The Local Weather
" ... there y'are," was the sighing, little whisper. A sound of relief. The scrappy, brown-furred rat coming out of the shadows, into the half-light in front of the teardrop-shaped window. Here in one of the upper docking pylons, which jutted out above the station. Her long, naked-pink tail swerved about behind her. Swerve, swerve, with a mind of its own.
Peregrine turned his head a bit. Just a bit, with whiskers going their usual, going twitch-twitch-twitch. "Hey," was his return whisper. He delicately held his tail in his paws.
"Computer told me," she said, "you were up here. Somethin' wrong?" she asked, having padded up to him. Inches from him. Leaning, now, closer. So that their bodies were touching. So that their scents were evident in each other's pink noses.
The grey, rain-furred mouse let out a breath, letting go of his tail. It snaked away, mimicking the motions of his wife's tail. Maybe involuntarily. Maybe not. A small shake of the head, as he insisted, "Nothing's wrong. Just got a bit ... "
" ... overwhelmed? Mm?"
No answer. Just a wry, little smile.
"Nothin' t'be 'shamed of. Not used to havin' that many furs around." For the past week, the crew of a muskrat freighter had been staying aboard the station. For rest, relaxation, leave. Not just adult muskrats, but many little muskrats who'd delighted in scurrying all about, even into places where they shouldn't go. "Anyway, they've up an' gone." They'd left this morning, and had promised to stop again on their return voyage (which would be in a few months). "And that's what we were wantin', wasn't it? To make this place lively again? Y'can't do that unless you get yourself a steady stream of visitors."
"I've no problem with visitors. I may not be a lover of crowds, but that's not my problem. It's ... "
" ... oh." A pause, as she understood. "Those messages last night? From the Federation?" They'd come in the middle of the night, the comm-calls. Petra, lying on her side in bed, had swivelled her dishy rat ears, trying to listen in. She heard most of it. But, all the same, when Peregrine finally got back into bed, he hadn't been too talkative.
"They want to know," Peregrine whispered, turning his head, looking blankly out the window, "why I destroyed the ruins. And why I traded Terrence to the space pirates. They want to know a lot of things, and when I try to give them answers, they don't like them." He blinked, clearing his throat. "I spoke to the provisional government about three times."
"How'd they find out 'bout any o' that, though?" A concerned frown. "None of us told 'em." A pause. "Oh," she went again.
"Yeah. Terrence escaped from the pirates ... you know, went all predatory, got himself a ship, got back to 'society' ... and then blabbed on us." The mouse looked to the rat, his wife. "Thing is, he hates me. That lion? He doesn't know me, and he hates me, and I know he told them lies. I know he stretched the truth. Probably until there was nothing left of it." A pause, biting his lip. "So, I spent an hour trying to tell our side of the story, and ... Terrence's version was more theatrical. I guess they preferred that. They accused me of insubordination. Among other things."
"I heard some o' that. I could hear you talkin' to 'em ... " She trailed, sighing. "Sorry, hun. I didn't know, though, what exactly went on."
"I should've told you earlier. Then you'd know instead of having to intuit it."
"You didn't wanna worry me," she whispered, knowingly. "An' I appreciate that. You never wanna burden me." A pause. "You're always afraid of bein' a burden. I've come t'notice that." She took a slow breath through her nose, held it, and then let it out. "But y'know what?"
"What?" he whispered.
"I can handle it. An' I'm not meanin' this as a put-down, but I can handle a lot more than you can. We both know that. So, lean on me, Perry. Put your weight on me when you have to. Spill your mind. We're in love. That's what lovers do. They carry each other."
The mouse's eyes watered a bit. He blinked.
One of her paws went to his cheek. She brushed his whiskers with her fingers. "Not gonna make ya cry, am I?"
"It doesn't take much to make me cry."
"You're belittling yourself again."
"I'm not." A pause. "Anyway, they were mad, you know?"
"An' what are they gonna do 'bout it, huh?" Petra slipped her arms around him, pulling him snug against her, belly to belly. "Hmm?"
"Nothing. I just got the impression that, without the ruins, there was nothing left to warrant them keeping our station 'in the fold,' so ... I don't know. I mean, the station doesn't mine ore anymore. There are no ruins to study. And the Federation is still being run by a rocky, provisional government, and ... they've really no need for a presence this far out. They've enough problems closer to home." He trailed. "They can't afford to spend the time and resources to come out here and mess with us. It's more economical, politically and otherwise, to just cut the umbilical cord, as it were, and ... I guess they're hoping we'll just fade away."
"Did they try to recall us?" The rat squinted, biting her lip.
"No." A pause. Whiskers twitching. "I don't think, in their minds, we're worth being recalled. We're just misfit officers." A pause. "We're on our own. This is no longer a 'Federation' station. We're just an outpost. And as far as us being Federation officers, well ... like I said, if we were that important to them, they wouldn't have shipped us out here in the first place." And, after a moment, he added, "Not that I regret being sent here. I mean, I, uh ... you know, I met you, and I ... "
" ... I know, I know," she soothed, understanding.
"I don't regret any of it," he continued. "God brought me here."
"I know that, hun." A breath. "But, as for losing the Federation's backing, we've already been," Petra stated, "on our own. So, they've made it official? So, what?"
"Well, not 'official' in so many words. It was a more a tacit thing. More implied."
"Whatever they said, or whatever's the case, it's nothin' new. Doesn't change anything, yeah? If we have to be independent, we can do it. We can fend for ourselves. Cause we've been doin' it all along," she repeated. "And y'know what?"
"What?"
"I think the local weather's full o' sun an' promise. Think it's gonna be good."
"Our future's not gonna be storm-free."
"No. But, still, I like our chances. We got faith. And," she added, "love. And that's enough to keep us dry an' safe."
Peregrine closed his eyes, giving no gesture or response. Only, "Yeah."
"As for the Federation ... well, God is just as much judgment as He is love. Just as much righteousness as He is peace. The Federation will get what it deserves."
"And, when it does, that'll probably mean more wars. More anarchy."
"Well, we're way out here."
"We are," the mouse agreed. "But I have family back home, and ... they aren't weeks away from the heart of things. And the ripple-effect ... " Again, he trailed. Why think about these things? Especially now? Just relax. Don't fret, don't worry. And, after all, Petra is right: God's love does not eclipse His righteousness. Sin, arrogance, everything biting and negative, it will all be destroyed. As a Christian, the mouse knew he mustn't forget that. Mustn't forget the fact that mercy and love were cheap and easy without sacrifice, without adherence to God's law. "But I guess we'll see what happens," was Peregrine's ultimate whisper.
"That we will," Petra agreed, snugging him close.
"I just feel," the mouse picked up, "that we've all been here before. Didn't this just happen? I remember all those news stories about our ships in snow rabbit space, and how they went rogue, and ... we didn't even get an opportunity to go rogue, though. The Federation wanted those ships. Was mad when they seceded. But us? Redwing Station? They practically ordered us to secede. They practically declared that we were 'cut loose' ... shows our value, huh? We're not even worth fighting over."
"They don't know what they're talkin' 'bout, and you know it."
Peregrine nodded. She was right. And he told her so. Adding, "It's just disheartening. Five years ago, when I was still in college, training to be in space, things were looking up. And, now, it's up and down. I hate politics. And, more than that, I hate bureaucracy." A squeak. "We're gonna end up right back where we started. It's like history is repeating itself. And while the Federation constantly bickers and spins itself around like a top, the snow rabbits are getting stronger and stronger. They beat back the Arctic foxes, the wasps ... and us."
"Not jealous of 'em, are ya?"
"The snow rabbits? No. I like them. I just ... we all know that the wasps are gonna try again. They'll get a new Queen. And the humans? Who knows about them? But when another galactic crisis comes, the snow rabbits, they'll survive it." A pause. "We won't. We're too divided." He squirmed a bit, shaking his head.
"If ya don't like politics, hun, you shouldn't dwell on it all. It won't do you any good."
"I don't wanna dwell on it. But I'm the Commander of this station. And we're on the edge of nowhere. And when huge political forces orbit you from a middling distance, you have to watch them carefully. Cause if they go down, you might go down with them. Or you might drown in the tsunami."
"Hun ... "
" ... it just worries me sick. I don't wanna ... I just ... " He blew out a breath. "The next time they call for me, I'm not gonna take it. I'm not even gonna answer. They can leave a message," he said, almost squeaking it. "They sent me out here, and now they don't like the job I've been doing? They regret not sending another one of their cronies?"
"Perry," Petra said. Just saying his name. And saying it with enough force to quiet him. "Look, 'kay? It's not our problem. We can't do anything about it. Nothin' at all. Pray about it, but that's all y'can do. So, don't think 'bout it, don't obsess. Maybe the Federation falls completely apart. Maybe it gets conquered. Maybe it's civil war again. Maybe the predators return to power. I'm not sayin' the outcome of all this won't affect us. It will. But let's try an' make our own life, our own place ... this station, our little crew. Let's not follow our government's ... "
" ... former government's," the mouse whispered.
" ... former government's suit. Let's not follow 'em. Let's be better. Be different. They cut us loose, yeah? Well, good. I say that's good. Cause now they can't hold us back." The rat took a breath. "Maybe it'll all work out. Anyway, it takes time. Years. Bet ya in a few years, this station will be the jewel of this sector, and the Federation will come crawlin' back to us, wantin' to be affiliated with us. Then their flippancy will come back to bite 'em."
"Yeah, and maybe when we say, no, we'd like to stay independent, they'll send a few war-ships to take us by force."
"Ah, but by then," the rat said, imagining it, "we'll have many friends, and those friends'll have ships. More than just muskrat freighters."
A sigh from him, nose in her neck-fur. "Mm. I don't know ... " His voice was soft, almost inaudible. The lighting so dim and soothing up here, and the carpeted floor soft under his bare foot-paws. "I don't know what'll happen. But you're right. I do want to make this station beautiful. As our home. And as a place for others to stop at, and ... "
" ... even if it means a Promenade brimming with furs?"
"I think that's a long way off," was all the mouse said. "I can handle crowds. To a point. In the open air, at an auto race ... you know, back home? I'd go to those. But that was a huge crowd outside. Indoors? Huge crowds indoors," he said, "tend to make me more nervous."
"Ah, but you and I, we're used to small spaces. We're burrowers."
"Yeah. But burrows are sparse places. Not crowded ones. I just ... I don't know," he said again, because it was the truth. He couldn't figure himself out, sometimes. And maybe he was just tired. Honestly, he was. And that didn't lend well for infinite self-reflection.
Petra hugged him tighter, her muzzle to one of his dishy, pink ears. "Hey," she whispered. "Anyway, nothin' to worry about, hun. Come on." A light kiss to his cheek. "How many minutes we just spent talkin' 'bout this? Too many?"
"Too many," Peregrine agreed.
"Let's find somethin' else to occupy ourselves with. Her paws moved. And her tail, too.
The mouse inhaled through his pink, sniffy nose. And then let out the breath through his muzzle. It came out as a sigh. "I, uh ... "
" ... mm?" She nosed his neck, gently, gently.
" ... well, uh, when you say occupy ... "
" ... I think you full well know. Don't make me have t'spell it out. I'm a bad speller," she said, winking, giggle-squeaking at her own joke.
And the mouse smiled. More widely than he had in a few hours. "You're not a bad speller. You can't be a first officer and a tactical officer both," he told her, "without having your wits about you. You are smart, you know."
"Never thought o' myself as such."
"But are you. You're sensible, too."
"Now you're just tryin' to flatter me." A nibble to the side of his neck, with her rodent buckteeth. "Your mind's on a mouse-wheel, I can tell," she breathed, sucking on his fur. A soft breath. "How 'bout you stop bein' a Commander for just a moment? And just be my husband an' my mouse, instead?" Her paws held to his lower back, where she rubbed in little circles. Smoothing the fabric of his uniform. "Anyway, it's private up here," she continued, urging him on. "No one will interrupt us ... "
A little sigh from him. And a swallow, and a small shake of the head. "I, uh, doubt they will," was his comment.
And that was all the approval she needed. That would do. Giggle-squeaking, guiding him back, back, to the closest bulkhead, she sighed heavily. "Was nearin' my peak, anyway. 'Nother forty minutes. But, we can defuse ourselves a bit early. I sure," she breathed, "don't mind goin' off schedule."
The mouse swallowed, muzzle raising. His eyes closed, then half-opened. His wife's paws beneath the shirt of his uniform, running up his belly. Around his chest. Stroking through his soft, mousey fur.
They were standing close to the window (which was made of thick glass and reinforced with force-fields). But, of course, the vacuum of space was on the other side. So, no one was likely to be peeking inside. No ships were in the area, either. No interruptions.
And no shirt.
No pants.
No nothing, now. The undressing had happened pretty quick. Not a sloppy quick. But a smooth, practiced quick. When your body needed to breed several times a day, getting that body efficiently naked was second nature.
"Mm, hmm," went the rat, pinning the mouse to the wall, sucking on his muzzle. Hotly, hotly. Her head tilted, eyes closed, she tasted him fully, with a long, wet kiss. The weak-at-the-knees kind. And, being that her knees were, indeed, weak, she allowed herself to bend them. To sink down, down, paws on the mouse's sides. Slipping to his hips.
Peregrine's heart picked up pace, hammer-hammering in his trim, soft chest. He knew what she was gonna do down there. He knew what was coming next. They'd been practicing. She'd been practicing. She ...
... squeaked a bit. He exhaled, losing his breath. "Oh ... gosh," was all he could manage. His whiskers trembled, his squeaky toy on her tongue, in her muzzle.
She suckled.
Problems? What problems? He couldn't think through the haze. And maybe that was a good thing. And, after all, this was love. A purifying, monumental force. This was nothing callous or crude. This was deepest, closest contact. This was expression.
With sensitive pleasure, he clutched at her shoulders and squeaked out, again, "Oh, gosh!"
It was later that day. Evening, actually. And in the ward room, a party was being held. Not a birthday party, but an ...
" ... independence party. Yeah?" Seldovia went, nudging Amelie. The skunk had a drink in her paw, her fur looking luxurious, glorious. Jet-black, well-groomed. Silky. With that white, bold stripe down her tail and running up her muzzle (and, beneath her uniform, going down her breasts, belly, and groin). She wore a svelte dress, with straps for the shoulders. She had the kind of figure that was perfect for elegant dresses. Femme skunks tended to have a natural sense of fashion and style. As Petra had told her, 'You're too pretty for your own good.' And, sometimes, she was. "You don't like impromptu get-togethers?" the skunk guessed.
"I do not. I was only informed of this," the snow rabbit said, raising a brow as she looked around. Her tall, antennae ears twiddled. "I was only informed," she repeated, "an hour ago. I was in the shower at the time."
"In the shower," Seldovia echoed, giving a cheeky grin. "Alone?" A squint.
"No." Her bobtail flickered like a holy-white flame. Flicker-flick.
The skunk's grin got wider. "Ah, well, rabbits don't like bein' interrupted, do they? Rabbits are hard-core breeders."
"I believe you don't like being interrupted any more than I do."
A tilt of the head, acknowledging that as the truth. "Yeah. Well ... "
"Our station's independence is the result of political decisions that may or may not be good for us," the snow rabbit said, primly. Trying to temper the joy of this celebration with a bit of logic. "Without the Federation's protection, the space pirates will become bolder in trying to ransack us. We no longer have allies. And my species is too far away to join. We are truly isolated."
"Got those muskrats." The skunk took a sip of her drink. Smacked her lips a bit. "Mm."
"They are heading in the opposite direction."
"Amelie, it's just ... look, okay, I just wanted to throw a party. Seemed like a good time." Her eyes darted about, this way. That way. And then back to the snow rabbit's icy-blue orbs. "It's not even about severing ties with the Federation. I mean, it's about new direction. New opportunities. To run this station as we see fit. Well ... under Peregrine's approval, of course." They still had their ranks. Their chain of command. This was still an organized outpost. "But, you know, the rest of that planet down there? What else is down there? I mean, who knows. And all the visitors we could get. What if some of them decide to stay here, to move in? We could get a bigger population, then start a colony on the planet, too, and ... "
" ... all that will take years. There are only twelve of us right now. And it would be unwise to change that so quickly. We must give it thought."
"Course. You know, I mean ... " Seldovia took another sip of her drink. "I know that. I'm just thinking out loud."
"Perhaps it is the 'drinking in quietly' that is making you 'think out loud'."
A giggle-mew, eyes sparkling. "Was that a joke, or something? What was that?"
"An observation."
"Mm. Come on, though. For real. You gotta have some of this."
"I will have some later."
"Yeah?"
"Yes," was the polite, serene nod. And, looking around, she asked, "Now, where is my husband?"
Wheldon was on the other side of the room, chatting with Desmond and Mortimer. Saying, "Mortimer, really, it bugs me. I've always wanted to know."
"That's just ridiculous." The raccoon scrunched his masked face, his ring-tail giving a few flags.
"No, really, I just wondered how raccoons can even eat their meals. I mean, silverware is shiny. Think it would be a big distraction."
"I eat just fine. Anyway, silverware's not that shiny. It's not, like ... look, you don't even know what you're talking about," he went, frowning a bit.
"I bet he's got a whole collection of spoons and forks in his quarters, though," Wheldon continued, looking to Desmond. "Don't you think?"
"I think he can't help it if he's attracted by shiny objects."
Wheldon opened his muzzle, then shut it. "You know, Desmond, you have a way of fizzling really good teases. You're supposed to be on my side!"
"Well, I would've been had you not made fun of me limping last week. When I stubbed my toes." They were all better, now, the bruises healed. He was walking just fine. "You made fun of my hop."
"Didn't."
"Did!"
"Didn't."
Mortimer, eyes a bit wide, added, "What, you two think you can argue better than me? Is that what you think?" Raccoons had a distinct penchant for arguing. It was like an art to them.
"No one said that," Desmond said.
"It was implied. I see how it is."
"See what? All I said was ... "
" ... boys?"
The two rabbits and the raccoon stopped, turning their heads.
"Do you need to be sent to separate corners?" Amelie asked, raising her brow. She was eye-smiling with mirth.
"He started it," Mortimer said, nodding at Wheldon. And pointing a paw for extra measure.
"Is that so?" Amelie asked, tilting her head.
"I was just concerned that Mortimer might not be getting along with his silverware. I didn't know it was such a touchy subject."
Mortimer just squinted.
"And I'm sorry, Desmond," Wheldon added, putting on his best 'polite' tone, "that I made fun of your hop. You know I was joking."
"I know, but ... "
" ... sometimes, I joke too much. I'm sorry. Alright?"
A soft, reassuring smile. "Yeah. It's fine. I just ... wasn't in the mood, at the time."
Seldovia, sidling up beside Amelie said, "Snow rabbits are so logical and cool that the mere presence of them can soothe the feral fur." A giggle-mew, sipping more of her drink. "Impressive, Amelie. Gotta teach me that."
"Teach you what, exactly?"
"That way of exuding. How you exude, you know."
"Amelie? Logical and cool? Yes," Wheldon said. "But let it not be said," he added, with a gleam in his eye, "that she can't be feral, too." A wink.
"Ooh, do go on," the skunk pleaded.
"I shall say no more." A paw raising up, with mock-modesty.
"I think you are all being quite silly," Amelie said, simply. "And if this is supposed to be a party, where is the cake? And the food?"
"Nin's making it," Desmond said. "He and Prancer are gonna bring it in on a cart."
"He's not going to cook everything, is he?" Seldovia asked.
"I don't think so. Just ... I don't know. Maybe some of it. Use the food processor for most of it." Desmond's eyes scanned about. The toffee-furred rabbit was looking for his wife, Hyacinth, the brown Swiss. She was over with the Captain and them.
"So, what's cud, then?" Petra wanted to know. "You chew it like gum?"
"It's not like gum," Hyacinth assured, chew-chewing. Chewing. "You probably don't wanna know the details." A giggle-moo. "Needless to say, I got a complicated digestive system."
"Well, I don't consider myself to have a complicated stomach, but I've always wanted to try real seafood. Real fish, real clams. Not the replicated stuff. There's lakes and an ocean down there, isn't there?" Milka posed. "Down on the planet?" The otter, like all the femmes, was casually but elegantly dressed. Her rudder-tail steered slightly on the floor behind her, thick and velvety-furred as it was. Her diamond-shaped nose gave a few sniffs.
"I think so," Peregrine said, quietly, whiskers twitching.
"Well, I think we should explore the aquatic areas first. After all, any settlement's gonna need to be by water, right? A river or a lake, at least. You know, so why not?"
"I'd rather we explore the plains first," the mouse said.
The otter waved a paw. "We have multiple runabouts. We can explore two places at once."
"Well," Benji posed, speaking up. "Just cause the planet's down there doesn't mean we should be in a rush to colonize it. We don't have the resources, the bodies. And why's every-fur think that all those ruins are totally gone?"
"What are ya sayin'?" Petra asked, looking to the nutria.
"I just think it'd be really odd for all those alien artifacts to be in that one spot, in that desert. There's gotta be something elsewhere. Maybe it's buried under dirt and rock, but ... you know, why's everyone assume we've gotten rid of it all?" The nutria seemed worried. "I mean, there could be more. We just don't know about it, maybe."
"I'd rather," Peregrine injected, being the Commander, "we focus on the station first. Planet second. I know one's in orbit of the other, but ... station's first priority. I'm not in a rush to scurry about on the planet. It's something we gotta do, but let's take it easy for a while."
A few nods of agreement.
And the doors whooshed open, with Prancer pushing a cart. And Nin pushing another. The squirrel and porcupine wheeling in the food.
"Don't everyone grab at it," Prancer warned, her bushy tail flagging about. "Nin'll quill all those whose paws wander."
"Aw, but we're hungry!" Desmond mewed.
"Well, to have a good and proper meal," the squirrel replied, "you gotta sit all good and proper and have the table set all good and proper. This isn't a buffet."
"Should be," Wheldon muttered.
"I heard that," said Nin, squinting. "Now, help me set the table. And be careful with these pots and pans. They're hot."
So, every-fur helped. And, eventually, everything was set. Everything was ready. But there was one more thing to do before they began.
"Gonna say grace for us?" Petra asked her husband, giving him a little elbow-nudge.
A little smile, and a, "Yes, yes ... don't have to nudge me."
"He likes it," Petra assured the others. "Only, he likes it more when I use ... "
" ... mm-hmm," Peregrine went, clearing his throat. And everyone went quiet, paws together, heads bowed. As the mouse took a deep breath and prayed, "Dear God, thank You for our blessings. As, today, we celebrate our new circumstances. Much like the old ones, but maybe a bit different. What we've learned before, let us put into practice now. Where things go from here, I'm not sure. But, dear Jesus, may we be comforted to know that, in walking with You, we needn't fear." A breath. "Still, let us not put Your love above Your power. You are holy. You are righteous. And You destroy the wicked. Even if society falls apart around us, help us to stay pure. Help us to hold out. Help us to do the right things. That we may be stable. That we may mature and grow, and ... I could go on and on. I have before. And I will again. But, for the moment, I just thank You for our food, the fellowship we have with each other. And may this station be like her namesake: the redwing. May she be a beautiful sight in the sky. We love you. And You humble us by Your presence. Keep us always meek but never weak. In Jesus' name we pray, amen."
A few mews, chitters, and squeaks. And such.
And they began to eat their shared meal.
And, as they did so, Petra looked to her husband. "'Bout that local weather," she said. "You heard the forecast?"
The mouse giggle-squeaked and smiled at her. "I have. I think we'll be okay." And, sighing, he reached one of his paws over. Took one of hers. Squeezed. And, letting it go, he began his meal, feeling that, honestly, yes, they would be okay. Though strife and tension were sure to come their way, they would endure.
And be better for it.