Doxology
"Where'd you get that?"
Emerson looked up. "In the, uh ... it survived the crash. In the wreckage," he replied, shyly, looking up from his reading. He had a Bible in his paws.
The marmot smiled, standing. And gave a nod. "Well ... what're you reading, specifically?"
Emerson, who was at a sit, swallowed. "Uh, James. Uh ... about the testing of our faith." His tail snaked a bit.
Antioch nodded again. His ears were short and rounded, close to his head.
"Want me to read it to you?" the mouse asked, looking up. His voice soft and wispy. So innocent. His whiskers twitched.
A little nod. "Sure."
Emerson cleared his throat, taking a breath. "This is from The Letter of James. Who was, uh, Jesus's brother. Or, well ... half-brother, because, uh ... they didn't have the same father, obviously." A pause. And he read, "Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking nothing. If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask God, who gives generously to all without reproach, and it will be given him. But let him ask in faith, with no doubting, for the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea that is driven and tossed by the wind. For that fur must not suppose that he will receive anything from the Lord; he is a double-minded fur, unstable in all his ways."
Antioch tilted his head a bit. Waiting a second. "Go on," he prodded, gently.
Emerson nodded shyly, continuing, "Blessed is the fur who remains steadfast under trial, for when he has stood the test he will receive the crown of life, which God has promised to those who love Him. Let no one say when he is tempted, 'I am being tempted by God,' for God cannot be tempted with evil, and He Himself temps no one. But each fur is tempted when he is lured and enticed by his own desire. Then desire when it has conceived gives birth to sin, and sin when it is fully grown brings forth death." A pause. The mouse adding, on his own accord, "And then it segues into Christ and redemption, and ... you okay?" A blink.
"I have to admit," the marmot said, looking sheepish. "I mean, I have faith, but I, uh ... I don't really study the Scriptures all that often." A pause. "I don't know the last time that I took the time to, uh, read them."
"You should," the mouse whispered. "Doesn't the captain?"
"Talkeetna?" A nod. "More than I do ... anyway," he said, sighing. A moment of silence. "Do you mind if I sit down?"
"Course not ... here ... " The mouse scooted over a bit.
And Antioch lowered himself to a sit, with a heavy sigh. He gave a slight smile. "Wish I was as trim as you. Marmots just aren't ... built for scurrying or climbing or any of that. We're solid ground-dwellers."
"You're stronger than me, I'm sure. I wouldn't want to get intro a wrestling match with you ... I'd lose," he declared.
"As far as brute strength goes, yeah ... I might have the muscle. I just wish I had a form like yours."
"I don't think Talkeetna's bothered by your form," Emerson observed. "She loves you."
A breath through the nose, and a smile. "I know," the marmot said, quietly. His whiskers gave a singular twitch. "Mm. But ... "
" ... you should really study the Scriptures. I mean, I ... I don't get around to it every day," the mouse admitted, a bit sheepishly. "Sometimes, I forget, and ... you know, I've gone weeks where I didn't even open it." A pause. "But I try. It's ... very poetic. And it helps. Like this one. This one's from The Letter of Jude." A breath. "But you must remember, beloved, the predictions of the apostles of our Lord Jesus Christ. They said to you, 'In the last time there will be scoffers, following their own ungodly passions. It is these who cause divisions, worldly furs, devoid of the Spirit. But you, beloved, build yourselves up in your most holy faith, pray in the Holy Spirit; keep yourselves in the love of God, waiting for the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ that leads to eternal life. And have mercy on those who doubt; save other by snatching them out of the fire ... "
He trailed to take a breath. "And, uh ... here's the doxology, which I think is very poetic. It's so pretty," the mouse whispered. He continued, "Now to him who is able to keep you from stumbling to present you blameless before the presence of His glory with great joy, to the only God, our Savior, through Jesus Christ our Lord, be glory, majesty, dominion, and authority, before all time and now and forever. Amen."
Antioch nodded thoughtfully. His eyes calm. "Does have a ring of poetry about it," he agreed. And he smiled a bit. "I came over here, you know, to see if you were okay, but ... I see that you are," the marmot whispered. "Assuredly more okay than I am." A singular whisker-twitch, and he picked up his own, bushy tail in his paws, not quite knowing what to do with it. So he let it go.
"Well, I don't know about ... "
" ... your faith is stronger than mine. I mean, I have it, but ... yours is stronger."
"Doesn't mean it's better," was Emerson's whispered response. "Doesn't mean ... that I'm better," he continued. "We just gotta help each other. We grow in different ways, and ... through fellowship, we keep each other steady. Keep each other ... "
" ... accountable. I know," the marmot said, nodding. And he looked off into the forest. "Talkeetna and, uh, the others ... well, Cordova and your wife ... they went off to look at that pyramid thing."
"I know ... "
"I wanted to go with them." A pause. "I'm the tactical officer. I'm ... trained in fighting, in ... if something should happen," he whispered, swallowing. His grey eyes darted. "I just get a creepy feeling about this place, sometimes. Like ... "
" ... we're being watched?" the mouse supplied.
The marmot turned his head, meeting the mouse's eyes. And nodded lightly. "Yeah," he whispered. "Like we're being watched."
"I got that feeling. The, uh ... this morning. When Azalea and I were, uh ... " The mouse bobbed his head a bit.
"Breeding?"
A shy nod. "My tail just shivered and went all straight, the hairs all standing up, and ... I thought it was just cause I was so excited. But, after, I got the same feeling. Even when we'd calmed down, and ... "
" ... yeah," the marmot went, sighing. And he nodded.
Emerson bit his lip. "They'll be okay, though. They're strong. And, anyway, you just gotta trust that they will be, and ... " The mouse trailed. He picked back up with a gentle, airy, "We'll all be okay."
Antioch smiled. "You have a way of getting inside other fur's hearts, you know that? And warming them up." A friendly nudge. And an honest, "Thanks."
"I didn't do anything," Emerson tried to say, modestly.
"Nonsense. You ... " He trailed. "Hey, where'd you get that?" He pointed.
A happy smile. "That was in the wreckage, too. It didn't even get flat!"
The marmot shifted, shuffling on his knees. Over to the basketball that was a few feet away. He picked it up, slapping his paws on the orange rubber. Just to hear the sound. And he tried to bounce it on the dirt and grass. "Mm. Heh ... imagine that," he went, and taking a deep breath, he looked to the mouse. "We don't have a hoop, but, uh ... wanna pass it back and forth? Burn some energy while we wait on the others?"
"Sure," said Emerson, gently putting his Bible aside, and bounding up to his foot-paws.
" ... I just can't figure her out. Even after all these months," Cordova commented. The piebald-furred rabbit was at the lead of the group, scanning. Her waggle-ears waggled. She took a deep breath and stretched her arms a bit. Her fur consisted of irregular patches of black and white. "Nothing here," was the sigh. "Azalea?"
"I'm trying. It's ... " The western jumping mouse trailed. She wasn't using a scanner. Hers had been fried. No, she was using her nose. Sniff. Sniff-twitch. "That way ... " A slight nod to the north-east. It was early-afternoon, and the air was slightly warm. Not enough to be muggy or uncomfortable. But gently warm.
"You sure it's that way?" Talkeetna asked, lingering behind the other two.
The mouse just raised her brow, all serious-like, pointing at her own nose. Her whiskers twitched.
The red squirrel smiled. "Sorry. Sorry ... I trust it," she assured.
Cordova changed her direction, the other two still close behind.
"We've been lucky, I think," Talkeetna said, "thus far." She was craning her neck, looking upward at the gaps in the forest's canopy. "That is hasn't rained."
"You think it will?" Cordova asked.
"I'm not sure. I would assume, seeing how healthy all these plants are, that ... it rains enough. So, sooner or later ... "
"Well, just tie Azalea to a pole and have her be a nonstop air-sniffer," the rabbit joked. "When she smells the rain-clouds, she can give us a yawp."
"I can't stop my nose from sniffing," the western jumping mouse defended. Her nose, as she said this, sniff-twitching incessantly. "I can't stop it. If you're gonna make fun of my nose ... "
"I'm not! I just ... it's cute, is all." A giggle-mew, obviously amused. "Mouses have extra-cute noses."
"I'm just saying," the captain injected, "that we haven't built any shelters yet. All the temporary shelter material from the ship was, uh ... melted in the fires. When we crashed. Before we could extinguish them. Some of the stuff was thrown from the ship, but it's only enough to construct one or two shelters, maybe."
"How many does each one fit?"
"Well, they're tents, basically. Each fits two furs."
"So, we'd have six furs ... out in the cold and the rain."
"If it comes to that, yes," the red squirrel went, sighing. Her eyes looked around. "Unless we can find a thick group of trees, in a little depression. Or a cave, even. Somewhere that offers better protection. We can't stay camped out where we are ... "
"Well, one good thing about rain: it might help our fur. My pelt's never felt so ... " The rabbit made a 'blah' face. "You know?"
"Believe me, I know," Talkeetna whispered. A squirrel's pride and joy was their tail. "I normally spend an hour a day," she admitted, "grooming my tail. Licking it, combing it, shampooing it ... Antioch says it's fine. He strokes it, sniffs it. I washed it in the stream yesterday, but it ... in the back of my mind," the captain admitted, "I'm obsessing about my tail. I want it groomed to PERFECTION." A sigh. "I don't think any amount of rain is going to ... ease my mind on that ... " A pause.
"My tail doesn't have any fur," Azalea said, as if bragging.
"Oh, that's a tail? I thought it was a fishing line," Cordova teased.
"You're just jealous," the mouse assured, smiling, sticking out her tongue. "At least my tail doesn't have sticky-burrs in it!" The mouse pointed.
The rabbit craned her neck, frowning. "Dammit. I thought I got all those out ... I RUE sticky-burrs." And she looked back to the mouse. "Well, maybe your tail's all fun and games right now. But if we were in the sun? It'd get all burned. And if it were cold out, your tail would be all dry and chapped and falling off from frostbite. I'd rather have fur on my tail, thank you very much. Anyway, it's more ... sensual," she rabbit-purred, nodding to herself. She flicker-flicked her tail for show.
"Mouse-tails are plenty sensual. Plenty of furs get hot from mouse-tails." A pause. "Anyway, I'm more worried about ... you know, if our flea dosages run out before we're rescued. THEN we'll be in trouble." She shivered at the thought of fleas. "I took my dosage just over three weeks ago," she said, referring to the gel that was rubbed on and soaked into the nape of the neck. "It'll probably only protect me for another five days ... " Her whiskers twitched with worry.
"Would you two listen to yourselves?" Talkeetna asked. "I'm glad there aren't any admirals around to hear this ... you sound like a bunch of unprepared civilians. You'd never know you were officers." But she smiled as she said this. And the smile faded as she realized, aloud, "But I guess you are civilians, now. We all are. I mean ... our commissions are worthless. We're no longer part of the fleet. The only reason we're still keeping rank is ... habit. Because we need structure. And because we're a crew. A family. But ... if we get off this place, what will we do? We don't have a ship anymore," she breathed. "Reverie's done for ... " Her whiskers twitched.
"Captain, it'll be okay," the mouse assured, quietly. "We'll be rescued. Maybe, if the snow rabbits rescue us, we can ... you know, ask for asylum. You know that one ship that was always on the news? Arctic? They had warm-blood furs serving on there. Maybe we can do that, too ... join the snow rabbit High Command."
"Maybe," Talkeetna agreed, lost in thought. Her tail flicked. Her ears cocked.
"ANY rescue party that even tries to rescue us ... is gonna end up just like us. Stranded," Cordova assured, "if we can't shut down these magnetic amplifiers."
"It doesn't make sense," the mouse whispered, whiskers twitching. Twitching. Her long, multi-colored tail snaked behind her, in slow, lazy fashion. "By harnessing the magnetic powers, whoever was behind it ... made it impossible to land or even LEAVE this place. So, what was the point? I mean ... if you can't leave, and you can't come, then how does the magnetic power help you? Unless you maintained a society here?"
"I haven't seen any traces of a society," Cordova assured. "But that doesn't mean there wasn't one. Maybe there was. Maybe there was an accident."
"An accident?" Talkeetna asked.
"When you're messing with powerful elements ... accidents can happen," was all the rabbit said, voice quiet. And she took a breath or two, walking, padding along. Keeping an eye on their surroundings. Ears tall and slender, listening to the birds in the trees. And all the other sounds. Ever alert. "So ... like I was saying earlier," she started up, "about Wasilla ... "
"You can't ... "
" ... figure her out, no," the rabbit repeated. "She's ... "
" ... aloof," Talkeetna supplied. Her bushy tail flicker-flicked. "Well, she's from the mountains. She's married to a predator. I mean ... I'd be surprised if she DID make sense." A pause. And a breath. "Not to say anything bad about her. She's a good officer. She's never let me down ... "
"I'm not questioning her capabilities on the job," Cordova assured. "I just, you know ... I try to be friendly, and she brushes me off."
"She's very private," Azalea supplied, her big, pink dish-ears swiveling.
"Anti-social, more like it. And what does she see in Konka?"
"I don't think we should be talking badly about fellow crew-furs behind their backs," the captain instructed. "Let's the change the subject."
"Mm." A sigh. The rabbit's foot-paws making soft, treading sounds as she padded on the soft, grassy forest floor, which was a bit rough in spots. "Watch out for those mushrooms there. Don't step on 'em."
The mouse and squirrel adjusted their path to skirt the mushrooms, which were white and grey and like toadstools.
"Mushrooms are funny," Azalea commented. "I mean, I can imagine God making the universe, and coming up with those ... " A giggle-squeak. "Just makes me smile." A breath. "Everything, though ... if you think about it. How intricate it all is. Like snowflakes? How they're perfectly symmetrical and crystallize into these shimmering, beautiful designs ... I mean, snowflakes, you know? And there are billions of them, and none of them form the same. They're all different. It's just too much to grasp."
"I know the feeling," Talkeetna replied, looking around. "I haven't been in nature for a while, I'll admit. I guess, if we hadn't crash-landed, I wouldn't have been ... for quite some time." A pause. A breath. And her bare foot-paws padding, padding. "Nature just becomes a background. Something ... that blends into this and that, and I don't really give it any of my time or effort. I just take for granted that it'll be there, and that ... it's easy to miss beauty, I guess," the red squirrel breathed, "is my point." A sigh. "Wanna know a secret?"
"What?" the mouse pressed, giving a squeak.
"I've been itching to climb a tree since we got here. Squirrel instinct. I'd love to hitch to the top of one of these ... " She craned her neck as she went.
"Then do it," the rabbit prodded, grinning. "I've always wanted to see my captain climbing up a tree."
"I'm sure you have." A wry smile. A sigh. "No, I just wish we could enjoy this planet under better circumstances."
"Well, I don't know about you, but I've enjoyed the heck of out of it thus far," Cordova stated, grinning cheekily. "And don't tell me you two haven't been, either."
"There's more to enjoying nature than having sex in it," the jumping mouse said, with somewhat of a frown. She rolled her eyes. Her whiskers twitched.
"Maybe. But it helps, doesn't it?" Another grin, and a chuckle. "Mm ... "
" ... typical rabbit." The mouse shook her head. "I mean, look around at the trees, flowers, the sun, the clouds. The bugs. Everything. I mean, there's so much to observe and watch and ... write about. Paint. Just pick up pebbles or things in your paws. Touch it all. Just loll about in it ... "
" ... I've BEEN lolling."
"Yes, but nature has an aesthetic beauty that ... "
" ... I appreciate the aesthetics of nature, Azalea. I love nature just as much as anyone. I notice details."
"Yeah, but it's ... it's ... " A sigh. "I don't even know what I'm trying to argue about."
"Neither do I," the rabbit confessed.
"You can just be frivolous sometimes, is all," was the mouse's decision. "I wish you'd be a bit more ... "
" ... spiritual? I'm not a rodent." Her black bobtail flicker-flicked like a flame.
"You don't HAVE to be in order to ... "
" ... I have faith, okay? I do. I just ... my species is a bit more freewheeling. Doesn't lend well to traditional devoutness." A giggle. "And who are you to be gettin' on me about drooling over sex? You're no different." A breath, and the rabbit looked at her scanner again. She frowned. "This isn't working at all. It was working yesterday."
"Must be the magnetic interference," Talkeetna said. "Maybe it's building up in the circuitry. Depolarizing the sensors."
"Look, I'm telling you," Azalea assured, her tail snaking, "that I can get us there. We're almost there." They were, for a start, going back to the strange, little pyramid she'd found the other day. "Alright?"
"I'm not saying you can't," was Cordova's assurance.
"My nose is one hundred percent," the mouse defended.
"I'm not saying it's not ... "
"What ARE you saying?"
"Girls," Talkeetna interrupted, calmly. "Let's settle down. I know we're under a bit of stress ... but, come on, okay? Alright?"
Sheepish nods from the other two. Their captain never yelled. Never threw down harsh reprimands. She was always reasonable and diplomatic when reigning in her officers. Her demeanor being such that you felt guilty for acting so childish, simply because she, herself, was so well-behaved. You didn't want to her let down.
"Good," the red squirrel whispered, smiling reassuringly. "Now, come on. If Azalea says we're almost there, we're almost there ... "
They were in the woods, near the stream.
Just the two of them.
Taylor let out a soft, reverent breath, his brushy tail with the bold, brown stripes swaying slightly on the ground, a few sticky-burrs stuck in there. But he didn't so much care right now. His eyes were peacefully closed and his angular ears were carefully cocked, picking up every word. Every note. Every warble coming from his lovely warbler. His head was in her lap, so comfortably. As she sat, leaning against a tree-trunk, her feathery fingers stroking through his fur with tenderness. So beautiful was her voice, as she sang to him, a lullaby. A poem. As she sang ...
Weep you no more, sad fountains;
what need you flow so fast?
Look how the snowy mountains
heaven's sun doth gently waste.
But my sun's heavenly eyes
view not your weeping,
that now lies sleeping.
Softly, now, softly lies
sleeping.
Her voice was like a bell. It had been the first time he'd heard it, and it was that way now. Be she singing or speaking, it soothed his rodent turmoil. Clear, crystal, in perfect, lucid pitch. Her tone so warm, and never breaking, never faltering. She could hold those words, hold those notes. She would trill and whistle them through and through, with a stage-held, symphonic beauty. She was a natural-born singer. And her confidence showed in every syllable. She needed not the backing of true instruments, though. She, herself, was an instrument. Of grace. And beauty.
And the chipmunk, sighing, slipping into a sleepy state, just listened. Just listened to his wife, his love, as she sang:
Sleep is a reconciling,
a rest that peace begets:
doth not the sun rise smiling
when fair at even he sets?
Rest you then, rest, sad eyes,
melt not in weeping,
while she lies sleeping.
Softly, now, softly lies
sleeping.
"Darling," the chipmunk whispered, unable to open his eyes. They were heavy. And too desirous of rest. "Oh ... "
She stroked his cheek. And brushed his twitching whiskers. "Sleep, my love."
"Darling, I ... " A heavy sigh. A breath through the nose. "Darling ..."
" ... love you, too," she responded, putting her feathery fingers to his lips. Gently stopping him from saying anything more. "Sleep."
"What ... about you," he whispered, yawning heavily. His whiskers twitched, and he sighed through the nose.
"I desire to sing," the warbler told him. "I shall sleep when I am spent of it." And she beak-smiled, still petting his fur.
And, so, Taylor drifted to sleep.
While Aspera sung as her heart commanded her to.
"Don't touch it," Azalea warned. Her whiskers twitched. "It'll shock you."
"I'm not gonna touch it," Cordova assured, peering at the mechanical pyramid. It was still glowing red at the peak, still a foot wide (on all four sides) at the base. "But if we can't scan it, and we can't move it ... what are we gonna do? I mean ... "
"It's probably hooked up to a network," Talkeetna reasoned. The captain had her arms crossed. Her nose did a few twitches. "So, there must be a control center. It has to be on the planet."
"Doesn't mean it's close," the rabbit replied. "Could be a thousand miles away."
"Well, let's hope it's not," was all the red squirrel whispered.
Azalea sighed, shaking her head a bit. "Who made these things? What happened to them?"
A new voice, light, flowery, and female, answered, "We are the builders."
The furs spun, a blur of frantic ears, whiskers, and tails. But their limbs too anxious to move. Hearts hammered as they froze in place.
"Butterfly," the western jumping mouse finally said.
"We are the monarchs here."
"Monarchs?" the captain asked, swallowing. There were three of them. Three butterflies. Three of them, she realized. And three of us. "The monarchs ... monarch butterflies? Is that your species?" Her eyes darted. She wasn't an expert on insects. Knew hardly anything about them, in fact. But the striking orange and black patters on those 'buttery' wings were instantly recognizable.
"We are the monarchs here," the lead butterfly repeated.
Cordova, sighing, trying to quell her rabbit urge to bolt and hop away, whispered to Azalea, "What happened to your nose, huh? You should've smelled them coming!"
"They have no scent," the mouse insisted nervously. Herself fighting the urge to scurry. Scaring or sneaking up on prey was a surefire way to throw them into disarray. They were all worked up.
The rabbit, upon the mouse's observation, sniffed the air, raising her brow. They didn't have a scent. And their wings, so delicate and bold, so colorful, must've moved them with silent effort. Talk about stealth!
"We have been studying," the lead butterfly told them, in her slow, calm voice, "and documenting your activities. Since," she breathed, "your arrival."
"You've been watching us? Why?" Talkeetna asked. Of the three furs, she was the calmest. But, then, she'd been vigilantly trained and tested to handle pressure. That's why she was a captain.
"You are curious."
"Our ship, Reverie ... crashed because of your activities," the squirrel said. "You're mining the magnetic output of the planet's crust. Harnessing it. Amplifying it."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"You are curious."
"That's not an answer," Talkeetna whispered. The breeze was picking up. It ruffled through her rich, reddish fur. Her whiskers twitched, and her eyes took on a serious focus. "We need you to turn your devices off."
"We are the monarchs here."
"We're waiting to be rescued. A rescue ship can't deploy shuttle-pods ... because of the fierceness of the magnetic field you're maintaining."
"We have been studying and documenting your activities. Since your arrival."
"You already ... "
" ... come with us."
"Why? Where?" Talkeetna squinted.
"You are curious," was the enigmatic response, which took on a different meaning this time. Perhaps. It was hard to tell. Regardless, the lead monarch began to flutter away with a lazy ease, her multiple, spindly legs so dainty.
The rabbit and mouse looked to their captain.
"We might as well," she whispered to them. So, they followed the butterflies.
Ten minutes later, they were underground, walking through a blue and purple-lit habitat. The three furs squinted, the colored lights being a bit hard on their eyes. Flowers were all over, in huge pots. Thousands of flowers. Butterflies clustered around them, drinking of nectar. And a fine mist, now and then, would drift down from the ceiling, creating droplets and tiny pools all over, which the butterflies also sipped from. Their tubular mouths curling, uncurling. The air temperature was warm. Muggy. Different from what it had been in the forest. Some butterflies were still, like statues. Others seemed to be exercising their wings.
"Why are you living," Talkeetna asked, squinting, "underground?"
"It is safer."
"Are they breeding?" Cordova asked, wide-eyed, tail flickering. "Over there? In the corner ... " She pointed a paw.
"Trust you to hone in on that," Azalea said, teasingly. But she followed the rabbit's gaze, all the same, trying to get a good look. Just as intrigued.
"They're makin' ... larvae-things, or ... " The rabbit trailed. "I don't even wanna know," she decided. Insects had always been creepy to her.
"Safer?" Talkeetna asked, ignoring the other two. She squinted. "What do you mean 'safer'? What happened to you on the surface? Is something up there?"
The butterfly didn't response. Instead, she led them through a sliding door, into a small, screen-filled room. The butterflies that had been flanking her stayed behind, out in the habitat area. Letting her lead the furs alone. There were computers in here, and glowing, blinking lights. An observation room, it seemed.
"This is the nexus."
"Nexus?" the squirrel whispered.
"This is the nexus," the butterfly repeated.
"A control center, you mean?" Azalea whispered, her tail snaking in erratic fashion. Her whiskers twitched. Nose going, going, going. "This is where the magnets are, uh ... where you run them?"
"We do not run the magnets."
"You harness them," Cordova supplied. "Right?"
"This is the nexus."
"I think we're getting ahead of ourselves here," Talkeetna injected, trying to be diplomatic. "We didn't get a proper introduction. My name is Talkeetna. I'm the captain of our ship, Reverie. This is my science officer, Cordova, and my Ops officer, Azalea. Now," she breathed, swallowing. "You know who we are ... may we ask who YOU are? Do you have a name?"
The monarch fluttered a bit. Gently. Her abdomen, her slender body, was covered in a sort of black fur. Or black hair. With white dots. Almost like she was polka-dotted. And those broad, orange and black wings that, if ingested by a predator, would prove poisonous. Her black, tubular proboscis curled and uncurled. Curled and uncurled.
Azalea swallowed, watching her. She may have been gorgeous, but she was also kind of scary. It was those compound eyes. The eyes that were fragmented like broken mirrors. You could easily see your reflection in those eyes, even in the dim, blue light. And her antenna never stopped moving. I guess, the mouse thought, her antenna are a butterfly's version of your own nose and whiskers. They never stop.
"You would not be able to pronounce my name," the butterfly told the squirrel.
"Well, I need something to call you by ... "
Cordova suggested, "Mariposa. That's a word that means 'butterfly'."
"Can I call you that?" Talkeetna asked the monarch. "Mariposa?"
Her proboscis furled and unfurled. "You may."
"Well, Mariposa. About our ... "
" ... sensors have captured your activities since your arrival," Mariposa said, turning to face the screens. "We did not anticipate your crashing here. However, when it became apparent that you had ventured too close to the magnetic influence, we prepared to observe you."
"Observe?"
"Wait a minute," Azalea interrupted. "What have you been observing, exactly?"
"Your interactions. Your activities. We are especially interested in your mating habits."
"Whoa," Cordova breathed. Her waggle-ears waggled. "You've been watching us BREED?"
"Yes. You do it much differently than we do. I have plenty of documentation of ... " The butterfly trailed, antennae waving. "I sense negativity."
Cordova started to open her muzzle.
But Talkeetna held up an authoritative paw to stop the other two from saying anything. And said, herself, lowering her paw back down, "You do. Our breeding is very ... private." She flushed beneath her cheek-fur, letting out a breath. "You have no right to watch us doing that."
"Why not? Are you ashamed of it?"
"Look, I don't know," the red squirrel went, trying to be reasonable, trying to maintain a sense of diplomacy, "how insects do things ... but we're not insects. We don't like being watched. Surveyed. Especially not when we're ... breeding," she whispered. "It's a spiritual act."
"We simply wish to learn of mammals. This is the only way. We do not get visitors often."
Talkeetna sighed, closing her eyes. And, opening them, and rubbing her forehead with a paw, she whispered, "We are not visitors. And we are not specimens in a zoo. We are here entirely by accident. We WANT to leave. But we can't unless you turn off your magnetic amplifiers. When we're rescued, and when we leave ... you can turn them back on if you want. But, please ... "
" ... we cannot turn them off."
"What do you mean?" Cordova asked, squinting.
"We are reliant on them."
"Reliant?"
"As insects, we can see," she said, with quiet reverence, "magnetic fields. They are ... brilliant." Her wings slowly opened, slowly closed. "They are prized. They benefit us."
"You feed off the magnetic fields?"
"It keeps them away."
"Who?" Talkeetna pressed, squinting.
Wings slowly fluttering. "Them."
"Who's them?"
Mariposa was quiet for a moment. "Them," she said again.
Cordova sighed.
"It might be," Azalea said, "that she doesn't know how to ... tell us what 'them' is, you know, in our language. Maybe you can describe what 'them' is?" the mouse asked politely.
"They are small. They are of one cell. They cause us harm."
Cordova, being the science officer, soon clicked in with, "Protozoans."
"Proto," Mariposa echoed, "zoans. They will come."
"The magnetic field keeps them away? Keeps you from getting sick?" Talkeetna asked. "Why should you have to worry about ... "
" ... their immune systems aren't nearly as advanced as ours," the rabbit realized.
"The magnetic fields neutralize them. If we turn off the magnet, they will come back."
A sigh. "But, surely, just turning off your devices for a DAY ... perhaps we can use your sensors, and when we detect a friendly ship coming close, you can turn off the devices. They can come down, get us. We leave. All in a few hours. If we coordinate our efforts, we can ... "
" ... not lose you. If you leave, we will have no others to observe."
The red squirrel squinted, her fur bristling. "I told you," she whispered. "We are not specimens in a zoo."
"We cannot turn off our devices. They will come."
"I'm sure we can work out something," Talkeetna insisted. "Please." She was trying not to get frustrated. She had to keep telling herself that she was dealing with butterflies here. Don't lose patience. They're different. Be patient. You'll get through to them, eventually. And don't sound so desperate. "But a snow rabbit ship may come looking for us ... in another fix, six days. A week. When they do, if you don't turn off the devices, if the field isn't lowered ... they'll crash. Like us. You'll have a WHOLE lot of furs, then, on this planet. And then a ship will come looking for them, too. Pretty soon, you might have hundreds of furs." A pause. And she padded a step or two closer. "And I don't think you want that. Do you?"
"We value our privacy."
"As do we." A head-tilt, whiskers twitching. "We need to breed. But it hurts our feelings to have you watch it. It makes us ... upset," the red squirrel said, settling on the word. "Do you understand?"
"You wish us to observe you ... only when you are not breeding."
"We wish to not be observed at all, but ... " A nod of acknowledgment. "If you want to observe our non-breeding activities, you may do so. You have our permission. But ... we would like your permission to leave this planet when help does come. Will you allow us to? Will you help us?"
"If we help you leave," Mariposa said, "then you will let us observe your breeding."
Talkeetna sighed, rubbing her forehead again. And she looked to the other two.
"I don't like it," Azalea said quietly. She was upset. "They've no right."
"I don't like it, either," Cordova added, "but it's ... not like they're physically there, standing beside us. Look, we'll be gone in a week, if things work out. And, anyway, it's not like we can stop them, can we? How do we know they'll stop observing us even if they claim they will?" A singular whisker-twitch. "We have no bargaining room here. They have everything we need. They don't need us for anything," she realized, "other than their own curiosity."
The red squirrel's whiskers twitched. "That's just it." A sigh. "I don't like feeling like I'm ... being used," she whispered, looking to Mariposa, "to satiate the curiosities of others. Like we're toys, or pets, or ... shows."
Mariposa was saying nothing. Just listening.
"Alright," the squirrel finally whispered, swallowing, nodding lightly. She was flushed hot beneath the fur. "You can watch us doing ... whatever we're doing. Observe. Study. Satisfy your curiosity. But when a ship comes to rescue us, you WILL agree to turn off your devices long enough to let us leave. A few hours of exposure shouldn't allow the protozoans to hurt you." A whisker-twitch. "I don't want to fight with you. I really don't ... I'm not feral. But if the survival of my crew is threatened ... " She trailed. "Do we have an agreement?"
Her proboscis moving about, antennae waving, Mariposa said, "Agreed." And her wings opened and closed. "I shall show you back to the surface. When you next have need of us, you will know where to find us."
"Believe me, we'll come knocking," Talkeetna assured, feeling slightly uncomfortable. The butterflies had she and her crew at a distinct (and embarrassing) disadvantage. I do feel like a zoo specimen, she thought to herself. But they had to get off this planet. And Cordova was right: they were at the mercy of the butterflies. If they didn't cooperate, the furs would have to get what they wanted through force. And that, frankly, was not an option.
Talkeetna just hoped no other surprises popped up anytime soon.