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"Birch, are you okay?" asked the voice. In the dark. A soft, worried voice. It was Malcolm. "Why are you on the floor?"

"I don't know," the other squirrel whispered back. He took a shaky breath. "Last night," he said. And then shook his head. "I mean, this morning ... when the N'Kiri attacked the station again ... "

"I wouldn't worry about them. The captain has them under control."

"I thought it was for real, this time," Birch whispered. He was younger than Malcolm. And hadn't been on the station as long as Malcolm had, either. "I thought ... this is it, you know? They're just gonna swarm us, swarm our space. Again. It'll happen all over again. Those wasps, they're not the ... they're not the type to let go of a grudge, you know?" Pause. He blinked. And blinked again. "I lost my home in the war, you know."

Malcolm nodded. Not knowing what to say.

"I still have my family, but ... I remember my home ... I remember losing it. I remember how we barely escaped."

"Don't talk of such things."

"I can't help it," Birch said, morosely.

"I'm sure you can. Just ... try."

The squirrel looked to his partner, blinking. His eyes had watered. "I'm sick of trying. That's all I ever do. And it never gets me anywhere. I don't ... " He closed his eyes and shook his head. He sighed and took a breath. "I just want to be. I don't ... I only want to get there, get wherever ... I'm supposed to be. I don't ... I don't know! Do you know what I'm saying?" He tilted his head, whiskers twitching. Filled with frustration, confusion. His fur glinting a form of silver in the light. He was a grey squirrel. Malcolm was a fox squirrel.

Malcolm nodded. "Yes."

"I'm not so sure ... " His voice trailed.

Malcolm sighed, looking to the monitor that gave the time. "It's 0300 in the morning."

"I know," said Birch, in a small voice. Barely audible.

"Get back in bed," Malcolm pleaded. "Please. Darling ... "

The younger squirrel shook his head, starting to cry.

Malcolm slipped away from the sheets, to the floor, and held him and put him back into the bed. Resting his head on a pillow. Watching, pained, as Birch curled into a furry ball, shivering. So, Malcolm curled next to him, wrapping his tail around his mate. He kissed him on the neck. "It'll be okay," he assured him.

Birch sniffled and nodded. And nodded again. Eyes wide open. "I'm such a horrible sleeper," he whispered. "I know I keep you up every night." He closed his eyes and took a shaky breath. "I'm sorry."

"No. No, don't ... don't be. It's okay." Malcolm ran his paws through Birch's fur. "Just rest. Rest," he said.

Birch took a deeper breath, closing his eyes. And, once more, tried. Tried to sleep.

"I want you two to ferry Doctor Chavar and his team down to the surface."

"To Orcada?" asked Malcolm.

"Yes," said Zari, the captain. She was brighter today, smiling. She never smiled. Or, she did, but not this much. And her bushy tail twitched every now and then, with spontaneous energy. She looked beautiful. "They're conducting another survey and scan of ... " She waved her paws. "Something or another. They'll only be there for a day, so ... take the shuttle, wait for them. Fly them home when they're done." She took a breath, touching a pad on her computer console. "All goes well, you should be home by tonight." She smirked, looking to Malcolm. "Unless it turns out like one of those old science-fiction movies where a monster eats the shuttle's engines, or some mind-altering creature takes over your bodies, but ... the chances of that happening are close to none."

Birch frowned and shivered a bit. "I guess," he went.

Zari bit her lip to hold back a giggle. "Only teasing," she said. "We've never encountered anything dangerous down there."

Birch nodded, reassured. He trusted the captain. If she said they would be safe ... then they would.

"Why me?" Malcolm asked.

She looked back to him. "You're an engineer. You're a good pilot. You used to be a security officer. And Birch here," she said, smiling at the smaller squirrel, "Has never been to Orcada. The rest of us have. I want him to see it. So ... you two are going to accompany the research team."

"Oh," went Malcolm. He nodded.

"That okay with you two?" Zari smiled and looked from one to the other.

They both nodded.

"Well, then ... dismissed," she said, with a tilt of the head. And a smile. Malcolm nodded and left the office, which looked over Ops. Birch remained.

"You okay?" she asked him.

He nodded. "Yeah," he said. He nodded again.

She felt he wasn't. Not entirely. But she didn't press it. "Well ... is there something you wanted?"

"No," he said, holding his bushy tail in his paws. "Only that you seem so ... fresh today, like ... like really happy." He smiled shyly. "I'm glad for you."

"You mean," she said, tilting her head, trailing.

"You and Kodiak."

Zari shook her head, taking a few steps away from her desk, looking out the window. Before turning back to him. She smiled and shook her head again. "Everyone knows?"

"You said it yourself: it's a small station."

She nodded. "Yes," she whispered. "It is." Pause. "Who told you?"

"Ketchy."

"How does she know?"

He bit his lip.

"Ah, you weren't supposed to let me know that you know ... that she knows." She nodded. And shrugged. "Oh, well." She took a deep, cleansing breath. "I don't feel why I should ... should be ashamed of anything. I'm only fur and blood, just like the rest of you. Even if I am the captain." She grinned.

Birch nodded timidly. He didn't want to see her as that, though, as just fur and blood. He wanted her to be above everything. He wanted to know that Zari was in total control. That she could protect them should something happen. He looked up to her, in a sort of ... well, with respect. Like looking up to a role model.

"Anything else?"

"No," Birch whispered.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah," he said, still whispering.

She nodded slowly. "Well," she said. "Have fun on the planet. It's beautiful down there."

"Are you in the habit of hitting every air pocket or ... or whatever they're called," demanded Doctor Chavar, "When you fly?" He was a fox squirrel, too. Like Malcolm. He was a bit chubbier, though.

"Only for you," said Malcolm, smiling mischievously. The station, Orca Sol, fading as they descended toward Orcada's surface.

"You're giving me an upset stomach." The doctor frowned.

"I know."

Chavar gave a little growl and wandered away from the front of the shuttle, sitting down and running some tests on his portable computer, talking to one of his assistants.

Birch was in the co-pilot's seat. He looked over to Malcolm. Smiled shyly. "I think you're a good flyer."

A genuine smile melted onto Malcolm's face. "Well, thank you." He politely nodded at his partner, who nodded back, beaming. His whiskers twitching and bushy tail held high. Birch was in a better mood than before. He was quite looking forward to seeing this new world.

An hour later, the research team was well off doing whatever, wherever. Out scanning and collecting samples. Leaving Malcolm and Birch alone at the shuttle, which they wandered away from. Slowly walking. They walked through a tall, dim forest. The trees had purple leaves, and the sky was lavender.

"So strange," Birch whispered, looking upward. He came to a stop at a large tree trunk, placing his paws on it. Being a squirrel, he had a great love for, and a great interest in, trees. "Can we climb these?"

"They're sturdy enough," Malcolm said, shrugging. "Don't see why not."

Birch took a deep breath, nodded, smiled, and was bolting and hitching up the trunk. Like a furry blur, his paws scrabbling.

Malcolm was right behind him, his reflexes fast.

They stopped on a large, wide branch. Several feet wide and high up.

Birch looked out across and into and over the forest. The purple trees. Like each tree had plums hanging from it, only ... they were leaves. And they rattled and rustled in the sweet breeze. And the songs of the birds were like flutes and whistles. And the clouds were wispy.

"You know," Birch whispered. "It's alien, but ... it's so familiar." He smiled, took a breath. "I mean, it's still ... alive. Still trees. Still a sky. Different colors and smells. I don't think I'm seeing or hearing even a fraction of the things ... that I should be seeing and hearing and feeling," he said, trailing.

Malcolm nodded. "Yeah," he whispered.

Birch looked to him. "It must be boring when I ... when I ramble."

The other squirrel smiled. "Course not. I like hearing you talk. You have a lot to say. A lot more than I do. You have a way with words."

Birch blushed, looking down to the ground far below.

Malcolm padded over to him, kissing his neck. Softly.

Birch closed his eyes.

Malcolm kissed again, and then kissed his cheek. The smaller squirrel giving a squeak as he leaned back against his partner, eyes looking to his. Gentle eyes. In want. And, facing each other, Malcolm went for his lips. Went for the kiss. And Birch sighed and closed his eyes as his nose and whiskers twitched, as his tail flapped and jerked like a flag in the breeze, and from his own nervous energy.

And it took them not a minute to be on their sides, lapping at each other's lips, Malcolm's paws working under his partner's garments, rubbing his belly, his chest, before wriggling him out of his clothes and squirming out of his. The breeze ran through their fur. And the sun graced them, kissed them lightly, while they kissed each other. Their hips gently grinding together, their bushy tails shook and twitched as they locked to each other, kissing, holding, careful to make sure they stayed in the center of the wide limb. Though they were squirrels, and could latch or catch any stray branches on the way down, if they happened to fall ... from a height this high, one couldn't be careless.

Malcolm's paw was already tugging and teasing Birch's sheath, trying to coax him out, getting him erect. Birch laid on his back and stared up at the sky, his furry chest rising and falling as he began to airily squeak. As he felt himself slip out of his sheath. And as he felt Malcolm's mouth descend upon him, taking him in.

Birch sighed, his eyes fluttering, as he felt Malcolm's tongue run the length of his shaft, along the underside. As his tongue pushed the head to the roof of his mouth. As he swallowed, as his saliva coated it, mixing with pre. As he sucked the helpless squirrel.

Birch dug the claws of his paws into the branch of the tree, panting harder as Malcolm's sucking became a more hungry affair. As he lapped and sucked, dribbling from the mouth. His eyes were closed and his tail twitched and twitched behind him. And Birch could only hold to his partner's furry shoulders, clutching at him. Scritching his ears. And, paws fumbling, he tugged at Malcolm's fur, indicating for him to maneuver about. The other squirrel, eyes still closed and occupied on his task, did so. Wriggling and writhing so that Birch could suck him simultaneously.

It felt like some kind of poetry as their bodies moved, so very gingerly and carefully, into position. As Malcolm's pulsing member bobbed in front of Birch's mouth. Like bait to hook a fish. Birch moved over it, covering it with his mouth. And sighed heavily through his twitching nose, his sweaty paws holding to Malcolm's sides. And he sucked. Like a baby sucking a bottle, he sucked. He heard Malcolm squeak. He heard himself squeak. He heard moans coming from them both, and he heard their panting, their hearts. He heard the breeze and the birds. And it all became a glorious blur. Every throbbing nerve of pleasure, every promise, waltzed past Birch's closed eyes like a friendly shadow.

It almost came as a jarring shock when he felt sticky squirrel seed pelting, pelting his throat, running down. Forcing him to swallow. He gladly did so. He milked Malcolm dry, squeaking and barking out as he erupted, as well. Shooting into his partner's mouth. As they both squeaked and whimpered, such a sweaty, messy tangle of fur and limb and tail.

And, when they were done, Birch panted and leaned against Malcolm's chest. Closing his eyes as the bigger squirrel sang him a lullaby. He slept for four hours before Malcolm (who got a few hours of sleep himself) woke him. They had to return to the shuttle. They stopped, however, to wash each other in a purple-hued stream. Sensuously allowing their paws to travel through fur. Each of them sighing and swaying and closing his eyes as the other groomed him.

"Sleep well?" Malcolm asked. They were back in the shuttle. The doctor and his team were on their way back. They had called in, via the computer.

"Yes," Birch whispered. Smiling shyly. And he looked out the window at the alien world. And felt rejuvenated. He closed his eyes and kissed Malcolm on the cheek, blushing as he held his tail and looked back outside. "Yes."