A Million Parachutes
Every storm had a cadence. A rhythm. A sound.
"Mm ... " Quietly, quietly ... breathing.
A rumble (from outside the ship). And the room seemed to shake. Seemed to pitch (slightly).
"Um ... mm ... "
The two furs took no notice of the turbulence. Or, if they did, they didn't let it affect their ... affections.
The room was dark. The two squirrels were in bed. Bare, in the fur ... the sheets strewn about. Fur-on-fur. And his bushy, arching tail ... quivering in the air. And hers half-pinned beneath her.
A flashing bolt of blue! Outside the window ...
... and forking diagonally ... a few miles away. And, again, the ship pitched (in a different direction this time). Slightly. Nothing violent. The storm hadn't been violent. Ion storms were attracted to energy. Luminous was operating on very limited back-up power, so ... the ship, tethered to one of Orbital 9's upper docking pylons, simply bobbed in the eddies of the event.
"Uh ... " Huff ... huff. Wren gently bucked forward. On top of her. Between her open legs.
Rella's eyes went to a close. Her head did a tiny turn ... her muzzle open. Breathing, breathing.
They were in the third hour of the storm. They had nineteen hours until it passed. And Luminous, for the duration, had to be inactive. Comm systems were down. Engines were turned off. No one could leave the ship. No one could use anything but very limited power (emergency lights, running water). There was nothing for it but to ... wait it out. To endure this whim of nature. (Or of space. Were things in space ... also part of nature? Or something else entirely?)
"Oh ... " Wren's paws ran up and down her sides. Ran through her fur. Fingers trailing through her fur. Running through the softness. Stirring the scent. And he pulled his hips back a few inches. Barely in her. Pausing.
Her paws were around his neck. Clutching at the fur there. Arms in a hug. Legs spread and wrapped around his waist. Digging into his lower rump-cheeks. Digging into the backs of his legs. A solid grip (with no indication of letting go).
"Mm ... mm ... " He pushed back in. Slid, slowly ... back in. To a hilt. And he nosed the side of her neck. Breathing in. Whiskers twitching. Brushing her.
"You ... you," she whispered, neck craning as he kissed it. As he mouthed it. "You relaxed," she asked, "yet?"
Another lightning bolt!
"D-darling ... "
"I'm, uh ... uh ... "
The ship creaked ... groaned in the whirls of the plasma outside. The energy rushing around them.
Wren, mind fuzzy, pulled back again ... pushed in again. Finding an easy, steady motion. In and out. Burying into her warm, wet muscle. The raw, moist pink of her passage. Squirrel-hood stiff and slick. Sensitive. Oh, so ...
" ... sensitive to the ... the turbulence outside. My ears," she said. "I feel dizzy ... "
"Sure it's the ... the storm?" Wren panted, sucking on her cheek.
"Oh ... oh," she panted, breasts heaving. "Oh ... Kody said ... um, he said we'd ... be dizzy. The storm would affect us."
"We all got shots," Wren reminded. "To ... shield us from ... the radiation."
"But he said we'd still feel a bit of ... the effects." Not enough to harm them, though. But ... a giggle on her part. "Oh," she sighed. "Oh, this feels good." Her voice was at a huffing whisper. Was at a satisfied pitch. Her pussy quivered. Her nipples were erect ... were rubbing through his chest fur (as he breathed and moved atop of her).
Wren slowly, slowly ... kept his pace. Kept burying into her. As deep as he could manage. Holding the position, pulling sensuously back (leaving the tip of him ... clenched inside her). And then going back in. Digging in. Leaking beads of pre.
"Mm ... " A swallow. A pant. Her passage was wet, wet ... warm. Filled. The friction of him inside her ... oh, she loved it. Loved that feeling. The weight of his body atop of hers. Her limbs wrapped around him, anchoring to him ... being entwined, in bed, lips now meeting. Messy, steaming kisses.
Suck-suck ... smack-smack ...
Sigh!
Breathless, saliva-strung kisses.
"Oh ... oh ... " Breathing hot breaths onto each other's lips.
Their hearts pounding, pounding ... paws clutching fur. Pleasured chitters, pleasured squeaks ... escaping from muzzles.
She licked his lips, pushing her tongue into his muzzle ...
He felt so flushed ...
Taking his mate's advice, Wren was trying to relax ... delegate responsibilities. Trying not to hold himself responsible for their exile, their hardships ... trying to mend. Oh, he needed to mend ... needed to ... needed to ...
" ... cum. Uh ... need to cum ... oh, oh," she heaved, sweating. Lips breaking away from his (so she could utter her needs). Her fur was lightly matted with sweat. Her loins ached (in that wonderful, pre-orgasm way).
He smiled at her words. "N-need, or ... w-want ... ?"
"Wren," she growled. A playful growl. But, still, not one to be messed with.
"Okay ... okay," he huffed, swallowing.
A lightning flash from the ion storm ... illuminated their writhing, furry forms. Illuminated Wren, fur also matting with sweat, chest rising, falling ... illuminated the sight of his hips taking a satisfying buck. Buck. Pull ... buck! Harder, harder than before. Firmly. Not rough. Not at all ... but firmly. Firm enough to ratchet the pleasure. To increase the friction.
To get them, inch by inch, closer to their releases.
The ship shook again.
Both of them, dizzy, sinking, melting into the sheets (and each other).
Rella considered throwing all her weight to one side ... rolling him over, straddling him. Finishing on top. But ... oh, no, they could ... oh, they cold do that later. They had nineteen hours of ... cabin fever to burn through, right? Nineteen more hours? Oh, they could do that later. Right now, she was content to let him lead this. Let him smother her feminine form in his masculine one. Let him drill, drill ... drill ... into her ... with that wonderful organ. That wonderful thing ...
Wren's squeaks went to high pitches. High, labored squeaks. (Rodents, as one might guess, squeaked a lot ... during intimacy. And their squeaks involuntarily shifted to higher pitches ... the minute before climax.)
Her body was so warm, so soft ... she smelled of such things. Of sleep. Of showers. Of yiff ... oh, yiff! The air was sizzling with it. Their noses twitching and flaring from it.
His furry sac began to draw up to his body. Balls tightening ... hump ... hump ... rocking her into the sheets. Penis and pussy, in the give and take, making a wet, squishy sound ... both of them leaking of fluid. Both of them drooling (from their sex organs and their muzzles).
Sucking lips. Bumping noses. Bellies snugged against each other.
Squeak ... squeaky-squeak ...
Chitter-chat!
Hump ... hump ...
... huff!
"Uh, uh ... uhnn ... ohh," she sighed, with so deep an exhale! Her pussy wracked with spasms. Spasms ... stringing pleasure through her nerves. To her toe and tail-tips. She went limp and lightly, lightly moaned. Shivering. Enduring. "Ohh ... Wren ... " Her belly arched up against his.
Pussy fluid ran in drops down his pink shaft. His soft, fuzzy balls damp. And his cock twitching, twitching ... " ... ooh, ohh ... ohhh, uhnn ... uhn!" Spurt, spurt. Strings of steamy semen. Squirrel seed ... sowing ... cock snugged in her vaginal muscles. Snugged in bliss.
So sensitive, these pleasures!
So shy, the mates ... after making love. Or not shy. No, not shy, but ... tender. After climax, all the yiffy, animalistic motions ... burned up. Vaporized. And rained back down as motions of tenderness. Softness. Vulnerability.
It always happened that way.
In many ways, the most emotionally satisfying part of yiff ... was the "after" part. When they, both sated, both pleasured from the other ... when they nuzzled and hugged. When they nosed each other's necks. When they confessed their love again and again. When they regained their breaths. Kissing weakly (with what strength they had left).
Oh, orgasm was all well and good (and, oh, wasn't it!) ... but what was it worth if you couldn't fall limp in your mate's arms ... once it had subsided? What was it worth if it wasn't a pleasure shared? If you couldn't wrap yourself around the one who'd made you feel it ... KNOWING it wasn't lust. Wasn't a fling. Knowing it was ... here. And would be here tomorrow. And the next day. That this was a committed union. Knowing her lips were never far away ... knowing his tail was always there to hug. Knowing night would never be lonely.
All those feelings ... flooding them as their bodies recovered. Feelings of timidity, of exposure ... of safety. Of yearning. Of knowing. Of ... oh, of everything!
Oh, what love did to the body ... and mind!
Oh, what kind of force was this?
"Mm ... " Rella took a shaky breath. And managed, "Don't you ... just adore," she said (smiling), "a good storm?" No, they weren't on a porch in the countryside, clouds looming dark and low ... they were in space. In the stars. At the mercy of some phenomenon that none of them confessed to understand. But a storm was a storm.
And storms forced you ... to seek shelter. And it was IN shelter ... that one found safety. That one found wonderful things. (Such as what they'd just shared.)
Outside, the plasma and the colored trails of energy kept sweeping by ... limiting visibility. And keeping them barricaded in here. Keeping them in the dark. In each other's arms.
"Don't you like storms?" she asked again, whispering. Nose buried in his neck. Eyes clothed. Breathing of him.
"I always have," was Wren's soft response. Clutching her, slipping beside her (having withdrawn from between her legs). His tail trailed off the side of the bed, and he positioned a pillow beneath both their heads.
He was feeling better. Definitely ... better than before.
"Don't leave," Field pleaded, standing in the middle of their quarters.
"Darling ... I'll be gone, like ... twenty minutes, okay?"
"You don't know that."
"Field, I'm not going off the ship," she emphasized. "I'm not going," she said, "anywhere." The lights were off in their quarters. Emergency lights were on, providing dim illumination. Life support was online all over the ship, so ... they needn't worry about air quality or temperature. But the familiar hum and thrum of the engines had been replaced by the sizzling of the ion storm.
"I want you to stay here." His voice was very fragile. Was shaking. The mouse was scared of storms. Growing up, he's survived a few tornadoes. Near-misses. He knew what storms could do. And a fear of them was imprinted in his anxious mind.
"Chester's missing," she told him again. "Juneau says he's been ... unsettled. A lightning bolt hit the stern of the ship ... he squealed, and she turned around, and he had bolted."
"Why doesn't she go find him?"
"He's delirious," Adelaide explained, handing Akira over to Field.
Field nodded quietly, taking the baby. Holding her close. To his chest. Saying, "I tried to talk to him. To Chester. I knew something was wrong ... " Ever since the fellow mouse had been bloodied and injured in the Arctic fox terrorist attack ... he hadn't been quite right. Had been MORE anxious, even, than a mouse should be. Had been having lapses on the job. Had been quietly falling to pieces. "I should've pressed it ... I should've helped him."
"Not your fault." Adelaide, in front of Field, placed a kiss to her mate's forehead. "Not your fault, darling. You can't force help ... onto furs. You can't force them to kill their own fears. Sometimes, it's ... you know it's not that simple. Or that easy."
"Yeah ... "
"I'll be back, okay?"
"What about the storm?"
"What about it?" She squeezed at his silky, ropy tail. She reeled it in. Her fingers like tines on a fork. Reeling him in. "Hmm?"
"The radiation ... parts of the ship are exposed to it ... more than others. You'll get radiation poisoning."
"We all got shots."
"No, but ... no, what if you get dizzy and pass out, and what if ... "
"Field ... we have to find Chester. He's gonna end up hurting himself. What do you want me to do? You and I are the only furs onboard with working telepathy. My powers are much stronger than yours. Even in the radiation, I might be able to pinpoint him. Plus, I can echo-locate ... I have radar built into my vocal chords."
A nod. A nod ...
And the ship lurched (a tiny bit). The ship groaned. And light flashed outside the window.
Field jerked. Keeping a secure grip on Akira. And turned about ... so as not to see any part of the windows.
"Hey ... " Adelaide, right up next to him, put a paw under his chain. Raised his gaze (to meet hers). "I'll be back, okay?" She put her nose on his.
Akira, squirming, began to cry a bit ...
Field, eyes watering, whispered, "Okay ... okay ... " His heart was careening out of control. His adrenaline was spiked. The fear of that storm, and the fear of being left alone in it ... so fierce. So fierce. So ... " ... weak. I'm so weak. I'm so sorry."
"Hey ... hey," she whispered. "Don't cry. Field ... " She shushed him. "I thought we'd gotten over apologizing."
The mouse sniffled.
She, lips right up to his, whispered, "You're adorable."
The baby, between them ... wriggled.
"And so are you," Adelaide added, looking down. Sending a warm telepathic wave over their daughter. A mental medicine. "That should calm her until I get back."
"You gonna give one to me?" Field asked needily.
"Forehead," she whispered.
And the mouse nodded lightly, closing his eyes, putting his forehead to hers. Her eyes closed. And she willed to him ... sent, in invisible waves, to him ... warm feelings. Feelings of security and strength.
"It'll wear off," she warned, "in about fifteen minutes ... then you'll start to get scared again. But ... hopefully, it'll let you calm down."
Field nodded, feeling lucid. Feeling ... loose. He nodded.
"Alright?"
"Wow. I feel ... really nice ... "
"Well, I triggered your endorphin gland ... "
"Mm ... " The mouse breathed. "Mm ... " Feeling totally relaxed. Totally ... nice.
"Now, come on." She guided him to the couch. He was still holding the baby. And Adelaide moved him to a sit. "Now, you two ... just relax, and ... close your eyes. And I'll be back when we find him."
Field nodded. "Okay," he whispered. And he opened his muzzle to ...
" ... forget it, Field. Nothing to apologize for. You're a mouse. I understand that. If I couldn't tolerate emotional, anxious furs ... if I thought that it would be a burden to constantly have to nurture and soothe another soul ... well, if it bugged me, I would stay away from mice. But I love mice ... and you," she emphasized, "too much." She smiled. Showing her fangs as she did so. "We all have our fears," she whispered, smile fading for a neutral expression. "Lord knows I have mine." But she didn't verbally elaborate on that.
But, Field, with their mental link ... KNEW what they were. But didn't bring them up. Just nodded. And gave her a devoted look. And, chancing a look at the window, at the colors and swirls of the storm (the purples and blues and reds, the violent, whirling energy), the mouse whispered, "It's like ... those plumes, all those spots of colors. All those dots of color," he said. "They all float by like a million parachutes." He drew in a breath. Confessed, still whispering, "I don't think they shall ever land."
At a stand, Adelaide ... her eyes watching him ... oh, his poetry. Oh, his yearning. Oh, how genuine he was. Oh, how she loved him. She gave him a warm smile, leaning over him, whispering into a dishy, swiveling mouse ear, "Best look away from the window, love. I don't want you getting scared when your mental relaxant wears off ... "
A nod. And he did so. Closed his eyes. And drew his entire slender, furry form onto the couch, lying down ... with the baby in his arms. On his chest. Rising and falling to his heartbeat. Akira gurgling. Eyes fluttering.
Adelaide swooned ... internally. And swallowed, nodded, and went for the door. Paused. Paused just to look at them. To stare at them. Her mate. Her daughter. Her family. How they needed her ... and how she needed them. And, with that, Adelaide hurried off ... to find Chester.
Pyro spun.
Nothing there.
The wolf's heart went ... hammer-hammer. He slowly turned back (in the direction he'd been facing ... been going). He took several steps. Paused. And sniffed the air. He could've SWORN there was something here. Something. Someone. He was not alone in this corridor.
Which didn't make sense. Wren, right before the storm, had ordered all furs to stay in their quarters ... for the storm's duration. To prevent any injuries or anything. He'd ordered them to all stay put. And everyone had. Everyone, in pairs ... burrowing away in their darkened, powerless rooms.
He'd been doing that ... with Dotna. Had been ... oh, had been! But he'd heard about Chester, and he wanted to help. Wanted to prove to everyone that he was a good fur. That he wasn't bad. I'm not bad, he told himself. I'm not bad ... why did he have to keep telling himself that? I'm not bad ...
No, he wanted to help. He had a good nose. He had the best nose on this ship. He could use his nose, maybe, to find the errant mouse. Sensors weren't working. Comm was down. He could use his nose to find the mouse. Mice had a very distinct scent. And Pyro had spent enough friendly hours with Field to have it imprinted in his nostrils. He would know a mouse when he smelled one. He could find Chester.
Apparently, the mouse was having a break-down. Juneau, in tears in the mess hall (where some furs had decided to hole up ... playing card games, snacking, napping) ... she had gone to the mess hall. Was still there. Was too afraid to go back to her quarters by herself. As if, maybe, the storm would snatch her before she got there. As if the plasma would form itself into a tendril, reach into the ship, snake through the corridors, and wrap around them all ... yanking them into the vacuum of space. Frying them for supper.
What a morbid thought ...
You fear the storm, too. Don't tell me you don't, the wolf told himself. You're prey. You know you are. The rules of this universe are different ... but you're still prey. You were born prey. You will die as prey. You are NOT a predator.
But the storm was a predator ... and that's why, Pyro realized, they were all so afraid of it. The storm was like a predator. And they were all prey. And they were trapped in a small space, in their rooms, on this ship ... while the storm enveloped EVERYTHING outside. While it bore down on them with flashes and creaks. And ...
... focus. Focus!
"Focus," he whispered to himself. Oh, he was dizzy!
He swallowed, stumbling to the wall. Panting, shaking his head. Radiation. The radiation must be stronger ... down here (on G-deck, where engineering was located ... engineering actually spanned two decks ... in its vertical space in the drive section of the ship; nearer the rear of the vessel).
The radiation was making him lose focus. He couldn't think on any one thing ... before his mind was latching to a passing thought, and ... zoom! Off went his focus. Off. Off ... off this deck. Had to get off this deck. Shouldn't have wandered this far down. Get back to the living section ... where the radiation wasn't ...
He turned back. Walking in the very dim, very empty corridor. Turning a corner. Stopping. There it was again. That feeling.
He was being watched.
His red, red eyes ... scanned the dark. Scanned for things. He saw shapes. Fast-moving, swirling ... shapes! There!
He spun ... and it went just outside his view. INTO a wall. Into ...
The wolf huffed, shaking his head, blinking. His ears cocked. His nose flaring, sniffing the air. The things he was seeing ... they had no scent! But they were there! They were alive! He was sure of it ...
He kept moving. Went for the lift. Cursed ... realizing that the lifts weren't working. He had gotten down here by using the access tubes. Ladders. You didn't ... ladders? Lifts? What had he used to get on G-deck?
Ladders.
He went for the nearest access tube. Crawled inside. At a horizontal crawl for a few seconds, until he reached a hub. A boxy space with tubes and ladders going off to the sides and up and down. He took the 'up' ladder. And reached E-deck, which ... was radiation free. For whatever reason. And as he exited the access conduit, and as he stood and turned around ...
... he bumped into Adelaide.
He yipped, falling back.
She chittered in surprise, blinking. Blinking.
The wolf panted. "You scared me!" His eyes were accusing.
"I'm sorry," was her level response.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded.
"My quarters are on this deck."
"Oh." The wolf, on his rump, frowned.
She extended a pink, winged arm. She was so strong. And so feminine. But she was a bat. And weren't all bats adept at casting spells?
The wolf eyed her paw.
"Take it," she said. "Or do you wanna sit on your tail all day?"
He frowned and put his paw in hers. She clasped it, and ... helped tug him upright. And, upon standing, he pulled his paw away from her, brushing it on his side (as if he had germs on it now). And he looked around, saying, "What are you doing out? Why aren't you with Field?"
"I was gonna go find Chester."
"With your mind magic?"
"It's not magic. But, yeah ... and I can echo-burst. I can radar for things ... in the dark."
"Didn't know you could do that."
"I'm not a one-trick bat," she said, giving him a look. And brushing past him ... moving off. "Are you coming?"
He sighed. And trotted after her.
They went up to D-deck. Starting at the front of the deck and working their way back. The corridors quiet. Creaking ... making windy sounds. Little, space-bred wails. From the storm's pressure on the ship's hull.
"You've been spending time," she said, peering down a leftward corridor. Firing off a series of chitter-squeaks from her muzzle. Her angular, swept-back ears ... picking up the sound waves that bounced back. No one there. "Been spending time," she continued, moving again, "with Field."
"He's friendly. I like him."
"Well, if you can be friends with my mate ... why can't you be friends with me? Why are you so tense around me? Why don't you like me?"
"Too many questions," Pyro scowled, moving away. Sniffing the air. "He's not here, either."
"We'll have to keep going. Maybe he's in the middle of the deck."
"Where could a mouse go? Where's there to go?"
"If you knew mice," Adelaide said, "you would know they like small spaces. They like to burrow. It's instinctual. When they're scared, or hurting ... they burrow. Into sheets. Into cushions. Up against another fur. But it can't be the last one. He's not with Juneau. So, if I had to place a bet," she said slowly, "I would say he's ... in an access corridor? Or in a closet ... "
"A closet?"
"Yeah ... I don't know."
Pyro rolled his eyes. "Mice," he muttered. "I mean, I'm prey, you know ... whether you believe it or not ... "
"You've told me enough times ... that I kind of HAVE to believe it, don't I?" she countered. "You won't let me forget that you're prey."
"Well, I'm not used to being listened to ... no, but ... I'm prey, and I still don't get mice. A squirrel wouldn't freak out like this ... neither would a rabbit, or ... "
"Chester was shot and mauled ... by foxes. He's obviously traumatized."
"Well, why didn't anyone realize it sooner?"
"Because, sometimes, furs bury things ... and, sometimes," she said, "furs lie about how much hurt they are in. Sometimes, they underestimate what repression can do to them."
Pryo squinted. "Mm ... " Followed her. "Everyone in this universe," Pyro said, "they can't accept that me, a wolf ... is prey. They think I MUST be a predator. Why? Because they can't simply unlearn what they've been learning, instinctually, for their entire existence."
"What are getting at?" she asked, looking into an abandoned room. And then peering back down the curving hallway.
"What goes true for you ... and how you perceive me, goes the same for me. And how I perceive you."
She turned to meet his eyes. His eyes were a burning red.
But hers were a sharp pink. And they weren't easily intimidated by fiery things.
"I can't JUST unlearn," he whispered, "what I learned about you."
She gave him a steely stare. "You do not," she whispered assuredly, "know me."
"But I do. I did," he told her. "More than you know."
Their eyes were locked. The tension between them ... became heavy. Until Pyro, shivering, looked away. Unable to keep contact with her eyes. He walked a few steps away, taking the lead now.
She followed, eying him.
"Don't you DARE," he whispered lowly, "try and scan my mind and ... extract my thoughts. I will block you."
"I know. And I wasn't going to."
"I'm sure ... "
"I don't use my telepathy for evil purposes."
"But you could, couldn't you? If you wanted to?" he pressed. Accusingly. Having stopped again. Facing her.
"I would not," she repeated, "want to." And she remembered his story about how, in his universe (the mirror universe), her own mirror ... had killed Field. Had used Field as a yiff toy. And had killed him when the mouse impregnated her. And how the mice on the ship had gone violent upon that, and ... the whole, twisted tale. No, she would never, ever ... be like that. Like her evil counterpart. No. Never. And whatever it was that Pyro thought he knew or ... claimed to know ... " ... I don't understand why you can't forgive me. I've never done anything to you."
Pyro's ears, cocked, listened. But he said nothing. "If it bothers you that I spend time with Field, I'll stop."
"I'm not asking you to ... I'm saying that it makes no sense to befriend my mate. And to treat me like a cold."
"It makes no sense?" Pyro asked. A nod. "But, then, who says it has to?"
Adelaide sighed and looked away. "We need to find Chester," she said.
"Well, I don't smell him."
"And I don't feel his presence," she countered. Pausing. "Wait ... you hear that ... ?"
Muffled sounds ... coming from behind various closed doors in the corridor.
The sounds going ... " ... mm ... ooh, ooh ... "
" ... uhnnn ... uhhyy ... "
A muffled, "Ohhh ... ohh, f-fuck!"
Pyro flushed.
Adelaide swallowed.
"Wonder what they're doing in there," Pyro said dryly.
"Being furs," was Adelaide's diplomatic response. Meeting the wolf's eyes.
"Heh ... "
"Um ... let's try C-deck."
A nod. "Good idea."
"Uhn ... uh, y-yeah ... oh ... w-wait, wait ... " The squirrel held her breath. "D-did you hear voices? Is their someone," she panted, "outside the door?"
Denali listened. Otter-cock marinating in her vagina ... " ... n-no. No one's there."
Ketchy, naked in his lap, nodded ... afraid that, maybe, Fredrick had been out there. Her mate.
"Hun, come on ... " The otter stroked her sweaty, furry sides.
Ketchy nodded, putting her inhibitions aside ... and bouncing in the otter's lap again. On his shaft. "Oh ... heh ... "
The otter made her FEEL. And feel GOOD. The otter told her she was attractive. The otter said he loved her. The otter actually wanted to (and liked) yiffing with her.
And that was why she was having an affair with him.
Getting there (C-deck) took a minute's time. And, Adelaide, posed in the middle of the corridor, took a breath ... and fired her echo-bursts.
Pyro watched. He'd never seen a bat echo-burst before. The bats in his universe, they hadn't ... if they had that particular ability, they had never used it.
Adelaide drew another breath, standing on tips of foot-paws, spreading her wings a bit ... a chitter-squeaks. Burst, burst ... and they bounced back to her ears. "I think," she said. "I think someone's down that way."
Pyro raised his nose to the air. "Maybe," he admitted.
"Let's go," she said, walking.
And Pyro followed for a few steps, and ... stopped. Pausing. "There it is again!"
Adelaide turned around, frowning. "What?" she asked, worried. A bit scared ... by his sudden, surprised tone.
"That ... that feeling. There are things," he said. "I see them," he whispered. His red eyes glowed. "I see shapes," he said, "moving around us."
"Shapes?"
"They swirl around us. Like they're watching us." His heart pounded.
"Wait a minute ... I think you're right," she whispered. "But it's ... not what you think." She closed her eyes. Reached out with her mind.
"What are you doing?" he whispered.
"Quiet," she mouthed (soundlessly).
The wolf swallowed.
And a smile spread onto the bat's muzzle. "Oh, it's ... there are things, alright."
"Why are you smiling?"
"They said hello," she said, opening her eyes.
"Hey," Pyro demanded. "What's ... "
"They're non-corporeal entities."
"Non ... non-corporeal?"
"Sentient beings without a physical body. They exist as energy." She took a slow breath, looking around the darkened, ghostly corridor. "Ion storms are attracted to energy. It's why we had to power down Luminous ... for this storm. If she were at full power, we would all be fried. Same for these ... beings," she said. "They couldn't stay in space. They would've been killed."
The wolf frowned. Looking around. He STILL saw them ... and it unnerved him. It scared him.
"They're just here for shelter. Seeking shelter. Just as we're doing. They're not gonna hurt us."
"We should tell your captain."
"Wren's ... busy," Adelaide said (knowingly ... for Rella, before the storm hit, had confided ... femme-to-femme ... her plans for 'storm survival'). "They're not hurting us. Anyway, they're far above our ... own plane. We've no way of removing them." She closed her eyes.
"What are you doing?" Pyro whispered.
"Speaking to them."
"What are you saying?"
The bat opened her eyes. "I told them ... who we were. Who we are," she said. "I asked that God bless them. I told them not to mind the wolf." A smile. "They think you're intriguing."
Pyro made a face.
Adelaide giggled. And sighed, looking around. "Alright ... we have to keep moving. Chester," she reminded.
Pyro let out a sigh (feeling tired ... was it radiation, or ... a dozen other things).
A minute later, they found Chester.
Inside, as Adelaide has predicted, a maintenance closet. On the floor. Knees to chest. Crying and shaking.
Pyro, upon seeing the mouse in such a state ... paused. Hesitated. Feeling awkward. Watching as Adelaide got to her knees next to the mouse.
"Chester," she whispered.
The mouse shook. "Mm ... " He coughed. "They're gonna get me ... "
"Who?" she whispered, reaching for one of his paws.
Chester jerked at her touch, but she persisted. Stroking his arm. "Who?" she whispered.
"The predators. I can hear them." A sniffle. His eyes were weary. Were tear-filled. A swallow. "They're outside the ship. They're trying to get in."
"It's just a storm," Adelaide whispered.
"They're gonna get me ... my blood," he shuddered. "My blood ... on my fur." A sob.
The bat wrapped her wings around the mouse. Mice, out of all the furry species, required the most care. The most maintenance. They were the most delicate. Did that make them undesirable? Did that make them a burden?
To Adelaide, the answer was no. It just made them more real. Made them ... more alive. And she was so drawn to that. And she soothed Chester ...
The mouse shook. "I ... I ... "
"Shh," she whispered. So, so delicately. Hugging him. "It's okay ... " And her mind brushed through his, calming him, dulling his pains. Not solving them, but ... masking them. She did what she could. And whispered into his ear, "Your mate misses you. She's worried about you so much. Juneau's waiting for you ... you think you can come back to the mess hall with us?" she asked gently.
A sniffle. A nod. "I need help," he admitted, voice quavering. "I need help ... "
"We're here to help you," she assured. Giving him a bright, pink smile. And she pulled him to his foot-paws. Looking to Pyro. "He can't walk. Radiation. You'll have to carry him for me. I'm not strong enough to lift his weight."
Pyro nodded quietly. Wordless. Having watched her ... calming Chester. Having witnessed such selfless warmth.
"Pyro's gonna carry you," Adelaide told Chester.
The mouse whimper-squeaked. And Pyro picked him up.
Adelaide took a deep breath. Feeling woozy. "We better get off this deck ... and back to the living section."
They brought Chester back to Juneau (who, in turn, brought Chester back to their quarters, hugging him ... resting with him).
And, outside, the storm raged on. Blocking all view of the stars and the planet below. And even the station ... to which they were docked.
They had, maybe, seventeen more hours ... of this.
And, oh, ways of passing the time ... they all (the furs) did find.