Stress Fractures
"I thought it didn't rain in the desert," Desmond said, through squinting eyes. His tall, rabbit-like ears drooped over, trying (in vain) to be umbrella-like. His muzzle still got wet, and water droplets still weighed down his whisker tips. His buttery, toffee-colored fur looked darker when soaked.
"Very infrequently," was Amelie's prim and proper response. The snow rabbit, even when being rained on, maintained that air of unmistakable sensuality. That air of calm control. That air of restraint. "It appears we have landed at an 'infrequent' moment." Her holy-white flame of a bobtail flicker-flicked, and her whiskers gave a singular twitch.
"There's no umbrellas in the runabout," Wheldon confirmed, emerging. Frowning. His bobtail flicking, as well. "It's a long walk to those ruins."
"Not that long," Desmond said.
"Long enough in a downpour. Can't we wait it out? 'Til it stops?"
"At least it'll be easier to walk in the sand, right?" the toffee-furred rabbit said, trying to be positive. Under stress, he held up better than Wheldon, who tended to fracture a bit. Tended to get grumpy.
"We'll just sink into the sand instead of slipping on it," was Wheldon's response. He crossed his arms.
"We're not waiting until it stops, no," was Peregrine's quiet but firm decision, whiskers twitch-twitching. Sending rain drops (like little, glistening worlds) flying everywhere, leaving them to make perfect concentric circles as they landed in barely-seen puddles. "We have to find out who's down here." The mouse's rain-grey fur matched the sky, the horizon. Made him seem like a part of this environment.
"I know who's down here," Petra said, clutching her phase pistol tighter. "It's him." She was referring to the lion. Terrence. Their former commanding officer. Rank of captain. He'd disappeared about six weeks ago with no explanation. They'd never found out what had happened to him. Only that he'd been crazy long before he'd vanished. He was certainly up to no good.
"Dammit," Wheldon cursed.
"You're already wet," Petra said, rolling her eyes. "Gettin' wetter won't make ya melt. You have to complain all the time?"
"Hey, at least I don't argue like Mortimer. No. It's not the ... " He made a face. "It's not the rain," he said. "I'm starting to shed!" He made an unhappy sound as he ran one of his own paws up and down his forearm. And when he stopped and turned the paw around, loose strands of bark-colored fur were all over his paw-pad.
"Shedding season," Amelie confirmed, happening to meet Peregrine's gaze.
The mouse just gave a tiny nod, somewhat distracted. Looking around. Raindrops pelt, pelt, pelting him. He shook his head. "The rain is washing away every scent ... we won't be able to smell him. If it is the lion. We'll have to use our ears."
"It is the lion," Petra said. She was very insistent about that. She had one of those 'gut feelings.'
"Can we ... "
" ... scanners are unreliable in and around the ruins," Amelie reminded, standing up straight. Posture proper. "We only know that a sentient life-form is inside the main building. There should be no sentient life-forms on this planet."
A sigh. And the mouse waved a paw, whiskers twitching. "Let's go ... scurry to it."
"I don't scurry," Wheldon said, still frowning.
"Hop to it, then. Whatever your motion ... move."
"Optimism, darling," Amelie said, with an ice-blue eye-smile. "Optimism."
Wheldon couldn't help but smile back at her. "I'm trying, I'm trying," he insisted, his tone apologetic. He wished he had her calm. He wished he didn't get frustrated so easily.
"Are you sure we should leave Hyacinth in the runabout?" Desmond asked, sounding worried, looking around. His rabbit-ears going waggle-waggle. "What if ... "
" ... she's lockin' the doors. We can't afford to have it stolen. Best if someone's guardin' it," Petra assured. Her thick, naked-pink tail trailed through the wet sand and the mud, leaving a stretching line in between the foot-paw prints of her bare foot-paws. Her pink ears arched forward, letting the rain drip off the backs of the lobes.
"Umbrella-ears," Wheldon said, giggle-mewing. "Look at Petra and Peregrine ... "
" ... least we're not gettin' water in our eyes."
"Stop teasing the rodents, darling," Amelie said. "They cannot help it that they have cute, dishy ears."
Peregrine allowed a smile at the comment. "We do, don't we?"
While they eased the mood with their humor, Desmond kept biting his lip. Casting a glance back at the runabout. And then back to the away team. And hopping after them as they began their wet, sandy walk to the ancient ruins.
" ... yeah, I noticed it, too. Nothing we can do about it." The cinnamon-furred squirrel paused, smiling. And turned her head. "Except vacuum often." Her bushy, luxurious tail flagged about, and her whiskers twitched.
"Funny," the porcupine whispered, smiling lightly. "So funny."
"Is that sarcasm?"
"I'm afraid I don't know the meaning of the word," Ninilchik replied. He was sitting on the edge of a bio-bed. Half the crew was down on the planet, investigating the mysterious bio-sign. The other half (Mortimer and Seldovia, Milka and Benji, and himself and Prancer) was still aboard Redwing Station, biding their time. Waiting to hear from the away team. There wasn't much to be done today. Nin had decided to join his wife in the infirmary. They'd both started shedding. "Why do we shed, huh? We're not even ... we're in an artificial environment. With regulated temperature and humidity."
"It's just a natural biological cycle, darling. Don't ask me to explain it. I'm a doctor, not a biologist."
"What's the difference? Between a doctor and biologist, I mean?"
"There's a difference," Prancer assured, eyes darting over one of her consoles. "That's like if you said to Mortimer: what's the difference between an engineer and an electrician?"
"Well, those two professions are more different than a doctor and biologist."
"Let's not get into it? I'm not in the mood for minutiae."
The porcupine, after a moment, gave a slight nod. And he looked around. "What happened to your frogs? I don't hear all that churring."
"They're sleeping." A smile crept across her muzzle. "Minutiae?"
"Genuine curiosity," was the reply. Followed by, "Frogs sleep?"
Prancer turned her head again. Locking gazes. "And why wouldn't they?"
"I don't know." A pause. "Just never thought about frogs sleeping."
"I'm pretty sure most living creatures need some kind of sleep. Most," she added, obviously teasing him.
"I'm an early riser. I can't help it."
"I'd like to wake up with your body still next to mine ... "
" ... breakfast is always waiting for you, isn't it?"
"It is." A warm sigh. "I do appreciate that. It's very romantic." The porcupine replicated basic ingredients and cooked her breakfast every morning. By the time she woke, it was always nearly ready. Fresh, hot. Delicious.
"Anyway, we always go to sleep at the same time. I just wake up earlier, is all. You need eight hours. I need seven."
Prancer, finally pushing her work aside, turned around in her swivel-chair. Her office was open-ended. Had no door. And had a big, glass window, too. And with her husband sitting outside it (on the nearest bio-bed), she slid through the door on her chair. And then stood, padding to him. "You gonna mind if I sit beside you?"
A shake of the head.
A giggle-squeak, as she did so. And sighed, her foot-paws not quite touching the floor (and neither were his). She let out a breath and leaned her head on his shoulder. "You know those moods? Where you feel a bit irreverent ... just kinda strange?"
"Mm-hmm."
"I got one of those moods right now."
"Not such a bad thing."
"I just want to feel ... humble, pure. Mature. I don't wanna feel all over the place. I don't wanna feel silly without a reason."
"You need a reason to feel silly?" Nin asked. He club-like tail raised and then lowered. His roundish ears perked. His quills were all hidden by his fur, relaxed and flattened.
"The good silly. I wanna feel the good silly. I just feel a confused-silly right now."
"Well, don't you know psychology? Doctor, biologist, psychiatrist? They're all the same thing," he teased, giving her a wink.
She giggle-chittered, giving him a light shove, and ...
" ... we haven't met," Peregrine said, squinting. Keeping his distance. He knew from instinct, being a mouse, that you never could trust a feline. Never turn your back on one. Never let your guard down. Not for a moment. He kept this starkly in mind as his eyes darted over Captain Terrence. Here in this big, empty, dusty room. With all these thick, old columns. With all these mysterious boxes and statues. Outside, the rain was still coming down. But it would soon stop, surely.
The big lion, his tawny fur unkempt, his mane disheveled, was sitting on the floor, back to the wall. Shrouded in half-light, half-dark. He had a bottle in his paw. It was mostly empty. Some kind of wine, maybe. It was hard to be sure. But he was obviously tipsy as he slurred out, "Greetings to YOU ... as well, mouse. Mouse, mouse, mouse." A slow exhale, showing his sharp, white teeth. "I hate mouses."
"So I've heard." Peregrine swallowed, but didn't break eye contact. Didn't move back. He stayed where he was. Though his whiskers twitched, nose sniffed, tail snaked. Though he felt a definite anxiety.
"They stopped sending mouses to my station ... deprived me of some good chew-toys. Apparently, I wasn't supposed to assault furs under my command." A scoff. "Stupid rule." A sigh, and a swig from his green-tinted bottle. The liquid sloshed inside. Smacking his lips, he continued, "Then ... they send you the moment I left? Pity I missed out on you ... what's-your-muzzle? Name?"
"Peregrine," was the slow, whispered response.
"Hah ... a mouse named after a falcon? Rich. How'd that come about, then? Bet there's a good story there."
"Another time, perhaps."
"Tell me now," was the simple, guttural demand.
" ... shut up," Petra ordered roughly, her phase pistol trained to Terrence's chest. From several feet away, mind. But still trained at his chest.
"Ah, my loyal first officer!" He raised his bottle, as if saluting her. "Always to the point, hmm?"
"Where did ya go? What did ya do?" the scruffy rat demanded, in interrogating tone. "Why are ya here?"
"Questions! Heh ... questions, mm. Hmm." A devious whisper. "You wouldn't believe me if I answered ... answered any," he said, "of those."
"Try me," was the brown-furred rat's scrappy, blunt reply.
"Oh, I'd like to. I'd like ... " He licked his lips. " ... like to try you. As I recall, we used to paw together? Mm? You remember. We were the only single furs on the station. You needed my company." And his golden, slitted eyes went from the rat to the mouse. And back to the rat. "But I get the impression you got yourself a fuck-buddy?"
"He's my husband."
"Ooh? Husband? Heh ... a novelty. I sometimes ask myself: 'why are less furs getting married?' They're afraid. They're not afraid of change. Everyone likes to say, when others won't accept new things ... that we're all afraid of change. But what we're really afraid of? Is things NOT changing. Think about it. I mean, really: we're afraid of permanency."
The rat squinted. "I don't know what you're up to, but ... "
" ... not up to anything, rat. And I do love that dialect of yours. Quaint. Quaint," he repeated. And, then, looking around, the lion grinned. "Ah, my good friends! My rabbits! My sex-a-holics! How are my rabbits?"
"We are not 'your' rabbits," Amelie replied, coldly.
"Heh. Always a sense of humor. You know that snow rabbits are preposterously sexy? I mean, it's just unnatural ... how sexy your species is. You know that?"
"I did," she answered.
A roaring laugh. "Ah ... heh. Course you did. Virile, beautiful. And unflinching. That's what I like best about you, Amelie. You don't flinch."
Wheldon, beside his wife, squinted hard. Not liking how Terrence was talking to her. His ears waggled and his bobtail flickered.
"Don't worry, Wheldon," the lion said. Waving a paw. His own tail, ropy with a brush on the end, was unmoving on the floor. "She's yours. Wouldn't touch her. Snow rabbits have quite a reputation in recent years for slaughtering predators." His voice got very dark. "Arctic foxes, wasps ... Federation officers."
"The Federation instigated that conflict. We were defending ourselves."
"I suppose that's your excuse for every blasted war your species happens to trip itself into? You're becoming more like predators all the time."
"I beg to differ."
"Then do so."
"Ignore 'im, Amelie. He's tryin' to bait us."
"Petra, Petra ... please. Give me more credit than that. If I wanted to bait you, I'd do it more subtly."
Desmond just rolled his eyes.
Prompting the lion to pose, "How's your cow, Dez? Mm? If you're down here, she must be, too ... she in your runabout?" His eyes narrowed. "Is her milk whole or skim?
"Whole," Desmond answered. "And you're not laying a paw on her."
"And how could I?" The lion spread his arms. One paw still clutching to his bottle of alcohol. "Mm? I'm in here. I'm not out there ... " A gesture at the outside. "And you ... you all," he said, looking back to Peregrine, "are in here, too. And ... and why is that, good mouse?"
"We came to get you."
"Ah, to rescue me." A toothy, taunting grin. "Ah, I see."
"We didn't know it was you. We just picked up a sudden bio-sign, and we came, and ... you're to be taken into custody."
"For what reason?"
"Absent without leave. And reckless behavior. And ... "
A chuckle. "Mouse, you are inventive. I was never absent." The lion's smile faded. His eyes narrowing. "I never left."
"Then why are you down here?" Peregrine whispered, an edge in his voice. Fed by his own anxiety and his dislike of felines. And Terrence had a rather arrogant, obnoxious personality. It was a bit grating. The mouse's whiskers twitched, his nose sniff-sniffing. Pink nose all a-sniff.
"Why, indeed? That's part of the fun, isn't it? Figuring it out?"
"You're drunk," Desmond said, wrinkling his nose. "Where'd you get that bottle from? What is it?"
"Ah, questions. Nuisances! You do not need," the lion insisted, "to know. You, you, you ... " He pointed to everyone. "You are like the ants in that, uh ... that fable? About the grasshoppers and the ants. You're the ants. Sticks in the mud. I'm the grasshopper."
"Doesn't the grasshopper die in that fable?" Amelie asked, raising a brow. "Didn't he starve when the winter came?"
The lion made a face. "Did he? Hmm ... probably." A wave of his free paw. "Doesn't matter. You're still ants." He looked quite pleased with himself.
"You're coming with us," Peregrine said. "We're putting you in the brig, and ... "
" ... doing what with me? Keeping me there? Forever?" A grin. "We're two weeks away from the heart of Federation space. You're extremely low on their priority list. They're not gonna send a ship to take me back. You're stuck with me. So, either you let me go, or ... you keep me aboard your station." A pause. "I'm far more dangerous," he whispered, "on your station. MY," he said, "station. I'm going to get it back."
"You just said you'd never left it," Wheldon said, eyes rolling.
"Shut your muzzle, rabbit."
Amelie tensed, ice-blue eyes smoldering with restrained, frozen-over intensity.
"Go ahead, snow rabbit. Kick me. I know rabbits have very strong legs, right? Those foot-paws? You could knock me out with ... "
" ... Amelie, don't," Peregrine squeaked.
... but not soon enough. Amelie delivered a fierce, hopping kick to the lion. THWAP! Her bare foot-paw, white-furred and black-padded, long, slender, strong. It connected with his chest.
An oomph! And the lion dropped his bottle. It rolled, rolled, spilling the remainder of its contents. And, growling, he extended his claws from his pads. They were sharp. Predators did not file their claws. And he attempted to stand, trying to lunge at the snow rabbit when ...
... TSEW!
Petra fired her weapon. The ruby-red beam hitting him square on the shoulder.
A yowl! And Terrence slumped back, hissing. And, head snapping in Amelie's direction, the drunk lion said, "You'll ... regret that! You and your ... damn hoppy-ness. Kicking like that!" A growl, slumping. He panted. And then an unfriendly smile, as he asked, "Did you ... did you press the button yet?"
Amelie just glared at him.
"Press the button," Terrence whispered. "If you don't? Then I will."
TSEW!
Petra fired a stronger beam. Finally knocking him out.
Desmond, sighing, said, "It took two hits to knock him out?"
"Three," Wheldon said, including his wife's rabbit-kick.
"He's a big cat. They're tough t'take out," Petra said. A sigh, and a chitter. "It's gonna take a few of us to drag him back to the runabout." She looked around. "Any volunteers?"
Peregrine took a backward step.
Petra looked to the three rabbits.
"We will carry him," Amelie agreed. "Knowing the anxiety felines inspire in rodents. However, I cannot promise that I will not drop him." An eye-smile. "Several times."
Petra giggle-chittered at that.
An hour later, on the station. Outside the window, the stars could be seen. And the planet glowed with the reflected light of the system's sun. There was also a moon in orbit, but it was on the other side of the planet right now.
"I need you to interrogate him."
"Why can't Petra do it?" Milka asked, squinting, tilting her head. And she looked from Peregrine to his wife. "Mm?" The otter was standing in front of the Peregrine's desk. The mouse sitting behind it.
Petra didn't answer. She was leaning against the wall, arms crossed and tail snaking in the air.
Peregrine said for her, "Mouses and rats have an instinctual ... a strong fear," he said, "of felines. Terrence knows this. He'd use that to take advantage of her. I don't want Petra in the same cell as him. But you? You're an otter. You have no fear of felines. You're not prey, but you're not a predator. You're an in-between. He won't be able to use predator-prey tension to cloud your judgment. Plus, you're strong. And ... "
" ... I'm a pirate. Or I was."
The mouse nodded quietly. "Yeah." His whiskers twitched.
"You think I know about interrogating furs, then? That I'm a torturer?" She frowned a bit, her strong, long rudder-tail steering behind her. Left. Right. Back to the left, back to the right, like a balance for her body. Like it was steering her thoughts.
"I think you must have learned several skilled methods of acquiring information from prisoners. And he is a prisoner. And we need information from him." A breath. "We need to know where he's been for the past six weeks."
"And if he doesn't give me anything?"
Peregrine was quiet. Before saying, "He'll give you something. You'll make him give you something."
Milka tilted her head, raising a brow. Her roundish ears perked, and her black, diamond-shape nose sniffed. "Is that your way of saying that I've no limits to my ... methods? This interrogation is off the record?"
"Do what you want to him, yes. Short of killing him."
"You're a mouse. A Christian. And you're ordering me to torture him? What does that say about your willingness to bend moral lines?"
"You're a Christian, aren't you?"
"Not as devout as you, but ... yes."
"And yet you were a pirate? How many moral lines did you cross while in that line of work?" The mouse's tone took on a no-nonsense quality. A true command tone.
"Funny how things work," was all Milka said, backing off.
"Indeed. But what's not funny is that: he's dangerous. He was messing with those artifacts. For all we know, he's found a way to use the gateways. How else to explain his disappearance and reappearance?"
The otter just nodded, a bit thoughtfully, saying, "I don't want Benji to know what I'm doing." A pause. "He doesn't need to know what I'm capable of."
"He's your husband," Petra said.
"That's right. And I want to keep it that way. I don't want him to ... " A sigh. "I don't want him to be scared of me. If he knows how dark I can get, he will be." Milka looked back to Peregrine. "If he asks where I am, tell him you don't know. If he asks the computer ... well, lock the security office with a command code. That way no one can come in while I'm interrogating the lion. And no one can get out. Including him ... if he overpowers me."
"Will he?" Peregrine asked.
"I'll have a weapon, won't I?"
"Yes."
"Then he won't."
"What if Benji needs to breed?" Petra asked.
"We bred an hour ago. Should be fine for several hours. It won't take me longer than that to interrogate your lion."
"He's not my lion," Peregrine said.
Milka just nodded her head. And said, "Another thing?"
"What?"
"Amelie approached me. When I was coming up here. She's out there," she said, nodding at the windows in the door, which allowed them to see into Ops. "She stopped me before I came in and asked me if I could acquire a tri-cobalt device."
Peregrine blinked.
"I can, you know. I know where some of the pirates store their loot. In an asteroid belt. They have a tri-cobalt device. I can steal it."
"Sounds dangerous," the mouse said.
The otter just smiled. "Maybe."
Peregrine exchanged a glance with Petra, and then looked back to Milka. "A tri-cobalt device is needed to destroy the gateway. It would also destroy everything else down there." A pause. "Amelie has been known to be ... over-involved in her work. Why would she ask you to obtain a weapon which would destroy everything she's devoted to deciphering?"
"Dunno. Why don't you ask her?" the otter said, turning to leave. Stopping, looking over her shoulder. "He's in the security office?"
"Cell C," Peregrine whispered. "He has a hangover. Just so you know."
"I'll keep that in mind." The otter, with that, went out the doors. Whish whooshed open as she approached them. And then whooshed to a close.
"Darling," Peregrine whispered.
"I'll get her, hun," Petra said, already heading out the door to call for Amelie.
Behind his desk, the mouse fidgeted. His whiskers twitched. And he looked up as his wife returned with the snow rabbit.
"You wished to see me?"
"Yes. Uh ... Milka told me that ... "
" ... I inquired about a tri-cobalt device. Yes."
"Why?"
"Isn't it obvious?" The snow rabbit raised her brow. "The ruins below are ... dangerous. Extremely. Furs like Terrence, the pirates ... sooner or later, some-fur is going to succeed in taking and using something down there. And causing extreme damage with it."
"But ... "
" ... my studies have yielded much. Not enough, but ... some things are not meant to be found out. I suggest we ship all the artifacts we have aboard the station down to the surface. Put them where they came from. Destroy it all."
"And what will you do?" the mouse asked, worriedly. "The only reason the High Command sent you here was to study these things, and ... and to use that information to send back to your species. For the High Command's benefit. To harvest the technology, the secrets." A pause. "If you're not able to do that, won't they yank you? Reassign you? Won't they be upset if they know you called for the ruins to be destroyed?"
"Whether the High Command is upset or not," Amelie said, calmly, "is none of my concern. As for reassignment: there is still a planet down there. Uninhabited. Unexplored. Instead of focusing on the ruins, I could focus on the planet. It used to be mined. They stopped. Surely, there are other resources. Surely, there is much to discover. I will still be needed for research. But research of a different kind." She paused, adding, "We are, in a way, pioneers out here. It is up to us to set the tone, the culture. Do we wish to keep these artifacts around when we know that, by doing so, we are tempting fate? That we are playing with fire? Sooner or later, we will get burned." A sigh, shifting on her foot-paws. "I promised Wheldon that I would let go of all of this ... when it became too much. That I would walk away from the secrets." She swallowed. "Now is the time to do that."
"And the High Command will let you stay?" the mouse asked, hopefully. He didn't want to lose her as a crew-fur. He was more concerned about keeping her and Wheldon than keeping all those ruins.
"Wheldon would not fit in on my world," Amelie whispered. "He says he would go. But that is because he loves me. Not because he wishes to move there. And even if we got assigned to a snow rabbit star-ship ... I would rather stay here. I know this is a small, isolated place. But I have been here for over nine months. I have become fond of this station. I feel it is my duty to make it a better place. To start something here. I cannot leave while the various tasks are unfinished ... "
Peregrine took a deep breath, nodding. "Alright, then." A smile. And then the smile faded as he said, seriously, "When Milka's done getting information from Terrence, I'll send her with an away team in a runabout. She'll get the device. We'll use it as soon as we can."
"Then I shall start shipping artifacts back down to the surface." A nod. Adding, "You are doing the right thing, sir."
"By?"
"By interrogating him. And by destroying the ruins. Both are dangers. Both need to be dealt with." Amelie nodded at the mouse, and then nodded to Petra. And then left the office, going back into Ops. Heading back to one of the science stations.
There was a moment of silence.
Eventually, Petra whispered, "Hun ... "
The mouse, a bit worried, looked up. He gave a few blinks. "Mm?"
"You alright?"
"Yeah," was the whisper.
"You should pray 'bout it. All this."
"I will. I have been," he assured. And a sigh. "One of the unpleasant things about being a commanding officer," he confided, "is that you have to make big decisions. And the consequences come down on you. I mean, your staff can help you come to a decision, but ... you're the one who has to actually make it. And carry it out. Sometimes, they're hard ones. And ... sometimes, there's no clean outcome, you know? I do my best, but ... I mean ... " He shook his head. He didn't know what he was trying to say. " ... in times of trouble, how can I be a good Christian AND a good commander?"
"By making good," the rat emphasized, "decisions. And you are."
"Having Terrence interrogated?"
"We need to know what he knows. He's a predator. His way is violence."
"But that's not our way. And ... Petra, I just ... " A sigh. "I just don't know." His whiskers twitched.
"If ya knew everything, hun, you'd be perfect. And y'arn't. And neither am I, Lord knows. Just do your best. Just don't compromise. Having that lion interrogated isn't a compromise of your morals ... it's simply what has to be done to best protect this crew, this station, and this system. And that's your job. To protect us. And you're doin' that by keepin' that lion at a disadvantage."
The mouse nodded quietly. "My faith has to come first. In every decision-making process ... sometimes, though, I'm influenced by more callous things." A pause. "Such as fear and lust and ... then I feel like I'm broken, you know?"
"You're not broken," she assured.
His whiskers twitched.
"You just need to relax. Stop bein' so wired-up ... need to defuse some energy." The rat let out a breath. And then gave a familiar command of, "Computer, dim windows."
Peregrine, looking up, gave a soft smile. "Read my mind?" was his tender comment.
"More like your eyes. They're all ... pupils fully dilated. Pretty hard to miss. Accentuates your already overly-cute ... cuteness," she said, hauling him to the couch. Where they would soon pant and squeak their worries away.