Our Daily Rations
"It is custom, as well as instinct, among my species, to return to the place of our own birth ... to give birth," Aria said, looking down at her bare foot-paws. Sitting on a bio-bed, her legs dangling, foot-paws not reaching the floor. She wriggled her white-furred toes, with the blunted toe-claws.
"What, like salmon?" Barrow asked, giving her a toothy grin.
Aria turned her head. Raising her brow, not amused.
The bat flushed. "Uh ... well, that's interesting," he said. Scanning her with a paw-held medical scanner.
"Indeed," Aria responded, and then she sighed. Finally continuing, "But, due to the war, I will be unable to return." A singular whisker-twitch. Ears waggling a bit. "I will have to give birth aboard the ship."
"Is it that big a deal?" the periwinkle-furred bat asked, checking the scanner. And passing it over her belly again.
"Yes," was the quiet whisper. No further elaboration. Just an eyes-blank sigh, still staring at her own foot-paws. But, then, "I ... I need for my baby's first breath to be of cold air. I need to be where I was born." A pause. "It is a ... very distracting urge ... "
"Well ... your baby's in good health," Barrow told her gently, trying to cheer her up. Not knowing how to solve her problem. "I mean, really, and ... just a few more weeks," he said, smiling for her. "You sure you don't want to know the sex?"
"I am sure. I will know upon delivery."
"Makes it more of a surprise, then." A smile. "More of a ... spiritual revelation."
"It does," she agreed. She didn't wish to ruin such a revelation, such a spiritual moment, with casual science. "Are we done?"
The bat showed her the scanner. "Mm-hmm. Here's your vital statistics."
The snow rabbit squinted, trying to read them. "I do not understand the jargon ... "
A giggle-chitter. "Medical stuff. Mm. No, but you're fine. Believe me." He retracted the scanner and set it aside, on a table. And then hopped up on the bio-bed with her, sitting beside her. "Physically," he said again, "you're fine, but, uh ... " He trailed.
She turned her head.
"I've had several reports from crew-furs," he said quietly, confidentially, "about your mental state."
"My mental state ... "
"You're a pregnant femme, Aria." A slight hesitation. "I'm not trying to be, uh ... look, I'm not saying you can't handle things, but ... you're pregnant," he repeated. "Pregnancies affect the body. Lots of hormones. I just ... don't think your MIND is able to fully anchor itself in captaining. I think you've got TOO much on your plate right now, and I, uh ... personally, I wouldn't think it weak of you, or bad in any sort of way ... if you let Jinx run things, you know, until you have the baby, and, uh ... "
"I will not do that."
"Aria, please ... "
"I am the Captain."
"Yes, but you're ... in a delicate state."
"So, I cannot handle responsibility? I am an invalid?"
"That's not what I said. You know that's not what I said. What I am saying, and tell me if this is logically unsound: is that a pregnant femme, close to her due date, commanding a ship in a time of war ... that's probably not the most STABLE of situations."
Aria's whiskers twitched. She looked away, a bit blankly.
Barrow waited.
"When you put it that way ... "
"Yes ... "
" ... common sense would seem to work against me."
"Mm-hmm."
The snow rabbit looked back to the bat. "But common sense also tells me that we've lost nine crew-furs on this ship," she whispered, "since the war began. We're blessed it hasn't been more. Other ships ... they lose more. Other ships are gone completely. And, as a Captain, I am unable to simply relieve my command when my ship, my crew ... needs me most."
"I understand that."
"I do not think you do. You are a doctor."
He opened his winged arms ... gesturing. And then lowered them. "Mm-hmm. I'm a doctor. And if I were a femme and I were in my third trimester, I would know enough to know that maybe my pregnancy, at SOME point, would start interfering with the ability to do my job at one hundred percent." A pause. "That wouldn't be a sign of weakness. Or incompetence. Just a sign of ... biological reality. You can't do EVERYTHING, Aria, when you're in the state you're in. You're vulnerable."
"I am also a snow rabbit."
"Yes, and you have logic, and the ability to keep yourself in check. I know you don't FEEL like your hormones are running out of control, but ... they are, aren't they? Jinx tells me you smashed a computer pad against a wall this morning. Yesterday, you blanked out during a power failure. Arianna had to ask you three times about something before you listened and responded."
"If anyone else had read what was on that computer pad ... they would have smashed it, too." A small, pained breath. "And I am not the only fur on this ship to be lost in her thoughts. Perhaps the rodents should be locked in their quarters for that."
A sigh from him.
"I do not need to relieve my command. Not even for a day."
"Alright ... well, I knew you wouldn't agree. I didn't expect you to, and I don't even know that I'm outright asking you to go off duty, but ... what I AM doing," Barrow said, "is just bringing to your attention, Aria, that, sooner or later, you're gonna HAVE to let go. For a little bit. I mean, I don't want you on the bridge, commanding us in a battle ... when your contractions start. That's good for no one. As you get closer to your due date, you gotta think about the risks here, and you gotta KNOW when to slow down. And when to let Jinx take over your duties."
No response. Just a very small nod. "I have a few weeks left."
"You do," Barrow whispered.
"I will worry about it then," was her response.
The bat breathed in through the nose. And just nodded. "Okay." A pause. "Oh. Uh, I just ... well, I had an idea, though."
"Yes?" She raised her brow.
"About how you need to give birth in the cold. In the place where you were born, particularly. I ... we could recreate it in the simulation room." A winged-armed shrug. "May fool your body, if not your mind. You think?"
Her eyes darted, and then eye-smiled. "Perhaps." She looked to him. "We have such programs in the database, but ... I would have to program the specifications for my birthplace."
A nod. A smile. "Alright, then. Just keep the program on the ready. We'll make use of it." A pause. "Well ... if the simulation grid isn't blown to pieces before then."
A serious, whisker-twitching nod. She felt a bit better. And she slipped off the bio-bed, to her feet. Staying still for a moment. A bit dizzy. Difficult to walk too fast, what with the weight she carried. And she swallowed, clearing her throat. "Doctor ... "
"Yes?" He was still sitting on the bio-bed, watching her.
She didn't meet his eyes at first. But, then, slowly, she did. Admitting quietly, "I will talk to Jinx about ... divvying up command responsibilities between myself and him, and the other senior officers." She swallowed. She couldn't stand to just lay back and do nothing, to let everyone run the ship for her. "Very pregnant or not, I must be involved. I need to be," she said, her tone indicative of that need. "I am still the Captain. This is my ship. But ... perhaps sharing the bulk of the load would be better for my health. And the baby's."
A warm smile. "Agreed. Thank you ... for considering it."
"I am just doing the logical thing. I do not wish to turn the rest of you into 'mother hens,' constantly having to worry about my well-being. I am simply doing the rest of you a favor by taking it easier."
A wider smile. A wink. "Indeed."
Aria eye-smiled, shaking her head lightly. And then she waddled out the door.
Lunch break.
Repairs constantly underway, but waylaid for now.
The two snow rabbits forgoing ration packs. And lunching, instead, on each other. On the second level of engineering, as they were. Alone up there, against the farthest wall. Maybe, now and then, their ears would waggle and poke high enough to be seen from certain spots of the lower level. And, maybe, also, their mews carried further than they believed.
None of it mattered.
That was part of the thrill of breeding 'at work.' And, besides, Alabaster was the chief engineer. And knew very well that most everyone on his staff (most of the engineering staff being snow rabbits) did this ALL the time. And, him being in charge, who was gonna bring it up, anyway?
Focus, Alabaster. Focus.
Olivia, his wife, her rump on a smooth, glowing console. Right on the edge, with her legs spread. Her eyes were hooded, and her pupils were wide.
Alabaster as close to her body, now, as possible, gyrating his hips in soft, expert ways, to grind, grind himself into her body in that slow-burn way. Her wet, warm muscle perfectly wrapping round him, almost sucking him deeper. The feeling of slowly grinding. Up. To the side. Pulling his hips back not even an inch. Staying there, amidst the soft, fleshy pinks of her, so close, but not staying still. Oh, but it took good heat to make good friction, did it not? And vice versa?
And they were giving off a good deal of heat.
Olivia exhaled, her whiskers moving as if breeze-blown, softly and without direction. Her ears went erect, tall and proud. Her arms, which had been stiff, with her paws gripping the edges of the console on which she sat, went out and around his middle. She clutched at his fur, sniffing the air, breathing faster. Oh, the scent of him.
And, oh, the scent of her. Alabaster's slim, naked hips pulled back. Pushed forward. With a faster, more revealing rhythm. His rabbit-hood, out of its sheath, glistening, slick and stiff, producing a wet, natural squelching sound from her feminine treasure.
Pleasure began to manifest itself in obvious ways. In clear, warm fluid that dripped, drop by drop, from the source of their physical union, pooling on the clear, plastic surface of the console. In the quivers her femininity gave. Like pre-tremors. Like milking ripples, only urging the male to move in and out, thrust, thrust at a faster rate. Make her quiver more.
The femme snow rabbit, huffing, fumbled with a paw, whimpering, reaching. "Huh, uh," was her audible breath. She reached the water bottle, bringing it, with trembling grip, to her muzzle. Opening the nipple-like top with her teeth, and then guzzling. Gulping with sweet, ice-cold relief. Still awash with heat. Oh, the heat. But hydrating with ice water.
Alabaster slowed his movements. Standing on the pads of his bare foot-paws. Moving up, with each thrust, to his toes, and with each pull-back, sinking back onto his pads. He slowed. Arms around her back. And he scooted her closer, even closer on the edge, so that she was half-sitting on the edge of the console and half in the air. But his grip was firm and loving. He would not let her fall. He simply couldn't keep putting all his body weight on his toes when he sank in. It was straining his muscles, and oh, he needed the water, too, and he watched her drink.
And she, sighing heavily, turned the bottle around. "O-open," she breathed, swallowing.
He opened his muzzle.
And she squirted water on his tongue. On the insides of his cheeks. He swallowed greedily, dribbling water from the lips, droplets running down to his whisker-tips, bobbing, bobbing, and then raining off. She gave him another squirt. Another. Until he nodded, nodded, panting.
She dropped the water bottle, letting it slosh to the floor. She recovered her breath.
"L-let me know ... " A breath. " ... when you're ready."
Olivia nodded, clutching at her husband's bare, soft, snowy-white sides, his body strong, his perfect chest, so warm, lovely to her touch. Satisfying to her breath. And her loins, full, pulsed, producing a drooling wetness. A more-than-ready-ness. A swallow, breathing through her nose, whispering, "Alright ... alright ... "
Alabaster plowed forward, mewling. It was feeling better and better. "Oh ... oh," he cried. The slick, glove-like fit of her furnace-like muscle, so pink and perfect, so ... oh ... goodness ...
Olivia shivered, being strongly, needily bred. Her bare rump on the console, and her flame-like tail flicker-flicking. Flick-flick-flick.
He mewed. He needed to be inside her. He needed to sow in her. Needed.
And she rabbit-purred. She needed him to do those things. To be inside her, sow inside her.
Need.
Want.
Passion. Spilling over, lingering on their wet, loosened lips as they pressed forward, muzzles tilting, for wet, desperate kisses. Sucking her her lower lip. Her breath exhaling sharply, and him breathing through the nose, licking at her. Making her to inhale, to reach her tongue out. And he took in her tongue, and nose-flaring, whisker-twitching moans.
Blurring.
Bodies blurring, seemingly merging. In a spiritual, wedded slow-dance. Souls going round and round, fed with much more than words, and much more than surface feelings.
Their fur becoming matted with sweat.
Alabaster, with a saliva-stringing lip-smack, had to pull his muzzle away, head leaning back. Unable to quell the instinct, he let out a rabbit-bark. Bark! Heart pounding, he tried to keep his muzzle shut, but it felt too good, and he barked again, a proud, declarative pleasure-sound. Given as he came. Given. As he gave himself to her. And as she gave herself to him. And as he, much more quietly, mewed and moaned, panting, shivering hotly as he spurted, jerked. Jerked.
"Uh ... huh!" Olivia huffed. She'd been, throughout, desperately fingering her hood-emerged nub. The most sensitive little part of her. And feeling him hilt, and feeling his body tense, and that powerful, pleasurable climax, it sent her over the edge. Literally. She squirmed, her rump falling off the edge of the console. She gasped out.
But Alabaster's paws, swiftly, through his hazy pleasure-daze, moved down. To her soft, snow-furred rump-cheeks. Holding her weight up. And she wrapped her arms around his neck, and wrapped her legs around his middle. Simply, she latched to him. Still joined. Still in the act of making love.
And he hugged her tight, tottering a bit. It was hard to keep a steady balance when someone was wrapped around you. And when you were both in climax, no less!
Her own release surged ahead, with tremors and spasms that fluttered and milked, that squirted out, soaking the fur of his tense, drawn-up sac. And wetting the floor a bit, too. And she huffed, shaking her head a bit from the intensity of it. "Uh ... huh, huhnn ... uhhnnn," she moaned, sucking air. She tried to be quiet about it. Tried to be modest about it.
But a rabbit in the throes was, in the end, a rabbit unrestrained.
It was just the way of things.
Alabaster's paws shifted to her lower back. Blunted claws digging in. His nose flared, and he swallowed, panting hard.
She buried her nose in his fur. Buried. Breathed.
And he leaned his head against hers.
As they stood there. For just a minute.
Until Alabaster had to lower to his own knees. Had to set his love down on the floor. With a sigh, and with a sprawled-out lie-down. Flopping onto his back beside her, staring at the ceiling. Both of them horizontal, now, reveling.
Recovering.
"Oh ... th-thank you," Oliver whispered, staring upward. Dazed.
"I, uh ... thank you," she responded, "as well. That was ... was most enjoyable," she admitted. Most enjoyable.
Oliver eye-smiled. And blinked. And closed his eyes. And cleared his throat. "Perhaps TOO enjoyable. I do believe I ... well, they may have heard me on the first level."
"They may have," Olivia agreed. She rubbed a foot-paw against one of his.
And they were quiet for a moment, breathing, steadying themselves and their thoughts.
But both beginning to blink, their antenna-ears straining.
Faintly hearing, now, sounds coming from down below. From engineering's lower level. Little 'whump-whump' sounds, unmistakably the colliding of soft, bare, furred hips. And little mews, too, adding to that, and ...
... Olivia, her head turning, said, "Well." A breath. "Perhaps they were too 'busy' to hear you, after all."
Alabaster turned his head, too, so that their eyes met. From so close. Still freshly simmering in what they'd shared. And he eye-smiled brightly. "Yes. Well, it IS the lunch break."
"Yes."
"Anything is bound to happen on lunch break. And we are furs ... rabbits, no less. Can you blame them?"
Olivia, now, eye-smiling. "Mm. No. If I were to blame them, I would have to blame us, as well." A satisfied breath. "Shall we get dressed?"
"Yes. But I don't think we should go to the lower level. I am hearing ... that they are busy."
"Perhaps, then, we should find a shower. We do need one," she reminded, insistent. Not showering after yiff was a great distraction to all. Proper manners demanded that, before returning to duty, they wash.
"That would be agreeable," Alabaster said, sitting up, stretching a bit. Chest arching.
Olivia watched him.
And he eye-smiled at her. "I do love you," he insisted, relaxing.
"As I love you," she whispered, reaching out a paw. Now at a sit, as well.
His paw went to hers, fingers meshing. Eyes holding. Until they finally, haphazardly dressed, simply aiming to get to the nearest shower. They still had twenty-five minutes of their lunch break left.
And it was easy to forget they were at war.
Love was the greatest of balms.
"You got any skin-lotion?" A glance.
Ollie looked up, a broom in his paws. They were (the two mouses) cleaning up the church-room, which used to be a modest-sized cargo bay. But, currently, there were little gaps in the ceiling, where thrumming conduits were showing. Bio-neural fibers stringing through. (Arctic's computers transmitted data on bio-neural circuits, rather than iso-linear ones.) All the chairs had topples over. All from the last attack.
"My tail," Ross explained. "And my ears." He delicately touched them as emphasis. "I ran out of my own lotion, and the processors are down, and ... all our aloe got lost in space. So, I, uh ... and the environmental systems being so unstable lately, it's making my skin dry."
Ollie nodded. Smiled. "Tell me about it." Sweeping with the broom. And then pausing. "My silky tail? If I don't lotion it, it loses its 'silk'."
A whisker-twitching nod. "Yeah ... other furs think we have 'easy tails.' Shows what they know."
"Mm. Mouse tails are very delicate. Us mouses require a lot of care."
Ross nodded in agreement. Pausing. Before asking again, more desperately, "So, uh ... can I use your lotion? Do you have any? Please?"
"I got some," Ollie assured. And he leaned his broom against the wall, sighing. Looking around. "Well, I keep some in the desk in here, so ... " He scanned the floor. "There." He nodded, and knelt down. Grabbed for it. "Tumbled out with the other stuff."
"I picked up all the Bibles and hymnals. I put them back on the table over there. None of them ripped. I think, though ... a few of them were kinda damp. Something must've sparked in here, and the fire suppression system must've activated. But they're all readable ... intact."
"That's good ... I think most of the crew will be here tonight. Except the ones that need to stay on duty."
A little nod.
"Here." Ollie handed Ross the lotion bottle.
Ross took it. "Thank you," he said, in his soft, wispy voice.
"You're very welcome," the snow-mouse responded, in his equally wispy voice (for male mouses all tended to be on the effeminate side). And he continued sweeping.
Ross took a seat, opening the cap of the lotion tube. And squeezing some into his paws. It was a moisturizing lotion with cooling menthol and natural colloidal oatmeal. It was supposed to moisturize for twenty-four hours. At least that's what white, plain-typed label said.
"It works," Ollie assured, noticing Ross's hesitation.
"I don't think it's the kind I normally use, is all." He put his nose to his paw, where he'd squirted some of the lotion. And he sniffed. Sniffed. Whiskers twitched.
A giggle-squeak. "Just put it on. Come on, you're making me do all the cleaning up."
A smile, looking up. "Sorry," was the genuine reply, and Ross brought his tail around. Whisked it to the front of him. And began to stroke the lotion onto it. Into it. Until the skin, with all its short, clear, sensitive hairs, absorbed it. "Ooh ... " A delightful, little shiver. "It really is cooling ... "
"It takes the dry out," Ollie said, "almost right away."
Ross, continuing on his tail, nodded. Saying, "It feels that way."
Ollie sighed, closing his eyes.
"You okay?" Ross asked.
"Just feel a bit sick," the white-furred mouse whispered, and he let the broom fall to the floor with a clatter. And he padded through the mess. And sat in a chair across from the other mouse. "I got a headache," Ollie whispered, barely audible, eyes closed.
"I'm sorry ... "
A small shake of the head. "No need to be ... " His eyes opened.
Ross's whiskers twitched, with concern. His ears swiveling. And he squeezed more lotion onto a paw, and reached up. And worked his right lobe.
Ollie smiled slightly.
"What?"
"Be careful with that, will you?"
Ross, shiver-squeaking softly, just cleared his throat. "I am."
"I'm just saying. That cooling menthol on mouse ears ... our ears being erogenous ... catches you off-guard."
Again, Ross shivered. "I've put lotion on my ears before. All the time."
"Yeah, but your regular lotion doesn't have menthol, does it?"
"No," was the admittance.
"Well, I'm just saying ... apply it carefully. Or you're gonna work yourself up."
A sigh, and a nod. And he started applying lotion to his other lobe. "I could go for getting worked up," Ross said. "But, uh ... I gotta wait a few hours. I got 'worked up' this morning. In Aria's ready room."
A giggle-squeak. "Mm-hmm. Well, it's late in the afternoon. I'm sure she'll get off duty soon."
"Yeah ... "
"How's that work, anyway? With her, uh, being ... how she is?"
"Well, it's getting more difficult with each passing week. She still feels yiffy, but it's, like, it ranges. You know. And she doesn't have the maneuverability she used to. I have to take the dominant role, now, all the time. It's ... I'm not complaining," Ross admitted, not feeling shy about discussing this with Ollie. After all, they were both mice. And both married to snow rabbits. And both reliant on their faith. They had a lot in common. Which made them natural friends. "I'm not complaining," Ross said again, "but ... I mean, even before she got pregnant, I was being dominant half the time, but not ALL the time." A squeak, as she finished applying the cooling, moisturizing lotion to his ears. A shiver-sigh, and he leaned his head back. Damn, that felt good. The most tingling kind of sensation, sending the blood just rushing to his ears. Calm down, calm down. Breathe. "But, uh," he managed, head back down, and eyes darting across the floor. "But, I mean," he said, looking back at Ollie, "I'll be glad when she can straddle me again. I'll just say." A breath. "I just feel better when she's in charge of it. I'm better at taking instructions than giving them."
A whisker-twitching, giggle-squeak. "Mm." A nod. "Yeah." A breath. "Well, you've grown in confidence, you know, since I first came aboard ... I've seen you grow."
"We've all grown," Ross said.
"True ... but we're not talking about everyone. We're talking about you. I think you'll be a good father. No matter what you fear."
A soft, shy smile. "Thanks ... "
Ollie just nodded warmly, and then winced, a paw going to his forehead. And he closed his eyes again. And he swallowed, leaning back. "Can I have the lotion?"
"Sure ... " Ross, done with the tube, handed it across to the white-furred mouse.
"I don't so much need it. I put some on this morning," Ollie said, opening the tube. "But, uh ... the feeling of the lotion on my ears might dull the feeling of the headache in my brain." And he applied little dabs of lotion to his lobes, breathing in, suddenly, at the icy, tingling sensation, followed by the moisture-laden warmth. A breath, a breath. "Feels ... a bit better," he said, breathing out. And he closed his eyes, sighing through the nose. And began applying lotion to the other big, pink, dishy ear.
Ross took slow, steady breaths. "Ollie ... "
"Yeah?" Ollie whispered.
"Are you scared?" The question was spoken like air. Barely.
The white-furred mouse opened his eyes, looking to the earthy-furred mouse. And he just nodded quietly, blankly. "Terrified," was his response. Done with the lotion, he snapped the cap back on, setting the tube in the chair next to him. And he swallowed, ice-blue eyes darting a bit. "I, uh ... I didn't grow up in the best of places. I was born on a war-ravaged world. I've lived through it." He trailed. "I guess what makes this war harder is that ... I had put all that BEHIND me. I had moved on. And healed, and ... have a wife, now, and friends, and a new home, and ... but then a new war comes along. And threatens to throw it all back. You know, it's ... but I know my soul is safe."
A quiet nod. "Yeah ... I just don't think some of the other furs, you know, feel the fear like we do," Ross said, referring to the mouses.
"We wear our hearts on our sleeves. We're like ... open nerves," Ollie said. "Everyone feels the fear. You know our wives feel it, too."
Ross nodded at this. "Yeah ... I know ... "
"Us mouses just are very bad at expressing it in ... restrained ways. When we're scared, we panic, and we scurry about, flailing ... the problem is: we're not good at dealing with things. We need constant help and care, and ... we need others to keep us in check, you know. We're submissive. We're dependents."
Ross's whiskers twitched.
"But snow rabbits, for instance, are independent ... very strong, assertive. They balance us out. Our loves," Ollie breathed, "balance us out. And I think God knew what He was doing when he led you to Aria. And me to Arianna. And I think, going even further, the whole crew ... as mixed as we are, as half and half as we are, we compliment each other nicely. Maybe it was rough at first, and a bit tense, but after all these months, nearly three-fourths of a year, and ... we're a family, now."
"A family," Ross whispered, echoing the word.
Ollie smiled shyly. And then sighed through his twitching, sniffing nose. And he swallowed. The wet tingling at his ears still dulling the headache, but only a bit. The pulsing, the pounding, it was still there. He'd have to end up going to sickbay to ask Barrow for an injection of something.
Ross's tail snaked a bit, behind him. Waver-wavering as he looked around. "We're only half-done, you know. This place looks ... tattered," he whispered.
"It doesn't matter. It's not the appearance of the room that counts. It's what goes on inside it." A lifting smile. His headache still present, but he was dealing with it. Was getting through it. And Ollie stood, and looked around, and said, "But, uh, maybe we should find ourselves some ration packs. I could do with a snack or something."
"Mm," Ross joked, rubbing his belly. "Ration packs!"
A giggle-squeak. "Hey, I've had to survive on worse ... back in the day," Ollie said, his smile fading a bit. And a pause. And a returning smile. "But they are pretty bad."
Ross's turn to giggle-squeak. "Yeah."
"Let's go find some ... and then get this place ready for tonight."
So, the two mouses scurried off for some food, feeling more hopeful than before.
Somewhere not too far away from Arctic, the Wasp Queen was in her lair. In her diamond-shaped ship. In a dark, dim room, with lots of arid, colored lights, all streaming like spotlights. Or like strobes. Never giving you a clear, constant source of vision. But, rather, fragmenting every sight. Which was fitting for wasps, being that they had fragmented eyes.
But the Queen, from here, from anywhere, had full control of her hive. Of the rest of the wasps. Every individual. Every ship. Most of the wasps were simply drones. That was their purpose. To follow orders. Some wasps, the selected ones, the ones that could be trusted, had been given greater freedoms and capacities, and could speak with their own voices. Those were her Captains and her Generals.
There was, regardless, a great order to things.
For order was life.
And advancement was victory.
And the advancement of her species across the sector, the quadrant, and the galaxy, was her ultimate aim.
Domination.
Of course, she didn't see that as a bad thing. In her mind, the furs were what one would call 'lesser species.' Less developed. Less strength. Less adaptability. Less purpose.
Lesser.
They were weaker, and they would be better off with the wasps lording over them.
They would be better off assimilated.
The Queen was only trying to offer them perfection.
But, really, deep down, she didn't care to save them or welcome them. She just wished them to be exterminated, like the foul plagues they were. Creatures that shed and contracted fleas. Creatures that had a delusional faith. Creatures with antiquated urges, with their constant need to have sex. Their fixation with it. Their need to love, to seek happiness.
Disgusting creatures, furs. Dirty things.
The Queen lamented, wishing for the day when the wasps would have nests on all the furr home-worlds, including the original, central Home-world.
The Queen would have her drones, to start, gut their natural habitats, mine their soils for resources. And do with the furs as they wished. Kill them. Or put them to work. Or assimilate the worthy ones (which, she figured, must be few).
There was no logic here.
There was no faith, either.
It was simply an urge. An animalistic, lusty urge to HAVE. To OWN.
To control.
Control was power. And what was power? What did power give you? What did it lead to? Did it matter?
All that mattered was that the wasps' ultimate objectives be achieved.
But all things in due time.
All things.
And, despite the unimpressiveness of furs, they did offer SOME things. SOME furs, some special furs, were resilient. Were of interest.
There were some furs that the Queen wanted for higher things.
For someone on Arctic had the Queen's interest. And she was willing to risk the advancement of the war, for the time being, on acquiring that which so intrigued her. She had total access to the bat, Barrow's, mind. She knew all about Arctic. Through him, she knew everyone there. She could monitor them.
And she'd found someone that could advance her species.
That could make her species NEW. And better. And closer to perfection. Closer to unstoppable.
But time was limited. She only had a few weeks to take what she wanted.
Only a few weeks to make it her own.
With a flickering, immediate thought, the Queen changed the course of her vessel. Arctic was traveling alone. And they were no match for her.
She felt the objection of the drones. Their Queen was important. Without her, the entire species would fall apart, into disarray.
If anything were to happen to her ...
... another will take my place, she assured. For the Queen was many.
Yes, the drones agreed. You are many. But the replacement Queens are in hibernation, hidden way beyond the perimeter. In another quadrant. If something happens to you, it may set back the war effort for decades. And that would give the furs time to regroup. And, next time, they may offer stronger resistance. They may learn. They may adapt. Just like us. If we don't win this now, we never will.
The risks, she assured her drones, are negligible. What I have discovered aboard Arctic will ensure a NEW line of our species.
It will ensure our success.
We will succeed.
You will trust me.
The drones relented.
And the Queen's diamond-ship, with its stealth shielding, jetted toward Arctic's wandering position.