informed me of your ... "

" ... plans? Oh, what makes you think you aren't already infected? And that the love-bug is just lying inside you, in your blood. Dormant. Waiting ... mm?" she went, taking a deep breath through her nose. She leaned against him, putting her nose in his fur. "I know there's a big well of tender emotion in there somewhere."

"We can save this discussion," the coyote said, squirming slightly, "for later."

"Aw. You're embarrassing him in front of the rest of us, Wasilla," Kempton said. "He has a predatory image to keep up."

"Kempton," Azalea interrupted. "If you don't watch it, he's gonna go after you again."

"I did not go after him the first time," Konka insisted. "He came after me."

"So, uh ... any requests?" Aspera asked again. "Mm?"

A sigh from Emerson. His pink tail snaking in the dirt and grass. The sun was out, but only halfway. "Do you know," he said, trailing. Picking up with, " ... do you know the one, uh ... ‘This is My Father's World'?"

"I know that one," the warbler assured, nodding lightly. And she closed her eyes, clearing her throat. "Wish I had a glass of water," she went.

"I can get you a ration pack of water," Taylor assured, his brushy chipmunk-tail wavering.

She opened her black, gleaming eyes, beak-smiling. "I'll manage," she assured her husband. And then took a deep breath.

"Doesn't she get self-conscious when she does that? I would," Emerson said.

"Birds are born to sing," was Taylor's reverent, knowing response.

Aspera began, then, to sing. Trilling, in liquid warbles, voice clear, the words spilling out in tune:

This is my Father's world, and to my listening ears
all nature sings, and round me rings
the music of the spheres.
This is my Father's world.
I rest me in the thought
of rocks and trees, of skies and seas.
His paw the wonders wrought.

This is my Father's world.
O, let me ne'er forget
that though the wrong seems oft so strong, God is the ruler yet.
This is my Father's world.
The battle is not done.
Jesus, who died, shall be satisfied,
and earth and Heav'n be one.

This is my Father's world.
I walk a desert lone.
In a bush ablaze to my wondering gaze,
God makes His glory known.
This is my Father's world.
A wanderer I may roam.
Whate'er my lot, it matters not:
my heart is still at home.



"We have raised our shields. Our weapons are armed."

"We are equally ready," Graham assured, staring down the captain of the Federation ship. He was a tabby cat, fur all swirled. A few different colors. Grey, tan, black. It figured that they would send a ship headed by a predator. Prey would've broken orders and scurried off, no doubt, upon leaving Federation space. A predator wasn't likely to cut and run. A predator wasn't likely to back down from a fight. But Graham was going to have to find a way to convince this feline to back down.

"We WILL fire on you," the cat assured, his angular ears cocked. They swivelled atop his head.

Graham hadn't had any dealings with felines. Not many ventured into snow rabbit space. No, he'd dealt with Arctic foxes, warm-blood furs. Rodents, especially. But never felines. His analytical, logical mind thought of ways to one-up this cat. Weaknesses inherent in the feline species. They were, from what he'd read, prone to ‘toy' with their prey. They were hesitant to make immediate strikes. They would linger and wait. They would test you.

"Rabbit?"

"You may, indeed, fire on us, captain ... so, by all means ... " The snow rabbit spread his arms. "Do so," he whispered, leveling his gaze.

"What?" A blink.

"You said you would fire at us. Well, then do so ... we are not going anywhere."

"I ... I think you are ... "

" ... yes?"

"We WILL fire on you," the cat repeated, puzzled. So wired for slow, strategic games of ‘cat and mouse,' he was having a hard time thinking about forgoing all the pageantry. No, because felines were not capable of simple fights. They had to draw it out. Make a show out of it. The fight was secondary to the ‘foreplay' that came before the violence. "We ... the crew-furs on the surface," the cat insisted, "do not belong to you. They are fugitives from Federation law, and ... "

" ... the Federation has laws?" A raised brow. Almost in a playful, mocking fashion. Though the tone was so subtle that it would be lost on a fur who was not familiar with the icy demeanor of snow rabbits. "I was not aware the Federation still had laws. Aside from martial," Graham whispered, "law."

The feline let out a deep, frustrated breath, swallowing, licking his lips. His fangs showed as he did this. "Rabbit ... " A nod off-screen. And then looking back at Graham. "We have targeted your ship. We have a lock."

Graham cooly turned his head to tactical. The officer there gave an affirming nod. And Graham, looking back to the feline captain, said, "That appears to be the case."

"Do not tempt me."

"I did not know predators could be tempted."

A squint. Golden eyes narrow, focused. "We want our fugitives."

"We are here on an errand of mercy. They prefer our assistance."

"Their preferences are irrelevant."

"You claim them to be fugitives. May I ask ... what their crimes are?"

The cat sighed. "That is classified."

"I see." Graham nodded, paws clasped behind his back. He padded a few steps this way, and a few steps that way. "I demand to see official documentation that the furs of Reverie are, indeed, fugitives."

"I ... I do not have," the cat admitted, "official documentation."

"Well ... that IS a problem. You could be pirates," the snow rabbit decided, eyes shining with that subtle, restrained playfulness, "for all I know."

"Pirates? That is ... "

" ... absurd? Mm. Yes," Graham decided. "Yes, pirates would be far more organized. No, you could not be pirates. You must be ... "

" ... on a mission. You are in the way," was the blunt, angry statement. His voice rising.

Graham exchanged a look with Ada. Tilting his head with confidence. Indeed, his entire bridge crew was calm. Serene. Not just because they all had emotional freezes. But because, after fighting wars with Arctic foxes and wasps, simple tabby cats tended not to scare you. Not to say there wasn't any fear here. There was. But it wasn't the paralyzing kind. Wasn't the desperate kind. It could be worked around. It could be defeated. Besides, they all trusted their captain. True, he was as young as the rest of them, but he was very capable. Very keen.

"Rabbit, you will leave orbit, and ... "

" ... you will listen very closely," Graham said, taking control. "My ship is state-of-the-art. Yours is a patchwork. Nothing against patch-works. They can serve quite well. They can surprise a fur. However, my military experience far outweighs your own."

"You're prey," the cat scoffed. "What do you know about ... "

" ... fighting? Plenty," Graham whispered, eyes growing serious. Posture getting a bit rigid. "Unfortunately for you, and ... unfortunately," he breathed, pain in his voice, "for me. Plenty," he repeated. "You wish to play ‘cat and mouse' with me before you attack. You wish to convince me to turn my ship's back to you ... or lower my shields. You wish to trick me. It will not work. Instead, I am going to advise that you leave this system ... while you still," was the whisper, "can."

"I am not afraid of you," was the feline's whisper.

"Not yet," was the simple, stark response.

The feline's eyes flickered.

"Consider," Graham said, padding forward, ears waggling, "your situation. Your superiors, whoever they are, have no way of knowing whether or not the crew-furs of Reverie, say ... perished," Graham hinted. "In a, shall we say ... accident."

A squint. A head-tilt.

"Surely, you know how to lie. You are a predator."

"Prey can lie with the best of them."

"I will not argue that. But your penchant and flair for such a thing ... far surpasses our own. Indeed, wouldn't it benefit us all if you just left? Without damage. Without loss of life. Without wounded pride. Tell your superiors that, upon reaching this planet, you found Reverie's crew-furs to be dead. Or say you executed them when they resisted capture. Make up a story. Otherwise," the snow rabbit declared, quietly, "you will become the story. Imagine it. What a blow it would be to the Federation's rulers ... whoever," he said again, "they may be ... if one of their ships was crippled by snow rabbits. Arctic foxes, wasps ... and, now, the Federation." A confident nod. Embellishing his posture and his words. "Indeed, our reputation only stands to benefit from yet another tail-kicking."

A dangerous squint. But the feline was considering. His ears swivelled.

"Have you ever heard of Captain Kalmbach?"

A pause. A slow response. "A snow leopard. He is also," the tabby cat assured, "a fugitive. Not to mention ... "

" ... insane? He does have a reputation. But you could learn a lot from him." An eye-smile. "The last time Illustrious was in contact with the High Command, he was kind enough to share feline battle tactics ... in the event that we should encounter any stray Federation ships."

The feline's ears flattened. "You are lying."

"Make a move on us. And find out."

The cat shifted in his seat, letting out a deep sigh. "I do not like failure," he said, in a soft hiss.

"Do not think of this as failure, captain. Think of it as ... an act of Christian grace." A slight, noble bow of his head. And a continued eye-smile. "Now, go ... before things get out of paw."

A huff, and a shake of the head. And a promise of, "One day, the Federation will come for you, snow rabbits. You are a threat. Do not think you are the angels of the universe ... "

"I never claimed," Graham said, squinting somewhat darkly, "to be an angel. I am far from it."

"Whatever you are ... I would watch your tail if I were you. If you begin harboring Federation fugitives, we will come after you. En," he stressed, meaning it, "mass. THIS time," the feline assured, "I will let you off the hook."

If snow rabbits were the type to roll their eyes, Graham would've done so. Seeing the feline trying to claim the upper paw here. But, in the back of his mind, Graham made a mental note of this: if the Federation kept deteriorating at the rate it was, if its borders broke down, refugees would become a problem. And if they came into snow rabbit space, and if the Federation's forces came after them ... a bad situation. Potentially. But who was to say what would or would not happen in the future months or years?

"Do not meddle in Federation business. You have been warned." The channel cut, and the Federation ship turned, powered up, and zipped off.

And Graham sighed. "Well," he whispered, looking around. "That went well, didn't it?"

After a moment, Ada simply said, "Shall I contact the surface?"

A slight nod. "Please, darling," he whispered, not caring about using informalities on the bridge. A little informality never hurt anyone. And, right now, he needed it.



A little over an hour later, shuttle-pods moving to and fro, the butterflies being thanked, and everything in order, Yellowknife moved away from the planet. Back toward snow rabbit space. With ten ‘warm-blood' furs in tow.



"There is a question," Graham said, in his ready room. He sat on the edge of his desk, bare foot-paws on the floor. White-furred toes and black, blunted claws stretched a bit. "There is a question of what to do with you."

"Not gonna lock us in the brig, are you?" A wry, little smile.

"No." An eye-smile. "No, I meant ... "

" ... I know," Talkeetna responded, nodding. Her eyes darted a bit. She was sitting on the couch, under the big windows. Where the stars were streaming by so peacefully, so stunningly. "I, uh ... I don't know. My ship's gone," the red squirrel whispered, whiskers twitching. She leaned back against the couch-cushions, eying him. "I thought of a few different things. A few options, I mean. But I don't know how feasible they are ... "

" ... and what, may I ask, are they?"

"Eveningland is on the way. Back to your, uh ... world."

"It is on the very edge of our space. However, it is not in a straight line from here. We would have to detour ... a week and a half."

A nod. "That's one option. You could drop us off there. We'd be out of your fur."

"There is a second option, however. One I believe you have already thought of. You could ... "

" ... join the snow rabbit High Command." A pause. "How, uh ... I mean, would you have us?"

"We have one inter-species ship already."

"Arctic," she breathed.

"Yes. And Luminous and Solstice have joined the High Command. Illustrious, too, provides assistance ... there is no reason you would not be welcome, as well." A head-tilt. "The more the merrier? Isn't that the phrase?"

"I don't want my crew to be split apart. We're a small group, but ... I mean, we'd have to remain together."

"Such would be the case."

The red squirrel met the snow rabbit's eyes.

"You've anticipated my question?" he asked.

"I have," she whispered.

"And?"

"And it's ... I mean, lacking any other options, it seems like a great choice." A breath. "But, uh ... except I'd be demoted, wouldn't I? You can't have two captains on a ship."

Graham tilted his head, in honest acknowledgment. "No, you cannot. You would become my first officer. The rank of sub-commander."

Talkeetna nodded, eyes darting. A soft exhale. She was quiet for a moment. "I just ... once you have a ship of your own, it's hard to let her go, you know?"

A slight nod from him. He saw that her eyes were watering. "I hope," he said, in friendly tone, "you do not think I would be unfair. Or ... that you could not trust me."

"I trust you. You seem the trustworthy," she whispered, "type."

"There are only thirty-eight snow rabbits on this ship. Crystalline-class vessels can accommodate permanent crews of up to sixty. Making room for you would not be a problem." A warm eye-smile. "The diversity would make things ... interesting, certainly." And a head-tilt. "Some of my crew-rabbits still follow the older ways. Breeding parties. Faithlessness. Perhaps, simply by being here, you and your crew-furs could ... rub off on my own? If it worked elsewhere," he said, trailing. Picking up with, "Perhaps here. My wife and I ... could use some theological reinforcements." An eye-smile.

"I'd be happy to provide that," was the warm whisper.

There was a pause.

"But, uh ... "

"Your presence," he repeated, "would be welcome. I assure you. I'll deal with my superiors, and ... get you commissions. Assign you duties."

A more obvious smile, and a sigh. "Well, uh ... so," she said, "what's our mission? Where to?"

"Here and there. Patrolling. Exploring. Et cetera."

"Ever call into port?"

"Now and then." A breath. "We return to our home-world every two months ... for a few days. Barring that, we may take shore leave on friendly worlds."

Talkeetna turned and looked out the window. At the streaking stars. The pressure of leading. The pressure of being in control. Having all those lives under you. The decisions. Would it really be that hard to let it go? "I'm so far," she confessed, "from everything I know." A pause. "I had to leave everything."

"I know about loss," Graham assured her.

She looked to him. Met his eyes. Waiting for him to elaborate, maybe.

He didn't. He just took a breath.

Her whiskers twitched, and she brought her tail around to her front. "I, uh ... probably should shower. The others, too. And a warm meal, and ...

" ... I'll have my Ops officers set you up with quarters."

"Thank you," she whispered. "I appreciate all this."

"It is not a problem." He waited. "About the offer, though ... "

"I'll have to discuss it with the others," she said. "With my, uh, own crew-furs. But I'm sure they'll agree to a, uh ... merger, as it were." A smile. And a nod. "If you'll have us, we'll stay. Again, thank you ... "

"You are most welcome," he returned, politely. "Welcome to Yellowknife."

A smile from Talkeetna. It may have been the end of Reverie. But she had a feeling that life on this ship would be no less exciting. No less interesting. The journey just as rewarding. And as she left the ready room, she whispered to herself, a bounce in her step, tail proudly arched, "Here we go."