Things That Hop
"Should I alter course?" he wondered, whisker-twitching.
Graham considered, standing up. Padding away from his chair. And stopping behind Taylor's chair at the helm. Putting his paws on the chipmunk's shoulders. "Ada, you're sure it's not one of ours?" the captain asked, turning his head. Looking back to his wife (at the comm station).
"It is not."
"But it is in," Graham whispered, looking back at the viewer. Nothing but stars as far as the eye could see. "It is in our space," he finally finished, letting out a sigh. Yellowknife had left 'S7' two days ago, the repairs finished. Reassigned to mid-range monitoring and surveying (and the like). They were still at warp. But Antioch had reported something odd on short-range sensors. A ship of unknown configuration.
"The distress call," Ada continued, her delicate, snowy-white paws (save for the black palm-pads) dancing nimbly over her controls. She had a single ear-piece resting in one of her ears. An earphone. To hear comm traffic. To pick up sub-space noises.
Graham turned his head again.
"The distress call is still playing. A simple 'SOS.' No identification, no name ... just a request for help."
Taylor took a deep breath. And swallowed. "It could be a trap," the chipmunk whispered, his brushy tail (with the bold, brown stripe) flagging for a second. And then stopping. His angular ears cocked atop his furry head.
Graham, his paws still on the ensign's shoulders, admitted, "It could very well be." And the snow rabbit gave the chipmunk's shoulders a final, reassuring squeeze before turning, padding back to his own chair. But not sitting down. He bit his lip, considering. And then said, errantly, "This new carpet feels very nice ... on my foot-paws." An eye-smile, as he cast a glance at Antioch. "Does it feel nice on yours?"
"Now that you mention it," the solidly-built marmot said, his black nose sniffing a bit. His small, rounded ears perked. And his loose, bushy tail giving a few swishes. "It does." He scuffed his bare foot-paws on the ice-blue carpet. "Pleasing to the eye, too. Isn't there a whole science," he asked, "that deals with colors and how they affect moods ... stuff like that?"
"Can we focus?" Talkeetna asked, from the middle of the bridge. A few feet away from Graham.
"I was simply trying to 'lighten the mood'," Graham explained, his holy-white bobtail giving a few flame-like flickers. "I do know how to focus, Sub-Commander."
"I know, but ... look, Admiral Graham said all that stuff went on with Illustrious. And then a ghost ship? Maybe this," the red squirrel said, her bushy, arched tail twitching a bit. Meticulously groomed. Her auburn fur almost shining in the overhead light. "Maybe this is our ghost ship," she whispered.
Graham nodded quietly. His tall, slender ears giving a few waggles. "The question is ... do we approach and dare find out?"
"We're the only ship in this area. This is our route. It's our responsibility to investigate."
"But the ghost ship is said to contain a thousand furs ... we have just over fifty. We are much smaller. If it IS the ghost ship, or ... even Illustrious herself, we would be heavily outmatched. I would like to know more about the situation before ... "
" ... the only way," Talkeetna interrupted, "to know more about the situation is to move closer. I mean, Yellowknife's a Crystalline-Class ship. We have more advanced sensors. We're faster, more agile. I mean ... if we needed to, we could run for it."
"Perhaps," Ada said, "it is a GENUINE distress call from a genuinely-damaged ship ... and has nothing whatsoever to do with any 'ghost ship'. Perhaps we are letting our imaginations run away with us. Perhaps we are so accustomed to being thrust into major conflicts that we are now looking at everything through cynical lenses."
"Ever the psychologist," Graham said, eye-smiling. "But an apt analysis."
She tilted her head in response.
"I didn't know snow rabbits HAD imaginations," Antioch teased, gently. From tactical.
"Very logical imaginations. Maybe even boring ones. But ... they are," Graham assured, giving the marmot a bit of a 'arched brow' look. "They are there."
"I wonder what snow rabbits dream about, mm?"
"I'm sure you would like to know," was all Graham replied, eye-smiling even more.
"I would. Believe me ... you know, I've never read any snow rabbit literature, or ... used any snow rabbit holo-novels. I bet they'd be a blast."
"You are beginning to push your luck, Commander."
"Sarcasm aside, what should we do?" Ada said, trying to be a voice of reason.
Graham sighed, looking back at the screen. And squinting a bit, tilting his head. His ice-blue eyes focusing on the black void of space. And the stars. Out there was a ship. A real ship. A ghost ship. A trap. There was no way of knowing for sure. But, even at twenty-two years of age, Graham was seasoned enough to know when to be suspicious and when not to be. And this was definitely suspicious. Normally, a ship sending a distress call would offer SOME form of identification.
Taylor looked behind his shoulder. "Alter course?" he asked.
Graham nodded. Very slightly. "Do it," he whispered. And a sigh, and his eyes darted about the bridge. "But go to yellow alert," he told Antioch. "I'll be in my ready room."
"Why have we gone to yellow alert?" Konka demanded, his tail wag-wagging. His rugged features giving him that constant look of intensity.
"We are going to the aid of an unidentified ship," was Aisling's response, as her eyes darted over a master console. With big screens and lots of button-pads. She was monitoring the plasma flow and the matter/anti-matter reactions in the warp core.
"Are we expecting ... a fight?" the coyote pressed, squinting. Leaning against the wall. His blood pumped a bit faster at the thought. Unlike the prey on this ship, he relished fighting. Not that he wished for war, no. But what harm was a little skirmish now and then, to keep the claws sharp?
"We have been conditioned," was Aisling's honest (somewhat sad) response, "to EXPECT fights. So, we are being ... cautious," she said. And a few taps. Tap-tap. Beep-a-beep. "Is there something you wanted?"
"I've got nothing to do."
She turned her head a bit. Her ears waggling. "I asked you to polarize the ... "
" ... I did it."
"Oh." A pause. And a nod. "Well ... surely, there are other things which require attention."
The coyote just gave a low growl.
Aisling took in a breath. And let it out. And turned to face him.
Konka's golden eyes narrowed a bit. He straightened. He was taller than her. Stronger. But that hadn't kept her from breaking his muzzle the last time they'd 'tussled.' He'd come to realize that snow rabbits were very cagey. And their legs were unbelievably strong. He'd felt sore for two whole days after being kicked by her. It wasn't wise to turn your tail on one.
"I never ... thanked you," the snow rabbit whispered.
"For what?" A confused blink.
A sigh. "During the battle. With the Federation. When I was injured and ... when I went down," she said, "you took control. You did so with authority and competence. You kept engineering running. Your capability was a great asset. It helped us to survive."
The coyote said nothing for a moment. Only, "I used to be a chief engineer, myself. I know my way around an engine room."
"It wasn't just your academic knowledge. You had the ears of all my snow rabbits. I know there's often been a ... a tension," she offered, "between you and me. And you and the rest of my staff. But you earned their respect that day. And you earned mine, as well." A swallow, and her ice-blue eyes darted. "I am sorry that I was so hard on you."
The coyote was a bit taken aback. He hadn't expected to hear such words from her. And, furthermore, being a predator, he wasn't used to saying what came next. "You're ... you're welcome," he managed. "I, uh ... " He frowned. And continued, "Your engineers are well-taught. Had they been 'groomed' by a lesser chief ... no amount of authority or instruction on my part would've mattered. You are to be commended for your skill."
A polite head-tilt. "Thank you. Then ... there is nothing else for it," she said.
A confused look.
Her delicate paw extended. "Friends?"
He hesitated, and then nodded lightly. And took her paw in his. His paw bigger, stronger. Enveloping hers. A squeeze and a shake. "Friends," he whispered, and he let go of her paw. And pulled his arm back. And cleared his throat. "I am sorry about ... the, uh ... "
" ... that is long-forgotten," Aisling assured, quietly. Not wanting to bring it up.
An embarrassed nod on his part.
"May I ask you a question?"
"What kind of question?"
"A simple question."
A squint. And a relenting nod. Behind them, the cylindrical warp core thrummed and glowed, a swirling tube of lavender and periwinkle light, with conduits running out from the base, channeling the energy to the warp nacelles. A few snow rabbits padded around with monitoring devices. And a few others just lounged about. It was a quiet day in engineering, truth be told. And it wasn't unwelcome.
A breath. And she seemed to hesitate. "I have fought predators for much of my life. Arctic foxes, mainly. I ... during the war, I ... I was forced to kill. In order to survive. But, afterward, it traumatized me. It deeply hurt me. I ... it hurts me still. I have begun healing. With love. With faith. But, still, those memories ... and when I look at you, and when I look at every predator, I have to ask myself: why do they enjoy killing things? How can they do it? I just do NOT understand ... that aggression. That desire to dominate. Why?" she whispered, her eyes pained. She swallowed. "Why do you hunt us?" she asked. Speaking not just about snow rabbits. But in a broader context.
"Why do predators," he whispered, "hunt prey, you mean?"
A nod.
"Because it gives us pleasure," was Konka's honest response.
"Pleasure?" She did not understand.
A nod. "Yes. We do it ... because it feels good. To our instincts, that is. Maybe not to our hearts or our minds, but ... instinctually, the thrill, the adrenaline, the 'carnal' satisfaction." A breath. "We do it because we can." And he sighed through the nose. "It is not something I can explain. Though I will say that I regret ... my earlier actions. I cannot say that enough. And I am sorry for the scars you bear. If I reopened any of your wounds, I am ... "
" ... you don't need to apologize. You have already done so. And, truth be told, I am just as much to blame, am I not? It is easy for me, and for all prey ... to play the part of the helpless victims. But, in truth, if we did not react so radically to your actions ... our fear fuels your bloodlust. If we could control our fear, then ... perhaps ... " A shake of the head. "I do not mean to bring these things up. I know these are heavy issues. Simply put, you are the only predator I have peaceably served with. The only predator I have come to know on a ... a friendly," she whispered, "basis. And having spent my entire life fearing and hating the likes of you ... and now coming to view you as a friend, as a compatriot ... " She trailed. And then sighed. "In the back of my mind, I wonder if I am getting soft. I am beginning to let my guard down. Around you. The peace treaty with the Arctic foxes ... they're our allies, now. Our friends. They visit our space stations. We mingle. In the back of my mind, in my heart, I fear that we have spent so long building an impenetrable brick house ... and, now, we are letting the enemy inside in the hopes that we can be at ease."
"You fear betrayal."
"I fear," she whispered, "fear. I fear ... fear itself," she repeated. "I suppose that does not make much sense to a creature like yourself."
"Predators feel fear, as well."
"Do they?" she asked, narrowing her ice-blue eyes. "I have a hard time believing that the fear you feel ... is the same as the fear I feel. My fear is a dagger. Is yours a pebble?"
"We each bear different burdens. We each have our strengths and weaknesses. And while God made you ... while He made prey, He also made predators. He made us, too."
"The difference is that prey still follow the path. Predators have chosen to leave it ... and, in doing so, they have hardened themselves. And they are too prideful and too stubborn to admit they made a mistake. To come BACK to the path. And to change the errors of their ways."
"I am changing the errors of my ways. I am befriending you. I am getting along with the rest of the crew. My relationship with Wasilla has never been stronger," he defended. "I am changing ... the question is: am I changing enough to suit you?" A breath. Saying, "If you do not mind me saying so, I have come to feel that ... prey have little to no expectations. You have less pressure on you ... from society. From everyone. You are what you are. But us? We have expectations. We are supposed to be this. Supposed to be that. We must live up to this, live up to that. We are conditioned to put up fronts. So, the key to understanding the predator mind, a mind like mine," Konka told her, "is to understand that what you see on the outside is never what exists on the inside."
A slight nod. "And what does exist," she whispered, "on the inside?"
A bittersweet, grinning smile. His golden eyes glowing. "That would be telling," the coyote said.
Aisling's black nose sniffed a bit. And she allowed the answer. Giving a slight nod.
"But if you want to get into a deep, philosophical debate about the nature of predator/prey tension, I suggest we do it later ... "
"That is probably prudent. I am sorry for ... initiating such talk." A pause. And she looked back to the computer consoles. Was quiet for a moment. "It will never end." She returned her gaze to him. "You know that as well as I do. There may be stretches of peace ... moments of clarity and understanding, but ... the tension will never go away. It will always come back. And violence will always erupt. We are forces of water and fire, us prey and you ... predators. We will always struggle to coexist."
"Well, we live in a fallen universe. And such is the way of sinners," Konka said.
And Aisling raised her brow at that. Surprised. Not expecting such a religious comment from him. But it was a truthful comment. And she had to nod. And whisper, "Such is the way, indeed. Let us hope, then, that there are enough ... faithful souls," she whispered, "who understand that there is a better way."
"A harder way," he added.
"Harder ... but it yields greater fruits."
A nod.
The coyote sighed, looking around. Sniffing the air with his powerful nose. "I would venture to the upper level, but ... it will soon turn into a 'breeding ground'. And, as much as I would enjoy it, I somehow doubt that your snow rabbits would appreciate me watching them have sex."
"I doubt they would, no," was Aisling's simple response.
"But it won't stop me from hearing them ... from down here. And smelling it."
"Considering how predators get when ... aroused," Aisling stated, "I believe you would have a hard time controlling yourself. It would be best for every-fur," she cautioned, "if you stayed away from the upper level when it is being used for breeding. I do not want you to ... make a mistake."
Konka's gaze, turning serious, met hers. "Sage advice," was his whisper. "But I did know that ... I had not planned on going up there. I just enjoy the smell." A pause. Looking Aisling over. "Will your husband be coming to engineering?"
"I shall be going to the armory."
"I see." A toothy grin. His white-yellowish teeth, sharp and built for tearing into meat, showing. "Well, with all the sparks you two will be making ... just be careful you don't detonate any torpedoes or anything. Making love in an armory? There must be a certain thrill in that, I'm sure. Surrounded by all those weapons."
"It is simply where he works. And he is normally stationed there," Aisling said, tapping at a few controls, "by himself. It is private."
"So, you don't enjoy breeding up on the, uh, upper level?" He nodded his head at the second level of engineering. "With all your friends?"
"No."
"Cause you're not part of the breeding parties, right? That why?"
"That is correct. I would rather breed in private."
A nod. "Then find an access tube. Find a junction."
"What makes you think I often don't?" was the look. A slight eye-smile from her.
And Konka laughed, grinning. A nod. "Well, I once took Wasilla to the cargo bay. One time ... in one of the shuttle-pods, too, in the shuttle bay."
"Thrilling, I'm sure."
"Not as thrilling as ... an armory," the coyote teased, chuckling again. A shake of the head. And a sigh. "I find that funny. For some reason. Making love surrounded by weapons."
"I have never given it much thought."
"But it's beautifully ironic, don't you think?"
"When I am making love with Seward in the armory, I am very rarely thinking of irony ... my focus is elsewhere."
"Assuredly." A toothy grin. And a slight pause, tilting his head. "I heard your former breeding party disbanded. They ended up pairing off, didn't they?"
"They did. But ... I fear they did it because they felt they had to. And not because they are in love. I have offered to give them advice, but they still are ... resentful," she said, "toward me."
"That doesn't sound right."
"No." A pause. "It wasn't until I left the party ... to marry Seward," she whispered, "that I realized how damaging jealousy and possessiveness could be. The things that breeding draws forth. You cannot engage in casual love ... without hurting yourself. The problem is that the hurt is often subtle. At first. And so you don't notice it ... and by the time you do, the pain has taken such a deep root that it is hard to remove. And you end up repeating the same mistakes, falling into a cycle ... because you become addicted to self-destructiveness."
"An interesting viewpoint."
"Do you share it?" the snow rabbit asked, looking to him.
"I was a casual breeder, myself. Like you used to be. I know how it is. I know the thrill, the pleasure." A pause. "And I know the emptiness it leaves behind ... how you give yourself away, put your stamp on the souls of others. It weakens your own soul." A breath. "But, truth be told ... predators approach it differently than prey. For us, breeding is more about ... control. For show. For simple pleasure. Words? Speaking of emotions? Some predators will breed anything that moves. It is simply ... again, I cannot explain it. The culture is complex."
"Most cultures are."
The coyote nodded, his tail wagging. And he finally said, "Well, I'll ... filter off. Find something to do."
"Like Wasilla?" was the brow-raising question.
"Lieutenant-Commander," was the approving whisper. "I do believe you made a joke."
"Me? A snow rabbit? Making a joke?" A slight eye-smile.
"You're right," Konka teased. "Perhaps I was only imagining it."
"Perhaps." A head-tilt.
"And to answer the question ... I will be seeking out my pika soon enough. You needn't worry about that."
"I wasn't."
A predatory grin. And he began to pad away.
"Konka ... "
The coyote stopped. Turned. Looked to her with his intense, golden eyes.
Aisling hesitated, her whiskers giving a singular twitch. "It was nice," she said, "talking to you. I appreciate your ... friendliness." A pause. "Even if I am surprised by it."
"Believe me, Lieutenant-Commander. It surprises me, as well." A toothy grin. And a head nod. "But you are welcome. I find our being friendly to one another much more pleasing than ... breaking each other's bones." His smile faded. And with that, he moved off.
Aisling, brow raised, took a deep breath. And let it out through her cool, black nose. And turned her attention back to the computer consoles. For a minute. Before she stopped, looking around. Her whiskers giving a singular twitch. And she tapped her comm badge. "Darling?"
"Yes?" was Seward's answer. His voice having a distant din to it. An effect of the comm channel.
"Now?" was her simple, understood question. They might as well get it over with before they reached the 'distressed' ship. They wouldn't want to be distracted and deteriorating from 'too much steam' in the middle of a potential crisis.
A slight pause. "Yes," he replied.
An eye-smile. "I will be there in two minutes." And, cutting the channel, she padded out of engineering. A hop in her step. And her bobtail flickering with anticipation.
"I do not understand," said Teller, shaking his head. His ice-blue eyes narrowed. "It is ... a feeling? I do not understand."
"Well, you're not sick," Aspera said, putting her scanner away. "I can tell you that much."
"Then what is the matter?" A concerned ear-waggle.
"You're twitterpated."
"Twitter ... pated?" A slight shake of the head. "I do not understand," he said (for what must've been the tenth time).
"Twitterpated," she repeated, beak-clacking. Her eyes shining. "You're in love," she said, in a somewhat singsong tone, spreading her winged arms. And then lowering them.
"Oh." He bit his lip, eyes darting. His shoulders seemed to droop a bit.
"You married Chirkof, right?"
"Yes, but ... it was a marriage of convenience. We needed breeding partners. Our group disbanded, and ... we didn't fancy joining any of the other groups on the ship. The other groups were well-established, and we would've been ... awkward. And we couldn't LEAVE the ship. So, we married."
"Well ... in the process, you went and fell in love with her. You don't have a mental problem. You don't have a stomach issue, either. That fluttering you feel is called 'butterflies.' It's called being nervous."
"Why would love make me nervous?"
"Because it ... makes you vulnerable. Because you want it badly. You should really talk to HER about it. I mean ... " A pause. "This is kind of, uh, not really, uh ... how do I say this ... " She thought for a moment. "This isn't normally HOW it works. When two furs marry, they're in it for the love."
"Marriage is still a new concept to our species."
"I know. But ... it's not JUST a partnership. It's about love. And faith. And ... " A sigh. She wasn't sure how to explain this. She just shook her head and gave a tweet. "You'd be better off talking to the mouses. They're ALL about romance. They can put it more poetically than I can."
"I see," Teller whispered, sighing, slipping off the bio-bed. "I will attempt to do that."
"Or you could talk to Aisling. Or Seward. Or ... "
" ... no. No, I ... I do not feel comfortable talking to them."
"Teller ... "
" ... everything was fine. Our breeding party was fine. It was satisfying. It worked. And then they left, and Attu died, and ... " A sigh. And he straightened himself. "Now, I am very, very confused. And I do not like it."
"No," the warbler whispered. "You like logic."
"Yes." The snow rabbit straightened, his posture very proper.
"Well, I hate to break it to you, but ... life isn't always logical."
"No. But we should strive to MAKE it logical."
"Maybe. But, try all you want, you can't change the nature of life. You can only change YOUR nature. So, I'd spend more time looking at that, okay? Give Aisling and Seward a break."
Teller seemed to digest this. But said nothing in response. Only, "Thank you for your time."
"You're welcome." A twitter-chirp, and a movement of her tail-feathers, as she watched the snow rabbit pad away, and out the door. And, a few seconds after his departure, Cordova entered.
"What's Teller's problem? He looked distracted."
"Long story."
"I got time," Cordova said.
"Doctor/patient ... "
" ... confidentiality. Yeah, right."
Aspera fluttered her black-and-white wings. Her feathers soft, well-groomed. "He married Chirkof ... but they didn't marry for love."
"Why else WOULD you any-fur get married? If not for love?" the piebald-furred rabbit asked.
"Well, it was sort of a ... business arrangement, for them. If you know what I mean. Unfortunately, unlike Graham and Ada or Seward and Aisling ... they're not well-versed in, uh, love and faith. They didn't have a background in those things. To build on. They didn't have that 'spiritual revelation.' They misunderstood the whole concept, I think. And they rushed into it."
"They're not going to divorce, are they?" A concerned look.
"No. But Teller came in here thinking he had stomach problems ... his heart beating too fast ... turns out he's just in love with Chirkof."
"Poor thing. She loves him, too, though, right?"
"She hasn't said. He's afraid to ask her ... "
"Wow. Honestly, that's ... bizarre. Snow rabbit breeding habits? I mean, what a mess!" Cordova hopped onto a bio-bed. To a comfortable sit. She swung her legs a bit. Her bare-foot-paws. Swing-swing. Before stopping. And smiling. "Aren't you glad that you have me? A regular, uncomplicated rabbit? Snow rabbits are too complicated."
"Yeah. Regular rabbits like you? You're about as simple as furs get. Eat, sleep, breed. Really, you'd be perfect pets."
A slight giggle. And a playful squint. "I wonder if I should be offended by that statement."
"You intimated it first."
"I was just being self-deprecating," was the insistence.
"Really?" A teasing tone. "Anyway, what brings you here?"
"Nothing to do in the science lab. Not right now, anyway. And Kempton's busy doing some ... some task, or something. He won't be done for a little bit."
"So, you thought you'd hunker down in here, huh? In the meantime?"
"Not 'crashing the nest,' am I?"
"Funny. Birds. Nests. That's funny. I never hear that one," she said, rolling her glistening-black eyes.
"I thought so. I mean, for all I know, you and Taylor sleep in a nest, not a bed."
"We do no so thing. Ask him."
"Oh, I will." A smile, and a giggle. Her bobtail flickering and her ears waggling. "I will."
"You wanna help me with some tasks?"
"Tasks?"
"Yeah, refilling hypos, organizing cabinets ... "
"That's WORK, though. I didn't come to sickbay to work."
"No, you came to chat my ears off."
"You don't have ears," Cordova pointed out smartly, gesturing with her paws. "You just got ... holes in your head."
"They're ears to me."
"Don't tell me about ears," said the piebald-furred rabbit, waggling her antennae-like ears. "I KNOW about ears."
"Alright, alright." A sigh. A chirp, and a twitter-tweet. "Are you gonna help me, or not?"
A moment of playful consideration. And then Cordova slipped off the bio-bed. And nodded. "Where do we start?"
An hour later.
And Seward, panting, hopped to a stop. A compression phase rifle in his paws. He was at one of the docking ports. Antioch was already waiting there, also holding a rifle. Both of their weapons were set to stun. Low stun. They didn't want to hurt anybody. They just wanted to incapacitate any potential threat. If they needed to.
The marmot raised his brow. A smile creeping upon his greyish muzzle. And his small, roundish ears perking atop his brown-furred head. "You smell freshly-bred, Lieutenant."
Seward's icy-blue eyes darted. He got hot beneath his snowy-white cheek-fur. "I, uh ... did not have time to shower. I am sorry."
"It's okay. Besides ... " A wink. " ... smells good."
Seward cleared his throat, replying, "Are we docked yet?"
"Not yet."
A sigh, and a nod. "And we do not know who we are docking with?"
"It was an audio-only communication, asking for help ... and then asking us to dock, and ... we ran a thorough scan of them. Eighteen furs. No sign of anything threatening. But the radiation leaking from their engines messed up some of the scans. We don't know what species they are. And they didn't bother to help us out by telling us."
"I see."
Graham rounded the corner. Along with Talkeetna.
"We almost docked?" Antioch asked.
"Yes," said Graham. He had a paw-held phase-pistol. Just in case. "I suggest we stand back from the airlock ... in case we are rushed."
"Do we really need to be THIS suspicious?" Talkeetna asked, whiskers twitching. Her puffy tail arched proudly behind her. Her whiskers twitching. Twitch-twitching.
"When you are only twenty-two and have lived through and fought in three wars ... you DO need to be this suspicious," Graham said. "If they are friendly, we will put our weapons away."
"Yeah, if we don't scare them first. What if it's a ship full of mouses? We'll give them heart attacks!"
"She's right, you know," Antioch said.
Graham gave the marmot a look. "I do not need my tactical officer telling me to ease up on security protocols."
The marmot flushed a bit. "Well ... guess not, no."
"No," the snow rabbit said, simply. Not with anger. But he was a bit irked. A sigh, waiting. For a comm chirrup from the bridge. Which finally came.
"We're docked," Ada said. "The airlock is ready to open."
Graham looked to Seward. "Open it," he whispered. And Seward tapped at the controls. The ship they were docked to was small. Smaller than Yellowknife, actually. So they knew it wasn't the 'ghost ship.' (Which was a relief.) It wasn't Illustrious, either. But, still, this was a little too mysterious, wasn't it?
A heavy whoosh, and a clunk. And the heavy airlock doors swished open.
Graham squinted.
And, after a moment, two rabbits stepped forward. Two ...
" ... snow rabbits," stated Talkeetna, blinking. But the ship out there hadn't a snow rabbit warp signature. Wasn't a class of snow rabbit ship. How could this be?
"No," Seward whispered, squinting.
"Arctic hares, my pretty femme," said one of the 'rabbits.' He was taller than a snow rabbit. His ears, however, were shorter (by several inches). He had brown eyes. And a level of grey fur could be seen through the exterior layer of white. As if the roots of his fur were grey. It made for an off-white. Not a pure, snowy-white. And, most distinctly ...
" ... you're smiling," Talkeetna whispered. Confused.
"Yes. Unlike our ... 'cousins'," the lead Arctic hare said, casting a look (that the red squirrel could've sworn was 'disdainful') at Graham and Seward. "Unlike our cousins, we are not mere blocks of ice."
"What are you doing in our space?" Graham demanded. Not out of anger. More out of surprise. Arctic hares didn't come hopping along every day. Especially this deep in snow rabbit territory. Why was this ship here? There had to be an ulterior motive.
"We're just visiting. Here for the scenery," the Arctic hare went, giving a nudge to the other Arctic hare. The two of them mewed with mirth. It was so odd. To see a snow rabbit that wasn't a snow rabbit. And to hear him cracking jokes, to see him smiling. It was disconcerting.
Graham squinted.
"Passing through, then," the lead hare offered. "Believe what you will. My name is Quinn." He held out a paw to Talkeetna.
The red squirrel blinked. But took it, to shake paws.
Except he didn't want to shake her paw. He wanted to kiss it. And he did so, drawing her paw to his muzzle. And putting his nose in her paw-fur. Eyes closed, he took a deep breath. And then gave a kiss. "Mm." Eyes open. "I've always enjoyed squirrels ... "
Talkeetna withdrew her paw. Unsure what to make of that comment. But she frowned. Her heart beating just a bit faster, though. Rodent instincts flaring. But wasn't the hare's attention just a little bit flattering? She couldn't deny that.
Quinn cleared his throat, continuing, "We are simply having engine problems. Help us repair our engines, and we will leave."
Antioch looked from the Arctic hare to Graham. "He called you ... cousins? I don't ... "
" ... our species have a shared history. All rabbits come from the same 'species' of rabbit. If you will, God created one original race of rabbits. As He did one race of mouses, squirrels, et cetera. One male and one femme of each. But, through time and breeding ... sub-species formed for every species. Including ours. There came to be three species of ice-rabbits, specifically: snow rabbits, Arctic hares, and snowshoe hares. A few thousand years ago, the snow rabbits began to 'freeze over.' We did not. We retained our emotions. We were able to handle ours. Our emotions weren't so raw and savage that they needed to be repressed."
Graham frowned at this.
"Anyway, there was ... a fall-out. We went one way. They went another. They colonized this region of space. We colonized ... elsewhere," was the whisper. "After the 'emigration,' both our species went into 'dark ages' ... technology was lost to us. We wallowed about. But, now ... " A pause. " ... where their numbers grew, our numbers declined ... " He didn't elaborate on that. "We are few. And our cousins are ... numerous, controlling a vast region of space, and have quite a name for themselves in modern, interstellar politics. A force to be reckoned with. Victors over the wasps, the Arctic foxes, the Federation. Should I bow before you?" was the ribbing question.
"Why are you in our space?" was all Graham asked.
"I already told you. Passing through. Your space is OPEN space, is it not? You are not pulling a 'Federation,' are you, and closing your borders? Declaring martial law? Free travel is still allowed by any-fur, is it not?"
"It is," was the slow whisper.
"Then there is no problem."
Graham took a deep breath, ice-blue eyes meeting Quinn's brown eyes. The Arctic hares did, indeed, look very similar to the snow rabbits. Except for those differences. That off-white, those shorter ears. That bulkier build. The hares were hares, alright. No question.
"What, uh ... what happened to the SNOWSHOE hares?" Talkeetna asked. "What happened to them?"
"No one knows," Quinn said, quietly. "They just ... vanished. They are still alive, presumably, on some planet somewhere. No evidence exists to show that they went extinct. No bones. No destroyed buildings. They just ... slipped away."
"You seem to be an expert," Graham said, "on rabbit anthropology."
"I take the history of our shared species ... as a source of pride." And the hare peered at the snow rabbit. "If I have one regret, it is that our 'cousins' have risen to such power, such numbers, while we are left to ... shrink in the shadows of their presence." Was there bitterness in that tone?
"Antioch," was all Graham said, trying to keep a friendly, polite tone.
The marmot looked to Graham.
"Watch our ... guests. Assist them in any way possible. I will go speak to Aisling about having their engines repaired." To the Arctic hare, the snow rabbit said, "You will be on your way as quickly as we can send you."
The Arctic hare just smirked. And bobbed his head a bit. Thinking how easy this had all been. So far. The hard part was soon to come.