They were almost like serene statues in an icy hall. Like remnants of open-aired, Northern poetry (the kind too frozen to feel). How they spoke in hushed, proper tones, and ...

" ... you are staring."

"Mm?"

"You are staring."

Ollie blinked. "Am I?" he asked quietly. So quiet, the white-furred mouse. Loud as a whisper.

"Yes," the snow rabbit elaborated. Her white, fluffy bobtail, behind her, went flicker-flick. Flicker-flick.

"Didn't mean to," was all Ollie said. "I'm just ... too cold in here," he managed, looking around.

"You are white-furred."

The mouse blinked. And looked to her (the snow rabbit). And nodded. "Yes," he whispered. His own tail wasn't moving. Which was unusual (for a mouse).

"Are you from the ice?"

"What?" the mouse asked weakly, his whiskers twitching. And eyes darting. Crowds. He never felt safe in crowds. He wasn't even a member of the crew (of this ship, the Arctic; she was launching today ... and the crew and such were gathered in the mess hall here, having a civil, little party).

"Are you from the ice?" the snow rabbit asked again, her white, antennae ears waggling.

Ollie swallowed, looking into his empty glass. There had been alcohol in there. Some kind of ... wine. Some kind of stuff. He didn't remember drinking it all. And, swallowing again, the mouse squinted (not out of any emotion, but out of being so tired). "What?"

"Are you from," she repeated, squinting, now, as well (for different reasons), "the ice."

An exhale. "I'm from the ice," Ollie whispered.

"Then why are you cold?"

No answer. A breath. And he looked around. And then back to her. "Because, uh, the temperature in the room is a little bit below ... "

" ... what a warm-blooded fur would consider ‘optimum comfort.' You are not warm-blooded."

"Last time I checked ... "

"You know what I mean. Your blood is warm, but your tolerance ... you should be able to find comfort in the chill. It should be second-nature to you." A pause. "Besides, the air on this ship is warmer than it would be on other snow rabbit vessels ... it was part of the compromise between species. In fact, I find it a bit warm."

"I find no comfort," Ollie replied, meeting her eyes, unblinking, and whispering like a ghost, "in chills ... thank you." He handed her his empty glass. "I want it warmer."

She frowned. "I am not a waiter." She gave the glass back.

He almost dropped it, and ... shook his head. "No. No, I guess not ... uh ... never got your name." He looked for a place to sit down.

"You are inebriated."

"Really? That's your name? ‘You are inebriated'?"

"It is your current physical state."

"That's not what we're talking about. We're talking about ... "

" ... Arianna."

"Pretty name," he whispered. Too many furs. The crowd. Never safe in a crowd. "There are no ... " He lost his voice for a bit. " ... there are no predators on this ship, are there?" he asked, freezing. Heart hammering. "There aren't ... are there?" He held his breath.

"Of course not," was Arianna's immediate answer. "The warm-blooded furs would've had some integrated into the crew. They believe they can be trusted. But ... my species would not allow it. It was, also, another part of the compromise for sharing this ship and mission. It was one of the terms." A pause. "I have been at war with predators. Most snow rabbits have."

"The Arctic foxes," the mouse whispered. That war was well known. The snow rabbits had won.

"Yes."

"So ... no predators on the ship?"

"None."

"No predators," Ollie whispered. "Good." A breath. "Good," he said, licking his dry lips. His head swam. "Good. I, uh ... I gotta ... "



" ... lay down! All of you!"

A few screams. A few gasps. But, mostly, there were blinks ... of confusion. Only six months earlier. Ollie was on the colony world of his birth. A few weeks from Home-world. In the opposite direction of the snow rabbit's ice world, and the Arctic foxes ... on this world, the home of white-furred ‘lab' mice. And the home of ...

... wolverines. The wolverine had a pistol. A phase pistol. And it was charged, and it was humming, and it was set to kill.

The room was underground. Above-ground, it was night. The deep and dead of night, where the wind, with its sharp, silver edge, could cut you open like a knife. Where it could burn your extremities with freeze. Where the elements forced you to burrow. Luckily, mice were good at it. Luckily, rodents ...

... were too easily found by the likes of predators, who made it a practice ... a skill. The hunt. They lived, here, for the hunt. One could call this outlying society, outside the borders of democratic space ... to be totalitarian. Ruled by a paranoid, violent regime. To be subjected. To live in fear. To have to gather underground, in passages and tunnels, in little, barely-lit rooms. Rooms that were garishly flaunting shadows. That was fear.

"What are you doing here?" the wolverine demanded, snarling ... his communicator chirruping. A voice asking, on the other end ...

" ... have you found them? Did you find them?"

A sharp-clawed paw tapped the communicator on his chest. "Hold ... I'll get back to you ... "

" ... status in five minutes."

"Aye." And he tapped the badge again, cutting the channel, and securing his phase pistol (no, it was bigger than a pistol ... must've been a phase rifle). "All of you," he snarled, "on your knees ... "

"We are!" squeaked a haggard squirrel.

The wolverine snarled, squinting, looking around. Making sure. Making totally sure. "How many of you are there ... "

" ... can't you count?" was another daring, muttered voice.

SLICE!

Squeaks and chitters of terror. As the ruby-red phase beam spat out, and hit the wall, sending plaster falling, and hurting the ears of all around ... the sound ringing, ringing, ringing ...

The wolverine, huffing, was showing his teeth. And dispensed with any ‘pleasantries,' getting to the point. "Under amendment forty-seven, religious practices not licensed by the Mustelidae Clan ... are ILLEGAL."

There was silence. The Mustelidae Clan was the name the wolverines (ruling, in power) had given themselves ... they ran this barren rock of a world. They controlled, zealously, the incoming and outgoing traffic. No one left. No one ... and if you were lucky enough to get away, you were looking over your shoulder for years ... before you could sleep at night.

"Illegal," the wolverine said again. "And yet, am I to presume ... that you were worshiping in here?"

Silence. Again. Still no answers ...

"Your silence seals your guilt," was the decree. "I shall soon be contacting my fellow guard-furs ... they'll arrive. And arrest you all."

The sound of little, quiet breaths could be heard. Coming from the nine furs in the room. Five mice, two squirrels, a chipmunk, and a regular rabbit. There was the sound of sniffling. And the wolverine, his powerful nose breathing inward, could smell the scent of fear ... sweat. Could hear the hammering of tiny, petrified hearts.

The wolverine stepped further into the middle of the room. He was bulky. Thick dark-brown fur with creamy yellow markings on his face and sides. His tail was bushy. "But ... " His voice hung in the unmoving, bitter air.

A few of the cowering furs, all on the floor (as ordered), looked up ... sure, they were outnumbered, but they were prey. Their instincts were failing them. Were defaulting them into submission. They knew it. They tried to fight it, but ... instinct ... they only knew how to be afraid. And growing up on a world so harsh, in a society where freedom was the whim of the current victor? You took your daily dose of fear from a very young age. And you became addicted to it.

"But ... we of the Mustelidae Clan are not FERAL. You see, we care about each and every one of you," he continued, reading the company line. Yes, they cared. Because the prey were needed for labor. The prey were needed to harass. And, during flashes of bloodlust, to hunt. A predator could not be a predator ... without a source of prey. "You are being CORRUPTED by this faith. It is putting ideas in your head ... redemption? Eternal life? Moral love? These are DELUSIONS. Love is a weakness. The sooner you understand that ... the better." Pause. "But we, rather than take your lives, are allowing you to save them ... "

"H-how ... "

"Stop practicing this childish ... fantasy. Denounce your Savior. And go. And know this: we will now have your names. We will put you under surveillance ... if you are suspected of still believing, still practicing ... you will be publicly executed."

The room was deathly silent.

"Each of you ... you first." The wolverine fished in his pocket, bringing out a paw-held pad (which had a recording device). He pointed at one of the chipmunks. "Save your life. Save yourself from pain. Don't make your family ... have to trudge on without you. Get up."

The chipmunk hesitated.

"Get up!" the wolverine growled, reaching down, and yanking the rodent up.

The chipmunk squeaked with weak pain, the sound echoing off the walls. The wolverine's claws moving to his throat.

"Say it," the wolverine whispered slowly.

The chipmunk, swallowing, heart hammering ... stuttered it out. Denied everything. For the record. For the wolverine. In front of everyone in the room. And when he was done, and when he was empty, the wolverine gave him a shove.

"Go," the predator said simply.

The chipmunk, after the briefest of bewildered hesitations, went. Around the corner, up the narrow stairs, and into the harshness. And, the others, seeing that the wolverine was good on his word ... they followed suit. So afraid of pain. So afraid. They all did it. All of them ...

... leaving only one left.

"You. Mouse," said the wolverine.

The white-furred mouse, Ollie, visibly, quietly shaking, looked up, his eyes unable to keep their focus.

"It is your turn. Perform your duty for your government. Save your life."

The mouse ... stayed still. Shaking. But not making a move to stand.

"The others complied. You will, too," the wolverine promised. "It is your duty as a patriot."

The mouse's breathing could be heard. It was so ragged. So out-of-control. So ... messing with his mind. They were always ...

... squeaking, growling, as the wolverine lunged at the mouse, and yanked him up, pressing him (hard) to the wall. Putting the muzzle of the phase rifle right under the mouse's teeth-chattering (from cold or fear, it was hard to tell) muzzle. The sound of the rifle humming, readying for the merest pull of the trigger.

"The kill setting on this weapon is set to ... slow-dissolve. You will be dispersed from the inside-out. It only lasts seven seconds, but ... those seven seconds," the wolverine whispered into one of the mouse's unmoving, dishy ears, "are pure torture." A pause. "I know ... I've seen it done."

Tears were silently streaming down the mouse's cheeks. Wetting his fur. And the hard floor.

"Now, be a good mouse, and just say what the others said ... denounce your Christ. Vow not to practice your faith ... vow to ... "

A sound from the mouse.

The wolverine squinted. Ears cocked. "What?"

Ollie took a breath. So sharp a breath, and it left him before he could respond.

"Answer me! What did you say?" the wolverine demanded. Only him and the mouse left in this underground space. Only the warmth each other was giving off. Only the sounds of their breathing. Only a moment burning of eternal consequence (for both involved).

"I ... I ... I said ... " The mouse faltered. His eyes stung. "Whoever ... w-would save his life will lose it, b-b-but whoever ... loses his life for My sake ... "

The muzzle of the gun pressed harder. "Do not," the wolverine whispered, "speak Scripture to me. Just make the denouncement. This is your last chance." A pause. "Denounce."

By this point, the mouse was stricken with such fear, such paralyzing emotion ... that he could barely breath. His eyes stung. The tears, they seemed to coldly freeze as they dripped from and weighed down his whisker-tips. His normally active senses dormant. His slim body sagging, and ... his head shaking. "No ... no," he whispered desperately. And he swallowed. And held his breath. And squeezed his eyes shut. "No," he sobbed, fully breaking down.

"Very well ... "

" ... b-but," the mouse stammered.

The wolverine perked. Thinking maybe the mouse was changing his mind.

" ... b-but I ... " The mouse opened his pale, pale-blue eyes, which were so much redder than they should've been. Which just ACHED to even open. And he, swallowing, looked into the wolverine's eyes. "But I forgive you," he whispered ...

The wolverine, feeling chilled, nodded. Nodded quietly ...

... and stepped back. "I didn't think anyone would pass ... "

"W-what ... "

The wolverine put his weapon down, and his posture relaxed. Suddenly, the menace (such a WELL-PLAYED menace, learned from honest instinct) ... it eased off. "I had to be sure."

"W-what ... what ... " The mouse, slumping down, back to the floor, was in a state of emotional shock. His mind reeling, and his heart straining to dangerous levels.

"I believe, too," the predator whispered.

"You ... you're ... you're ... "

" ... not lying. I'm not ‘playing with my prey' ... "

"But you ... but you," the mouse said, having to swallow, still trembling, pulling his knees to his chest. Back to the wall. Sitting on the floor. His pink, bare tail, like a silky rope, was unmoving. His whiskers were drooping.

"I believe ... I didn't used to," the wolverine confessed quietly. His eyes went distant. "But something happened." A swallow. "It's a long story. I ... but I DO believe, and I want to help the movement ... "

" ... you ... you want to help the Christian movement on this planet? You're part of the ruling species. You've got everyone under an iron paw ... you ... "

" ... which is WHY I had to be sure!" the wolverine said strongly. His voice bouncing off the walls.

Ollie went quiet.

"If I was going to help the movement, I had to be sure no one would rat me out ... I had to be sure everyone's faith was pure. Was real. The others? They sold their souls ... when threatened. When put to the ultimate test. They weren't going to give their lives for their cause. They would've betrayed me. I cannot help from the inside ... if a random prey-fur spills my name while being interrogated by my compatriots."

Ollie was still in shock. Still taking this in.

"But you ... " The wolverine did something that, in a way, scared the mouse. He smiled. "But you BELIEVE, mouse. You have a purity of heart. You have strength. You didn't sell out ... to the likes of you goes heaven ... "

The mouse sniffled, swallowing, still shaking. Deciding, at this point, to take the wolverine at his word. Trying to read the situation. Deciding he could ... be trusted. He felt that, maybe, God had arranged this ... it was ... too much to ignore.

"I am sorry I scared you." A paw was held out.

The mouse took it.

The wolverine pulled him up, and ... a comm chirrup.

"You're overdue on your report," was the voice on the other end. "Did you find them or not?"

"No ... no worshipers. I believe they were tipped off," the wolverine said slowly, "before-paw. I will follow other leads."

"Very well. Spend another hour on it, and log off duty ... "

"Acknowledged." And he cut the channel. And tilted his head. And looked to the mouse.

Ollie looked back. And passed out.



That wolverine had been killed ... helping to smuggle Ollie and others out of that place. Off the world, and into the free stretches of space.

Ollie was sitting down. His head still swimming. He never got drunk. Just, for some reason, he'd ... maybe had a bit too much tonight.

Arianna, the snow rabbit, sat beside him on the couch (in the middle of the mingling/eating area).

The mouse stared at the glass coffee table before him. At the reflections in it. He blinked a few times.

"Why are you here?"

"Mm?" He looked to her.

"You are not a member of this crew."

"No," he whispered.

"So, why are you ... "

" ... here ... I am here," he said, "fleeing religious persecution." He went quiet. Thinking, somehow, she'd laugh at him for saying that. Thinking she'd scoff. Thinking she'd be one of those ignorant furs who didn't know any better, who believed that, in such a ‘modern' universe, things like that didn't happen anymore. But she didn't laugh.

She just nodded quietly, and said, "I am sorry."

The mouse's whiskers twitched. "Well ... I got away. And ... I'm, uh, going to Eveningland."

"That is a deep-space colony."

"I was told I could find peace there. You know ... a life," the mouse said quietly. "I think this ship is going that way. At least, that's what that dark-brown mouse ... he told me ... "

"That is Ross. A meadow mouse. He is the captain's mate."

"Well, he said I could stay here. And ... until the ship winds up in that area. So, I'm ... tagging along, I guess." A pause. "I'm sorry." He sat up a bit, and looked around, blinking several times. "I'm not normally sad, or ... I ... just, lately, I've ... been through a lot." His eyes watered. He avoided looking at her. "I just need time to heal. I know ... my Savior is already doing that."

"Healing you?"

"Yes." A shaky breath. "I just can't expect to be totally fine, you know, overnight. I ... takes time. Takes patience. I have faith," he assured, with a fiery conviction.

The snow rabbit nodded quietly. "I have never been," she admitted, "much into that. Spirituality. I believe, but I ... do not practice."

The mouse looked straight at her. A bit drunk, but with a lucid enough thought process to know what he was saying. "Faith that isn't practiced is like a garden untended ... it yields no fruit. It dies. And then what do you have left?"

The snow rabbit tilted her head a bit. "That has some logic to it," she admitted quietly.

He was quiet for a moment. Before continuing, "Anyway, I ... I'm just overwhelmed. So many nice furs, and ... you know, letting me stay here for a while, and ... just so kind ... " His sentences were being broken apart by the shakiness of his voice. Like he wanted to cry. But like he'd been conditioned to hold it in. "I'm just a little ... "

" ... inebriated," she repeated again.

"Well, that, too," he admitted. And, for the first time since she'd seen him, he smiled a tiny bit.

"Perhaps it would do you well to talk to someone? We have a doctor. He can also be a therapist ... "

"I'll think about it," the mouse said.

The snow rabbit eyed him. She felt the mouse wouldn't ‘think about it.' She could see, just from observation, that he feared burdening others. Feared being a strain on those around him. Feared opening up ... possibly from coming from a closed, tightly-controlled society. He feared to speak freely. He ...

" ... am, uh, kinda tired. I think I'll go back to my quarters."

"Do you need assistance?" Arianna asked.

The white-furred mouse stood, and ... wobbled, and ... " ... um." He sank back down, unable to stand.

"You do. Here ... "

"No, no ... no, it's ... "

" ... not up for debate. I will assist you back to your quarters. And give you a hydration hypo."

"Hydration hypo ... "

"Unless you wish a hangover."

"Oh ... "

She helped him up.

The mouse flushed. His ears swiveling, and turning rosy-pink, while his nose sniffed in the cool, soft scent of her. "Uh ... furs are staring at us."

"I do not feel embarrassment."

"Well ... I'm not embarrassed. I just ... "

Her arms wrapped around him, she got him to his feet, and then hooked an arm around his, steadying him. "We must walk now," she said simply.

Flushing, and a bit dizzy, Ollie just nodded. "Okay," he said. As the snow rabbit walked him out of the mess hall. Walked him to his temporary ‘home' aboard this ship.



"You're mated to the Captain, huh? What's that like?"

Ross, loading up his plate with fruits, gave a coy smile. "Well, it's ... I mean, what do you mean?"

The flying squirrel grinned. "You know: perks? Stuff ... "

"Perks. I don't get perks ... "

"Sure, like sitting in the Captain's chair, or ... sitting on the ... "

"Watch where you're going with that," Ross said, with a flushing, shy smile, interrupting before Wilco, which was the flying squirrel's name, could say anything lusty.

"Aw, but I was havin' fun with this ... you're so good to tease," he told his new friend.

"Mm." Ross put a few strawberries on his plate. Already had grapes, and some apples slices. His tail was snaking happily behind him, and his whiskers twitched.

"Anyway, there's this kangaroo rat, right?" Wilco continued. "I mean, she's ... oh, my gosh. She's SO cute. I nearly tripped when I saw her."

"Heh ... yeah? Nearly tripped? Really?"

"Alright, I'm exaggerating in the name of romance, but ... seriously ... and she's not here." He looked around. Wilco was one of the twenty-odd furs aboard the ship who WASN'T a snow rabbit. The crew was about forty-four or so ... half snow rabbits. Half ‘warm-blooded' furs. The crew had already been together for a week, readying the ship, getting adjusted.

They would launch this evening. Which was soon ...

"I'm worried. I mean, why isn't she here?"

"You aimin' to chat her up?"

"Ross, I do NOT chat furs up," Wilco insisted. "I was just gonna make some ... friendly small-talk."

"Well, some furs came early, and left early ... some have been in and out of the room. I haven't been watching the doors too keenly." A pause. "Besides, you'll see her around. It's an intimate ship."

"Yes." A pause. And a smile. "It's a good thing furs aren't averse to intimacy, then."

A small smile. "You're too hyper, you know that?"

"That's rich, coming from a mouse."

"Seriously, you're all bounce. Just eat some fruit." The meadow mouse, his fur a muddy-brown, held out his plate.

"Mm. Nah, I already ate."

"But I have not," said a new voice, and a white, delicate paw reached in, and took a grape off the vole's plate.

Ross looked up. "Hey," he whispered.

The snow rabbit nodded, eye-smiling. "Hey to you, too," she said in her calm, even way. Chewing on the grape. Swallowing.

"Captain," said Wilco, standing up a bit straighter, and giving Aria a nod.

"Ensign," she responded. And looked him over, with that barely-expressed amusement. "At ease ... before you sprain something."

The flying squirrel relaxed. And smiled a bit. "Sorry, I ... I was just talking to your mate," he said, changing the subject (not wanting to discuss how she, the Captain, intimidated him; all the snow rabbits did, in a way).

"I assume he squeaked your ears off?"

"More like he squeaked MINE off," Ross replied.

Wilco's eyes darted from one to the other. Their affection was very evident, and expressed in little gestures, in silent, serene ways. "Um ... I'll go, though. Sir," he said, nodding at Aria. "Ma'am," he quickly corrected, flustering. "Uh ... um ... Captain."

"I would prefer if you called me Aria."

"Aria," the flying squirrel whispered.

"Though ‘ma'am' will do ... in a crunch," she added, tilting her head. Her slender ears, with the light-pink interiors and the charcoal tips ... they waggled. Her eyes icy-blue. Her demeanor poised and graceful. Her expression neutral (even when it wasn't).

"Okay." A nod. A nod. "But I'll go ... "

"It's a party," Ross reminded the squirrel. "Stay. Mingle."

"I still got some unpacking to do," Wilco insisted. The flying squirrel had silky-grey and cinnamon-brown fur, with white-tipped and grey-based belly-fur (unseen with his clothing on). He had a furred patagium (a soft, fleshy membrane, similar to those of bat wings) that extended from the wrist of each arm to the ankle of each leg. His tail was furred, flattened, rounded at the end, and long (eighty percent of the length of the head and body).

"Very well. But I expect to see you at the helm," Aria reminded gently, "first thing in the morning." Wilco was the ship's pilot. The helm officer.

"Aye, sir ... ma'am ... Aria, ma'am ... " A flush. "Uh ... yes. Okay. Mm." The flying squirrel nodded, giving field a quick, friendly grasp of the shoulder, and then moving off ... muttering "dammit" under his breath.

Ross smiled a bit, looking to his mate.

She cooly observed, "He seems to find me intimidating."

"How could anyone find YOU intimidating?" the vole whispered, nose very close to hers. Close enough to ... nose her nose!

"I think that ... "

" ... we're not on duty. And I'm your mate," he said, with a bit of playfulness. "And you like being nosed."

An eye-smile. And a tilt of the head. "I believe you have me at a disadvantage. You're too much a part of me now."

"Don't worry. I won't be staging any mutinies," he promised, giggle-squeaking, and picking up a strawberry ... holding it out to her. "Mm?"

She delicately opened her muzzle. And took a bite, the juice dribbling down her lips. She licked her lips, and nodded. "Very sweet," she whispered. Unclear as to whether she was referring to the berry or to him. Or both.

Ross finished the berry off. And swallowed, and sighed. And gave her a final nose before looking out the mess hall windows. Seeing the universe full of stars. Seeing the space-dock they were nestled in. And he looked back to her. "I love you," he said, with his whispering, wispy way.

"I love you, as well." An eye-smile. "But I need to mingle with the admirals. They are ‘irked' that I am shunning them for a ‘warm-blood' ... "

"They must irk easily."

A nod of admittance. "True."

A giggle-squeak. "Mm ... well, you go mingle. I gotta set more food out." The vole was the ship's cook/galley officer.

So, the Captain and her mate parted ways in the little sea (more a pond) of gathered furs.



Arianna was helping Ollie down a corridor. On B-Deck ... the ship had six decks, but the ship, also, was very sleek. Crystalline-Class.

A door swished.

And Ollie's ears swivelled, and he watched a male snow rabbit step out ... pad a bit, walk past them, give Arianna a nod, and disappear around a corner. The white-furred mouse sniffed the air. Sniff ...

"Yes."

"What?" Ollie asked, blinking.

"You were going to ask a question. The answer is yes."

"I didn't ask anything ... I ... "

" ... was going to. You were going to ask if that male snow rabbit smelled like yiff."

"I wasn't! I wasn't gonna ask if he ... " Ollie lowered his voice, embarrassed to be talking about this. " ... smelled like yiff," he whispered.

Arianna raised her brow.

Ollie sighed. "He did, though ... mm ... whose quarters were those? That he was coming out of?"

"I do not know."

"Aren't you the Ops officer?" She'd just told him that, as they'd left the mess hall and started conversing. "Don't you know all the crew allotments ... for quarters, and for ... "

"I have not yet had time to memorize them." They approached a lift, and they got in. "E-Deck," she said.

"I heard that everything bad that happens, it happens on E-Deck."

"That is absurd." The lift started to whir.

"I'd rather be on C-Deck."

"You are ... "

" ... inebriated. You told me." A breath. A sigh. And he was leaning on her, half-dizzy, eyes half-open. A pause. And, with a slight, airy whisper (the kind that male mice, being generally effeminate, were so good at doing), he said, "I, uh, heard ... snow rabbits don't believe in love."

A hesitation. "That is not entirely true."

"You're polygamous ... you have ‘breeding groups,' and it's ... you know, all that stuff."

"That has been our practice, yes," she stated.

Whir-whir ... went the lift, and then stopped. And the doors swished open.

"Not much farther," she said, leading him out. Making for the cluster of guest and extra quarters.

"I was watching the Captain. And, I mean, Ross was the one that invited me to tag along ... they're mates. They're ... "

" ... in a committed, monogamous relationship. Yes."

"Doesn't sound romantic when you say it like THAT ... I mean, they're in LOVE, they're devoted lovers ... sounds better ... "

"Is there a point to your queries?"

"I was just wondering if you subscribed to snow rabbit ‘tradition,' or if you'd found a ... a better way," the mouse whispered.

"You cannot say that our way of breeding is ‘better' or ‘worse.' You do not know my species," she said simply.

"No, but I know furry nature. The nature of ... how a creature acts and reacts. The nature of jealousy and ... emotional pain, and ... trust." He went quiet. Almost stumbling. She held him up. He sighed. "I just don't see how ‘group mate-ships' can work. It's ... love sliced into pieces of pie. It's a drink diluted. You should keep the heart WHOLE, and ... I just ... you're too pretty," he blurted out, "to be passed around from male to male, just breeding like feral things ... you lose the commitment. The sacrifice. Nothing great is had without sacrifice. To get ... you have to GIVE, but it has to be MEANINGFUL giving, and how can give casually give yourself away ... WITHOUT love? How? I just ... " He trailed, flushing hard. "Dammit ... I'm drunk," he whispered.

"Yes," she whispered softly, swallowing. Intrigued by his words, and ... a bit flustered (or the snow-fur equivalent of being flustered).

"But I mean it. What I'm trying to say ... as someone who was never ALLOWED to love," he said, figuring he might as well go on with his rambling (while he was prone to). "They didn't let us love. They let us LUST, but they didn't let us love ... they knew, deep down, what it inspired in furs. What it could do." A pause. A distant look. "That a union of one and another, to make a together?" He took one paw, and the other, and clasped them ... together. And blinked. "It's just right. It's pure. And I ... I dream of feeling something that WHOLE." A pause. "You know?" he whispered painfully, eyes watering. He blinked, and sniffled, and looked to the floor.

"We are at your door," was all Arianna said. Very quietly.

Ollie nodded. Nodded some more. "Okay. I ... thanks. And I'm, you know, sorry about ... um ... thanks." He looked up at her. Gave her a brief smile.

She nodded crisply, and turned to go.

"God bless you," he said to her, leaning against the wall. Looking haggard.

She did a half-turn. And nodded. "Goodnight."

The mouse swallowed, sniffled, and called out, "What about my hypo?"

Again, the rabbit paused. And said, "The replicator will make you one. Just ask it."

"Oh." A pause. And he sighed. Maybe he'd been delusional. Maybe it was cause of being drunk. But he'd thought ... maybe she liked him? Then why was she so eager to get away from him?

Come on, Ollie. You just met her. She's nothing like you. Just ... let's get some rest.

And he retreated into his quarters, got his hypo, and stripped bare, flopping and curling into bed, burrowing beneath the sheets and the comforter. He'd shower in the morning.



In the meantime, Wilco was obsessively rearranging things in his quarters ... nervous about doing a good job on the ship's first day running. He wouldn't helm tonight, at launch, cause that was a ceremonious task going to some snow rabbit admiral (who would leave the ship by shuttle, once they got going). But, he was unable to sleep for the excitement of it all, and for the thoughts of an elusive kangaroo rat whose name he did not know.



And Aria, later in the evening, from the bridge, sitting elegantly in her chair, not betraying any hint of emotion, watched the stars sail by on the viewer. As the ship was finally on its way. As their journey was beginning. As her mate was cleaning up in the mess hall. (She would join him in bed soon enough.)
As the arrival of night was setting them up for tomorrow's day.
Here we go ...