FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

"Y'don't need all that calcium for yourself," Petra insisted, privately. A little bit stubbornly.

" ... well, a rabbit's gotta, you know ... gotta keep his bones healthy." He cleared his throat, his cottontail flicking, flicking behind him. "I mean, healthy bones are the basis of a strong hopping motion." He lifted one of his big, bare foot-paws, built for loping. "See?" He put the foot-paw down. "So, yeah, I need lots of milk." Continual, declarative nods.

The rat grinned. "That so? You can't spare any, huh?"

"Like I said, I got my hop to think about." Desmond, not making eye contact, just nodded, wishing she would drop the subject. He was more modest than the usual rabbit, that was for sure. Not hugely so. But enough that it was noticeable. He was certainly more modest than Wheldon and Amelie, who would often be caught making out (or more!) while obviously on duty.

" ... I don't think your hop's gonna suffer if you miss out on a pint or two," the rat whispered, raising a brow. "Mm?" A gentle nudge.

"Well, uh ... "

" ... 'sides, I've done it before. Me an' Perry, both." A pause, tilting her head, her pink ears swiveling some. "Most everyone on the station's had their lips round her teats at one time or another," she said, referring to Hyacinth. The cow wasn't at her comm station right now. She'd gone to realign the subspace emitter.

"Petra ... " The rabbit's eyes darted back and forth, the pink interiors of his waggle-ears beginning to flush. " ... don't say that."

"It's true," the rat insisted, simply, leaning against a console, hips slanted to the side. A very easy posture, as was her way. The rat was never one to shy away from things.

" ... well ... okay, so it is. But, still ... " A sigh, keeping his voice as quiet as hers, his furred fingers brushing some buttons on his own computer console. But not really pressing anything. " ... how much do you want?" he finally asked, relenting with a sigh.

" ... just enough to get real, real relaxed. For a few times. Like, for a few nights, you know."

Desmond nodded. Femme cows constantly lactated from puberty to menopause, and had to be 'milked' every day. By paw, muzzle, or machine. If they didn't get milked, they'd get 'mastitis,' an inflamation of the breasts. Desmond, being Hyacinth's husband, was her devoted 'milker,' of course. But the brown Swiss, being very genial and easygoing, had been known to give milk to her friends.

"So, you'll ask her?"

"Yeah, of course," the rabbit said, nodding. He had, in many ways, the same genial attitude that his wife had.

"What are we talking about?" Seldovia asked, stepping off the lift and padding, in her sultry, little way, to one of the lower consoles. And leaning against a nearby railing, on a small set of steps. She looked to the rabbit and rat. "I could hear you arguing even before the lift stopped."

"We are not," Desmond said, straightening his ears, "arguing."

"Just askin' for some milk," Petra said, licking at her paw-pads and swiping at her whiskers. An instinctual rodent 'grooming' habit. Lick, lick, swipe.

"Ooh ... ooh, can we have some, too? Morty and me? Please?" the skunk said, bobbing on her bare, black-furred foot-paws. The skunk's fur was very silky, very striking. The night-black and blinding-white stripe along her back and tail, and the meshing light and dark of her muzzle. Though some furs on the station would say that Prancer had the more luxurious tail, there was no question that, for overall pelt, the skunk's was top-notch. And she had a way with pheromones, too, of course.

"Look, see, my wife's not a food processor, or, like, a dairy stand ... you can't just walk up and order milk." Desmond's ears twiddled atop his head. Twiddle, twiddle. "Okay?"

"Aw ... " Seldovia made a 'no fun' face. " ... come on. Anyway, it's not like we ask for it every day. I haven't had any of her milk, in like ... five weeks." A certain nod. "You get to have it every day."

"I'm her mate."

"Well, yeah, so ... I mean, of course, you deserve first priority," Seldovia said, nodding diplomatically. "But, still ... "

" ... she's not a grocery!"

"I didn't say she was. She's our friend. We all love her. I'm just saying she makes damn good milk. That stuff's better than alcohol," the skunk insisted, not mincing words.

" ... what's better than alcohol?" Milka asked, crawling out of an access tube, her rudder-tail slumping off to the side as she stood and closed the hatch she'd exited from. Being an ex-pirate, she was constantly updating the sensors to pick up pirate ships, their hull readings, engine outputs. Ion trails. The only problem was that the pirates knew that she knew those things, and kept trying to throw the station's sensors off track. With some fine-tuning, the otter was managing to stay one step ahead of them. So far. How much longer she could continue to do that, she wasn't sure.

"Cow milk," Seldovia said.

"Hyacinth's milk," Petra elaborated, finished with her whisker-grooming.

"So, like, are we putting in orders or something?" the otter asked, blinking, looking about, her roundish ears flat atop her rich-brown head-fur.

The toffee-furred rabbit made a scrunch-face. "Look, I'll ask her, okay?" he said, exasperated, flushing hotly beneath his fur. "I just get shy about it. Her milk's a ... it's a sensual thing, okay? I don't ... you know, it's a little bit strange to have my friends just come up to me and want my wife's breasts. I'm sure none of you has that problem."

"Excuse me?" Seldovia went, raising her eyes. "I'll have you know that a good deal of males want my breasts."

"Yeah, like who?"

"Like Morty."

"That goes without saying. Like, who else ... "

" ... just ... I got good breasts," the skunk insisted, lamely, voice trailing. She frowned, but soon had to smile.

"Even if that were true," the rabbit said, in a ribbing tone, "everyone wants my wife's. Everyone notices hers."

"Makes you a little jealous," Petra realized, in an honest, gentle manner.

Desmond nodded shyly. "I just get defensive."

"Well ... heh, I don't know what to tell you," Seldovia said, joining the fray again. "That's part of the territory when you marry a cow. They got udders like no other!"

"Heh ... " Petra chuckled, glancing down at a computer console, and then looking back up.

"Anyway, we want what's in her breasts," Seldovia corrected, grinning, pleased that Petra had been amused at her play on words. "You can have the breasts themselves, Desmond. We just want some milk. And we'll leave enough for you, if that's what you're worried about."

"Well, whatever. It just makes me flustered, okay?" The rabbit swallowed, beginning to rub at his cheeks, trying to cool down.

"Aw," Seldovia went, grinning. "Look at him. I thought that only happened to rodents."

"Rodents do 'shy an' flushed' cuter," Petra elaborated, "but I think most any-fur can be that way, sometimes, even rabbits ... "

" ... even you?" the skunk asked. "Even rats?"

"I'm a rodent, aren't I?"

"Not a 'finesse' rodent, though. You're a scruffier type."

"Well, us rats are pretty up-forward 'bout things, true, but ... I've been known to be a little bashful for words now and then."

"I don't believe it," Seldovia teased.

"Well, all the times it's happened, it's been in private, so ... you'll just have to take my word for it."

"Ah, in private, huh. Ah, I gotcha." A wink.

The rat just gave a scrappy grin.

Milka, off to the side, just smiled as she watched and listened to them banter. She, being the newest member of the crew (well, both her and Benji), still didn't feel fully like a 'part of the family.' Sure, they were her friends, and she considered Redwing Station her home, now. And Benji, for one, had quickly taken to things, becoming best friends with Mortimer. Being his engineering assistant and all. But Milka, herself, came from a background entirely different from everyone else here. She was an ex-renegade. A rogue. Where she came from, you didn't get too close to anyone else, lest they stab you in the back. But you're not a pirate anymore, Milka, she told herself. And they don't view you as one. You may not think you deserve to be 'family.' But you are.

" ... you alright?" Seldovia asked the otter, noticing how quiet she was.

Milka blinked, nodding, putting on a smile. "Just thinking, is all."

"About?" the skunk gently prodded, raising a bold brow.

" ... just how nice it is to be in a room with such genuine warmth and affection. Just how grateful I am for moments like this. It's just ... I don't know, it's nice." The otter, nodding, gave a little chirp, her black, diamond-shaped nose breathing in deep.

Seldovia beamed warmly, and then turned her head to see the lift suddenly whirring into view. It was Hyacinth.

" ... why's, uh ... everyone looking at me," the cow asked, quietly, her doe-like eyes scanning Ops, " ... you're all staring at me with that hungry look?" Her hooves scuffed on the carpet some. She paused, and then resumed her walk.

Petra ribbed Desmond in the side.

"Hey," the rabbit whispered, mewing, and then ... " ... uh, darling, I've been conscripted to ask you ... "

" ... they want milk, huh?" The cow chuckle-mooed, finally getting it. "I got a pair of breasts on me, I'll freely admit. I'm not embarrassed by them. But, yeah, it normally becomes obvious when they're being looked at." She raised her eyes at the skunk, in particular.

"I wasn't looking," Seldovia insisted, innocently, staring at the ceiling. "Is that a self-sealing stem bolt?"

"Nice try." The cow, smiling, shuffled past the skunk and settled next to her husband, slipping into her seat the comm station, her ropy tail whipping about. "I'll use the milking machine and bottle some milk tonight," Hyacinth said, nodding to the others. "You'll all get a bottle tomorrow."

A chorus of squeaking/purring/chirping 'thank you's,' everyone beginning to drift away, back to their own tasks. Returning their focus, at the moment, back to running the station and preparing for the next batch of visitors.

Hyacinth, alone next to Desmond, now, leaned her head on his shoulder and whispered, "You don't have to get so protective of me, you know."

"I love you," he breathed. "I just ... want all of you to myself."

"You've got it. You're not sharing me. Just my milk. All the best, most special parts," she breathed, a hoof-like hand resting on his thigh, "are yours alone. Just like you and your best parts ... "

" ... are all for you," he whispered for her. "I'm always yours."

A sloppy, nosy kiss to his cheek. "Now, how about we ... "

... beep-beep. Ba-beep.

" ... hmm." The cow, ears flapping on the sides of her head, sat up straighter, squinting. Trying to focus on her instruments. "That looks like a distress call. Petra ... "

" ... I'm on it," the rat said, scurrying to tactical, her thick, ropy tail flailing in the air behind her. Her grey-brown paws tapping at the controls. Her whiskers twitched. " ... sensors show a shuttle. And a pirate ship." A sigh, glancing to Milka. "They're attacking the shuttle."

The otter, nodding grimly, padded quickly to the rat's side, her rudder-tail held up off the carpeted floor. "Does the shuttle have weapons?"

The rat shook her head, swallowing.

"Then it won't do any good to give them the pirates' shield frequencies." A sigh, looking to the rat. "I can't do a lot from here. Their comm will probably go down soon, anyway."

"You and Desmond take a runabout. The runabouts are armed. Fight off the pirate ship. At the very least, get a tractor beam on that shuttle. Bring it back."

"Aye ... " The otter was already making way for the lift.

Desmond began to hop after her, but was stopped, Hyacinth's hoof-like hand grasping his paw, her gentle eyes meeting his.

The rabbit flushed and nodded. No words were needed. The love had been shown through a simple gaze. And, fingers reluctantly untangling from hers, he resumed his hopping, all the way to the lift.

"Landing Pad C," Milka said, the lift jerking and whirring down, down, and out of sight.

"Aren't you gonna tell Peregrine about this?" Seldovia asked Petra.

"Not yet. There's nothing we can do about it until the runabout gets to the scene. I know mouses. I know my husband. No reason to flare his anxiety unless I have to."

Seldovia nodded, taking a deep breath and looking at the view-screen, which showed the planet below and the stars beyond. "What's that old saying?" the skunk posed, to no one in particular. "In space, no one can hear you squeak?"

"I don't know 'bout you, but I like to think I got good ears," the rat said, her dishy ears swiveling. Not as big as mouse-ears, but looking rather similar.

Seldovia, nodding, gave a smile. "You're an optimist, now?"

"I've always been."

"You were less of one before you married Peregrine. I think he's rubbed off on you." A wink. "Not a bad thing," the skunk whispered, genuinely, smiling as she returned to her station.

And Petra, as the went, said, "You wink anymore, and your eyelashes will start to fall out."

The skunk chuckle-purred. "I'll keep that in mind."

"I've run the scans three times, now." A pause, swallowing as she drifted toward him, her luxurious, well-groomed tail wafting a soothing scent. "The results are the same." The squirrel took a deep breath and let it out, shaking her head. "I'm really sorry." She finally sat next to the mouse, gently so, settling on the bio-bed he was on, here in the infirmary. Her foot-paws not quite reaching the carpet as she sat. So, she looked down at them, wriggling her toes. Curling, uncurling them. Simple brown-furred toes with blunted claws. "You alright?" she eventually asked, still looking at her foot-paws. Before finally lifting her head and staring at the mouse's side. "Mm?" The squirrel, being very warm and kindly, had a good bedside manner. Plus, being a rodent herself, she knew how to talk to other rodents.

Peregrine said nothing, though, his breaths short and dejected. The grey-furred, rain-furred mouse was on his side, curled up in a silent, breathing ball, his tail following the outline of his body. How could anything so cute be the victim of such stark irony? Prancer didn't know. But she did know that she couldn't stand seeing him like this.

"Commander?" she said, using his rank, hoping that would draw him to attention.

A blink or two, sticking his pink, sniffy nose up, up in the air, just a bit.

The squirrel smiled.

And Peregrine, seeing this, curled back up again.

"Aw ... "

Muffled chitter-squeaks.

" ... sir, I know it's bad news, but it's ... " A serious sigh, putting a paw on his side. " ... it could be worse."

Peregrine, sighing heavily, whiskers drooping with dejection, uncurled and positioned himself at a shoulders-slumped sit. "Worse?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, like ... "

" ... I'm allergic to cheese."

She bit her lip. "Technically, you're intolerant. Intolerant to cheese," she stressed. "There's a difference."

"I'm a mouse!" was the bewildered, exasperated squeak, whiskers all a-twitch, ears swiveling. Blue-grey eyes wide. "How is that ... I mean, what ... " A whimper-squeak before going quiet.

"I know," was her apologetic look. A sigh, biting her lip again and shaking her head, before offering, "Well, look at it like this: you can eat cheese if you want. Whenever you want. It's just that ... "

" ... I'll itch all over." His voice, quiet and wispy, had a sullenness to it.

A quiet nod. "Mm-hmm. So, if it's worth the itch, go ahead, but ... from what you told me, it's a hot itch?" It'd been going on for a week.

"Like needle-pricks. It burns."

Another nod, taking a deep breath and tilting her head. "So, practically, yeah, you're gonna have to stop eating it."

"I have it every day ... "

"I know."

Peregrine, unblinking, looked to the wall, then the floor, and then to her, finally blinking and saying, "I've never been allergic to anything before."

"Intolerant," she repeated correctively. "But, you know, those things can happen out of nowhere. It's ... I'm sorry. I just don't know," she said. "I don't mean to sound like a bad doctor, but ... "

" ... you're not. You're not a bad doctor." A soft, little sigh. He paused for a moment, and then admitted, "I've always been scared of them, you know? Doctors? Like, cause they know so much about so much stuff ... I mean, inside stuff. Blood. I always wanna faint when I see blood. I mean, I'm prey. I can't handle it." A pause. "You're prey, too."

"Mm-hmm."

"How do you do it?"

"Handle seeing blood, or ... "

A whisker-twitching nod.

"I'm not sure, really. I just don't think about it. I mean, yeah, I've got this instinctual fear of being hunted, and spilt blood signifies, to that instinct, the 'hunt,' and ... but, you know, you don't think about it. I'm a doctor because I like to make others feel better. I like to comfort them. I actually thought about being a counselor."

"You did?" The mouse's fleshy ears arched.

"Yeah." A chitter-sound, her bushy tail flitting in place. "And I probably could've done it. But it wasn't 'paws-on' enough for me. Squirrels, we're ... acrobatic, I guess you could say." A bright smile. "We're agile. We like to vault, scamper, flip, climb. We like the action of things. And practicing medicine? It's helping, but it's also action. It's tangible. I don't know if that makes any sense."

" ... it does," the mouse insisted, own tail wavering behind him. His mousey motions starting to come back to life. Sure, the news that his body had developed a sudden cheese intolerance had come as a shock, but he hadn't become a command-level officer for no reason. Despite any and all bad things that had happened to him during his life, trivial or important, he'd learned how to keep perspective. It was just that, sometimes, his emotions got the best of him. "But, even though doctors kind of spook me, you never have. I've never been scared of you."

Prancer smiled. "Glad to hear it."

Peregrine bit his lip, to keep from smiling back. He couldn't smile just yet. "I feel like less a mouse. I really do."

"You're not 'less a mouse.' You're not less of anything."

"But, like ... " A frustrated sigh. " ... it'd be like you without trees or nuts. Or, like, skunks without scent, or ... a mouse without cheese?"

"I'm pretty sure if you asked anyone on this station why they like you or respect you, or what defines your 'mousey-ness'?" the squirrel posed, helpfully. " ... well, they wouldn't say 'cheese'."

"What would they say?" Peregrine looked to her.

"They'd say it was your gentility, your faith, your shyness. Your cuteness. You can be trusted. You're empathetic. I mean, you understand how furs are, and ... "

" ... when I first came here, I don't think anyone believed I'd be a good leader."

"Well, some of us had our doubts," she admitted, honestly, "but you have to understand: before you, the station was just sitting here, wasting away. All our previous commanders had been corrupt. We were pretty cynical. You instilled some hope into things. Be it the working environment, or ... just by being there. By being friendly. You know?"

His ears went a little bit rosy-pink. He wasn't sure what to say to that.

" ... anyway," Prancer said, taking a deep breath and changing the subject a bit. Not wanting to make him too uncomfortable. "I know you love cheese, and like I said: you can still eat it. You'll just itch really bad. It's up to you."

" ... I don't wanna itch." He knew that for certain.

"I wouldn't, either." A reassuring smile. "There's lots of foods besides cheese."

" ... none as tasty," was his squeaky, effeminate insistence. A wispy sigh. "I still feel like 'less a mouse,' somehow."

"If it's any reassurance, some food conditions go away on their own. Maybe, in a few years, you'll wake up one day and be able to eat a whole cheese-wheel. Maybe it's just temporary."

"I'm sure it's not," he said, sighing. " ... knowing me, I'm sure it's not."

"Well, you can't be sure. Come on, cheer up, okay?"

" ... I'll try," was his weak reply.

She nodded, and then nodded gain. "Regardless, this only started a week ago, so I'd like to keep scanning you. You should get a check-up every day. At least for a while."

"Yeah ... "

Prancer put a paw on his shoulder. "Hey, like I said, you're full of mousey-ness, cheese or no cheese."

He gave another nod and quietly slipped off the bio-bed, to a stand, smoothing his uniform as he said, not making eye contact, "I guess I should return to duty."

" ... nothing pressing today, is there?"

"We got more visitors."

"Right now?"

"Later in the, uh, afternoon."

"It's only mid-morning," the squirrel said. "I suggest you get some rest."

"No, I just wanna stay busy. I don't wanna think about it," he said, of the 'cheese intolerance,' and of the self-asked questions of his own 'mousey-ness.' "I'll see you later. Uh ... we're gonna throw another dinner thing for the ship that's docking next."

"So, I guess the means my husband is now a full-time chef?" she asked, grinning. "That's all he seems to do anymore, is cook."

"Well, he can be the new 'morale and hospitality officer.' Or something. If we're gonna make this place fully alive again, we'll need someone to coordinate the affairs of our guests."

"I think he'd like that," Prancer said, of Nin. "I'll talk to him about it."

Peregrine gave a quiet nod, whiskers twitching, and then paused. And then padded toward the door, not even getting there before his comm-badge chirped. He stopped, twitching, and tapped it. "Yeah?"

"Perry, we got a problem." It was Petra's adrenaline-spiked voice.

The mouse's blue-grey eyes widened. "What's wrong?"

"A ship. A shuttle. Looks like they ran into the space pirates. I don't know, they're ventin' drive plasma ... limpin' closer. I've sent Milka and Desmond in a runabout to tow 'em in. I think we might have casualities. I've also put the station on yellow alert. In case the pirates got any bolder ideas. We got that mole ship comin' tonight, for a two-day stay ... I don't want them to get attacked, also."

"Alright. I'll be in Ops in a minute." Peregrine swallowed, and turned to look at Prancer.

The squirrel, bushy tail flagging about, just nodded. Her angular ears cocked atop her head. Her heart picked up its pace. She would be ready. It was her job to be ready.

Amelie and Wheldon, their help not needed at the moment, were down among the nooks and crannies of the lower core, completely oblivious to all that was going on in Ops, and to everything that had been discovered on the station's scanners. For, oh, their own, biological 'sensors' were so finely-tuned to each other.

The snow rabbit arching, arching, full of life, full of crystalline beauty, her bare belly vulnerable to her husband's roving paws.

He, huffing, ran those paws up, up her belly, to her bare breasts. Those soft, supple mounds, which he gently caressed as his muzzle tilted, leaning in for the kiss.

Oh, his kiss.

He pressed, not letting up.

Amelie's eyes shut, her lips loosened, slipping and meshing with his own, to where she was eventually suckling on his lower lip.

And his tongue, in turn, was touching the tip of her own. His own eyes were closed, as well. The very taste of passion seemingly dripping down his throat. He swallowed and broke the kiss to suck in air, to breathe deeply of this rarified, love-lit calm. The calm before the frenzy. The romantic sensibility before the passion completely took over, before they became lost in that whirling tangle of limbs and desires. " ... darling," he managed, very quietly, breathing the word onto her cheek.

" ... yes," was her simple response, almost inaudible.

But his long, slender ears were twiddling, almost touching hers. Like antennae. And, oh, he heard everything. " ... I don't know what I want to say to you. I just needed ... to hear your voice. And for you to hear mine," he managed, arms slipping around her prim waist. "I just need to know this is real." He swallowed, nose against her neck. "I need to know you're here."

"I'm here," she whispered, as delicately as a flower, her ice-blue eyes half-open, now, and her white-furred, black-padded paws on her husband's sides, lifting his shirt.

Wheldon, breathing in deeply and tilting his muzzle to the ceiling, raised his arms. His shirt tugged up, up, and off.

Amelie, sighing, dropped it aside, eyes closing again as she began to nibble on his bare, broad shoulder.

His muzzle lowered, lowered as she did so, head leaning against her own, and his paws moving up and down her lower back, sliding into her pants.

She drew in air, her rump gripped, massaged. Rump-cheeks massaged, as her husband left one paw in her pants. The other coming to the front of her, to undo the button. To unzip the zipper.

She went to a shimmy, her holy-white flame of a bobtail, like a sign of all good things, ever-present behind her, poised and perfect.

He got her pants off, off, down her thighs, off her hips. Her panties, too.

Her paws all over him, fumbling with his own attire. Oh, there was no need for clothes, there was no need for any layer of separation. There was only a throbbing need for togetherness, for pressing, rhyming fusion of fur and form. There was only a need to romantically collide.

And, so, that's what they did, bare, in the fur, against the wall, him all-out hugging her, mouthing at her cheek. He wanted her so badly. He needed her in the worst way.

Her arms around him in a tender, simple way. Just holding. " ... do not let go," she begged of him.

"I won't ... I won't," he promised, taking her down to the carpeted floor, taking her down to her back. And hugging her all the while, kissing her a few more times before leaning his forehead to hers, their breaths mingling. Same as their scents. And their fur meshing as belly met belly, as his chest sank down against her breasts. "There are so many things," he breathed, hardly able to word it, "that I want to do to you."

The snow rabbit let out a hot, little breath, eyes glancing to his. " ... then by all means, my love," she said, in that proper, snow rabbit way. " ... by all means, do them."

The rabbit, breathing deep, and beaming brightly, kissed her black nose as he nodded and slowly squirmed down her body. He was going to do all those things, and more. He was going to show her everything.

And, as he began to do so, she could only weakly mew.

" ... this ship is wrecked. Look at this console," Mortimer said, wincing. They were at Landing Pad C, where both the runabout and the damaged shuttle were at. The runabout was fine. Obviously, the shuttle was not. The pirates, upon seeing the runabout's approach, had fired a few shots. But Milka knew their tactical tendencies, and managed to drive them off. And had then, with Desmond's help, towed the shuttle back to the station.

Benji, eyes wide, lugging the racoon's tool-kit with his webbed paws, whispered, "It exploded. The console, I mean. Right?"

"Yeah ... surprised there wasn't a hull-breach. Mm. This bulkhead here ... " He looked away, sighing with a 'whoosh' of air. "I don't know that this is worth repairing. It'd take at least a week. I mean, with only the two of us?" His ringed, fluffy tail hung in the air.

"One of us. One," Benji corrected, "of us. I just give you the tools you ask for. You're the only one that can do the work."

"Well ... " The raccoon squinted. " ... if I didn't know any better, I'd say those salamanders got themselves some new weaponry."

"What makes you say that?"

Mortimer, mask-furred face half in darkness, just looked at his scanner and said, "The signatures are all different. Assuming they used a phase canon ... I mean, I don't think they torpedoed this thing. Assuming they used a phase canon, then the weapons signature left on the hull ... I mean, the energy signature? Doesn't match the same signatures from our other encounters with them."

"Maybe it wasn't the salamanders. Maybe it was someone else."

A shake of the head. "No, Petra said she picked up pirate ships." A pause. "Why ... why would they be installing all their ships with new weapons?" the raccoon whispered, meeting Benji's eyes.

The nutria swallowed. "They're gearing up for a major assault?" he whispered. It came out as half a question, half a statement.

"What's the only place in this sector worth assaulting?"

The nutria twitched, sniffing the air. " ... you think they're gonna make another go at us? At the station?"

"Well, they're stubborn. They hold a grudge. They got beat by a an effeminate mouse." A breath. "They don't want on their resume, do they? I don't think they're happy knowing Peregrine is helping to build this station into an actual community. After all, the stronger the station is, the bigger the threat it becomes to the pirates' way of life, right?"

" ... well, we've been upgrading our own weapons, too, haven't we?" was all Benji could say.

"A little. I mean ... there's only me and you. The pirates might be, shall we say, 'less intellectually inclined,' but they outnumber us by a good hundred individuals. At least. They simply have the fur-power to get more done ... more quickly," the raccoon added. "Ships are easier to maintain than stations."

"Well, we can beat them, though ... "

The raccoon, staring blankly at the blown-out console, blinked and looked to the rodent, putting on a reassuring smile. "Sure. Yeah ... " A nod, taking a deep breath.

Benji twitched, suddenly very worried. "Mortimer ... "

" ... we'll be fine, Benji. I'm serious. Don't worry. I've been on this station for a few years, now. We've survived a lot. I don't think we'll be ... "

" ... losing him! I don't have a heartbeat ... " The squirrel's paws, soaked in maroon-red blood, reached over, pushing down on the male otter's chest. Push, push, push. "I need that defibrillator!"

" ... I ... which ... " Nin sounded panicked, quills at a raised-and-ready, so-sharp position. As always happened when his rodent body went into a fight-or-flight response.

" ... that one. Silver, square-shaped thing. Nin!" The squirrel's tail was tensely arched.

" ... I got it. I got it," he answered, breathlessly, bringing it over to her, almost dropping it. He wasn't used to this. Even if his wife was trained to handle situations like this, he wasn't. He wasn't prepared.

The squirrel quickly grabbed for the device, wasting no time in placing it on the otter's chest, tapping a few buttons and squeaking, "Clear!" Her eyes were at a focused, dark squint.

Wh-z-z-ZAP!

The otter's body arched and fell back down.

Prancer, forehead-fur matted with sweat, eyes wide, swung her gaze to the nearest computer monitor. " ... nothing ... a-again," she said, her voice shaking. "I'm trying again. Clear!"

Wh-z-z-ZAP!

The pulse monitor was flat-lining, now. The sound a steady, monotonous tone.

Nin, shaking his head, whispered, "I ... I don't think he's coming back." His sharp, club-like tail lowered, as if the energy had been taken out of him.

"No ... clear!" Prancer shouted, zapping the otter again. Watching as his body jerked, his head lolling aside. The eyes shut. Totally shut.

" ... darling, he's ... " The porcupine put a paw on her arm, trying to bring her back down from the 'battle high' she was on. For this was a battle. She was fighting against death itself, and she could not lose. At any cost, she could not lose.

So, she twisted her arm away from him. "Let go ... " She twitched fiercely. The blood dripping from her blunted claws. Her breasts heaved beneath her stained uniform. The steady, uninterrupted tone of the pulse-monitor like a ghostly, unbroken whistle in her ears. She panted, shaking her head.

" ... there was too much cranial trauma, anyway," the porcupine whispered, letting her know, in an indirect way, that this wasn't her fault. Not in any possible way. This was not her fault.

Prancer couldn't make eye contact with him. She just nodded in the weakest of ways and whispered, "Computer ... "

The computer chirruped.

She hesitated. She'd treated a lot of injuries since she'd gotten to this station. A lot of bad injuries. But she'd never lost a patient. Back in medical school, she'd lost one. But she'd not been the only doctor around when that had happened. Right now, she was alone. It all had rested on her. And she lost. And, as prey, it terrified her. She was literally shaking, now, the anxiety, the fear. You're prey, her darker side seemed to whisper to her. You're just prey. What made you think you could fight this? You, of all creatures, should know that the hunted always succumbs to the hunter in the end.

" ... darling." Ninilchik, swallowing, put his paws on her arms, very worried for her. Smelling her fear. And feeling it, himself. Porcupines, having quills, having such protection, didn't have the same anxiety issues as other rodents. But that didn't mean he couldn't relate. He definitely could. "Prancer?" He touched her more closely.

She jerked, eyes wide, almost stepping backward. She paused, panting, looking down. " ... computer," she repeated, swallowing. " ... l-log time of death: 1132 hours, station-time. Patient is survived by ... " She closed her eyes, and then opened them, glancing across the infirmary, at the other fur in the room. " ... patient's body will go to the care of his wife. End log."

Nin, quills beginning to lower and lock together, back to a non-defensive state, whispered something in the squirrel's ear.

Eyes closed, and tears streaming down her cheeks, she nodded. And nodded again, clearing her throat. " ... you, uh ... go tell Peregrine what happened. I'll, uh, talk to her," she said, of the otter's wife.

Nin gave a nod of his own, hesitating before pulling away from his love, glancing back at her as he left the infirmary.

Prancer almost wiped her wet eyes. But then realized she still had blood on her paws. So, she just sighed and blinked. Repeatedly blinking, and wiping her paws on a clean towel, taking the towel with her as she walked over to the pretty, honey-colored mouse, who was twitching blankly on an empty bio-bed.

The mouse looked up as Prancer sat next to her.

And Prancer realized she didn't even know the mouse's name. Or the deceased otter's, for that matter. After swallowing and taking a short, little breath, the squirrel whispered, "I'm very sorry. His injuries were too severe. I tried everything ... " That seemed so pale to say. Even if it was the total truth.

The honey-furred mouse just nodded.

"He's ... I'm sure he didn't feel much. He'd been knocked out instantaneously, from the looks of it." A pause. "He's in heaven, now. He's in a better place ... waiting for you," the squirrel whispered.

The mouse, looking to the carpeted floor, and smelling her husband's blood on the squirrel's paws, just nodded quietly and whispered, "He was a scientist. He didn't believe in heaven."

Prancer bit her lip, awkwardly. " ... oh."

"Anything he couldn't study in a laboratory, you know? Eternity, divinity. He just ... " The mouse's voice broke a bit. Not harboring anything negative. But just dripping with a sad, poignant tenderness. " ... he just couldn't understand why, if Deity were real, that He would love us enough ... " A pause. " ... enough to be a fool for us. So, salvation, heaven, it ... no, he didn't believe any of it." A shake of the head.

The squirrel, whiskers twitching, opened her muzzle to say something apologetic, but ...

... the mouse kept going, voice so, so quiet, laced with such conviction. "I remember we couldn't even get married in a church." Her eyes watery, the tears dripping from her whisker-tips, she smiled. As if remembering some argument that, in retrospect, seemed silly. " ... he told me he'd be lying if he recited religious vows, so ... we got married in a government building, by some official. I don't remember what the room looked like. I don't even remember the face of the fur that ... that married us." A sniffle, cheeks hot beneath the fur. A heavy, hurting sigh. "I loved him so much. It didn't matter, you know? How different we might've been? It didn't make ... it didn't matter," she repeated. "I loved him."

" ... I understand," Prancer whispered. "You don't have to explain." A pause, hesitating before putting a paw on the mouse's arm. "Love doesn't have to make sense."

A quiet nod. A sniffle, eyes closing. "Now, he's gone, and if he was right: then he's nothing. He's just ... snuffed out. I'll never see him again. Never know him again. That's it. Just a black void, an abyss of emptiness." A heavy pause. "The fullness of young love swallowed up by hollowness." The tears came more heavily now, as her eyes opened. She looked to Prancer.

The squirrel wanted to break the eye contact, at first. As fierce and mournful as it was. But she couldn't. She just couldn't look away from the mouse.

The newly-made widow saying, "But, for both his sake and mine, and for the sake of our child," she said, swallowing, "I can't lose my faith, now. I never did lose it, and I'm not going to start now. I have to believe he's wrong. That he had no idea what he was talking about. Because, otherwise, there's no hope. There's no assuaging this grief ... " She looked away from the squirrel again, taking a deep breath, holding it. And then letting it go. "I don't think he anticipated that. How it would affect those of us he left behind. To him, fading into nothing wasn't a problem. To him, it was inevitable. But I'm still here, looking at his dead, broken body ... seeing a shell of the fur I loved, and the thought ... the thought of him being right is too brutal and cruel to fathom." Her voice broke, and she sucked air. "It hurts. So ... so badly. But I'm going to survive, because I have faith," she repeated.

And Prancer began to realize that the mouse wasn't saying this as way of explanation, but as way of reassurance. The mouse was trying to reassure herself. She was saying all this for her own benefit. But, even so, it was touching Prancer dearly. And she had to close her eyes, a lump in her throat, hearing the mouse continue, "I loved him. That's why I know he was wrong," she emphasized finally, with a fierce, wounded passion. "And I hope God has taken his soul, despite his ... his lack of faith. Because I prayed for him ... every day, for his soul. I loved him so much ...e-every day ... " The mouse broke down. " ... he better be safe ... I need him to be ... "

Prancer, eyes opening and stinging, drew the mouse into a hug.

The mouse shook, whiskers quivering, tail quavering. Sniffling, trying to keep control of herself. But mouses were emotional, fragile creatures. And there was nothing she could do right now but break down.

The squirrel, eyes closed, just continued the hug. And just stayed there, quietly, supporting her fellow rodent.

Eventually, the mouse, taking shaky breaths, eyes a bit red, whispered, " ... oh, I already miss him. What am I going to do ... " A brief note of despair.

" ... shh," the squirrel soothed, hugging, holding. "It's okay ... you'll see him again. We both know that."

A swallow, sniffling, tail limp and whiskers drooped, and her heart seeming to ache from the very center.

" ... you, uh, said you had a child?" Prancer whispered. The medical side of her wondering about that. Rodents and otters couldn't reproduce.

A sniffle, swallowing. "Adopted. We adopted a baby otter, cause we couldn't ... do it ourselves, yeah," was the broken whisper. "Uh, I think she's with the, uh ... a cow took her. But I don't want her to see me like this. She's so young. I ... she wouldn't understand."

"Don't worry, Hyacinth's very gentle. She'll take care of your baby." A pause. "You can stay on the station as long as you need to. We'll be here ... I'll be here."

"I'll, uh ... but I'll have to go back," the mouse said, weakly clearing her throat. "Our families. Parents. Back home I gotta go tell them, and be with them ... "

Prancer nodded quietly.

The mouse, looking a little frail, but also built-up by her fiery, focused faith, said, "It wasn't your fault. I'm grateful for your help."

The squirrel, cheeks flushing, replied, "I wish I could've helped more."

"I wouldn't want your job," the mouse said, sniffling, whiskers beginning to twitch again.

"Sometimes, I don't want it, either," the squirrel whispered blankly, looking over to the dead body on the bio-bed. Her heart just aching. And it didn't matter that her patient had been a stranger. He'd been a life. And every life, to the doctor, was special. It was her job to do everything she could to preserve it. And when she failed? She felt like a failure on every level. She felt pangs. She felt ...

" ... tired. I'm so tired," the mouse whispered. "I need to lay down." Her paws were shaking.

"I'll get you some blankets. Um ... you wanna stay in here?" Prancer whispered, barely audible.

The mouse gave a nod. "I need a sedative," she said, referring to 'anti-mousers.' "Please."

Prancer nodded quietly, not questioning the request.

" ... will you pray with me?" the mouse breathed, eyes shut. "When you get back?"

"Of course." A pause. And the squirrel, letting out a breath, finally slipped off the bio-bed. And went over to the lifeless otter, trying to avoid looking at his face as she covered him up with a sheet. She didn't want to be haunted by the face. And, having covered him, she padded over to some drawers, opening them, fetching some blankets for the mouse.

" ... do you mind if I ask you something?" the honey-furred mouse said, speaking up.

Prancer paused, blinking. "What?"

"The porcupine. He's your mate?"

"Yes," was the careful whisper.

"He whispered something in your ear before he left. What did he say?"

Prancer hesitated. "Um ... "

" ... please?" the mouse looked pained.

Prancer, meeting the mouse's eyes, replied, "He told me 'I love you'."

The mouse closed her heavily-watered eyes and nodded, smiling slightly. As if this had triggered happy memories of her own love. As if love, in combination with faith, was truly the stuff of hope. As if God were in this very room at this very moment.

And Prancer, after another hesitation, began moving again. The mouse's husband may have been gone. But the mouse was still here. And Prancer, by oath and by the nature of her heart, would care for her as long as was necessary.

It was later in the day, evening, in the ward room.

"The mouse is gonna take the next freighter out of here. Her an' her baby. I think she could even go with the moles. We'll have to ask 'em," Petra said, sipping punch. "Prancer's a little shook up, but Nin's helping her with that. She's a doctor. She's lost patients before." A pause. "I know that sounds cold, but ... she knows that's a part of the profession. She'll, uh, be fine in a few days. I told her she's in our prayers."

Peregrine nodded quietly, eyes darting over the buffet-like table, where all of Nin's 'culinary creations' were set out, where everyone could serve themselves. The moles were lingering around the ward room, and the station's crew was chatting amiably with them. They were friendly, velvety-furred things, a bit aloof, but adorably so. Always squinting. Their big digger-claws made for strong hugs and paw-shakes. Unlike the last few visiting ships to Redwing Station, they weren't traders. They were a passenger ship, as well as a ship of exploration. "Mortimer says he has suspicions about the pirates."

"That they're gearing to attack us?"

A quiet nod.

"Maybe." Petra, finished with her punch, put her glass down.

"Maybe?" The mouse's whiskers twitched.

"Well, if they do, they do. We'll be ready for 'em."

"You make it sound so simple."

"It is," the rat insisted.

"You know, there are times when I wish we were still a part of the Federation. If pirates attacked a Federation outpost, then ... I mean, they'd think twice. They wouldn't want the political retribution."

"Never stopped 'em from attacking us before."

"That's because the Federation never cared. If we happened to be destroyed, we would've been an 'acceptable loss'." A pause, looking his wife in the eyes, and whispering, "No loss on this station, no loss of life, no loss of ship or structure ... is acceptable anymore. Not that it ever was. But, you know, I ... " He sighed, getting more to the point in voicing, "I won't let what happened to that otter happen to you."

"It won't," she responded. "But if it does? You're not gonna fall to pieces, cause y'know where I'll be. Y'know we'll have eternity. We've both had traumas in our lives. We've both learned, gotten stronger. And we're both stubborn." A soft smile.

He nodded quietly, biting his lip and smiling softly in response, comforted by their shared faith, strengthened by it, taking a deep breath through his nose. "We've spent too much time," he breathed, "finally turning this into a true home. We're not all the way there. But we're making so much progress. I'm not going to have it ruined by the likes of pirates."

" ... well, like I said, we'll take care of it," she promised, "if and when it happens. We don't even know they're gonna attack again. We're just assuming. They may never come. So," she said, paws on his sides, "I think you need to be calmin' down some. This is a party. Mingle, have fun. Don't worry 'bout stuff that you can't control." She whispered against the side of his neck. "I'm your tactical officer. I'm your first officer. An' I'm your wife. I got your tail in every imaginable way."

" ... every," he breathed back, feeling her rodent buck-teeth grazing, grazing through the steely-grey fur on his nape. " ... every way?"

"Every," she whispered, with amorous, burning, pin-wheeling intent, "way."

" ... you two need a room?" Wheldon asked, piling some more buttered rolls and sugared carrots onto his plate.

"Not yet," Petra responded, with a grin, hugging Peregrine from behind and gently swaying with him. "Though I s'pose we could be like you and Amelie and just use whatever room or corridor we're closest to, I guess."

"Don't know what you're talking about." The rabbit's bobtail flickered as he got some more salad, too.

"Yeah, you two drop your pants wherever's convenient."

"Well, I've never dropped my pants in the ward room with twenty other furs, have I?" was the smart, ear-waggling response.

"Not yet." The rat grinned.

Wheldon smirked and drifted away, not responding. Just going back to Amelie, who was dressed in a ravishing, blue dress, with straps for the shoulders.

Petra, also wearing a dress, though a more simple one, swayed with her husband some more, still hugging him from behind.

And, by now, the mouse was blushing lots. His ears rosy, rosy pink. "Petra," he whispered.

"Yeah, hun?"

"I'm intolerant to cheese. That's what was making me itchy."

"I know. Prancer told me."

" ... does that make me 'less a mouse'?" His whiskers twitched.

"Not even for a second, Perry. Not even ... " A breath, closer, sharing her warmth. Her voice became sultry. " ... I'll show you just how much a mouse you are."

"Maybe we should, uh ... you should show me later? Uh, we should, uh ... disentangle for the moment. Furs are beginning to stare at us ... " His ears were rosy, rosy pink. The capillaries beginning to show round the edges.

"Mm." A nibble to the base of his ear. " ... yeah," she said, breathing in deeply through the nose as she pulled back. "Anyway, 'bout everything, the pirates, the cheese ... the dangers. Don't worry, okay?"

"Sometimes, I feel we're all just fools. We think we know more than we do. We think we're so smart, but ... we can't control anything. We're at the mercy of so much that is so ... so far," he whispered, "beyond us."

"An' you have the humility to admit it. An' that's good," she told him. "I don't care if you run mostly on emotion. Logic is overrated."

"Yeah?" the mouse breathed.

"You can use logic to justify anything. That's its power ... and its flaw. But your heart? I trust your heart. Cause I know that whatever is justified through your heart," she whispered into his ear, "is coming from a place of purity." A few steamy breaths. "We may be fools for each other, Perry, but it's all in the name of love. And, if there's anything that God condones, it's that." A pause, turning him around and meeting his eyes. "And it's never gonna end," she whispered, convincingly.

Peregrine smiled shyly, innocently, full of hope and faith, and full of tenderness. The feelings he felt for her, they welled up, almost spilled out of his ears. They made his tail waver almost tipsily. Tonight, he didn't need a fiery pillar in the sky to prove that they were blessed, or that they were being watched by the Watcher. There were fears, of course, and pains. There were, at times, great losses. They'd all marched around their share of Jerichos, to be sure. But the stars outside the window were bright even from a distance, shining of simple mercy. And the love inside this room outshone even them, and was even more merciful.

"Come on," Petra eventually whispered, taking her husband's paw. And, quietly, she led him away from the food table and back to the others.