His throat was raw and sore, and his brown eyes were redder than they should've been. And his nose was so, so itchy! Like it was being tickled with a feather-duster. And his whiskers were lax with weariness.

"Poor thing," the cinnamon-furred squirrel said, with genuine empathy. She reached for her scanner. Standing next to him (but not too close; whatever he had, it might be catching).

The toffee-furred cottontail was in the infirmary, lacking his usual ‘hoppy-ness.' He'd woken up sick. And so had come to see Prancer.

The doctor, herself, looked very well. Tail luxurious, groomed to perfection, almost glistening in the light. Whiskers twitching with energy. "When did the symptoms first start? Only this morning?" she asked, as she opened her scanner. Her angular ears cocked atop her head.

"Uh ... yesterday. But I thought I was just tired." A swallow, and a bit of a wince. "I thought it was just the dust, you know? Giving me allergies or something." Desmond sniffled, nose a bit runny. He wiped a paw on his nose. "Do you have tissues?" he asked, voice a bit raw. Sniffle. "Please?" A weak mew, his nose still running. He sniffed several times.

A nod, and a quick scamper (squirrels often scampered before they scurried, though they did their share of scurrying). And Prancer returned with tissues. And a handkerchief. "You can take the handkerchief with you."

"Thanks ... ah-ah ... " He held his breath, shaking his head. Holding back the sneeze. And he put his nose into the handkerchief and blew. Blew-blew. And then sighed heavily, nose cleared. Just a bit. "My sense of smell is gone," he said, sagging. His cottontail gave a half-hearted flicker.

"I know," the squirrel whispered. "According to this, you don't have allergies. You got a cold."

"Well ... "His tall, slender ears, normally standing proud, drooped over. "Now that I think about it, you know, me and Hyacinth were cleaning the shuttle and runabout bays, and there were some containers? And I opened them to clean ‘em, and ... " Nose tilting upward. "Uh ... uh, ah-choo!" Sniffle. A pitiful mew, wiping his nose with his cloth. "Do you think something was still in there?"

"Viruses are virulent things. Some bacteria can even survive in the vacuum of space for a given time ... " The squirrel tap-a-tapped at her scanner, which beep-a-beeped. "My guess is that some-fur sneezed or coughed onto his paw when loading the container. Touched the inside. Closed it. It got shipped here. And it wasn't opened until you opened it yesterday, and the cold virus was still alive, and ... so, yeah, that's probably it. Which would explain why you're the only one that's sick." She closed her scanner. "I can give you some hypos. It won't cure it, but ... "

" ... anything you can do," Desmond pleaded. A sniffle, eyes still red. They itched, and he wanted to rub them. But he'd rubbed them earlier, and it hadn't made the itching go away. It had only made it worse. So, he sat on his paws, resisting. Sniffle-sniff. "I can't have sex," he said, dejectedly. "I couldn't breed this morning." For a rabbit (being a very virile creature) to wake up with no virility, it was extremely jarring. "I feel like ... like less a rabbit."

A small smile from Prancer. "Illnesses render furs impotent, my friend. You know that. You're not less a rabbit. Believe me, your virility will come back. It's only temporary." When furs got sick, the whole breeding cycle froze, going into a sort of stasis, shunting all available energy to the immune system and such. When the body got better, the cycle resumed as if nothing had happened.

"When will it come back?"

"Your yiffy-ness? Three days," she said. "My best guess. Shouldn't be more than that. Two or three days. With bed-rest and proper nutrition ... and you're already fit to begin with, so ... " A nod. "I'll tell the Commander you'll need to be off-duty."

"What about Hyacinth?" Desmond asked, of his wife. "We made love last night ... she's gonna get sick, too, isn't she?"

"Well, cows have different immune systems. But, uh ... have her come down here, okay? I'll scan her to make sure. It'll be okay. It's just a cold," the squirrel assured. She put a paw on the rabbit's forehead. "Alright?" she whispered, gently.

A sniffle. Prancer had a great bedside manner. It really put him at ease. "It's ... ah-ah ... " Again, stifling the sneeze. A whimper-mew. "I wanna stay here," he whimpered, eyes watering. "I'm sorry. I'm not a good sick-fur."

"Not many furs are," Prancer said. "It's okay. I'll call Hyacinth."

A nod of gratitude.

"And here ... " The squirrel pressed a hypo to the rabbit's neck. A soft ‘whoosh' sound as it went off, injecting something through his fur, beneath his skin. Into his bloodstream. "This should help."

A little nod, and he shifted a bit, moving to a lie-down on the bio-bed. Breathing with his open muzzle instead of his nose (cause his nose was clogged). Whiskers still drooped and everything. "I ... I'm gonna get everyone else sick, aren't I?" He felt awful.

"Not necessarily. The strain of cold you have could be rabbit-exclusive ... I'm gonna run some deeper scans and find out. If anyone should be worried about getting sick, it's Wheldon and Amelie, since they're rabbits, too. But they're not on the station." They'd gone down to the planet's surface in a runabout, taking the Commander to see the artifacts and such. "I'm gonna go into my office, okay? If you need me, just give a mew."

A weak nod, eyes closed.

"Poor thing," Prancer said again, lingering. She was in this line of work to make furs better. To take away their pain. But she'd done all she could. Now, she needed to do some more research. And, hopefully, this was a rabbit-exclusive cold virus. Otherwise, the whole crew would probably catch it.



Petra held out her arm. "Me first."

Peregrine blinked.

"You don't know what's out there," the rat explained, her thick, sturdy rat-tail, bare and pink, snaking behind her. "I'm not lettin' the commanding officer barge out of a vessel first. As first officer and tactical officer, I check for safety ... if it's clear, you come out."

"And if it's not?" Peregrine asked. His mouse-tail, far more delicate and silky, also snaked.

"Just go?" Wheldon asked, impatiently, bobtail flicking. "The less time we spend down here," he said, "the better." This planet gave him the creeps.

Petra ignored the tea-furred rabbit, opening the runabout's side-hatch. The runabout was bigger than a shuttle. Even with a table and chairs in the back to dine on. It had easily fit the landing party (of Petra, Peregrine, Amelie, Wheldon, Mortimer, and Seldovia). The hatch made a ‘ker-clunk' sound, whirring upward. The scruffy-furred, solidly-built rat peeked out, sniffing the air. Sniff-sniff. Whiskers twitching a bit. "I don't smell anything."

"Of course not. It's a desert. There's nothing to smell," was Wheldon's response. He was one of those furs that had a comment for everything.

The rat grabbed for Peregrine's paw.

The grey-furred mouse hesitated at first. Knowing that the other four would see it. But Petra wasn't the least bit concerned what anyone else thought, and her paw didn't waver. So, the mouse put his paw in hers.

She pulled him out of the runabout, into the open. "Watch your step," she warned. "It's a bit sandy." Most of the ruins were located in the desert-like portions of the planet. Not the woodlands. Which is part of why they'd been so well-preserved. But one might wonder if this desert had always been a desert. Why build a city away from any source of water? Maybe it was a lush jungle. Maybe an environmental disaster occurred. Pollution. Over-development. Something.

"Anything we should know?" Seldovia asked the two rodents, as she slipped out of the runabout. Nodding at how Petra was holding Peregrine's paw. "You take the vows yet? You married?"

"Not yet," was all Petra said, letting go of the Commander's paw. Withdrawing her weapon, an old class of phase pistol. The rat looked around. She grew up in difficult environs. She was scrappy. Tough. She knew how to survive in a desert, though she wasn't from a desert. But deserts, like any sparse environment, were dangerous for their extremes. As long as you didn't lose sight of that, you'd be okay.

"Hyacinth said she heard you ... "

" ... pawing. We just pawed," the rat said, giving the skunk a look. "Why the interest?"

"Just want you two to be happy, is all."

Petra just squinted, not listening. For her senses were focused out on the sand. The dust. The sun was high and hot, a pure, white light. At least ninety-two degrees. "Dust devil," was the rat's whisper. "Back in the runabout!"

"I already closed the hatch," Mortimer said. The raccoon's eyes widened.

"Dammit," the rat cursed, chitter-squeaking. "Get down!" She grabbed Peregrine, pulling him down to his belly. The mouse lost his breath, twitching, unsure as to what was going on. "Stay down," was all Petra said. "Close your eyes and muzzles ... "

A swirl, swirl.

Whirl.

Whirl-whirl.

WHOOSH!

A miniature cyclone of sand swept over them, jostling them even with all of them being on all fours or flat on the ground. Grains of sand and dust flew, pelting them. The air was hot, eddying, pulling, pushing. Whistling. And going, going.

Gone.

A heavy sigh from Petra. She lifted her head, panting. "That's the second time this month!" She'd been hit by a dust devil a few weeks ago, the last time they'd been down here. She spat. "Got sand on my tongue."

"Didn't you keep your muzzle closed?" Wheldon asked.

"Didn't help, did it?" was the rat's frustrated response. "It gets everywhere."

"I got sand in my ears," someone whined.

Amelie daintly brushed her pelt with her paws, making somewhat of a face. Her whiskers gave a singular twitch and her ears twiddled primly. "Is there no way we can scan for sand cyclones?"

"Dust devils," Petra corrected.

"There's no way," Seldovia said, standing up. "They form and disperse too quickly. It's just the desert wind, and ... " She looked around, taking a hot breath. "Oh, gosh, it's roasting! I'm already sweating. Look, my fur's already matted with sweat."

"You got black fur," Mortimer reminded his wife. "Absorbs heat faster than any other color."

"Ironically, though I am from the ice, my pelt is most suited for combating desert heat," Amelie said, also back at a stand. And, indeed, her pure-white fur was reflecting all the light. She almost looked to be glowing. Like an angel.

"Yeah, but you also dehydrate twice as quickly as the rest of us," Seldovia said, "if I know enough about snow rabbits. You need twice as much water. You got a water bottle?"

"A canteen," Amelie said, holding it up. It was hanging from her shoulder by a strap.

The skunk nodded. She and the snow rabbit were good friends.

"Well, let's stop jabberin' and get inside the ruins, hmm?" Wheldon suggested, head at a tilt. Trying to shake sand from his ears. "Amelie's got her water. I got our scanners and stuff. Hatch is shut."

"Stop bein' impatient," Petra said.

Peregrine remained fairly quiet. A bit unnerved. He'd never been hit by a tornado of sand before.

Wheldon kept going, not shutting up. "Isn't the mouse there supposed to be our commanding officer? You'd hardly know he was with us."

"Leave him alone," Mortimer said. Feeling like he needed to come to the mouse's defense. Not so reticent to being under a mouse's command as he had been a few days ago.

Petra, without waiting for word, began trudging forward through the sand. Trudge-trudge, pulling Peregrine along with her. The other four following at their own pace. The sand was hot, and treading on it with bare foot-paws? An ‘ouch' or two, for sure. They picked up their pace, gladly getting into the shade of an ancient, marble-like building. Or was it polished sandstone? The light was hitting it, making it shine so brightly, that it was hard to get a proper read of its color.

Peregrine's nose sniff-twitched. He ventured ahead of the group, somewhat hesitant. But feeling he needed to take the lead. He poked his head inside a big, dark opening. Sniffing, whiskers twitching. There was no scent of life. Well, except a few frogs and toads. "There's water in there," the mouse realized, continuing to sniff.

"There is a complex system of deep wells," Amelie said. She was the expert on this place. "Logically, they should have dried out centuries ago. But they still have water in them."

"Being fed from where? An underground spring?"

"There are mountains to the north-east. But no major rivers head in this direction."

The meadow mouse nodded.

"Shall I show you what I've uncovered?" the snow rabbit asked, raising a brow.

"Please," he replied, with a nod. Whiskers still twitching. And letting Amelie lead the way, he followed. As did the others. Until they entered a cavernous room.

"Be careful," the snow rabbit warned, with a serene, icy calm. "Scorpions nest in here."

"Scorpions?" Peregrine squeaked, a bit loudly. The squeak echoed, echoed, echoed.

The snow rabbit, waggling her ears, gave a head-tilt. "Yes. Scorpions. Just watch where you step."

The mouse nodded. He would. He would watch his step. His senses were at a scurry. His anxiety welling, welling. Almost to a point of panic. Until he felt a paw on his back. More like on his rump. Fingers curling around his thin, silky-pink rope of a tail. It was Petra. She didn't say anything. She just held to his tail. And the touch soothed him. Enough to keep him focused.

The group walked a bit more.

And then, stopping, Amelie nodded at one of the walls. "This is perhaps the most valuable find, but ... what would one do with it?"

The mouse looked to the wall. There was a gateway built into it. With images, real-time images of places, planets, ships. All over the galaxy. Flashing from scene to scene. Flash, flash, flash. "Wasn't ... I, uh ... I remember something," the mouse said, "about one of these gateways being on Eveningland Colony?"

"Yes," the snow rabbit stated. "I am familiar with that. It was found by the Luminous crew. And was subsequently destroyed to keep it from being used by the wasps."

"So, did the same furs build this gateway ... as, uh, built that other one?"

"Presumably," Amelie said, turning her head a bit. Meeting the Commander's gaze. "But we cannot be certain." Her holy-white flame of a bobtail flicker-flicked. "No modern fur has actually stepped through one of these gateways, but from what we know of them," she said, looking back to the shimmering portal of a wall. "From what we know of them, they provide instantaneous transport across the galaxy ... maybe the universe. We do not know how many there are or where they are. We only know of the two." A pause. "One," she corrected. "Logically, one would have to assume that, millennia ago, these gateways were used for transport," she said, "from gateway to gateway. That would allow for two-way transport. It is not reasonable to build a gateway for a one-way trip. It would be a waste of resources."

"But without knowing where the other gateways are, we can't go from one to another ... unless they're linked?"

"Correct. The system that linked them was advanced and complex. It has been offline for too long, and ... it would take decades to reconstruct it. Assuming we could even find other gateways. But you see the danger?" she asked.

"A gateway like this would allow coups, takeovers ... invasions," the mouse whispered, "to take place without fuel, ships, or travel-time. Just put twenty thousand troops at the mouth of a gateway, have them rush through, and you could take over a city in an hour."

"Yes. Not to mention thieves, pirates ... et cetera. There are simply no limitations with this method of transport. And without limitations, the wrong ambitions can be executed in the worst ways."

"Wait ... wait, what was that," asked Mortimer, pointing. "Make it go back."

"Can you do that?" Peregrine asked, looking to the snow rabbit. "Control where the portal looks into?"

"I believe so. With my scanner, I can tie into the gateway's computer and ... "

" ... do it. Go back to whatever Mortimer saw." The mouse looked to the raccoon. "What did you see?"

"I, uh ... looked like humans. Pink things. No fur. Just skin. I might be wrong. I, uh ... "

Amelie reversed the course of the images, reducing the frequency between flashes. Going back, back. "There," she said, standing up straight.

"It is humans," Seldovia whispered, holding her breath. "Are you ... are you saying that if we walked through that wall, we'd end up on their planet? With them?"

"That is the assumption," the snow rabbit said, nodding. "Though if you did so, you would not be able to come back. I would not advise it."

"Don't worry. I'm not goin' anywhere near that wall." The skunk shook her pretty, bold head.

"They look funny," Petra said, still gripping her phase pistol. "No fur? Gross," was her decree.

"They're dangerous," Peregrine said. "Every encounter we've had with them ... suppose they uncover a gateway? Or the wasps get a new Queen and she finds this? Amelie's right. This thing was probably built for noble purposes, but greed, lust ... things contaminate that nobility. I don't trust having this thing around. We need to destroy it," the mouse decided, sounding very executive.

"I am afraid we cannot do that," Amelie said.

"Why not?" A blink.

"The structure of the stone and the technology is such that it can only be collapsed with a tri-cobalt device."

The mouse let out a breath. "Tri-cobalt devices aren't standard issue for Federation ships," he said, "or stations."

"No. We do not have any."

"Couldn't we ask for some? Have a Federation supply ship deliver us some?" Seldovia asked.

"If we did that, they would inquire as to what we needed it for. I have managed to keep the contents of these ruins in relative secrecy. If the Federation truly knew there was a gateway here, they would come with more scientists, more archaeologists. Eventually, they would attempt to use it. I am certain."

"What makes you say that?"

"This gateway is a supreme tactical advantage," Amelie went. "Right now, the Federation is still in disarray, at an extreme tactical DIS-advantage. They would," the snow rabbit assured, logically, "attempt to use it."

"And the High Command wouldn't?" Mortimer asked, making a face. His coon-tail fluffing up.

"No," was the snow rabbit's simple, proper response.

"Alright, so we can't destroy it," Peregrine breathed, "yet." He watched as the portal-image flashed away from the human scene. To an orbital view of an unknown world with purple water. To a snow rabbit star-ship named Yellowknife. To a jungle somewhere. To a prairie with bobwhites. To ... " ... the next thing? Can we move to the next thing?" Peregrine asked. Though somewhat anxious, he was eager to see more. His curiosity had been piqued.

Amelie nodded, gesturing with a paw. "Over here," she said, padding a few steps, her bare foot-paws leaving sandy prints on the stone floor. "Over here are boxes. They appear to be ancient. Indeed, my best guess is that this entire structure it as least five thousand years old."

"Five thousand?"

"Who lived here, though?" Seldovia asked. "Still haven't been able to figure that one out. I mean, what species built all this?"

"I have yet to ascertain that," Amelie said. "However, on a few vases and ornamental decorations, I saw paintings of barn swallows and spiders."

"Odd combination," Mortimer breathed.

"Barn swallows," Peregrine whispered. As he'd told Petra, he was a bird-watcher. Songbirds, et cetera. "I've seen feral barn swallows, but never ‘fur' swallows. Never sentient ones."

"Swallows are amazing aerialists," Amelie agreed. "But just because I found paintings of them does not mean this belonged to them. Or to spiders." The snow rabbit looked to Wheldon. "Darling. Paws."

The tea-furred rabbit extended his paws, taking her equipment. Allowing her to kneel down and take the lid off a box. "The insides of each box ... they are all filled," she breathed, "with a ‘goo.' That is not a word I would prefer to use, but it is the only one that suits this substance. Watch," she instructed. And she carefully, carefully lowered a paw. The goo was translucent, like gelatin. And when the snow rabbit's blunt-clawed, soft-furred fingertip came into contact with it, it glowed, and ...

... Peregrine went a bit wide-eyed. Watching as the snow rabbit's fur changed from snowy-white to inky-black. As if paint were seeping, spreading across her body. And then the change was complete.

"That's so hot," Wheldon whispered, literally drooling.

The black-furred snow rabbit raised a brow at her husband.

"Not, uh ... not hotter than your natural fur-color, of course," he quickly stated.

"I should hope not," was her serious reply. And, then, looking to Peregrine, she said, "As you can see, a touch of the ‘goo' changes one's fur color ... if I touch the ‘goo' again, my fur reverts back to its natural state. As far as I can tell, this has absolutely no logical purpose. I do not understand why it is here."

"Is it in all the boxes?"

"Some of them. Some boxes are empty. Some boxes contain things that, frankly, I have been hesitant to touch." But she nodded at a nearby box. "However, I am certain that the ‘goo' in that one ... changes one's physiology. Changes your species."

"How do you know that?" Mortimer demanded.

"I opened it, left to fetch something ... a frog, by mistake or not, jumped into it ... it emerged as a dragonfly."

"For real?" Petra whispered, leaning forward, squinting at Amelie's velvet-black fur. "You look exotic, y'know? Just don't go out in the sun with that."

"I do not plan on keeping the color," was the obvious statement. And she touched the ‘goo' again, and her fur went back to its pure monochromatic palette of snowy-white. And she put the lid back on the box. "However, as far as the species-changing box goes, I am not certain such a change can be reversed. I found out about the fur-color box on accident ... fortunately, it gave me my color back, but ... there is simply no way of telling what everything in this structure does, what it is for, who made it. I can only tell you that the technological wonders in here are quite extensive. They would keep any team of furs happily busy for a lifetime." A pause. A breath. "I can also tell you that all of this, if used for selfish purposes, can do great evil." A breath. "It is quite a paradox: the knowledge contained in these ruins, it is extremely intriguing and valuable, but ... it is also extremely tempting. Through satiating our curiosity, we may end up inadvertently destroying ourselves."

"It's dark science, is what it is," Petra declared, certainly. A shake of the head. "And I bet you anything that the Captain, that feline ... his bein' gone has something to do with this place. It all strikes me wrong. He's in league with this stuff, or somethin'."

No one said anything. Everyone thinking, looking around, taking in the immense, ancient atmosphere.

"I think history is scary," Seldovia whispered. "All those years, and ... time. Five thousand years ago? That's scary."

"Why?" Amelie wanted to know, not understanding.

Hugging her tail to her breasts, the skunk breathed, "Just is. It's spooky."

"I agree," Wheldon said, looking to his wife.

"I was sent here to study this place. The High Command wasn't supposed to know any of this. No one was. But, somehow, they found out. To keep them quiet, to keep it a secret, the Federation was forced to allow my species to send a representative from the High Command ... to share in whatever was gleaned. I am that representative. I am to learn all I can and report back to my superiors."

"You're also my wife," Wheldon breathed. "Maybe Petra's right. Maybe this is dark science. What if you get, you know, subdued by it? Working so closely with it? What if it does something to you? What if I lose you?" He'd fallen for her the moment she'd padded aboard the station. Her posture. Her tone. She was so ‘together.' Like a perfectly-cute piece of crystal. He was so emotional and outspoken, and she was so civil and restrained. She was so fascinating to him, and so beautiful. The feel of her soft, soft fur, as he would run his paws up and down her back, stopping to squeeze her rump-cheeks. To grab her bobtail. She was of the ice, but she gave off so much heat.

"You will not lose me. And I do not plan on taking unnecessary risks. I will not be studying this forever. I will stop when I need to. I can walk away from it, no matter how many mysteries or logical conundrums it teases me with."

Wheldon wasn't so sure, though, that she'd be able to do that. Just walk away from these ruins. From the find of a lifetime. Snow rabbits valued logic. And if something wasn't logical, they would fixate on it until they could make it so. Amelie would remain fixated with this place until she could make sense of it. But what if there was no sense to be had? "So, when you're done, what are ... what'll we do?"

"We will go home."

"Your home?" Wheldon said, quietly.

"That is my desire, yes."

"And I'll go with you. Follow you anywhere. You just gotta promise me, darling, that when it's time to go, you'll go. Alright? Promise me. Please ... that you'll leave all the research, the enigmas, the wonders, and you'll go with me. And that you won't be Lot's wife and try and look back."

Amelie, white-furred fingers delicately brushing his forearm, whispered, "I promise." Her ice-blue eyes met his blue-greens. She gave an eye-smile.

Wheldon smiled back. But was still worried. And asked, "Can we leave?" He turned and looked to Peregrine. "Sir?"

The mouse, his tail being stroked by Petra, gave a bit of a blink. "Mm? Yeah? I mean ... yeah," he said, nodding. "We can leave. Amelie, you have some artifacts on the station, right?"

"In the science lab, yes. Behind force-fields."

"Well, now that I know about all this, I, uh ... I don't know what I'm supposed to do about it."

"You worry about the station," Amelie told him. "And I will worry about the ruins."

"Alright. Just check with me, okay, when things come up."

The snow rabbit nodded.



Eventually, they made their way back to the runabout, lifting off. Mortimer was piloting. Fingers tap-a-tapping, flying over the consoles. Until they'd lifted high enough. Then he put it on autopilot. And, turning his head, he saw Peregrine. "Uh ... you watching me?"

"Didn't know you were a pilot."

"An engineer, a pilot. I'm a handy-fur."

A shy smile. "Yeah ... " A pause. And he extended his paw. "I found this while we were walking back to the shuttle. I think it's quartz, but, uh ... I'm not sure. But I know you like ... "

" ... ooh." The raccoon almost lost his breath, pupils getting wide. He took the little chunk of rock. "It is quartz. Oh, look ... " He turned it end over end. It sparkled. It glowed. It shined! Shiny rock! "I, uh ... " He looked at Peregrine, slightly blushing beneath his fur. His mask-like muzzle and his ringed coon-tail both silently communicating his apologizes. "Sorry that we, uh, got off to a bad start. My species likes to butt heads. I know yours doesn't."

"It's alright. It's really ... it's fine," the mouse whispered. "Can we be friends?"

"Friends? Sure." A slight pause. "Thank you for the rock," the raccoon said, smiling. He hadn't expected such a random act of kindness from the mouse. Hadn't expected to be so completely forgiven like that. But it was, after all, the Christian thing to do. And, again, Mortimer whispered, "Thank you."

"You're welcome." The mouse smiled back at him, and then left the co-pilot's seat, venturing to the back of the runabout. Flopping to a sit on one of the cushioned wall-seats. Right next to Petra.

"How ya doin'?" the rat asked.

"I'm doing fine."

"Yeah?" She turned her head, looking to him. "You didn't get too scared on the planet, so ... I would've thought your anxiety woulda been worse."

"Yeah. I don't know. I just ... I felt better, for some reason."

"Some reason," the rat repeated, giving a toothy, scruffy grin. And putting a paw on his belly. "Mm." A giggle-squeak, leaning to his dishy, pink swivel-ear, and whispering something. Intentionally trying to make him blush.

Seldovia, watching them from one of the opposite wall-seats, gave them a cheeky, squinty look. "You're not having sex?" she asked, not believing it.

"We're not," Petra stated briskly, giving her a look.

"Uh-huh."

"We're not ... we only went and pawed. We haven't taken the vows, and when we do, we'll tell ya, ‘kay?"

The skunk held up her paws. "Whatever you say, Petra."

"Well, I don't tell a lie, so ... "

" ... I'm just teasing you," the skunk said, giggle-mewing. "I believe you, okay?"

"Alright," the rat said, settling down.

"But when you make it official, we're having a party," the skunk said. "We had a party for everyone else. Just so you know. Alright?"

The rat just waved a paw at the skunk, as if trying to bat her away.

Which only amused Seldovia more. She loved teasing Petra. Rats were so combative. And, after all, Seldovia had married Mortimer. A raccoon. And raccoons loved to argue. It was like a sport for them. So, the skunk had increasingly grown to love it, too. She picked little, harmless fights with most everyone. And Petra always fell for it. She always took it seriously.

A chirrup.

Chirrup.

It was Peregrine's comm-badge. He tapped with deftly with a paw. "Yeah?"

"It's Prancer. Uh, okay ... thing is, Desmond has a cold. A rabbit-exclusive cold. I know it's contagious, but, uh ... "

" ... only to rabbits," Peregrine finished for her.

"Yeah. Exactly. So, I just wanted to warn Amelie and Wheldon ... "

" ... I'll tell them." The two rabbits were in the very back of the runabout, talking quietly, seemingly oblivious to everyone else. "Can the environmental control systems purify the air?"

"I've already set them to do so, and I've put Desmond in a force-field, but if either of those two were planning on coming to the Promenade for any reason, make sure they don't. For at least a few days."

"Alright. Is that all?"

A bit of a hesitation. "Uh ... well, see, there's another problem. Hyacinth. Cows lactate constantly. Normally, Wheldon milks her, but ... well, he can't right now. If cows aren't milked daily, they get mastitis."

"Mastitis?"

"Where their breasts get raw and sore, and ... painful."

"So, uh ... what are you saying?" Peregrine asked.

"Not saying anything."

"She's askin' for some milkers. Tell her we'll do it," Petra said, angling her muzzle at Peregrine's comm-badge (which was attached to his uniform, over his heart).

"What?" Peregrine squeaked, with a bit of alarm. His eyes went wide, nose sniff-sniffing.

Seldovia, across from them, giggle-mewed, her bold, black-and-white skunk features shaking with mirth. Her luxurious tail swishing through the air.

"Wait, wait ... can't she use an automatic milker?" the mouse asked, whiskers still twitching. "I know they have those."

Mortimer, sheepishly calling back from the helm, said, "Uh ... hers broke. I was supposed to fix it last week, but I never got around to it. I didn't think she'd need it, you know, with, uh ... with Desmond doing the job."

"Well, Desmond's incapacitated. Fix it," Peregrine ordered. "Today."

"Come on, Perry, you don't wanna milk a cow?" Petra asked.

"Would Desmond even want us doing that?" was the worried question.

Petra, giving a bit of an eye-roll, whispered, "He's never had a problem with it before. We've all done it. Except Wheldon. That's why he made that milk joke in Ops the other day? Cause Desmond won't let ‘im. He views other male rabbits as competition."

Seldovia, giggles under control, injected with, "It's not awkward at all. There's nothing sexual about it ... it's just milk. Creamy, rich. Has a hormone in it," the skunk said, "that relaxes you."

"Then why don't you milk her?" the mouse asked the skunk.

"Cause Petra volunteered first. And you're with Petra."

"So, uh," Prancer said, on the other end of the line, "what am I supposed to tell her?"



"Thanks a lot, you two." A satisfied, pleasured sigh. "I really needed that. You don't know how full these get," the brown Swiss said, putting her bra back on. Securing it. And reaching for the top of her uniform. Her breasts jiggling a bit. Her fur soft and brown-grey, very docile. "Things'll get filled again by evening, though. I need ‘em milked twice a day. You don't wanna know what mastitis feels like. It burns." The cow winced, shaking her head, her ears flapping and her ropy, brush-ended tail whipping about. "I tend to worry when rodents milk me. Your big buckteeth and all ... but you only nipped me a few times. You did good," she assured. A sound of relief. "I really needed that," she said again. Her uniform-top back on, she gave a smile with her broad, nosy muzzle.

Petra and Peregrine, both sitting lazily on Petra's couch, just gave contented squeaky sounds, whiskers all a-twitch. The hormone in her milk had them somewhat drugged.

The cow gave a moo-sound, chuckling. "Mortimer will have my automatic milker fixed by tonight, you said?"

Peregrine nodded sleepily. "Mm-hmm."

"Alright ... " A sigh. "I wish Desmond wasn't sick." A worried, pained look. "I wish I could do something, but ... " She lolled to the door. "Later," she said, stepping out. The door whooshing shut behind her.

Petra, eyes half-open, whispered, "Wasn't so bad, now ... was it ... "

"Mm-mm ... " A little shake of his head. "I feel," the mouse said, "kind o' tipsy. Kind ‘o ... mm ... " His eyes fully closed. A deep sigh, body leaning against the rat's.

"You, uh ... y'realize it's only, like, one in the afternoon? We're on duty, y'know. We shouldn't be sleepin' ... "

" ... well, uh ... " A sleepy pause. Picking back up with, " ... uh, when does the milk-drug wear off?"

"About twenty minutes ... not too," she breathed, "long."

"We're on our lunch break," the mouse said, "and I'm the Commander ... if we go a bit over, well ... " He snuggled up next to her. Yawning, stretching. Giving cute, effeminate squeaky-sounds. "Mm ... " And, in his very easy, relaxed state, it slipped out before he could feel anxious about saying it: "I love you." It felt so good to say.

Petra, a smile melting across her muzzle, whiskers giving a twitch, buried her rat-muzzle in his fur. "Oh, I love ya, too, hun."

Verbal consummation of their young relationship. Coming easily, with guards down. Oh, yes, that trinity of pronouns and verb. Yes, those simple, mono-syllabic words. There was a definite kind of healing in them. Like they could make anything better.

But there were other forms of consummation to be had: spiritual (marriage), physical (sex), biological (offspring). Other forms to be had, maybe soon and maybe years from now. Many steps to love.

They were moving in the right direction.

Step by step.