Making Steady Time
Solstice was on the same path as last night. Making steady time. As were the furs who occupied her.
"Breakfast is always such a good meal." The doe sat up a bit straighter in her chair. In the skunk's quarters. It was morning. "Pancakes, waffles ... French toast. Fresh fruit. Orange juice. Eggs." The doe didn't have to be in engineering for another two hours. Or just under.
Welly smiled a bit. "Well, I can make you anything, so ... via the food processor, of course."
"You're not a doctor AND a cook?"
"Afraid not," he admitted, setting some glasses of orange juice on the tabletop. "No, I just ... never really NEEDED to know how to cook."
"Cooking's nice."
The skunk just nodded. Going to the food processor. "French toast, then?"
"Yeah. How about it. Mm ... might as well splurge, right? Once and a while, anyway."
Welly chuckled. "Course. Though, medically speaking, I'm gonna have to say that ... vanilla/cinnamon French toast, with melted butter and ... drizzled with maple syrup," he said. "Mm ... probably not something you wanna make part of your regular breakfast routine."
"Are you gonna get me my breakfast," the doe replied cheekily, with an eyes-bright smile, "or not?"
Welly chuckled.
"I'm not here for a check-up," she repeated. Although, as the words came out, she kind of, in the back of her mind ... wondered if she was. Here for a 'check-up.' Stop it, Bell-Bell. What? Why ... no harm in THINKING it. Besides, he asked YOU to come here. It wasn't the other way around. The doe, reaching her hoof-like hands for her orange juice glass, drew it closer. It was cool to the touch. She sipped of the tangy juice. And smacked her lips a few times. Watching as the doctor processed her meal.
"It's almost ready," he assured, back half-turned to her.
"What are you having?" the deer wondered. "What do you want?"
And the skunk, turning his head so that their eyes met, replied, "I'm not quite sure ... yet." His voice was soft. Was silky. But, then, he was a skunk.
"Oh. Well ... you can have some of mine."
"Yours?"
"Breakfast. My breakfast. I mean, you can have French toast, too ... "
"I think I'll have some fruit. And some cereal."
"Ah ... " The doe swallowed and nodded. "Sounds good."
"You know," Welly said, walking back to the table. Putting her plate down in front of her. As well as a small canister of warm maple syrup. "You're very ... aloof."
A blink. She reached for the canister. "Don't know what you mean," she said quietly.
"You're pretty. You're confident. You're always giving advice to other furs. Always ... going out of your way to help everyone, but ... too often, you neglect your OWN needs. You just ... you get so wrapped up in other fur's problems," he whispered, "that you don't deal with your own."
She met his eyes. Her light-blue eyes meeting his shiny green ones. "It's a bad habit," was her response.
"Indeed," the skunk replied, staying put for a moment. And then going back to the food processor. Admitting quietly, "One that's not exclusive to you." A pause. The food processor whirred and glowed. "I've been known to do that."
"Can't see you neglecting yourself." The doe cut into her toast with a knife. And poked her fork tines into a piece. It had some powdered sugar on it. And was dripping of sugary syrup.
"Saying I've got an ego?" Welly turned back to her. And set a bowl of assorted fruits (strawberries, grapes, pineapple, melon) in front of his chair. At the table. And set a smaller bowl of fruit in front of her. And went back to the food processor once more ... to get some cereal and a pitcher of milk.
Bell-Bell chew-chewed. Swallowed. And said, "Not an ego, no. It's just ... " A trail.
"Just what?" Welly asked sincerely, taking his seat (finally). All the food ready to eat. All the food appealing to their eyes. And, more importantly, their noses and tongues. And before the deer could answer his question, the skunk injected, "You're right, you know."
"Mm?" Chew-chew.
"A good breakfast ... can be the best of all meals."
The doe smiled shyly. Swallowed. "Yeah," she agreed. And sipped at her juice again. Fidgeting with her fork. Finally responding, "It's just, you know ... skunks are two parts bold and one part meek. Light and dark. You're bold, silky, suave ... mysterious. Part of you. But there's this other side that's very meek and vulnerable and ... "
"You saying skunks have identity crises?"
A small shake of the head. "I'm saying that skunks are ... misunderstood," was her word.
"Well, you seem to understand me pretty well. Or think you do, anyway." The skunk poured the milk over his cereal. And slipped his spoon into the bowl. Spooned a bit to his muzzle. Crunch-crunched.
"Why'd you ask me here?" the doe wondered. Very quietly. Poking at her food. "I, uh ... that was, like, totally out of nowhere. I could almost imagine you were WAITING outside that access tube ... like you planned this. Like you wanted me here."
"I do want you here," was all he said.
"Why?" she pressed.
"Give me a break, Bell-Bell ... " Another spoonful of cereal. And a sigh through the nose. "You're smart. Figure it out."
"You've never ... "
" ... shown interest? I flirt with you ALL the time."
"You flirt with EVERYBODY all the time," she countered.
"With you, it's different. With you, I'm ... not just trying to put on a show. With you, I'm ... honestly trying to impress you. I don't care if the others are impressed by me. It's ... but your opinion, somehow ... it matters. It matters more." The skunk continued eating his cereal. Not exactly making eye contact with the doe.
And Bell-Bell watched him eat, and ... resumed eating her French toast.
"How is it?"
"The food?"
A quiet nod.
"It's good," she assured. "Really," she added. "It's good. I love French toast. Your, uh, food processor," she complimented, "makes a good one."
"It'll be pleased you said that." A charming, little grin.
The doe's heart skipped a beat.
"I asked you here cause ... cause you KNOW why, and ... I know skunks can be brash, and can say whatever they want, but ... it's not something I can easily say."
"Why not?"
"I just ... I get tongue-tied," he confessed, "when it comes to ... "
" ... love?"
No answer. Chew-chew. Swallow. And, finally, a nod. "I'm a doctor. They tried to turn love into ... a science. A series of chemical reactions. In school, in my classes, they tried to explain it away ... I never paid attention." A pause. "I'm glad I didn't. Cause ... I think you're attractive. I think you're kind, and pretty, and ... I don't wanna know WHY I think that. I don't wanna know ... how it all works. I just ... wanna feel it," he confessed, "more."
The doe swallowed. Her knife and fork clinked against her plate ... as she cut another piece of her toast.
The skunk, pushing his cereal bowl aside, began to pick at his fruit.
"You're asking ... to be mates," she realized, very quietly.
"Am I?"
She made a face. "Don't play coy, Welly, with me ... please."
The skunk flushed beneath his fur. It his lip. And nodded quietly. "Alright ... and, yes, I am," he whispered, "asking you."
"I, uh ... "
"Too sudden?"
"No, it's ... not too sudden. We're furs. Mate-ships are often sudden, whirlwind things. It's ... it's never a surprise to be asked," she confessed. She'd been asked before. "The surprise is always WHO'S doing the asking."
"Love's silly like that," the skunk admitted, "I guess." He sank his teeth into a slice of pineapple. The sweet fruit almost dissolving in his muzzle. A bit of the juice dripping down his lower lip.
The doe swallowed. Looked to the window. The stars were still streaming. They would reach the source of the human transmission ... sometime tonight. But time enough to worry about such a mystery ... later. Later. Now, there was ...
" ... something I wanted to, uh, do."
"What's that?" the deer wondered.
And Welly slid from his seat. Padded round the table. To her. And leaned forward, eyes closed, and put his lips to the doe's forward. And gave her a very gentle, feathery kiss. And pulled back.
The doe, her eyelids sinking a bit, looked confused.
"I didn't wanna go for the lips on my first attempt. I ... didn't wanna make you nervous."
"Too late," she whispered weakly. Her throat dry. She cleared it, and took a deep, stabilizing breath (only, it didn't feel so stable).
"You are wearing a collar."
Herkimer paused. Flushed. And tugged at it ... as had become, since last night, his habit. To constantly tug at the collar. "Uh, yeah," he went. "Yeah ... "
"May I ask why?"
The mouse wilted a bit under Aria's stare. The snow rabbit had such a calm, collected demeanor. Such an icy gaze. Nothing fazed her. Nothing! He envied that kind of emotional control ... even as he pitied her for being unable to feel the better emotions. Like hope and pleasure and ... all those things. But she must feel pleasure, right? All furs did. She must FEEL. She just hid them extra well. She just didn't SHOW it. How did it work, exactly ... what had hundreds of years of Arctic life done to the snow furs (the snow rabbits and leopards, and the Arctic foxes) ...
"Lieutenant?"
"Um, I ... uh, I ... I have to wear it," he said weakly.
The rabbit's snow-white ears were raised to their full height. They waggled a bit. "I see," she said, looking him over. "No doubt, you were roped in by our resident jaguar."
"How'd you know?" the mouse whispered, keeping his voice low. He didn't exactly want this business broadcast all over the ship (though who was he kidding ... you couldn't keep a secret on a ship like this; furs and their yapping muzzles).
The snow rabbit led Herkimer to the Ops station. Where the mouse was supposed to be, anyway. And nudged him to a sit-down. While she stood, looking down, saying quietly, "Your behavior yesterday ... before the end of your shift," she reminded, "was an obvious giveaway."
"Oh. Yeah ... " His whiskers twitched. And nose sniffed.
"I've fought against predators my whole life. They are devious. They know how to seduce you. Give you what you want ... but, really, they're just using you. She, undoubtedly, is using you, too."
"What?" The mouse twitched.
"She wants to breed. And she wants power. With you, she can have both ... it only takes a purr, and she can dominate you. She's the sort of predator who believes that prey should be second-class citizens."
"Well, you don't ... really know her," Herkimer insisted, "like I do."
"And how well would that be?" A raised brow.
The mouse sighed. "Look, what are you saying?"
"I am saying that I am attuned to her kind. Their ways. I know how she works. I do not wish you to be emotionally scarred ... I consider you a friend. And you are under my command. It's my job to make sure you're not put in harm's way."
The mouse flushed. His ears turned rosy-pink. "That's, uh ... nice of you, I guess. But, uh ... " He tugged at his collar again. He just wasn't used to wearing such a thing. It's not that it itched, but ... he felt it there. Maybe he would get used to it. Maybe it would be like wearing glasses: after a while, you didn't feel it.
"You mated, correct?"
"Sub-commander, in all ... in all honestly," the mouse stammered, staring at his controls. About to say, 'that's none of your business,' but ... instead, sighing, saying, "Yeah, we did." A pause. A whisker-twitch. And he looked to her, brown eyes widening. "But I can make it work! It's not, like, hopeless."
"You are young," was all the snow rabbit said, starting to move away. "And you are a mouse. She is a feline. A predator. I've gone over her service record. She's not shown any prey leanings. She's a solid predator. She'll do what she does, because ... that is what," the rabbit assured, "they do. I just ask that you be careful."
Herkimer nodded quietly. Frowning a bit. "Um ... alright. Thanks."
"May I ask you something?"
"Yeah ... "
"If she truly wished to love you, and wished to make you an equal in your mate-ship ... to be true partners ... why would she force you to wear a predator's mating collar?"
"She said it was her ... tradition." The mouse flushed. Truth be told, she'd slipped the collar over his neck when he'd been in a yiffy daze, and ... she had the key. He could try cutting it off, but ... he feared her reaction. He didn't want to make her mad.
The snow rabbit squinted, halfway between Ops and tactical. And added, "She's already controlling you, Lieutenant. She's already branded you as hers. I am aware that mice are subs, but ... "
The mouse flushed at her words. Unable to deny them.
" ... how much, exactly, do you crave domination?"
"I'm not stupid, Sub-commander. I can make decisions."
"I am not disputing that. I am just giving you my advice."
"It's noted," the mouse said tersely, whiskers twitching. He felt the snow rabbit was insulting his intellect, or ... saying he was a screw-up. Big deal if he was wearing a collar and ... was mated to a true predator. Big deal. He could make it work. Advent wasn't all that bad. Anyway, it's not like he was her slave ... right?
Audrey padded into stellar cartography. Which had lots of monitors, and ... holographic walls. Which were filled with views of space. And with star charts, and ...
"Hey, Aud."
The squirrel twitched a bit. Took a breath. "Oh. Opal. Hey ... "
The cow nodded. A Jersey cow. Doe-like, but ... definitely not a deer. She was the only cow on the ship. And she ran stellar cartography.
"I'm, uh ... the signal we picked up," Audrey explained, fidgeting with her own tail. "It's a bit distorted. I wondered if maybe the ship was hidden in a nebula, or ... I think we're close enough to get a better look."
"Sure," said Opal, her hoof-like hands dancing on her controls.
Audrey nodded, still holding her tail.
"So," said the Jersey, looking up. Widening her brown eyes a bit. "You ask him yet?"
The squirrel sighed. "No," she stressed. "No ... and if one more fur asks me that ... "
"Aud, just ask him!"
"He's my Captain. He's ... I don't know. I'm nervous. What if he says no?"
"A risk," Opal whispered, "you'll just have to take. Ah ... here we go." She called up the long-distance sensor scans for the region of space into which they were headed. "Have no names, really, for all this, but ... yeah, there's a nebula. Right there. That blue/purple cloud ... " A hoof-like hand pointed at the far wall. "Computer, zoom in." The cloud grew in size. And a blinking sphere appeared where the human signal was originating from. "What I don't get," the cow mused, "is how come they're sending out a signal? They must know they'll be found ... "
"Sensors say it's derelict," Audrey reminded. A pause. "Not that I believe that for a moment ... " She trailed.
"What do you think it is?"
"A trap," the squirrel whispered, staring (unblinking) at the star-map. "This is a mistake." She blinked. Shook her head. And forced a weak smile. "But, we're explorers, and we're ... also assigned to defend the furry races. If there's a human ship out there, we have to investigate. Have to ... deal," she whispered, "with it."
"It's hard, isn't it," the cow said gently. "Dealing with things, I mean ... "
Audrey looked to her.
"But, sometimes, you just have to."
The squirrel fidgeted. Bushy tail flagging about a bit. And she sighed. "He's ... he's like no mouse, you know?" She padded to Opal. And flopped down in a seat beside her. "A desert mouse. Those big ears, and that ... multi-hued fur. Like many grains. Ambers, wheats, bits of grey ... his fur's like a tapestry. And his tail has fur, too! Very soft, very velvet ... short furs on his tail. And he's so ... cute. He's so low-key. You can almost hear his mind whirring, but ... he never says all that much. I just wanna know him more. I just wanna ... curl up to him and get him to flower in front of me." A sigh. She arched her muzzle to the ceiling. Breathing in through the nose and closing her eyes for a moment. And then leaning her head back down. Looking to Opal and saying, "I just fear that ... he has NO idea I'm in love with him."
"I'm sure he has some idea ... he's just a mouse, you know? He's afraid to make the first move. He wants you to prod him."
"I wish I knew what he wanted," the squirrel said. "I can't be sure. That's the thing."
"Then find," the cow emphasized, "out. And don't wait and wait and wait ... cause he might slip through your paws. And then you'll regret it."
"I know," Audrey whispered. Inhaling. Exhaling. "I know ... " She stared at the star charts. "I'll talk to him about it," she assured, "soon."
"Soon?"
"Tonight. Tomorrow. Next few days. Just not right at this moment. My stomach's all wobbly."
"You're working yourself up. Mm ... if your stomach's really bothering you, I can give you a fruit chew. An antacid."
"Mm ... no thanks."
"Hey, I have multiple stomachs. I know how to cure a belly-ache."
"Well, this is self-inflicted," the squirrel countered.
"Aren't most aches and pains?" said the cow, smiling gently.
The squirrel sighed. And held out a paw ... for an antacid. "Just don't give me cherry. I don't like cherry."
The cow giggled. "Neither do I."
Welly and Bell-Bell, skunk and doe, had segued from the kitchen table ...
... to the couch. Had stayed there for a few minutes, kissing and necking. And sucking muzzles. Before changing venues again. From couch to ...
... bed.
Bedroom. Which smelled of him. Of his scent. Of skunk. And it quickened the pace of her heart, and seemed to add a bit of fire to her blood. And she clung to his arms as she was led in a slow, slow circle ... and laid on her back in the strewn, blue sheets. Eyes looking up at him.
The skunk's shirt was off. His chest was strong, broad ... black fur on the shoulders. And a white chest. A white belly. White ran down his middle. And his sides were black. Light and dark. Both colors so distinct ... that the doe wondered, internally, how they didn't just bleed and blend into one another ...
"Raise your legs, hon ... "
The deer did so. Sighing heavily through the nose. To be tended and cared for by someone. To be undressed on a soft, warm bed ...
"Oh," Welly sighed, letting her clothes slip from his paws and to the carpet. There was nothing so lovely as a femme. Nothing so perfect ... as what they held between those soft, warm legs. The sight of her pussy sent every nerve reeling with ... want, need, love, lust. Everything.
Bell-Bell's eyes drifted to a close. And she heard a belt buckle being undone. His. And ... his pants and briefs going down to his ankles. Him stepping out of them. Just as bare, now, as her. Both of them in the fur.
"Sweetie," the skunk purred. Whispering it. Crawling over her, slipping his lower half between her open legs. And just laying securely atop of her. Protectively. "Sweetie, open your eyes ... "
She did. Shyly. Flushing.
"You okay?" he asked. And faltered. "Um ... I, uh ... "
"I'm not having second thoughts," she assured, putting her hoof-like hands on his shoulders. "I'm not."
The skunk relaxed. Nodded warmly. Looking relieved.
"I just ... those names."
"Names?" He put his nose to hers. Eyes so close. Such intimate eye contact.
"'Hon,' and ... 'sweetie' ... no one's called me those things before."
He looked to her.
"No one ... "
"I'm sure they have." The skunk's smooth fur ... slid over hers. Belly on belly. And he drew in a breath.
"No ... "
"Bell-Bell, darling ... don't worry about it. Whatever any fur DIDN'T do for you," he assured, "I'm gonna do. And what they DID do ... I'll do it five times better." A grin. A bit cocky, his grin, but ... his confidence was showing through. Now that the doe had agreed to be mates, and ... now that they were about to validate that ... he was brimming with confidence.
And she was brimming with timidity. Afraid she wouldn't please him, and afraid she wouldn't ...
"Hey ... hey," he whispered, as if reading her mind. "I love you ... "
Her cheeks burned beneath her fur. Blushing. "Love you," she said, "too." It felt nice to say that to someone. Even though this mate-ship was very young ... she found herself dreaming about all this it COULD be. And where it would lead them ...
And it took a soft, head-tilted kiss ... from the skunk's muzzle ... to lure her out of any future thoughts. And to anchor her back in the present. In his bed. With him.
The doe wrapped her arms around his back, hoof-like hands on his shoulder blades.
"You're beautiful, Bell-Bell ... " The skunk slithered down her body. Mouthed at her breasts. Suckled each nipple. Swirling his tongue on each hardened nub, and suckling eagerly.
The doe gave a little gasp.
And Welly, huffing a bit, eased up. And, swallowing, rolled onto his back ... tugging at the deer's body. "Um, uh ... get on," he whispered.
She did, crawling atop of him, at a horizontal lie-down.
"Uh ... mm ... no, hon, the other way. Um ... opposite."
"Oh ... " She flushed.
"It's okay ... " His paws caressed and stroked over her arms and shoulders.
She nodded and shifted about, lying horizontally atop of him ... body in the opposite direction.
Her pretty pussy was right in his face. The skunk grinned and dug in. Licking the line. Down ... and then up. And then down. And then pushing his tongue between the fleshy, sensitive folds. Worming, licking ... spreading his saliva all around. Wetting her, and tasting her, and ...
"Oh," she huffed softly. His thick, white sheath against her nose. Her nostrils flaring. She sniffed, and ... bumped at it. Bump. And a pink patch of flesh peeked out. Oh, that was adorable ... and she opened her muzzle. And slipped it over the length. Keeping it from the air. Letting it extend into her muzzle.
Welly squirmed. Whimpered. And lapped, lapped at his prize ... and sniffed at the thicker patches of fur that surrounded the vulva. These lovely lips. "Mm ... mmm ... " He ate her as if he hadn't just eaten breakfast. As if he were starving.
"Uhn," was the deer's airy response. Having to wriggle a bit ... to allow her to bob her muzzle on his penis. The stiff rod of warm flesh. The essence of the male fur ... in her mouth. On her tongue. And she suckled. Bobbing ... licking the swollen head, going down to nibble at the sac ...
The skunk, muzzle wet and buried between her legs, gave weak, shaky squeals of pleasure ... instinctively loosening the gland at his tail-base. "Uhn," he grunted, as he felt his gland squirt vaporous pheromones into the air. Squirt. "Uhn ... " Squirt.
The doe's nose was ASSAULTED by the pheromones. From this close, from this ... the scent. The good, good scent. This wasn't the foul scent. Skunks, light and dark, had two scents they could squirt ... this was the good one. And Welly hadn't MEANT to do it. It was triggered by the yiff, but ...
"Uh, B-bell ... bell ... "
The deer shuddered, gaping like a fish. Couldn't think. Was under his control. The pleasure just punched, punched, punched at her ... her lungs tingled. The scent. She pressed her nose RIGHT up against the gland, leaving his skunk-hood, wet and throbbing, to twitch weakly ...
Welly stammered. Trying to warn her not to do that. It was too sensitive ... but she was drunk on the scent. And was actually licking his gland to get more of it. The taste of it.
The doe temporarily lost her vision ... and squealed, going into convulsions. Flopping to a lie-still ... " ... ohhh ... ooh, ohhh ... " Her pussy in spasms, dripping of fluid. Nostrils flaring.
The skunk yipping, his seed streaming in little, white jets ... to the doe's muzzle. Her cheeks, her lips. His white and black body, and his silky, luxurious tail ... going limp. "Uhhn ... uhy ... "
Bell-Bell swallowed. Closed her eyes. Breathed. Breathed ... until she could ask, "W-what'd ... you do?" A sigh. A breath. "Oh ... " She licked the seed from her lips. And used the skunk's own tail to wipe the rest off. Feeling a bit sticky. Still in an inverted lie-down.
"I ... you got my pheromones. Heh ... guess I gotcha."
"Heh ... no fair ... y-you could've warned me."
"Mm ... kind of glad I didn't. Oh," he sighed. "Oh, that felt good. I ... " He paused. Pupils dilating. Her white tail flagged. Flickered like a pure-white flame.
The doe giggled, grinning, hearing his silence. "Gotcha," she said, echoing his seconds-earlier exclamation. Turning the tables.
The skunk, huffing, wriggled out from beneath her. Pawing at her hips. Breed, breed ... breed ... finally mounting her like a dog. Humping, tongue hanging out ...
"Uh ... huhn ... "
"W-what ... "
"Skunks aren't the only ... only," she moaned, "furs with hidden yiffy advantages ... "
Hump, hump ... rocking the mattress. Their furry forms matted with sweat. "The, uh, w-white flagging of my tail, when flickered ... triggers a mounting instinct ... uh ... in most males ... glad to see it works on male skuhh ... uhnks. Uhhh ... "
"Mm ... mmm ... " His penis, pink and hard, plowed into her. Squelching. Burying into her velvet, feminine pouch. Like a natural sheath ... built for him to hilt in. "Why, you ... y-you devious ... huhh ... doe! Uhn," he grunted, squirting his last reserve of pheromones, which he fanned through the air with his silky, black/white tail.
They met her nose. She tried to hold her breath (in playful defiance), but ... surrendered. And gulped air. Shivering, feeling her ears tingle ... " ... ohhh," she hissed, feeling liable to melt. It was like a drug. The best kind of furry, yiffy drug ...
And, triggered by her tail-sign, the skunk couldn't stop what he was doing ... and wouldn't have ... even without any unconscious triggers.
He came again. Spurt, twitch-twitch ... twitch ... pleasure!
As did she ... spasms and exhales of pleasure!
Pleasure!
... both of them dripping fluids. Both of them with dry throats, matted pelts ... both of them sprawled, limbs tangled, in the middle of the bed. Both of them staring at the ceiling.
"Well," Bell-Bell finally said, taking a slow, warm breath. Licking her lips.
"Well," Welly echoed.
"Looks likes it's a draw." She turned her head slightly, seriously ... and met his gaze. Before a pure smile melted to her lips.
"Guess so." He returned the happy smile. And reached for her hoof-like hand ... and she slipped it into his paw. And he squeezed.
Maybe young, furry love wasn't so hard to find after all.
Or maybe it was.
Aria, on the bridge, tapped at her console ... running scans. Performing systems checks. The snow rabbit was different. Was not like the others.
Maybe she shouldn't have left home.
No ... no, she'd done the right thing. And wasn't about to admit failure ... even if it WAS a mistake. Which it wasn't.
Loneliness is an emotion, she told herself.
And she could fight it. Only problem: emotions weren't supposed to fight back. Weren't supposed to, but ...
"Is it working?"
A femme voice sighed. Shaking her head in the shadows of the observation room. "I just can't be sure." She met her colleague's eyes. "It's too soon. We need more time."
"We don't have it."
"What do you ... "
"A furry star-ship is approaching our coordinates ... "
The femme squinted.
"I need you to prepare for a mass-harvest."
"But what about Ross ... if we don't perfect the metamorphosis, the whole project is worthless. We don't need more subjects. We need more TIME."
"You have eight hours. I expect you to be ready ... when the furs arrive. You're adept at setting traps. Are you not?"
The femme sighed. Nodded quietly. Looking through the observation window. Looking at Ross ... unconscious. No longer entirely human. And the femme scientist looked back to her colleague. "I suppose I'll have to do ... all I can."
"So long as you have your priorities straight."
"Of course," she whispered.
The male colleague squinted at her ... and filtered away.
Neither of them realizing their ship was giving off a homing signal. Neither of them realizing that Ross had rigged a pulse to pierce through the subspace static. Not knowing how or why the furs had found them, but ...
... they did know the furs were coming.
And it's what they'd been waiting for.