The Truly Repentant
"Captain's personal log, star-date ... date," he whispered, trailing, narrowing his eyes. The lighting in his ready room was dim. Casting shadows. Shrouding much of the lingering damage. "Computer, what day is it?"
A weak, short response. Static-filled. Unintelligible. The computer was still on the fritz.
Graham just let out a breath. And continued, wearily, "I need to talk about this. To justify what I've done." A pause, his ice-blue eyes darting. He padded to his couch, and slowly sat. Leaning back. Continuing, "I can see where it all went wrong. Where I went wrong ... "
The war with the Federation, brief as it was ... was over. Ended. At first glance, a good result. But I've come not to trust 'results.' Results can change on you. They are malleable. Is it true? That history is written by the victors? And if we are the victors, are we not writing history based on our own ... biases?
Many times before, I have seen wars end. I have seen wars have 'good ends.' Only, in retrospect, I always come to realize that there is nothing good in war. And, therefore, a 'good end' to any war ... is a fantasy. No, this was not a good end. I lost three crew-furs. Three of my snow rabbits. Other ships lost more. Other ships ... were entirely destroyed. Lives lost. Resources ... gone. And for what? A one-day border skirmish? A mini-war? Was there a point? Is there EVER a point?
A pause. And a pained, shaky breath.
And if furs are, as I know they are ... if they're dying out there, every day, how can I sit here and worry about the finer points of morality? No, I ... I have to keep my eye on the prize. Do what must be done. Doesn't there come a time, when you're pushed and pushed and pushed, and morality ... must be put aside? When lives are on the line, and following morality will get MORE furs killed, am I still to be 'moral' ... ?
My Christian conscience says 'yes.'
Another pause. Longer, this time.
But I didn't follow my Christian conscience this time. I followed ... my own sense of pride. My own ... self.
A swallow.
I made a mistake.
Going to quiet.
The snow rabbit stood up, padding a bit. Back and forth. Bobtail not flickering as much as it should've been. Before going to the food processor. "Glass of ice water." A pause. "Please." The nicety added to make himself feel more civil. Not because the computer recognized manners.
The processor whir-whir-whirred. The crystal glass materializing, filled with clear water. Ice cubes bobbing at the surface.
"At least you still work," Graham told the food processor, proceeding to take a dainty sip of the water. And another. Licking his lips, clearing his throat, and returning to the couch, where he sat. Uncomfortably. Holding his water glass with both paws. He looked down at the floor. Realizing his log entry was still open. Realizing he needed to continue.
So, he did.
We were returning from the border. Yellowknife had been damaged enough ... to warrant extensive repairs. We were making the two-week journey back to the snow rabbit Home-world. My home. Our ... home.
Of course, I was in sickbay. I had severely burned my paws. And suffered a light concussion. Part of me wished I had been hurt ... more severely.
But our resident warbler is a good doctor. For a bird.
A pause.
I've never understood birds. They are ... irrational creatures. Even more so than 'warm-blood' furs. They sing for no reason. They are full of flight. They are ... hard to read.
But Aspera treated me. And a few days went by. Our warp engines were not operating at full capacity. We could only achieve warp three. This was adding a few days to our journey, but it was the best we could do. All three of the deceased crew-furs were on the engineering staff. We had a shortage of engineers, and Aisling was still recovering from her wounds. Which left Konka in charge of the department. Him and our snow rabbit engineers working around the clock, without sleep, to get us more power. To shorten the trip.
So they claimed.
I believe they simply wished to keep busy. Non-stop work ... doesn't allow the mind to wander. It doesn't give you time to think. I believe there was little they could've done, without a station's repair facilities, to fix anything on the ship. As damaged as we were. But they needed something to do. So, I allowed them to do it, checking in on them now and then.
Days passed.
We were still mending. A slow healing had descended, and ...
A pause, and a sip of water. Another sip. And then a gulp. And a sigh.
... or maybe it was pride.
Engineers have their pride. As do doctors. As do captains. Pride is what keeps us from God ... is what they say. Is what I've heard. Pride is that creature, that intangible thing that convinces us that we can draw upon an 'inner strength,' and that we're capable of doing anything on our own. As long as we set our minds to it.
Pride is a lie.
We are very much ... helpless.
Weak.
Without the Lord's life-force, without His grace, His blessing, His watch ... we would be nothing. Would accomplish nothing.
Pride is independence taken too far.
It is many things, I suppose. And I suppose, also, that we are all afflicted by it. I admitted that, didn't I? I am not trying to deny it. But, the more I think about it, the more I realize that pride is a source for every stumbling, every struggle ... there are other facts, I am sure, but pride is always there.
Always lurking.
Our engineers did not want to admit that they couldn't fix the ship on their own. Just as I did not want to admit that ... I would never cross certain lines. That I would never ...
A troubled pause. Whiskers giving a singular twitch.
We hit a snag. Halfway home. Some convergence of ... elements, substances. I do not know exactly what happened. The science is beyond me. Suffice it to say, the ship jerked. Sparked. Stopped. Went through a rift in space ... created by our own engines. A rift ...
A breath, looking around his ready room. His ears waggled once. Twice. And then stopped.
I didn't want to believe what Antioch was telling me. That we were suddenly 'on the other side.' The mirror universe. The snow rabbit science directorate had declared that such a place did not exist. But, then, the snow rabbit science directorate had previously insisted that time travel was impossible. They, unfortunately, do not realize that we are in God's universe. Our realm is of His making. And, with God, all things are possible.
So ...
... I accepted it. Quickly. As a captain, you have to make quick stands. Choices have to be made. You do not have the luxury of mulling things over. If my tactical officer was telling me that we were in the mirror universe, and if all sensor readings were confirming it, then ...
... we were in the mirror universe.
It was as simple as that.
Except for one little problem.
Little.
Maybe not so little. But, at the time, it all seemed so simple ...
"The dilithium crystals are shot," Konka said, with a scowl on his face. His arms were crossed, and he shook his head. "I do not understand."
"Lieutenant-commander, I need to know if ... "
" ... no. No, I can't get them working again. Not the crystals. They're shot," the coyote repeated, and he unfolded his arms. "This ... damn," he growled, slamming his fisted paw onto a console. " ... damn ship." The console chirruped (as if in pain), and a few electrical sparks resulted. The coyote heaved for breath. "I can't get the engines working without crystals. I need them to fuel the matter/anti-matter reactions."
"I am well-versed in warp mechanics," Graham assured, squinting in the dim disarray that was engineering.
"Then why are you asking me all this? Why are you wasting my ... "
" ... your time is my time. I am the captain. I know that you are temporarily in charge of engineering while lieutenant-commander Aisling is recuperating, but I am in charge of the ship. You report to me. And I want all the ... "
" ... facts? The facts are here," Konka said, gesturing around, "for anyone to see. This place is a mess. We aren't going anywhere."
"So, there's no way to recreate the accident?" Graham asked. "To get us BACK to our universe?"
"We can't recreate the accident unless the warp core is operational, and it's not gonna run without the ... "
" ... crystals," Graham finished, nodding quietly. He swallowed, letting out a sigh through his black nose.
That was my first moment of real doubt.
The first moment when I wondered ... if push came to shove, what would I DO to get my crew home? To get my ship home? To get myself home?
I should have told myself, 'Thank you, Graham. For remaining so calm ... now, go lie down. Go take a rest. Think things over. Some greater option will come to you.'
But I couldn't do that.
The longer we remained in the mirror universe, as 'sitting ducks' ... the riskier things became.
I sought out Antioch.
"We only have impulse engines. To get to the nearest planet on our sensors, it would, uh ... take at least a year. With warp, it'd take a day, but ... "
" ... long range sensors," Graham repeated.
" ... show three ships. Two of them are two days away. The third is eight hours from here."
"Can you give me more? Information about ... "
" ... well, the first two are big, bulky. If I didn't know any better, I would say they're 'Federation' cruisers. Or the Federation's equivalent in this, uh, universe," the marmot said. A pause. "The predator/prey roles in this universe are reversed." Another pause. "I'd suggest we avoid all contact with those first two ships."
"But they are heading in our direction," the snow rabbit said, pointing at the sensor read-out.
"I know," the marmot whispered.
Graham met the rodent's eyes.
"Sir, we can't fight them off ... when they reach us. They're bigger. We're damaged."
"I understand," was all Graham said, starkly. The weight of the situation pressing in on him. Crushing in on him from all sides.
"But, uh ... the third ship is actually smaller than we are. I think it's a 'predator' ship ... that is, what WE'D view as predators. But, in this universe, they'd be prey. Or something. I'm really not sure how all this works. All I have to go on are the security files from Luminous."
"That third ship. Why is she only traveling at impulse?"
"Probably doing some studies. Or ... I don't know, to be honest. They HAVE warp capability. They're also headed in our direction."
"Why?" The snow rabbit squinted. His uniform was a bit dirty. With dust and debris from engineering.
"Maybe they wanna help us?" Antioch asked hopefully.
"The only way they can help us," Graham said, darkly, "is if they give us their dilithium crystals."
"If they did that, they'd be stranded out here ... a year from any planet. At the mercy of any 'predator' ship that came by."
"They would, in other words, be in our position," Graham said, eyes unfocused.
"Yes," the marmot said slowly.
"Keep me posted, commander," was all Graham said.
I had made up my mind.
A breath.
That was the first misstep. Making up my mind. On my own. I didn't bother consulting God about the matter. If I had, if I had stopped, prayed about it ... I would've known what I was doing.
And that's why I didn't go to Him.
Because I knew that, if I did ... I would truly realize the magnitude of the sin I was about to commit. He would show it to me. But I didn't want to face Him. Out of shame, stubbornness. I was willing to ignore Him, to do anything for the sake of ... survival? Does that justify any action? Can any atrocity be committed ... and excused with 'survival instinct?'
One's survival instinct is never as strong as one's conscience.
That is part of what separates us from mere animals.
But my pride got in the way.
I didn't trust that God would save us. Instead, I could only trust myself. And how good am I ... at saving lives?
But, logical or not, I was convinced I could do this. And get away with it. Without any lasting repercussions. Either physically, mentally ... spiritually.
I believed too much in my own self.
But, no, the prize. I had to keep my eye on the prize! I had to win each and every war! And wasn't everything, now, a war? I am only twenty-two. I have been through three wars, and after so many conflicts ... you begin to READ situations AS conflicts. You begin to LOOK for fights.
You look for fights in order to prevent them.
Preemptive struggles.
I had to do EVERYTHING for the sake of survival. I had to get my crew back home. To our universe. To our world. And if I had to strand innocent furs in the barren stretches of space ... and sentence them to certain death at the paws of 'predators' ... wasn't that worth it? Wasn't that worth the lives of my own crew? My wife, and myself, and ...
Another sip of water. His paws shaking as he held the glass, now. The ice cubes audibly clinking inside.
... Ada. I love her more than ... more than I can say. And, maybe ... selfishly, I wanted her to be safe. More than I wanted myself to be safe. More than I wanted every other fur on the crew to be safe. I did what I did ... as much for HER ... as for everyone else.
And I went to her.
She had to know.
She had to know what I was about to do.
And I needed her blessing. I needed it badly ... as if, somehow, her permission would make this okay.
" ... that is what I plan to do."
Ada was quiet for a moment. Her eyes not meeting his. Before, finally, they slowly darted. To his gaze. "By doing that, you will become no better than a predator."
"By doing this, I will be saving all our lives."
"And destroying the lives of those furs on that third ship ... "
"They are strangers."
"And that makes it right?"
"It makes it ... easier," Graham admitted, at a determined, deadly whisper. In the darkness of their quarters. Everything, all over the ship, all of it was dim. And dark. Where was the crisp, clean whiteness? The white lights? The aesthetic colors and designs? All of it shrouded by wounds, by scabs of war. "Darling, I ... I do not wish to lie to you. I could never lie to you. That is why I am telling you this."
"And what do you expect me to say?" Ada whispered back. Her voice containing no judgment. No scorn. It was an honest question. And she wanted an honest question.
"I expect you to be ... dubious. Unpleased."
"Then you expect," she told him, with a tilt of her head, "correctly."
Graham padded a few steps closer. Closer to her. Standing only a foot away. He reached out with his paws, hesitating before putting them on her sides. He was unable to look her in the eyes as he whispered, very quietly, "In less than two days, those 'predator' ships will reach us. They will gut Yellowknife. Harvest her. They will enslave our entire crew. They will take you from me, and ... do things to you," he said, voice failing. He took a few breaths. "I cannot let them touch you ... I cannot ... we are not strong enough to fight them off. We cannot win."
His 'freeze' keeping his emotions from welling. Keeping him in check. In a way, keeping him from true, emotional release. Keeping him tortured. But his emotions were too raw. They would destroy him. They had to be frozen. And he had to live with it. It was how his physiology had been wired. And, before, it had never been a problem. But when you, as an individual, were tested, time and time and time again. Constantly. Constant pressure frayed you. And when you were frayed, your emotions bubbled, boiled. And steam built up. The snow rabbit was full of steam, and he had no way to release it. (And it was true that sex released steam. But a different kind. Not this kind of steam.) He could only squirm.
"Darling," he repeated. "I cannot ... I will not," he assured, "allow this ship and crew to be destroyed." A breath. "But if we raid that third ship, steal its dilithium crystals ... "
" ... we would be condemning them to the same death and destruction that we are desperately trying to escape."
"It is THEM or us," was the insistence.
"You are attempting to play God," Ada whispered. A strange serenity to her voice. "You are hurting inside. Everything that has happened ... these past years," she whispered. "It is all taking its toll on you."
"I am fine. I am just ... "
" ... acting without trust. Have you talked to Him? Don't you trust Him? He will deliver us from this situation. ASK Him to. We just need to be patient, to be ... "
" ... no. No," Graham said, shaking his head. "I cannot wait for God to assist us. I must act. On my own. Now. There is no time." Desperation in his voice. A prey-like fear. The fear of someone who had been hunted so often, for so long, that he could think of nothing but immediate action. React. Act. React.
Run.
"Then you do not trust Him," Ada said, sadly, tilting her head.
"I am prey. As are you. You know that we are built," Graham whispered, "for fleeing. For surviving. We are the hunted. Not the hunters." A slow inhale. And a sigh, licking his dry lips. He closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against hers. "We must do whatever it takes to survive."
"And that includes," she whispered back to him, her own eyes closed, her forehead also against his. "That includes ... BECOMING the hunters? Betraying our faith? Ignoring God's commands?"
"I am a captain. My duty is to ... "
" ... God. Your duty is to Him. Darling, I implore you. If we ... "
" ... wait any longer, we will miss our chance. We must act. Now. I am going to tell Taylor to set a course for the third ship. When we get close enough to it, we will launch a surprise attack. We will take over a shuttle-pod. Board her. A tactical team will fight its way to engineering, where Konka will extract their crystals. And then we leave."
"And what if some of their crew-furs are killed during the raid?"
"We will set our weapons to stun."
"The predator ships on approach ... will harvest them. Will gut them. Will use those furs for their own pleasures."
"Them," Graham repeated, "or us." A breath, and he hugged her, almost shaking. Whispering, "Darling, 'us' is not an option. We have no choice."
"There is always a choice," Ada whispered back.
Graham couldn't reply to that. Because it was the truth. Like a dagger, it sank into his conscience. Melting all the lies. It was the sheer truth. There was always a choice. The choices weren't always easy. Weren't always pleasant. But they were there.
We are more than the sum of our genes.
There is always a choice.
"I will not condemn you ... if you go through with this," Ada whispered to her husband. "Because I know what is at stake. I feel what you feel. And ... I love you dearly." Her arms tightened around him. "But I cannot give you my blessing. For I know this is wrong." A pause. "You know it, too."
He didn't answer that last part. "Just so long as ... as you do not stop loving me. I cannot live," Graham confessed, "without your love." He swallowed, eyes tightly shut.
"I will never stop loving you ... "
A breath. And a sigh of relief.
" ... but I believe you are making a mistake," she repeated. "I believe that, by doing this, you will damage your soul. And you may heal from it. But with all the other damages, with all the other scars you bear," she told him, "from all the wars and all the pains ... I fear that you will have a difficult time healing. It will be a long time coming."
"I shall worry about healing later ... when we are safe."
"I would worry about it now. There is a bigger picture here ... "
" ... that I do not have time to scour over. I can only see what is in front of me," Graham said.
I was blind.
I was single-minded.
I had to do this. It was the only option. In my mind, it was the ONLY way. Maybe I was keeping myself from other, more subtle possibilities. Maybe I was desperate. Maybe Ada was right. All the recent wars, all the recent ... everything. Everything had gotten to me. Even a captain, even ME ...
... even I have limits.
A captain isn't allowed to be a 'normal' fur.
We have to be MORE.
And maybe the stress of that had finally impaired my ability to make good decisions.
I suppose it doesn't matter now ...
A hesitation.
We went to the 'third' ship. They hailed us. Saying 'hello,' asking some innocent questions. We responded with weapons fire. At first, the crew was hesitant to do this. They weren't as driven as I was. Talkeetna understood, I think. I think she truly understood. I cannot say how impressed I was when she took control of Yellowknife during the Federation battle. She was exquisite. For a rodent, especially. I have a true peer in her. She knows what I go through. She knows what a burden the captaincy is.
But the others ... they hesitated.
"Commander Antioch, you are under the mistaken impression that I am giving you a request. I am giving you an ORDER, and you will follow it ... or be relieved of your duties. DISABLE that ship," was Graham's terse, strict voice.
The marmot exchanged a glance with Talkeetna. As if seeking her permission. As if thinking Graham's state of mind was in question. Maybe the snow rabbit was mentally unstable. Maybe he was cracking.
The red squirrel, exchanging glances with her husband, only gave a sad, reluctant nod, her bushy tail twitching.
And, so the marmot did as told.
When the ship was disabled, Antioch and Seward led a boarding party. Konka accompanied them. They fought their way to the other ship's engine room, extracted the crystals ... and returned.
It was easier than I thought it would be.
Easier to actually accomplish.
I wasn't sure how to take that. I was somewhat shocked. Is it always a surprise? To sin? Sin is so easy. It isn't the ACT of sinning that is wrenching. It is LIVING with the act. It is like a poison that tastes sweet. And then, after a while, turns very bitter. A deadly lure.
When the boarding party got back, they all looked sick to their stomachs. They'd gotten their paws dirty. Stained. They hadn't wanted to do this, but I had ordered them. But ... but they KNEW, deep inside, that this was their best chance at survival. Their best chance of getting home. If they hadn't believed that, they would've mutinied. They would've refused to go through with it.
But they knew I was right.
So, they did it!
They did it. They had a choice to follow my orders, and they CHOSE to. Because they knew I was right.
And, if I was right, why wasn't I happier about it? About the apparent success of this? If we all did the right thing ...
... why were we so miserable?
A pause.
Then the captain of the 'prey' ship hailed us.
Maybe I should've ignored her. But I ... I had to be able to look my victims in the eyes, didn't I? I had to at least do that. Otherwise, I would've truly been a coward. So, I told Ada to answer the hail.
An uncomfortable hesitation. Paws shaking. A sip of water, and a singular whisker-twitch.
What they say about the predator/prey roles in the mirror universe ... it's all true. I do not know HOW that came to be. I do not know what kind of twisted psychology prompted it to happen, but ...traditional predators are the prey. And traditional prey are the predators. The captain of the ship was a femme ocelot. A feline. Graceful, powerful. In our universe, a feline would've been cool, arrogant. But this one ... she was crying.
Pause.
There are few things in life more disconcerting than seeing a feline cry. It is such an ... unexpected, eerie thing. It ...it's just not right. It's not supposed to happen.
She was very scared. And she looked at me, via the view-screen, and managed to say ...
" ... w-why are you doing this? Why are you doing this to us? The rodents won't show us mercy!" A sob. "Why ... " Her paws were wiping at her face.
Graham swallowed. And whispered, lamely, full of burning shame, "I have no choice."
"You could've ... asked us for help. If you NEEDED crystals! We ... we could've sheltered your crew, taken ... you ... we could've worked together and found SOME way ... " Her fear was preventing her from speaking. And, so, she stopped. Stopped speaking. And just shook her head. There was nothing else to do but lament. There were no more words that could be said.
This was a tragedy for both sides.
"Cut the channel," Graham ordered blankly. "Ada ... "
Ada hesitated. Before doing so.
Graham took a few breaths. And tapped his comm badge. "Konka."
"Yes?"
"How soon can you ... how soon before we can get the engines back online? And recreate the accident?" A swallow. "How long before we can leave this place?"
"Less than an hour."
"Good. Just ... do it," was all the snow rabbit said. And he lingered a bit. In the middle of the bridge. Not bothering to look at any of his crew-furs. He simply went to his ready room. And, once inside, slumped against the wall, sinking to the carpeted floor. "Dear Lord, what have I done?" he asked.
No answer.
A pained breath. "Dear ... Lord, please, do not forsake me. I am sorry. I ... I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry." He kept repeating it.
The deed had been done.
And I kept asking myself, even after we'd gotten home. Even after the whole plan had worked. Even after we were safe and those 'prey' were sentenced to a miserable life at the paws of those 'predators' ... even after, I asked myself if I was truly sorry.
Was I truly repentant?
Because, as I sit here, and as I think about it, I realize ... that, put in the same situation, I would make the same decision.
I would do it again.
It saved my crew.
It saved my wife.
It got us home.
It wasn't the RIGHT thing to do.
But it was the LOGICAL thing to do.
A breath.
So, why am I not comforted by that knowledge?
Pause.
We're back in our universe. A day away from the snow rabbit Home-world, and ...
He trailed, pausing for a moment. Trying to think.
... if I would do it again, then ... does that not mean I am not truly sorry? Or does that simply mean that I am a sinner? But therein lies the problem. We are all sinners. But we cannot use that fact to justify our sins. Just because we ARE sinners ... does not justify us freely sinning.
We must repent.
We must STOP.
During the past few days, things on this ship ... have returned to normal. Slowly. Every-fur is looking forward to being home, and ...
... they look me in the eyes.
They've gotten over it.
Because the blood isn't on their paws. They didn't make the choice. They didn't give the orders.
I did.
What happened ... is all on me.
And Ada was right. You cannot expect to knowingly wound yourself ... and to have those wounds heal quickly. Self-inflicted wounds are long-lasting. I will have to live with this.
I can live with this.
I have lived with worse.
I have done worse.
So, I CAN live with this.
I just ask, Dear Jesus, that you have mercy on me. Forgive me, please. Heal me. Dear Lord, help me to TRUST you. Kill my pride. Humble me. Please. Please, understand ... what I have been through. The pain. All I have ... seen. I need rest. I need ... I AM sorry, but ...
A sigh.
He couldn't finish that sentence. Because he knew that, following the 'but' was a desperate, well-crafted excuse.
And God does not accept excuses.
He only accepts sincerity.
" ... I am," the snow rabbit insisted. "I am sorry. Please ... I am sorry ... " They came out as pleas. As pitiful pleas.
The entire crew (including him) would get two weeks of shore leave once they reached S7, one of the snow rabbit space stations. They would arrive in just under a day. Rest was close. Was at paw.
But had rest come too late?
You have your love. You have love, he kept telling himself. That will heal you. You will learn from this. You will grow, won't you? God understands. You ARE sorry, aren't you? You wouldn't ever do this again, would you?
Silence.
Looking down to his water glass, he swallowed. And then downed the rest of the water. And let out a slow breath. And looked up. "Computer ... "
Chirrup.
" ... delete that ENTIRE log entry."