The Autumn Defense
"Why didn't you tell him you were in heat?"
"I ... I didn't know," she whispered. And paused.
He raised a brow.
"I was five days before my cycle, and ... you know, we have a link. If I HAD been ... "
"You were," he insisted.
"If I had KNOWN, though, he would've known, too. Would've felt it. Would've ... "
" ... been more careful? Practiced restraint? Worn a condom?" he said, rattling on ...
She frowned up at him. "I don't know." She sighed, eyes open and unblinking. Looking a bit worn. A bit out of their element. "Believe me, when I'm in heat, I KNOW it, and ... I didn't feel it. I don't ... "
"Well, it's not outside the realm of possibility that your cycle started early, and the effects hadn't kicked in yet ... like, say, your heat started, but the manifestations were on time-delay. It's been known to happen with furs."
"But that's why I'm here ... I didn't feel it at ALL this time. I was worried something was wrong. I just ... didn't expect it would be THIS." Or maybe she did. Maybe she had. But ... the possibility was so overwhelming, so unreal ...
"You're fine. Far as I can tell." He waggled his ears. "You have a link with him. Is this your first heat since you've been ... linked?"
She nodded. "We have them bi-monthly, not every month. Us bats, I mean. But, yes, it's ... it was gonna be my first heat since we mentally linked. I ... I was really looking forward to it. I ... to feel that with him. But I had planned on taking a dosage, you know, so we could ... so, this wouldn't have been a worry ... so we could relax and yiff without worrying about getting ... "
"Well, that could explain it. Could have an affect." A pause. "And, next time, take your dosage before-paw. BEFORE you know you might need it."
She just nodded blankly.
Kody continued running a humming, thrumming scanner back and forth over her exposed belly. Which was pink and slender. Soft. And the rabbit, deactivating the scanner, putting it aside, smiled and said, "In the end of it all, though ... looks like our main mouse done knocked you up, Adelaide." He seemed amused.
"Can I sit up now?" she whispered, pulling her tunic back over her belly.
"Mm-hmm."
They were in sickbay. It was early in the morning. Field was on the bridge. And Adelaide, folding her wings across her chest (as if afraid, as if trying to hide herself), asked, "How did ... mice and bats, they can't ... reproduce."
"How do you know? Have they ever tried?"
"It's just ... I know they can't."
"It's true," Kody allowed, nodding, "that most furs can't produce inter-species offspring. If they could, if nature allowed it ... the original species, after only a few generations, would be entirely replaced by a million different, ever-changing hybrids. Mate a rabbit and a hawk, for instance, and then mate their offspring to an otter. So on down the line. It would be genetic, social chaos. So, it doesn't happen, you're right. However," he added, sitting beside her on the bio-bed. "There are SOME exceptions. Squirrels and chipmunks can reproduce together. They're closely enough related. A leopard can have a cheetah's child ... felines can have babies with other felines, but, say, a feline CANNOT have a baby with a rodent. A mouse can have a baby with a rat, but NOT with a fox."
Adelaide nodded. She knew that. And it made sense, but ...
"Canines with other canines," the rabbit continued. " ... and, so, while there's been no documented case of a bat birthing a mouse's child ... " He trailed. Gave her the scanner. "Facts don't lie."
She stared down at the information. Letting out a quiet breath. Giving it back.
"I would've thought," the doctor told her, voice gentler than it normally was. In the past, he'd resented the bat. Questioned her abilities. Quarreled with her. But ... she appeared so vulnerable now. So delicate. Like glass. Like those wings were paper things. And, so, he sat beside her, speaking softly. "I would've thought you would've been happy. You're a very religious fur. A child is ... a gift from God. A miracle. It's creation, it's ... "
"I am happy," she whispered.
"Funny way of showing it. You look like you've seen a ghost."
She took a breath, absently licking her fangs. Eyes darting silently. "I just ... " Her voice faltered. "I'm just so young. I'm not ready for this." But, then, who was? Who in their right mind ... ever was?
"Not that young. 22. The average life-span for a fur is 65. You're not THAT young."
"Bats live longer than other furs. My grandparents are still alive, and they're both past 73 ... "
"Still ... "
"I just ... I'm on a star-ship. Me and Field, we're very ... our love is still new, you know? I mean, it's ... we're deeply in love, but I thought we'd have time. A few years to ourselves. Exploring things. You know, just ... I didn't ... I thought we had time, and now ... " Her breath trailed away. "My whole future's just changed. I ... I'm happy," she emphasized, "but I'm ... " Her voice, yet again, faltered. "I'm scared," she whispered.
Kody felt the urge to hug her right then. But didn't. Felt it might be inappropriate. Instead, said, "Would you like me to call Field?"
"I'll do it," she whispered.
He nodded. "Do you need anything? Wanna lie down for a while?"
Her turn to nod. She breathed in through the nose. And nodded again. And again ...
Chester toiled in the shuttle-bay. They had two new shuttle-pods now. Bringing their compliment back up to four. One, Two, Three, Four. And though they were only numerically named, the mouse could tell them apart. Each engine had a very distinct nuance in its hum. And, being a mouse, having the ears he did ... he could tell.
He was the pilot assigned to upkeep the pods. And watch over the bay. And was also a reserve helm officer for the bridge. Today was a slow day, but he didn't mind. For it was on those days that he could let his imagination fly. That he could walk around. Sit and stare at the pods. Imagine flying them in different atmospheres.
He was currently, though, scanning their hulls for any micro-fractures or imperfections. On the upper level. Behind the railing which ran around the perimeter of the walls. With ladders leading down to the main level of the bay.
The door below clunked open. Some foot-paw steps.
"Squeaker-squeak!" A voice teased.
Chester bit his lip and smiled, turning round, going to the railing. Looking down. Seeing Juneau down there, looking back up at him. Giving him a little wave.
"Hey, sweetie." Her voice seemed to echo in the space of the shuttle-bay. In all the open air. In all the grey and cool-blue colors.
"Is it lunch already?" They were going to have lunch together on their lunch-break. In the mess.
"Not yet, no. Just ... wandering around. Have a bit of a lull in my schedule."
Chester nodded.
"Gonna invite me up there?"
"Well ... you're a squirrel," he said shyly. "You're the climber. So ... climb."
She did so. Coming up the ladder, looking around. "The view from up here," she mocked, "is fabulous. You can see for ... feet!"
"I like it up here. It's ... it's cozy," Chester said. "Private."
"It is," she agreed, sighing. Smiling. Looking to him. "I just ... I just wanted to come by and see you."
He bit his lip. Chester was shy. Horribly shy. Even more shy than Field, in some ways. Though all mice were born with social anxiety problems. It often took them a lifetime to get past them.
"What's wrong?" she whispered.
"Nothing."
"You just seem like you'd rather be alone."
"I'm a mouse," was all he said.
"Want me to leave?"
He shook his head.
She smiled at him, taking a step forward. And she stopped, looking round again. "Gonna name the new pods?"
"They already have names."
"Two and Four?"
Chester nodded.
"What about ... name-names? Name one of them ... "
"After you?" He smiled.
"Wasn't gonna suggest that, but now that you mention it ... " She giggled. "No, I'm not that egotistical. I don't want a pod named after me. Those pods, they get ... destroyed all the time. There's always that ONE stubborn shuttle-pod that survives, though, like, seven years, that lives on while the others all ... explode, or ... are torn apart by an anomaly. Or ... "
"Well, they're under my care, and ... I'm not one to lose my things. I remember where I put them."
"You lost two already, sweetie," she cooed. Into his ear. "Better keep your eyes and ears," she whispered, "open." She blew a soft, soft breath into his sensitive ear. His large, dishy ear.
Chester shivered.
"Like that?" she whispered.
"Feels ... "
"Good?" She wrapped her paws around him.
"Juneau," he hesitated.
"I won't get you in trouble." She was bolder than him. A lot bolder than him. She was spunky. He was, as always, shy. "We'll do it in one of the pods. Pick one."
He stammered. "Um ... "
"I'm not due back in engineering for another forty-five minutes. Surely, we can ... mm ... "
It wasn't unheard of for furs to yiff while on duty. While at work. While ... et cetera, et cetera. Most furs did it. Everyone knew it was going on. Wren knew, must've known ... his crew-furs were yiffing on duty, but he said nothing of it. For, undoubtedly, he had done the same. Once or twice. Or more. Furs were furs. On duty or off. Sensuality was inherent. If was unhealthy to suppress it.
"Mm?" She nibbled on one of his ears. The edges of his ear. "Hmm ... honey ... "
"Um ... um ... "
"Yeah?"
"Two," he stammered. "Two." Two because ... two was the best number. Him and his mate. Made two. One and one made two. Made a whole. Two halves made a full circle. Made symmetry.
Juneau led her mate ... down the ladder. To the floor of the bay. And to Shuttle-Pod Two. The door sliding open (into the hull), and sliding back into place once they were inside. Keeping the lights offs. The pod smelled fresh. But a bit sterile. A metallic kind of sterile. Their sweaty fur would soon change that ...
They, in the pod, the door closed, now locked ... as if this were a game of "clunk, click, strip off quick!"
She pressed him to the wall. The back of his head hit some control panels. They beeped and whirred. The food processor came to life. Giving them a glass of water.
Juneau giggled at that. And pulled her mouse away from the control panels, away from any buttons or knobs, and ... dragged him to the floor. Where their muzzles met, tilting. Wet and (tongues) wilting. So hot, so wet ...
Maybe they didn't have a telepathic link. Maybe they weren't running this ship. Maybe ... they didn't have what other pairs had, but ... they had each other. Had this love. Had this time. And it was just as valuable. To Juneau, her mate was a hidden treasure. He kept quiet around everyone else. Was so, so shy. Only opened up with her. Only really smiled around her. Like he was the most wonderful secret a femme could have. And she had it.
And, to him, she was ... a whirling dervish. And out-of-control fountain of energy, fun, spontaneity. She was carefree. And he liked that in her. And hoped that she could instill some of the same in him.
Which she was doing now ... and how!
Their muzzles parted with a smack-smack sound of their lips, saliva stringing between them. The string breaking. She panted, lying atop of the mouse. Panting. And slipping off of him, to his side. To the thin carpet of the floor. She ... fumbling with his clothing, stripping him from the waist down. Leaving his shirt on. At first. Then deciding it needed to go, as well. And her own clothing soon removed.
She, nose to his, eyes on his (from so close a distance, and in such a dimness), whispered, "Lift my leg ... "
He fumbled at it ...
She helped him. Raising her left leg into the air. Her right leg (and right side) on the floor. She kept it raised, as if they were scissor-blades opened. And his paw helped keep it up. And he, in a minute's time, had worked himself into her. Moving his hips in staccato rhythm. Soon developing into something more stable.
She didn't mind. She loved the feel of it. The variation. How he was learning. He was new at this. At love. Emotional, physical ... and she was patient with him. And never wanted him to lose his wide-eyed-ness.
"Mm ... " He chitter-squeaked as he pushed in, pulled out of her wet warmth. As his sensitive stiffness glistened in the low, low light ... from her fluid. From his own. And from ...
"Oh," she sighed. Softly. Sweetly. Smiling. She needed this. Needed this. Wanted this. They hadn't yiffed last night. Had both been tired from work. Had curled up in bed, a tangle of weary limbs and tails ... she'd woke up feeling vibrant. Feeling fresh. Feeling ready for a go at this. This was ...
... getting hotter. Their fur. The air. Everything everywhere ... seemed to pulse with heat. The mouse huffing. The squirrel clutching at him. Side-by-side, noses sniffing, twitching, whiskers brushing ...
And they still had forty minutes left.
That night, an impromptu party was thrown in the mess hall. For Adelaide and Field. For the news that she was pregnant.
"It's yours, right?" Field was teased. By several furs. "You're gonna be a daddy-mouse?"
Field would nod to them all. Giggle nervously. Shrug and blush.
"You reap what you sow, I guess," one fur joked.
Field, biting his lip, maneuvered through the scattered crowd. Went to the food table. Picked up some cookies. Nibbled on a cookie.
"You're gonna get fat," said Azure.
Field looked up.
"Never seen you eat a cookie before." Azure often ate his lunches at the same time as Field. They sometimes ate together. Field, being a rural mouse, had a very good grasp of plants and flowers. Most furs didn't. So, Azure was grateful for his conversation.
"I'm splurging."
"Well, you deserve it," Azure said, smiling warmly.
Field giggled, looking to the floor. His ears, as they had been since entering the mess hall, since entering the crowd, were warm. Flushed. Swiveling. "I, uh, didn't really do anything."
"Takes two," said Azure, trailing. Grinning.
"I know, but ... everyone's coming up to me and going, you know, 'that-a-mouse!' ... you know, like I've ... done something grand. And then they wink at me, like, you know, I'm some kind of yiffy devil."
Azure laughed. "Are you?"
Field, blushing, smiled. "Yiffy, yes. A devil?" He shook his head.
Azure laughed again. Handing Field a glass. "Champagne," he stated.
"I don't like the taste of it. I ... like alcohol," Field admitted, "but not in crowds. I'll drink myself tipsy in private, or with ... her," he said, looking to Adelaide, "but ... not in crowds. Besides, I only like fruit stuff. They don't have any fruit stuff, do they?"
"Only champagne. Though I'm sure we could find you some ... "
The mouse shook his head. "It's okay," he said. "I'll stick to water. I'm already ... pretty light-headed," he said. "For obvious reasons."
"Understandable."
Outside, the stars were streaking by. Luminous on the move. Back to exploring. Rested.
"You okay?" Azure asked. Seeing Field staring at Adelaide. The pink-furred bat was giggling and taking congratulations from various furs. On the other side of the mess hall. Nearer the kitchen.
Field nodded. Sighing. "She's ... radiant. She's," he said, "my darling. She's carrying my child." The words sounded so ... ODD to him. Like they couldn't possibly be true. And, if they were, how was he to deal with it? How was he to ...
"What's the gestation period for bats?"
"11 months."
"Really?"
Field nodded.
"Gives you time, you know ... to prepare. And all."
Field nodded again. "It does." He was still staring at her. Drinking her with his eyes.
Doctor Kody sidled into view. "Mouse, oh, mouse ... look what your squeaker's gotten you into now ... "
Field flashed him a tolerant frown.
The rabbit chuckled. "In case you were wondering, yes, you can still yiff while she's pregnant ... this early on, especially ... it's fine. In case you wanted to further celebrate tonight."
"Thanks for the info," Field said. Feeling that the rabbit, for a doctor, was awfully nosy. Liked to pry.
"You okay, though?" Kody asked.
"Everyone keeps asking me that." Field took a sip of water.
"Well, you look in a daze, if you don't mind me saying so."
"Well, I am," the mouse admitted.
"Just relax, take a breath, and ... let it soak in," the rabbit said, more seriously. "Knowing you, you'll make a good parent."
"I don't know ... "
"You will, too," Azure chimed in.
"I don't know ... I just ... I gave my parents so much grief when I was younger. Was such a paw-ful. Never really told them how much I loved them. How much I appreciated all they did for me. You know?"
"You're afraid you've bred another you?" Kody asked, smiling. "If that's the case, Field, then ... you'll be blessed. And I don't believe in blessings. You're a good fur. You'd do well to have a son like you. Or a daughter. Whatever."
Field blushed. Quietly twitched. And exhaled. "I'm just nervous."
"You're a mouse," Kody confided. "You're always nervous."
"Well, even more so ... I just ... "
"You're waist-deep in life?"
The mouse giggled. Allowed a nod. "Seems I am."
On the other side of the mess hall, Assumpta stopped near Adelaide. Offered a nod.
Adelaide nodded back.
"I hear Field was successful in fertilizing you. You have my congratulations."
Adelaide, a glass of water in one paw, sipped it, giggling. Nearly dribbling the water. She put the glass down, leaning against the wall. "Kind words ... from a predator," she said.
Assumpta raised a brow.
"You're so direct, Assumpta. Your words are so ... level. No inflection. You make it seem like I'm enduring a mechanical process. This is ... a spiritual thing. I'm ... "
" ... a giddy, emotional creature. As flighty as your wings allow."
"Right now, yeah. I guess. I mean, yeah, I was shocked at first, but ... I'm so happy, Assumpta. And ... I'm gonna be a mom!" She giggled. "Isn't that insane?"
"I'm not qualified enough to say."
"Well ... I mean, we didn't plan this. This wasn't on purpose, but ... you know, maybe it WAS. Maybe it was fated like this. Do you believe in fate?"
"Haven't we had this discussion before?"
"I don't know. Don't remember if we did or not." A spread of the wings. And a retraction of them. "Do you?"
"Yes."
"Well ... it's a beautiful mystery, sometimes. Maddening at others. This is one of those more beautiful times."
"Regardless," said the snow leopard, nodding again, "you have my congratulations."
"And you have my thanks," Assumpta said, nodding politely back. "I know we haven't always seen eye-to-eye, but ... I'm not," she said, "a vampire. I don't bite. Well ... " She giggled brightly, eyes shining. "I only bite one fur, and ... he's not you. So, you needn't worry." She grinned a toothy grin.
"That is reassuring," the snow leopard said. Levelly.
"You know, I ... " Adelaide's smile started to fade, and she stopped in mid-sentence. She squinted, tilting her head. Pointed ears taking in the chatter all around them. But ... the noise seemed to fade away. Her eyes bored, suddenly, into Assumpta's. "Why haven't you told him?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Wren. Tell him. Now."
"I do not ... "
"You have a secret. You ... "
" ... are reading my mind?" Assumpta asked, irritated. "That is an invasion of ... "
"I don't enter minds unless invited. I do, however, pick up stray thoughts. I pick up images that float above the surface. And ... you just let it slip," Adelaide whispered. "It's been on your mind. The Council's assembling a fleet. They're going to launch a preemptive strike on the humans."
Assumpta, squinting, not knowing whether to be impressed or bothered by the bat's keen telepathic powers, said, "That is correct."
"Tell Wren. We have to do something."
"There is nothing we CAN do. Besides, it may only be a rumor. It ... "
"I'm having a CHILD, Assumpta," Adelaide stressed. Her eyes watering. "I ... won't have it born into a universe where furs don't exist. I won't have it born into a society that's on the verge of extinction. If we attack the humans, we'll start a chain of events that'll come back to us, and end in our obliteration. I don't want war. I won't have my child born into war ... if we can stop that fleet, we have to try. Tell Wren. Tell anyone. Act on it ... if you don't go to Wren with it, I will."
Assumpta squinted.
Adelaide squinted back.
And the snow leopard, tilting her head, nodded it in submission. Which was not something she did often ... be it with predator or prey. She did not back down when challenged. But the bat held the higher ground here. And they both knew it.
And the snow leopard, turning to meet up with Azure, her own mate (who was waiting for her near the windows, mulling with Field and Doctor Kody) ... she said again, "Congratulations."
Adelaide gave a disarming smile. "Thanks."
The next morning, in the Captain's office ... Assumpta stood in front of his desk. Standing neatly. Wearing no discernible emotion. While the squirrel, however, was pacing back and forth. Obviously agitated.
"Can Lonely be trusted?"
"I do not believe he lied. Nor do I believe that Admiral Silver lied."
"Why not?"
"Predators do not fabricate stories. If he is not telling the truth, then he has simply heard wrong ... but he wouldn't have made it up."
"Not all predators," Wren said, eying her, "follow a mold. Not all of them follow the same standard of behavior."
"Not all of us, no," she said quietly.
"You don't trust Admiral Silver, though?"
"No."
"Neither do I," Wren whispered, pacing to the window. Leaning against the wall. Sighing. "But you don't think he's lying, though? Even if you don't trust him?"
"I just told you. I may not trust him, but predators do not lie. They enjoy confrontation. By lying, they hide themselves from the fight. It's not their way."
"Their ... way," Wren whispered. He turned and looked to her. To the feline. Smaller than her. She could kill him if she truly wished to. "You're one of them."
"I am an outcast."
"Why is that?" he challenged.
She stayed quiet. Her story was her own.
"I do admit, though," Wren said, "that of the six predators on this ship, you're the only one of them I trust, and ... " He nodded. And went to his seat. Sat down. And sighed, blowing his breath out through his muzzle ... and taking it back in through his nose. "So, what do we do?"
"I was assuming you would know."
Wren looked to her. "How to disable seventy furry ships? To a point where ... it would permanently derail any invasion plans? Would discourage the Council from acting on a blood-rush?"
She blinked.
"Well, I ... have a few ideas. Maybe."
"Maybe?"
"I'm the Captain. It's my job to be coy. Never give the impression that you don't know what you're doing, but never give the impression that you have the easy answers. You play it rock-solid."
"That makes no sense," Assumpta stated.
Wren smiled. "Well ... "
"I do, however, have an idea of my own," the snow leopard said, having thought of it last night. In her dreams. While purring next to Azure. Clutching him like her most valued possession. As if she were his assigned protection. In that slumber, it had come to her ...
"What?" Wren looked up to her, waiting.
"The snow rabbits. They are relative isolationists. Though friendly ones. Decades ago, they were engaged in border skirmishes with the Arctic foxes. They are still involved in a cold war with them, so to speak."
Wren smiled at the irony in that.
She ignored his smirk. Continued, "During this time, and because of it, they have honed some of the best sensor technology known to exist. As well as some very adept computer viruses. During our stay at their world, at their outpost ... I was introduced to some of their technology. I spent some time with one of their engineers."
Wren nodded quietly. Assuming that by "spent time with," she meant ... intimate time. But that wasn't the point. She had a mate now, didn't she? Azure? The hydroponics officer?
"We could acquire a virus from them. Put it in a torpedo. And detonate it amidst the fleet. It would spread to all ships."
"Including ours," Wren said.
"Not necessarily. We would equip ourselves with proper shielding."
"And?"
"And the seventy ships would have their computer cores erased. Systems sabotaged."
"I won't ... "
"No fur would be harmed. Life support would stay active. However, other systems would be too far gone ... they would have to be programmed from scratch."
"So, it would pretty much derail the strike?"
Assumpta nodded. "At the very least, it would buy us a few years ... to convince the Council to 'settle down,' as one might say."
"Sounds like a plan."
"Indeed."
He smiled at her. He could understand what Azure saw in her. That ... cool crispness. She was an ice queen. If one had a preference for ice.
Wren tapped the comm. "Ketchy ... "
"Yeah?"
"Turn us around. We're going to visit with the snow rabbits."
Days later, in orbit of the snow rabbits' ice world (the snow rabbits had agreed to provide the necessary technology, and their repair crews were installing it), Field was pacing back and forth. In Wren's office. In the same space Wren had been pacing in ... when Assumpta had spilled her secret.
"Field, just ... "
" ... calm down?"
"Yes."
"We do this, we'll be convicted of treason. They'll hunt us down and DESTROY us. They're predators. They hunt."
"Field ... " Wren sighed. "You know the alternative, right? That we get stuck in a web of fate ... as SOON as we attack the humans, they're destined to respond, and ... we saw a glimpse of that future, remember? We were visited by ... "
" ... by you. Future you."
"Yes," said Wren. Again.
"It's not something I've forgotten," Field said, sighing. He remembered the future human lying in sickbay ... how he'd been the one to figure out that, yes, that creature was human. Had never seen a human before. But his burgeoning mental abilities had allowed him to make the deduction. To feel it. He knew. "I know," he said aloud. Speaking his thoughts. "I know we've no choice. I just ... I don't wanna get killed right now. I mean, I never do, but especially not now. Now that ... "
"I know," Wren whispered. "And maybe Luminous will be marked for destruction. But, let me tell you, there are enough prey on AND off Home-world ... that would cause a great deal of civil unrest if they hunted down the ONLY prey ship in the fleet. It would politically backfire for them ... if they killed us."
"Maybe you're right, but ... "
"Look, I can't," said Wren ...
... and it was two days later now, and he was giving the crew the same speech he'd given Field in his office. "Look, I can't pretend to know ... what the consequences of this action will be. But I do know that, knowing what we do know, we have to act on it. We either let them proceed. Or we stop them. We ... " He paused. Rubbing his neck. He sighed. Turned to look at every crew-fur on the bridge. His voice being piped to every deck. "I do know that us, that we, as a crew ... we are in the summer of our lives. We are flourishing. Flowering. Our relationships are growing." He looked to Ketchy, whose mate-ship with Fredrick, despite its bumps, was getting stronger. He looked to Chester, who was helming this mission (at Field's request). Chester was mated to Juneau, the chief engineer. "Few of us knew each other before coming aboard Luminous. We were mostly strangers. Now, we're not. Now, we're ... friends, companions. Mates. Living life and ... breeding new life," he said, meeting Adelaide's deep-pink eyes. "We're in the summer of our lives. And prey ... prey have finally gained rights in society. We have this ship. Our own ship. We're no longer physically hunted."
Wren swallowed, took a breath. Continuing, "If we let this preemptive strike go forward, our summer will end. We'll find ourselves in premature autumn. The leaves will turn bold before they die and fall, but they'll fall, all the same. In the end. It's not time for that. The predators are fighters. They run our society, so ... the majority agree with them. Why wait for the humans to attack us ... if we could attack them first? But what if our attacking the humans ... is WHY they end up attacking us? I'm not very educated on temporal paradox, but after our recent brushes with ... future things," he said, trailing. Starting up again. "I believe that contact with humans is to be avoided at all costs. Humans aren't predators. They aren't prey. They aren't either of those things. But, rather, they are a combination of BOTH. And that makes them the most dangerous and unpredictable species ... the most complicated. And God help us when they ever do make first contact with us."
He went back to his seat. Looking down at it. Funny how he rarely used that chair. It wasn't that it was physically uncomfortable, necessarily (though it was, a bit), but ... he just couldn't bring himself to sit down. To be stagnant like that. Better to stand. Better to pace. Better to say, "I have to do what's in my heart. And what's, I'm sure, in your hearts. And prevent this war." He paused. "We will, for all furs, be the autumn defense. We will fight to keep our summer." He turned and met Rella's eyes. His mate. Her eyes bold. "Tactical alert. Ready stations."
She nodded. And the lights dimmed, hued red, and the alarm klaxons sounded.
They were nearing the Obsidian Sector. Nearing the fleet.
"We're being hailed," said Ketchy. From comm. An ear-piece held to her ear. Picking up the comm traffic.
"Ignore it."
"They're demanding to know what we're doing here."
Wren stared at the viewer. "Rella," he said. "Let me see them."
She nodded. And the secret fleet appeared on the viewer. Bigger ships than Luminous, but older. Not as sleek. Luminous was the most-advanced ship in the fleet. But she was not, in a million years, a match for seventy vessels. All of whom were turning her way.
"They're still hailing ... they're saying they'll destroy us."
Wren turned to look at his mate. She, at tactical, nodded. Pressed the button.
And the weapon, made by the paws of snow rabbits, glistened like a snowball through space. White and twinkling. Like a star. Toward the fleet.
"Our modified shields are raised. We're protected," announced Rella.
"Chester, get us out of here. Just to be safe," said Wren.
Chester nodded, expertly maneuvering the ship away ... away ...
... away from the blinding, white explosion, like an electrical overload, that lit the void of space. That sizzled the systems on every ship out there. That fried nearly every computer component.
Wren exhaled. Luminous speeding away. They had done it. They had stopped the fleet. They had ...
" ... NO business," Admiral Silver shouted over the comm-viewer, "to interfere!" He was speaking from his own ship. Which was currently in orbit of Home-world. "This is TREASON!" He snarled, teeth showing. Viciously angry. He would've drawn blood had he been able. But he was light-years away.
But Wren, even from here, felt his prey-like fear welling up. He swallowed. "Sir, I'm sorry if you ... "
"Sorry? No, I am SORRY ... that I cannot KILL you all! That I cannot tear your meat apart with my teeth!" He was heaving. "Unfortunately," he said, voice low, voice deadly, "you prey have gained too much influence. They would start a civil war if we ... dispatched of you."
Wren was quiet.
"But they can't stop us from exiling you. Which is what we are doing. You are under EXILE. You are not to approach Home-world. For any reason. If you do, you WILL be destroyed, regardless of how the prey feel about it. Your families, your homes ... everything you left behind here, you will have no contact with them. You will never see them again. Luminous is stripped of fleet recognition. You are a ship of nomads now. You have NO home. You will have to find a new one. And let us hope," Admiral Silver stressed, "that your actions do not leave us vulnerable to potential human attack. The fate of the furry species is on YOUR shoulders. Not mine." He ferally punched the comm controls, and the channel was cut.
Field, who had been quiet, who had been sitting on and listening from the couch against the wall (again, in Wren's office) whispered timidly, "Didn't go well."
"Nope," Wren agreed dully. Rubbing his eyes.
"Well," offered Field, still whispering, whiskers twitching (and him fighting the urge to distract himself by grooming his fur and whiskers) ... Field offered, "Well, we ... we have each other, right? You said that before we did this. We have each other. As friends. As mates. As family ... and we have this ship as our home. And there are lots of worlds out there," he said, looking at the starry window. "Lots of places where, if we needed, we could settle or stay in orbit of. We have allies in the snow rabbits, and ... it's not so hopeless. Not at all."
Wren smiled wearily at his friend. "No, it's not," he whispered. "But ... home is home, Field. Where you were born. Took your first steps. Spoke your first word. Parents, siblings ... all of it ... you can't replace that."
"No," Field agreed, going quiet.
Wren swallowed. Cleared his throat. Feeling heavy. "But ... we can expand. Our hearts can expand, and we can ... explore. Our lives. This universe. We won't let them destroy our will to go on. We won't let them keep us from happiness." Pause. "We did the right thing."
Field nodded.
Wren smiled, sighing. Ran his paw along his desk-top. Listened to the hum coming from the engines. Breathed the air of this place. This ship. Luminous. His home. And now the home of them all. This traveling thing. Commenting, "This is a nice ship."
Field, biting his lip for a moment, smiled back, replied, "Well, she should be. Did you expect otherwise?"
Wren shook his head. "No. Never."
And, later, at night, Field hugged Adelaide close to him. Bare in the silky-soft sheets of their bed. He held her from behind. Her back to his belly. As they laid there. Softly, softly thinking. Softly, softly slipping in and out of sleeping.
"Field ... "
"Mm?" He put his nose delicately to her neck. The back of her neck. And he breathed deeply of her. And let the breath out (reluctantly).
"I don't know ... I just wanted to say your name," she whispered.
He hugged her dearly. Eyes watering. He quivered.
"I just ... I love you, and I ... I," she stammered, eyes closed in this dimness. In this hush. As if she could only hear (and not see) the feelings permeating from the both of them. The emotions spilling out of them and swimming round and round the room. "I wish I had an infinite number of ways to tell you, to show you, to make you know ... how much I need you. How much I want you. I wish we weren't limited by anything."
"We're not," he said, voice breaking, turning her around. So her belly was to his. So they were facing each other (but with eyes still closed). "We're not ... we're in the stars. Darling," he breathed, "we're in the stars." He could almost feel them. Those stars. Burning as they buzzed by. Brilliantly blinking from beyond the measure of understandable distance. "There are no limits. We'll go on forever ... " His eyes watered. He had to open them. Had to blink them. To let the quiet tears drip out. To wet the sheets. Drop-by-drop.
Her muzzle suckled quietly on the fur of his neck. Matting it. Wetting it.
And his paws clutched at the fur on her lower back. He breathed, breathed ...
And she stopped her wetting sucks. And nosed his cheek.
A paw of his ... went and rested on her belly. Knowing there was a life in there, somewhere inside her. Bred of her, of him ... of their love. It was far too small to feel or notice, but ... it was there. He wondered if their child would have wings. Would have a mouse tail. Would have her ears or his. Would have pink fur or tan fur. Would it be a boy or a girl? What would they name it? Would it love them as they were sure to love it? Would it ...
Field's throat ached. He quietly cried. At the hope of this. At the possibility. At the having of this ... this love, this gift. This life. He didn't deserve it. He didn't, and ... his gratitude knew no measure. Lord, Lord ...
" ... it's not," Adelaide breathed to him, own eyes watering. Own eyes leaking. "Not the end of the ... world, Field. Don't be sad ... don't ... " She sniffled.
"I know," he sniffled, kissing her cheek. Kissing it again. "I'm not," he panted, "sad. I'm ... I don't know ... I don't what I am. I just feel so much. I'm happy ... " So happy he was crying. That didn't make sense. That had never happened to him before. Before, tears had been born of pain. Of loss. Of illness.
Now, they were born of ... hope. Connection. Love.
They were born of greater things.
"I love you ... " The words, airy, were pure. Unfiltered, unfettered purity. Untouchable.
He pressed the lips of his muzzle to hers. In a kiss. Under her ocean, under her spell ... the stars seemed to crackle. The air audibly seemed to sizzle. As her mind brushed his, and as his mind ... opened its door and let her in. As they danced inside each other all night long. Muzzles never parting. Hearts aflame. In no need of jump-staring ...
Their sojourn among the stars (and in each other's arms) changing, but just beginning. Shining on.