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"What are you doing today? Same as yesterday?" the otter asked, casually, stepping into the shower, her sturdy rudder-tail hanging behind her. The water was already turned on. Already warm. With steam beginning to billow about the room, making things even more intimate than they already were, seeming to clothe their naked, furry bodies, concealing them, somehow, in a friendly cloud.

As such things were soaked in, there was a slight pause from Benji, neck craning upward, eyes closed. The nutria then stepping into the shower, too. Right after her, letting the water initially hit his pelt. Before lowering his neck and blinking a few times. " ... yeah. Just more engineering work with, uh, Mortimer." A pause, rising to the tips of his blunt-clawed toes, and then sinking back down. "More like: he does the work, and I just ... hand him the tools."

"You always say that," Milka noted, turning in a slow circle, letting her whole body get wet. Before stopping, muzzle-to-muzzle, with Benji. "I bet you're a great help to him."

"What makes you think so?"

"Well, I mean ... station's more productive. Better off than it was before we came, right? That means we're a part of this. This 'renaissance' of Redwing Station. Every one of us plays a part. Even you." A pause, her fingers tracing his forearms, and her eyes looking to his belly, glancing (ever so briefly) at his circumcised, limp rodent-hood. " ... you devalue yourself too often. You're worth more than you know," she whispered, still looking down. Her eyes then flicking back upward.

Benji flushed, with that rodent modesty, hotter beneath his fur. More so, even, than the warm, steady water.

"Anyway, I bet he doesn't like being alone," Milka continued. "Don't raccoons like to ... "

" ... start silly arguments?" Benji posed. Nodding a bit. "Yeah. He starts them with me, and ... you know, he's in an access tube, and I'm sitting in the corridor, and he just calls out these stupid ... I mean, stupid things." A shake of the head. "Like trying to bait me into being stubborn with him. It's kind of cute, but ... you know, I just play along most of time. I don't really get into it as much as him. I just sit there and write poetry in my head."

" ... poetry," the otter breathed, kissing his forehead. "That's so sweet. Really, that's ... "

" ... it's just ... "

" ... no, no. It is. It's sweet. You," she emphasized, leaning forward, so that their wet-furred bellies touched, "are sweet."

Benji could give a shy chitter-sound.

"Mm. So, tagging along with Mortimer, hmm? You guys talk about 'guy' things?"

" ... what do you mean?" was the squeaky, little question, eyes not quite meeting hers.

"You know," she breathed, almost sultrily, and barely audible, "what I mean. You guys talk about us? Me and Seldovia?"

"Well, even if we did, it's ... I don't know," was the roundabout answer, neither denying nor affirming the otter's inquiry.

A chuckle. "Mm. Well ... I don't mind. Just don't think that you're the 'odd fur out' on this station. You have friends. You have a job. You have someone who shares your faith and loves you very much," she said, of herself. "Isn't that enough to go on?"

A slight smile. "I guess so. When, uh ... when you put it like that," he admitted, cheering up. "But, still, you ever tried to free a raccoon from a shiny-object trance?"

Another chuckle. "No."

"Some of the station's systems, they're ... I mean, lots of metal. Most of it is dull and grey, but some things are shiny? I have to keep him from the shiny objects. He tries to pull them out to do things with them."

"Things?" A raised, cheeky brow.

" ... nothing like that," was the bashful whisper. "He just ... nuzzles them. He has a whole collection of shiny objects in his quarters. Like, a whole desktop-ful."

"I know. I saw it when we ate supper with them. Mm ... "

" ... but, uh, what about you? You doing more readiness drills?"

A quiet nod, not wanting to get into details. Her roundish ears flat atop her head, the water streaming down her backside, easily slipping off her rich-brown, built-for-water pelt. Her rudder-tail moving this way and that, by mere inches. She hesitated before saying more, not wanting to scare him. " ... just gotta be ready," was all she said, "in case the pirates do try to take the station from us."

Benji didn't press the issue. Just nodded quietly, leaning his head against her shoulder, closing his eyes for a moment.

"But enough talk about pirates and jobs and ... stuff," Milka managed. "You said you spend most of the day writing poetry in your head?"

"You've known that for a long time. I give you most of the poems."

Her turn to flush, as she nodded. Yes, he did. She couldn't ever forget things like that: him reading love poems to her. Things he'd written just for her. There was a specialness to that kind of romantic sensibility. One that made her feel more softer, somehow. Almost vulnerable. Despite the tough-femme appearance she'd conditioned herself to wear.

The nutria hugged her, swaying, swaying. For almost a whole minute, maybe more, without a word or true sound passing between them, his thinner, blunted tail whipping back and forth, rodent buckteeth in her fur. He breathed in deep, beginning to nibble and gnaw.

This drew, eventually, soft, shower-soaked sighs from the otter, her muzzle against the rodent's brown-furred cheek, listing, lingering, as she whispered, " ... you and your poetry, though. Always pin-wheeling in your head. I can almost hear it ... "

" ... the poetry?" he breathed, eyes half-open.

A small shake of the head. "The actual pin-wheeling. The very spark," she managed, "of you." An inhale, whiskers heavy with water-droplets. Her healthy pelt looking shimmery-damp and sleek. "I can hear it building up, churning into more and ... more," she went, taking in air. "You have to let it out, somehow." Her muzzle shifted, lips parting. To suck, suckle, and mouth his wet cheek-fur, her eyes helplessly closing as she did so, before she soon stopped to sigh again, and to give a throat-dry swallow. Her arms around his middle, around his back, and her heart picking up its pace. The stream of water from the sonic shower raining down on the both of them. But they were both water-raised mammals. Both with webbed paws, even. They didn't mind a good, lazy soak.

The nutria gave a barely-detectable nod, in agreement with her sentiment. Yes, he'd have to let it out. The poetry he so often composed, in text. In speech. So often speaking it to her. She, his rescuer. She, his love. When he'd lost everything and been a hopeless prisoner, she'd been there, faithful and bright. Had freed him. He wanted to say such things to her. But, sometimes, " ... I just can't find the words," he whispered.

"Can't find them?" Milka teased, whispering. Close to one of his small, roundish ears. "Did they scurry away?"

"Nutrias don't scurry," he defended, hiding a light smile.

"Aren't nutrias called 'mouse-beavers'?"

" ... sometimes," he admitted.

"Mm." An otter-purr, nakedly bumping to him, taking deep breaths of his wet, washing-away scent. "Sometimes ... "

" ... but we don't scurry. We swim. Just like you," he said, of otters.

" ... swim," she echoed, sucking on his cheek, "just like ... me ... " Their bodies were entwined, hugging, beginning to sway. "So, your words," she posed, pulling her head back, so that her black, diamond-shaped nose rested against his own. His nose sniffier than hers. She loved how sniffy rodent noses were! " ... your words just swim away, hmm? Right now? That's what they're doing ... "

"Can't," he amended, nodding, nodding, sucking air, "catch them." A shaky sigh. "You should k-know that by, uh ... now ... "

"Ah, yeah?" she half-asked, half-said, arching very briefly, and then settling back down, moving her head away from 'nose-to-nose' to something closer, causing their whiskers to brush, causing their cheeks to touch. There was no mistaking that the otter was being inundated with amorous-ness (even if it wasn't a real word). And, otters being very playful creatures, Milka was inclined to smile as she bumped and grinded with her husband. It was true that she was more serious than most otters, though. But, then, she'd had a serious past. Like Benji, she'd lost her family to the pirates. Unlike him, she'd been their prisoner for a lot longer. And had, more than that, actually become a pirate, herself. That tended to put a dampener on one's sense of play. But she was slowly finding it. It was coming back. Benji was helping it to come back ...

... as his webbed paws roved up and down her soggy-furred rump, beautiful rump, grabbing at the cheeks, almost emphatically. Dreamily. Before, fingers splaying, he stroked the thicker, bottom half of her sturdy rudder-tail, making it to steer, steer more forcefully. He tried to hold it still. And giggle-squeaking when he couldn't. " ... you're doing that on purpose," he breathed, against her collar-bone. "I'm trying to hold it."

" ... it's being happy," she replied, grinning. Yes, indeed, she felt more like an otter every day. And less like the salamanders she'd grown up with.

The nutria swallowed, licking his lips, kissing his wife's bare, pretty shoulder. He loved the way she looked: like an expert swimmer, a little rough and tumble, a little sleek. A little bit of many things. Oh, and the sounds she made, those otter-chirps and barks, and the feel of her heated pelt in the rolling dark of their bed. Oh, those things. Those memories. Those desires. Were there, in his head. Swirling, a whole mass of them. An influx of words. Blurring into images, and those images melting into pure, purer feelings, things that couldn't ever be properly stated. Oh, only properly shown. Properly expressed. And, right now, soon after waking and sooner after breakfast, their morning 'peaks' nearing, their bodies feeling a rising pressure, their hearts feeling a welling of mutual need. Right now. Was the time. Oh, to show it, to make poetry.

Make poetry.

Right now.

" ... please," Benji whispered, his eyes closed, panting on his wife's shoulder. She was a few inches taller than him. And his breath shook as he held to her, her bare, hanging breasts pressing to his rising, falling chest. By now, as usual, everything aside from her had faded into the background of his consciousness. He knew they were both upright, naked, swaying to the station's artificial gravity, standing in the shower. He could hear the water trickling, jetting, splashing. He could feel it. He could sense the steam in the air. He knew that things surrounded and cradled them, including the invisible, omniscient paws of God Himself.

But, somehow, he could only manage to focus on one thing: on her. Call it tunnel vision, call it swoon-ful-ness. Call it what you will. The world, outer space, the very universe itself might've been waiting outside. But his heart was anchored in here. And it wasn't going to let him sail into the day until he ...

... kissed. She leaned her muzzle forward, tilting it, initiating the kiss. Seeing that the nutria was in too much of a poetic, internal trance to do so. And knowing that, as a rodent, he was the more submissive partner in this marriage. So, she kissed him, pressing him to the slick shower-wall, suckling on his lower lip.

And he just took it, whiskers twitching in a slightly bewildered way, eyes shut. Paws weakly gripping her bare, furry back, close to her shoulder blades.

The otter's kisses got sloppier, looser, sliding away from his muzzle, roving down the nutria's neck, then his upper chest.

Benji sucked air, water spraying from his lips as he sighed. Oh, droplets weighing down his whisker-tips. Everything soaked in liquid warmth. And he knew what was coming next. He knew what was happening. His heart began to leap in his chest.

Milka, wordless, fixated, sank down, down, bending her knees. Getting to her shins and knees, eventually, on the bottom of the puddle-filled tub, keeping her paws, all the while, on her husband's body. On his sides, and then his hips, bringing her muzzle forward. Nothing needed to be said. The sheer act of what she was about to do would say more about how she felt for him than a hundred poems could. And he knew this. And shivered, hunching over, paws holding to her shoulders, as she literally slurped and sucked her way to the base of his stiff, blood-pink shaft.

His only regret, right now, was not being able to immediately return the favor. But he would get to that soon. Very soon. He only had to be patient. Which was almost impossible, being a worked-up, head-over-tail male, watching his wife, through half-open eyes, begin to twist and bob up and down his very sensitive length.

Her eyes closed, webbed paws sliding from his hips back, back to his rump. She grabbed at him, muzzle tilting to the right, suckling back, back. To the head. Keeping just the head inside her maw, letting her tongue slide over it. The tip of his penis so smooth, blunted, swollen, salty pre leaking from the slit.

" ... ah! N-nuh ... " Weak, almost-airy sounds. Gentle, soft. " ... oh," he sighed, squirming a bit in simple, simple pleasure. It was such a basic, natural feeling, such a timeless, compelling response. Oh, yes.

The otter, lessening her 'teasing' of his head, kept her lips in a warm, loose ring, and slid them down, down. Back down. Letting her tongue, all the while, caress and undulate along the underside of the shaft, before lifting it. Lifting his penis to the roof of her muzzle, and deliberately tilting her head to the left, steering the head of his rodent-hood right into the soft, silky flesh-like area of the inside of her cheek.

" ... oh!" he cried, more sharply, squeaking. Sharply squeaking! He gripped her shoulders harder than before. This was almost too much. Already, it was almost too much!

Sensing this might be the case, she eased up on everything, in every way, and slowly, slowly slipped off him, gazing up at him, still on her shins and knees, with burning, half-open eyes.

As his own eyes dared to peek open, he caught that gaze. And almost melted on the spot. From the sheer heat of her want.

The otter, despite her worked-up state, managed to whisper out, " ... I think you're, uh ... in g-good shape to ... to put that to fuller use. Think I got it going. Think you can ... " She had to pause to suck air, and then sigh. Swallowing, too. Licking her lips before she could finish with ... " ... think you can ... " She couldn't finish it, after all. Her heart was hammering, and the water was raining down on her, off of her. All over. And she still had to the taste of Benji's pre on her tongue.

And his paws were reaching down, leaving her shoulders, hooking under her arms, trying to tug her up, up. " ... come on," he went, almost begging. Almost desperate. He couldn't exactly breed her on the floor of the shower. He didn't have the maneuverability for that.

Milka weakly stood, and immediately put her paws flat to the wall, leaning there, forehead resting there, too. Panting, panting, her rudder-tail lifting and steering out of the way. The message was universal. A naked fur lifting their tail? It was a ringing invitation.

And, oh, he accepted.

He accepted.

Twenty minutes later, in Ops, Peregrine's whiskers twitched, twitched. Twitched. As he asked Petra, "How long 'til they get here?"

"Few minutes," was his wife's simple, nodding response, her eyes darting over the tactical readouts. Sensors and such. "Definitely a pirate ship. I put us on red alert. Shields up, weapons ready. Those blinkin' red lights should be coming on just 'bout ... " She looked up. The red 'alert' lights beginning to strobe on and off. " ... heh. Punctual! Then, I guess computers are s'posed to be ... "

" ... Petra," was all Peregrine said, swallowing.

"Perry, we went through this the last time they attacked us."

"Yeah. As I recall, I had take some 'anti-mousers'," he said bashfully, of rodent anti-anxiety medication. His whiskers twitched even more at this.

"Need some now?"

"No," was his squeaky, flustered insistence. "Look, just ... I'm worried. If they've really been updating their weapons systems, and if they've adapted all their strategies beyond Milka's knowing ... "

" ... which they haven't," the rat pointed out. "We beat 'em last time, we'll beat 'em again."

"But we don't know that."

"Well, I'm the tactical officer, an' I know that goin' into a fight thinkin' you're gonna lose? Is a sure way to lose. You gotta believe you can outsmart 'em. I know we can," was the rat's confident declaration. "That doesn't mean I'm bein' cocky, either. Alright? Don't need to worry 'bout that." A pause. "Besides, we both got faith, right?"

"We do," he replied. "But having faith doesn't equate to having an easy path. Things go wrong. That's how faith is tested."

"And if this goes wrong," Petra assured, quietly, not about to let her husband's anxiety run away with him, "we'll pass that test. Together. Either way ... " She trailed, own whiskers giving a few twitches.

Peregrine nodded, whiskers twitching. "I know. I know. I'm just saying ... it's only a matter of time before they do a massive change-up. Then we'll lose our tactical advantage over them. So, we gotta adapt to that. Stay one paw-step ahead of them, and ... "

"Over who?" Milka asked, stepping out of the lift, which had just whirred to a stop. Benji wasn't with her, even though his shower-fresh nutria-scent was. Clinging lightly to her fur. But, then, everyone on the station wore the scents of their mates, pretty much, in addition to their own.

"Your old friends are back," Petra told the otter. "One ship. On a direct course for us."

Milka squinted, nodding, glancing at the viewer. "Can we see them?"

"Not yet. Few more seconds. Scanners say it doesn't seem t'be a huge ship. More like a scout." A pause. "They could be aimin' to test us out ... see what we know about 'em. And, then, once they know that, they send in the real fleet."

"Let's not think like that," Peregrine whispered, eyes mousey-wide, and his long, silky-pink tail snaking all around, all around. He looked so full of cuteness, as always. You just wanted to hug him and cuddle him and protect him. If Petra's attention hadn't been needed at tactical, she'd be all over him right now.

The lift whirred back into view, and out stepped a few of the others: Amelie, Wheldon, Desmond, and Seldovia. Mortimer and Benji were probably off checking the shield emitters. Prancer and Nin were probably in the infirmary, on the Promenade.

"We are under an alert condition," Amelie noted, glancing primly at the Commander, her waggle-ears waggling. "The pirates?"

"I'm afraid so," the mouse responded, nodding, and then glancing to Petra.

The rat could tell, knowing him as intimately as she did, that the mouse was feeling a great deal of rising anxiety. Which is why she'd asked him if he'd needed 'anti-mousers.' He could probably use some. But she knew he felt, by taking them, that he was admitting some kind of shame at being a mouse. But his twitches were getting worse. Mouses made good command-level officers, in that they were trustworthy, likeable, gentle, diplomatic, tidy. You wanted to follow their orders, cause you couldn't resist them. But they weren't built to handle battle situations as well as other species could. Peregrine's instinct equated battles with 'hunts.' And mouses, the most prey-like of prey, had never, throughout history, wound up on the best side of hunts. Predatory or otherwise.

Petra felt anxiety, too. But, as everyone knew, she was a bit scrappier. Had grown up with little luxury, surviving on her wits. So, if Peregrine had any lapses during the possible battle, she'd immediately take over for him. She was the constable, the chief of security, as well as first officer. It was her job to augment Peregrine's authority, anyway. He gave the orders. She coordinated with the others to implement them. Even so, it was obvious that the 'chain of command' aboard Redwing Station was a bit more lax than it would've been on a star-ship. They were all alone out here, no longer under Federation protection or jurisdiction. They were an extended family. And this station was their home. And, when it came to running and defending it, they all felt on equal terms, even if they still technically adhered to their ranks and jobs.

"They're within range," Petra said, of the pirate ship. It was now close enough to see. And she put it up on the viewer.

Milka squinted. "You were right. Scout ship." A pause. "Let's hope you're not right about their strategy, though. If they are here to gain information on our updated defenses and response methods ... I mean, we lose either way. We destroy them, they'll still have transmitted the whole battle to their little ragtag 'fleet.' We don't destroy them, their 'fleet' still gets the information. Either way, we're exposed."

"That's not very optimistic," Wheldon complained, frowning.

Milka turned her head, her roundish ears flat atop her rich-brown head-fur. Her voice with a serious weight to it. "Nothing about pirates is. That's why they're pirates."

Wheldon just twiddled his ears at this, giving a look to Amelie, as if to say, 'And I thought otters were supposed to be cheerful!'

"Within weapons range in thirty seconds," Petra said, blowing out a breath. Her own whiskers twitched (though not as much as her husband's), and her brown-grey fur looked a little unkempt, as it always did. Rat-fur always had a tendency to look a little 'undone.' They definitely weren't 'all finesse' like mouses. And seeing the two of them, Petra and Peregrine, standing so close to each other, the mouse almost needily leaning into her, was a scene of cute 'compare-and contrast.' They had many similarities. Same basic body features. But little, distinct differences in those. Not to mention their personalities.

"I suggest we arm ourselves," Amelie said, logically. "I believe we should fetch some phase pistols from the armory."

"No, there's some up here, beneath my station. Little weapons locker ... but remember," Petra said, kneeling down and undoing the little locker-hatch, "about the settings ... "

" ... we know," Wheldon said. The first to receive his pistol. He looked it over and then said, "Don't we get holsters?"

Petra just gave him a look, and then said, "Perry, you hand out the rest o' these. The ship's within weapons range. I gotta be able to return fire ... "

" ... you really think we're going to be boarded this time?" Seldovia asked, quiet until now. "Should I be prepared to use my spray?"

"Well, just keep that tail o' yours locked and loaded," was Petra's blunt response.

Seldovia stuck her tongue out at the rat. And then stopped, smiling, holding her luxurious tail in her paws. She had, within her, a 'good' spray and a 'bad' spray. Two glands at her tail-base. The good spray was released during 'intimate' moments, and drove males wild. The bad spray was used as a personal defense. And made everyone gag. The bold-furred skunk couldn't smell any of it herself, however. Skunks were immune to their own pheromones. She could smell another skunk's. But not her own.

Right now, sighing, she leaned, as she liked to do, against a railing, always having that 'sprawled out, look at me!' posture. "So, prepare to be boarded? That's a 'yes?' Even with Morty's new shield matrix?" A pause. "I think it'll hold them out." She had faith in her husband's technological savvy.

"Well, don't ask me. Nothin' has happened yet," Petra said, making a face. "We might be better off than the other times, but we're still a stationary target. We're still cut off from Federation resources. We can only do so much. Better shields or old shields." The rat squinted, tapping at her controls. "They're within range. I don't understand why they're not ... "

" ... look!" Wheldon said, pointing a paw at the viewer.

Amelie squinted, clutching her phase pistol, and said, un-squinting and raising a brow, "They are veering toward the planet." A pause, head tilting. "Have they ever shown an interest in the surface before?" The question was directed to Milka.

The otter shook her head. "No. They think it's spooked."

"They're right," Seldovia added.

Wheldon nodded at this, in total agreement. The planet did have spooks. He didn't need any further evidence of that.

"Why are they going down there now?" Peregrine asked. His mind scurrying. He thought, and then realized, "Unless ... they know that we destroyed the desert artifacts. I mean, those ruins."

"They know cause we stole the tri-cobalt device to destroy all of it with," Desmond said, over at Comm with Hyacinth, also being very quiet. " ... we stole it from them." His cottontail flicker-flicked.

"What if they found out about other ruins?" Hyacinth then asked, looking from her husband to the others, casually chewing her cud. Chew-chew. Swallow. "I mean, I haven't picked up any comm traffic that would indicate ... I mean, I had no idea they were interested in the planet. Maybe they only wanted us to think they were interested in us? Maybe they know something we don't."

"I doubt that," Amelie said, with a slight shake of the head. "I have studied the planet in great detail. It is unlikely they know anything about it that I do not."

"It's possible," Desmond said. "I mean, maybe they got information from the black market. There is a black market in this sector."

"Well, if there is, it has stayed away from the station. And that is for the best. It could very well be, Commander," Amelie said, to Peregrine, her arms and paws clasped properly behind her back, and her ice-blue eyes having a serenity to them, "that they simply heard 'rumors' of something. They believe we covet the planet. That is enough to make them covet it, as well."

"It's always possible that ... maybe they did hear rumors of something," Milka whispered, craning her neck to the ceiling. "Of course. Terrence." She reopened her eyes and lowered her head. "Captain Terrence?"

"Don't remind me," Petra said, monitoring the pirate ship. It was still descending into the planet's atmosphere. But, since it hadn't threatened the station, she'd taken no action to stop it. Not yet, anyway.

"What about him?" Peregrine asked, tail flailing about some. He'd not served under the lion, like most of the other furs here. But he'd met him. And hadn't liked him. Captain Terrence had developed a reputation for abusing mouses.

"He 'disappeared,' remember? Cause of the artifacts? Then came back. Maybe he found out something ... information. Maybe, before he escaped from the salamanders, he dropped them hints of stuff. Told them stuff about more ruins that maybe we didn't know about. I mean, he must've found some secret information all that time he was missing. Even if it's bogus, maybe the pirates just want to be sure. After all, they want power, they want ... valuable things. If something's there for the taking, they're going to try to take it."

"Perry ... " Petra drew a breath. "They're headin' into the ocean."

The mouse closed his eyes and bit his lip. "We gotta stop them," he whispered. "Me and Petra will take one runabout, Milka and ... "

" ... no," the rat interrupted, immediately. "Y'all realize this ship goin' at the planet could just be a diversion? To get us to chase it in runabouts, leave the station even more under-furred and undefended? I'm not lettin' the commanding officer leave during a time of potential crisis."

"So, you want me to send you, then?" Peregrine asked, quietly. Of all the things about his job, this was the thing that he dreaded most. Sending his mate into danger. Ordering her into harm's way. He didn't want to do that, but ...

" ... not me. If we get boarded, you'll need my experience at paw-to-paw scuffles. And phase pistol fights. We need Nin for his quills, Seldovia for her spray, so ... send Milka. She can track their ship underwater. And Amelie. She knows more about the planet than the rest of us. In case there are ruins ... " She trailed off.

Peregrine nodded, looking from his wife to the otter and snow rabbit. That seemed sensible. "Do it," he whispered.

"Wait! I'm gong with them," Wheldon declared, bobbing up and down on his bare foot-paws.. "I mean, I ... they need someone else."

"That is very chivalrous of you, darling," Amelie insisted, with a slight, smiling glint in her eyes. She knew he'd only volunteered out of worry for her, wanting to make sure she'd be okay. "But I can handle myself."

"I know. But, still, I'm going," Wheldon insisted. "Sir?" He looked to Peregrine, raising a paw, as if that would help. "They'll need a pilot. I'm a better pilot than either of them, aren't I?"

The mouse nodded, and relented, "Okay ... okay, you three. Go. But, uh ... they have a head start? So, you best ... "

" ... hop to it," Wheldon said, nodding, and making way (in hoppity fashion) for the lift. Amelie following, and Milka bringing up the tail of the group.

"Hyacinth will keep a comm line ready, in case you need to contact us. Desmond will tap into the runabout's internal sensors so we can monitor where you are," Peregrine said. "Be careful."

Amelie nodded.

And Milka, taking a breath, told the computer, "Landing Pad C."

And, with that, the lift whirred them out of sight.

"Brace for impact," Wheldon said, tensing, paws at the controls. The blue-green water rushing, rushing at the nose of the runabout, closer to the forward windows, filling the field of vision, until ...

... SPLASH!

It was all around them. All sides.

With a jostle, they dove down, submerging. Air bubbles shimmering and popping all over, the sunlight dappling from above, slanting down, down into darkness. This was closer to the shore than not, but it still looked pretty deep. Enough to be slightly scary, anyway.

"Slow our pace," Amelie said, quietly. "We do not want to be going as fast underwater as we were in the air."

"I know," Wheldon said, nodding, slowing them to half-thruster power, down from one-quarter impulse. He took a few short, shaky breaths.

"Is something wrong?" his wife asked.

A quiet shake of the head, biting his lip. "I, uh ... " A pause, before admitting, "I don't like deep water."

"Then why'd you come?" Milka asked, making a face.

Wheldon, turning his head, just gave the otter a flushing look as Amelie supplied, gently, "He came to protect me." The snow rabbit stood up behind him, to put her paws on the tea-furred rabbit's shoulders. To rub, rub, and just hold him there. "A very admirable and romantic action."

He just flushed more, ears hot. Cheeks hot beneath his fur. And said, with another deep breath, " ... well, you did need a pilot. I am a better pilot than you two ... "

Milka, softening, nodded quietly. "Well, I'm used to water, so ... sometimes, I forget that not every-fur is. But, still, it's no different than being in space, really. If you're not scared of being in one, why be scared of the other?"

"Space is not matter," Amelie supplied, logically. "It is a vacuum. Water, however, is ... "

" ... well, that's not even the point," the otter said, stubbornly, her terseness returning for a moment. Until she reigned herself in. Stop getting into it with Amelie, she scolded herself. She's never done anything to you. You've no reason to be upset with her.

"I think it is apparent," Amelie was continuing, addressing Milka, "that, though we live on the same station, and are part of an intimate crew ... that we do not know each other very well."

"I keep to myself. And Benji," was the otter's response.

"Perhaps you should adjust that social approach?"

Milka nodded quietly, but only said, "Now's not the time to talk about it."

A head-tilt from the snow rabbit, her ice-blue eyes calm, composed. "Agreed."

Wheldon, whispering, said, "I'm detecting something."

"The pirate ship?" Amelie asked, removing her paws from his shoulders and returning to the co-pilot's seat.

"No. No, it's ... what the pirate ship came here for, I think. Looks like a dome. You can't detect it until you get real close, cause ... it's signature is faint. An atrium? Or ... an underground structure. On the sand at the bottom."

Amelie squinted. "It is very ancient." A pause. "It is of the same configuration as the 'ruins' ... the same builders." A pause, thinking for a moment. "Terrence must've found out about it, and told the pirates in 'exchange' for letting him go."

"I thought he beat up the salamanders and escaped on his own?" Wheldon said.

"All second-paw information. We have no idea of knowing ... "

"Well, he didn't tell Milka about any of this, did he?" A blink, looking to the otter, now.

"Predators lie," was all the ex-pirate said, almost muttering it.

"True," Amelie said, nodding. "But, to be fair, prey can do the same."

"I'm not interested in being fair right now. I'm interested in outwitting my ex-'associates.' If they want to explore that 'dome' so badly, they must think it's valuable. That it can give them power, or an advantage."

"I believe they have no idea what is in there. Else they would have sent more ships," Amelie ventured to guess. "They sent one. A scout. In case whatever was found turned out to be dangerous, or a 'dark science'."

Milka, sitting on the edge of one of the 'couch-like' extensions against a bulkhead a few feet behind the pilot-seats, just nodded and blew out a breath. "You could be right." She glanced out the forward windows. It was getting darker. Murkier. Almost a navy-blue. Very little light was streaming down here. Though there were occasionally ...

" ... flashes!" Wheldon pointed. "Did they fire!"

Amelie, whose eyes had been trained on the sensors the entire time, calmly said, "I am not detecting weapons fire." Looking up, she eye-smiled, turning to her husband to say, "I believe you were seeing bio-luminescent creatures."

"Like jellyfishes?"

"Possibly."

Milka injected, "Can we focus? Look, the pirates aren't giving each other sweet, swooning looks and smiling about jellyfishes right now. They're lurking, preparing to strike. They're thinking about how they can blow us to smithereens. Or better yet: capture us."

" ... well, they'll have to catch us first," Wheldon said, showing signs of confidence. He could be, at times, very brash and stubborn. His vulnerability would peek through now and then, as it had been doing since they'd submerged. But his confidence was returning, buoyed by Amelie's simmering glances. And, showing off a little bit, he steered the runabout, banking it left, left, and dipping it down, almost in a spiral-like dive. "They following us?"

"I am reading a signature ... quarter-mile to our right, and three hundred feet above us. They appear to be rising." A pause. "They are reversing course."

"They were trying to snipe us from below. Hit our belly. They didn't realize we'd moved," Wheldon said, nodding, his tall, antennae-like ears twiddling, and his bobtail flickering a bit. "Well, I'm going to loop back on them. You have to let me know when they get within one hundred feet."

Amelie nodded.

"What are you doing?" Milka demanded, standing up, coming up behind the two rabbits. "They won't fall for that."

Wheldon was about to ask 'how do you know,' but caught himself. Saying, instead, "What should I do, instead?"

"Play dead. Vent plasma ... flicker our lights. Make us drift. When they get close enough ... " The otter reached a paw forward, tapping a few controls, which beeped and bopped under her blunt-clawed touch. " ... send out a deflector pulse."

"Wouldn't do anything. They'll already have their shields up."

"No, they won't. When they get that close, they'll lower them so they can use their grappler."

"Grappler?" Amelie asked, bobtail flickering.

"Like a tractor beam, only it's ... well, it's a hook. A clamp. Magnetic thing. They'll attach it to our hull and tow us up to the surface. And then board us."

"So, we can't activate the pulse until they're, like, dropping their shields to 'grapple' us? What if we guess the timing wrong, and they fire their grappler before we fire the pulse? We'll be stuck to their 'anchor,' and ... when they go on the fritz and sink, we'll sink with them." Wheldon swallowed, looking from Amelie to Milka. "Right?"

Beep-a, ba-beep. Ba-beep, went the computer. A proximity alarm. And Amelie let out some air, whispering, "One hundred fifty feet."

"Trust me," Milka said, with a steely look in her eyes. "I know what I'm doing."

Neither of the rabbits asked her why that was. But it was assumed that, during her time with the pirates, the otter had taken part in the capture, boarding, and destruction of many innocent vessels. She probably knew the routine by clockwork.

"One hundred twenty-five feet."

"I can't even see them," Wheldon whispered, swallowing. And wondering, also, why he was whispering. It wasn't like the pirates could hear anything they were saying. But, still, it felt more proper, somehow, to be whispering at a time like this, with the cabin lights dimmed, the nacelles flickering, the runabout beginning to drift. They were effectively 'playing dead.' And Wheldon hoped it didn't become more than play! " ... oh, my gosh," he whispered, his paws beginning to sweat. "Hurry up," he went, not liking the wait.

"One hundred feet," Amelie went, tapping a few controls. And then a final tap with her index finger.

Wh-wh-WHOOSH!

A band, a ring of light and energy, flew out from the ship. A deflector pulse. The deflector dish on any ship designed to repel small, space-borne particles, like dust. When traveling at high velocities, little bits of space-dust could theoretically punch through the hull. The deflector prevented such things. And a deflector pulse offered an extra 'repellant' force.

The bigger, older pirate ship found this out as it was suddenly swept backwards, electrical discharges flaring all over the whole like momentary veins, before it began to drift, drift, and ...

" ... they are sinking."

"For good?" Wheldon asked.

Amelie, paws tapping a few things, shook her head. "No. They will have enough oxygen, enough energy. They should repair themselves in a few hours. Hopefully, we will be back aboard the station by then."

Milka, voice very quiet, and very serious, whispered, "We should destroy them."

"What?" Wheldon asked, blinking. "They're ... we sank them."

"They're still alive."

"Yeah?" the tea-furred rabbit went, eyes widening, not yet getting the reasoning behind the otter's suggestion.

"We have the opportunity to rid the sector of something that plagues it. We should do it. We ... "

" ... are not destroying that vessel," Amelie said, a bit steely, swiveling in her chair to face the otter, who was still standing.

"It's them or us," Milka went, through gritted teeth.

"I believe you are allowing your personal experiences with the salamanders on that ship to eclipse your morals. You are turning this into a vendetta."

"You don't know the first thing about what they can do. What they did to me."

"I know what it is like to kill," Amelie shot back, not missing a beat. Standing up, now, nose to nose with the otter. Her voice clipped and terse. "I fought in wars, not pirate skirmishes. Wars," she emphasized. "I have had spilled blood on my paws, and it is not something I ever did or will do lightly. I am not going to allow you to destroy that vessel if there is no need."

"So, they go back to the other pirates in a few hours, tell them whatever it was they came to find out, and then they all come back and destroy the station?"

"We do not know that is their intent. And, if that is to be the case, I have confidence in Mortimer. Our defenses are better than they were. And Petra knows how to lead a fight. We have a capable crew."

"We're outnumbered. This is the frontier. This isn't a safe place!"

"I do not need to be reminded of that."

"Hey! You two! They're moving," Wheldon said, squinting. "They're ... they rerouted life support to emergency thrusters. They're actually moving."

"How fast?"

"Not fast at all. They're leaving a plasma trail. They won't be able to use warp. Or impulse. They'll have to land somewhere on the surface while they make repairs."

"Let them go," Amelie said, nodding.

"You're making a mistake," Milka insisted, again, through gritted teeth.

"It is mine to make," was the icy retort. "Both of us outrank you," Amelie said, of her and Wheldon. "And we all take orders from Peregrine. I do not believe he would condone the ship's destruction."

"He's a mouse. They can't hurt lightning bugs without crying and curling up into balls. But you and me," Milka said, eyes burning. "We know better ... we know what has to be done. Sometimes, you have to sin for the greater good. Sometimes, evil? Predators? Sometimes, you have to preemptively strike. Sometimes, it is logical."

"Do not presume," the snow rabbit whispered, dangerously, "to speak to me of logic."

"They wouldn't hesitate to kill us if they were in our place."

"Is that the justification you'll use to tell your husband, then, when he finds out about your 'act of vengeance'?"

Milka swallowed, extremely stung by that.

Wheldon, feeling a little awkward, whispered, "Uh ... they've breached the surface. They're heading for shore."

Amelie, still locked in a gaze with Milka, just said, "Take us to the dome. Dock us there. We are going inside." And, with that, she spun around in her chair, looking out the window.

And Milka, for the first time in what felt like a minute, released her breath and sighed, slumping against a wall. She put a paw to her forehead. What just came over me, she thought? Is the pirate life really that ingrained in me that, in the heat of the moment, I'd act like one again? She sighed heavily, whispering, "I'm sorry. I'm ... about what I said about the Commander, and about ... you know, all of it."

Amelie, as Wheldon took them into a docking position with the dome's access port, simply said, only half-turning to the otter, "Whatever you have done, you are forgiven through faith. Realizing that is the first step toward finding peace."

"What's the second step?" the otter whispered, weakly.

"Love," was Amelie's second reply. "And you have that."

A weak nod, and a weaker smile, the otter closing her eyes. She thought of Benji. And she felt so tired, even though it wasn't even midday yet. She just wanted to go back to the station and be with him, and ...

... the runabout shuddered a bit.

"We're docked," Wheldon said.

"Scanners and phase pistols ready," Amelie said. "I shall take the front."

"But," Wheldon started to object.

Amelie held up a paw, though, already moving to the docking hatch, her pretty bobtail poised like a teardrop behind her rump. She took a deep breath, nodding. Tap-tap. Beep-a-beep. And the hatch 'ker-clunked' and whooshed open, revealing the tube-like interior of the short docking port. "It looks to be only a few yards." The snow rabbit went in first, padding in her bare foot-paws across the metal floor. A shiver. "It is cold. Even for me," she said. Snow rabbits, of course, were accustomed to Arctic elements. "This place is not being heated. No sunlight from the surface is reaching it, so ... however, I don't believe it is a harmful cold. We'll adapt in a minute. We all have fur, after all."

"Well, whatever. It's ... as long as we can breathe the air, right?" Wheldon said, cautiously following her. The pads on his foot-paws shivering as they shuffled along.

Milka brought up the tail of the group, watching as Amelie took a left turn, Wheldon behind her. The otter followed, turning right before emerging into the interior of the dome. Outside, water. Dark, navy-blue water. Inside, the clear dome, with florescent, pure-white lights dimly lit, some of them flickering on and off.

"How is that ceiling not caving in from the water pressure?" Milka wanted to know. Otters had been known to build underwater structures. Not often, but they'd tried it. Or, at least, so she heard, not having grown up with other otters, herself. She'd just heard rumors. But never of anything as big or advanced as this.

"I do not know," Amelie said, simply, unafraid to admit her lack of answers. "I have come to find that whoever built these ruins was incredibly advanced. Their technology almost bordered on a 'power,' if you will."

"Like magic?" Wheldon asked.

"More like: an extremely skilled manipulation of the laws of physics." A pause, looking around, craning her neck. Sniffing the old-smelling air with her charcoal-black nose. "We will just have to have faith," she said, lowering her neck, "that God will not let us drown. That the sea, so to speak, will remained 'parted' long enough for us to do what we must."

Milka, padding away from the two rabbits, gave a brief nod, saying, "Look at this."

They hopped over to her position.

"Looks like a platform? A, uh ... what are these buttons ... "

" ... do not push ... "

Tap-tap. Ba-BUZZ!

" ... those," Amelie finished, wielding her phase pistol at the 'apparition' that suddenly appeared, hovering over the platform in the center of the tiled floor. And, after a few seconds, the snow rabbit blinked. It was not an apparition. It was a hologram. A hologram of ...

" ... the planet," Wheldon said. "I recognize it. It's ... looks the same as it does from our bedroom window," he said, looking to his wife.

Amelie nodded, intrigued. "It does, indeed."

Milka, withdrawing her paws, apologized sheepishly for having pushed the buttons. "Sorry. I, uh ... sometimes, I act first. Pirates do. It's a hard habit to break."

"Just do not touch anything further unless I say," Amelie replied, with no ill will. A scanner in her paws. "This is remarkable. This is more than a holographic representation of the planet." Her ice-blue eyes, in the dim, ancient lighting, seemed to sparkle, as if moonstruck. "This is a map."

"A map?" Wheldon echoed, his bobtail flickering.

"Of what?" Milka pressed.

"The surface. Resources." A pause. "Sites of further ruins." A singular whisker-twitch. The glow slightly fading from her eyes as she realized, "This is too dangerous to possess."

"But I thought that's why you were originally sent here in the first place?" Milka said. "To study these things?"

"It was," she admitted, quietly, letting out a breath. She swallowed and licked her dry lips. "It almost consumed me. The secrets on this planet? The dark knowledge? It is too powerful. It is too much to handle ... it is not meant to be possessed by mortal furs."

"How do you know?" the otter asked, equally quiet.

Amelie met Milka's gaze. "Because, if it were meant to be had? Then the owners would still be alive. They're extinct. What does that tell you?"

The otter paused for a moment, looking around, whispering, "That they were destroyed by their own technology."

The snow rabbit nodded, swallowing. "Yes. At least, that seems to be the most logical," she breathed, "conclusion. We may not end up destroying ourselves, directly, but if we use this map and ... find other ruins? The Federation will find out. The High Command. Other governments. There will be a race to 'own' all of this. In the melee, I believe that greed and lust will trigger someone to make a mistake. Knowledge for the sake of knowledge can be self-destructive." A shake of the head. "No, we do not need this map. And we must ensure that the pirates do not obtain it, either."

"Yeah, but if we want to colonize this place," Wheldon said, "it might be useful to have detailed scans of the surface, the interior. I mean, all that ... "

" ... there is no rush for that. We are not going to have the resources or fur-power to start a colony on the surface for several years. Right now, our focus is the station. I can continue my scans and studies of the planet's make-up from there. But I think it should be a forgone conclusion that, whenever we find ruins? They are to be destroyed. Not everyone can be trusted to use them wisely."

The other two didn't really object to that. And it was Milka who said, "Since we don't have any tri-cobalt devices, and since we're not gonna be able to steal another from the pirates ... could we implode this place? Instead of firing upon it from the outside, like ... there must be very advanced shielding keeping the water pressure at bay. We turn that off, and it all collapses on its own."

"True. However, the computer here is ancient, and programmed in a language that would take years to translate. There is nothing like it in our database. The fact that you triggered this hologram to activate was just a coincidence ... we do not know what any of these controls really does."

" ... well ... if you took all the air out of here, wouldn't it, like ... collapse, then?" posed Wheldon. "Like a bubble?"

"I'm not a scientist," was all Milka said, giving an 'I don't know' look.

Amelie considered. "A surface 'dome' requires air to stay inflated, but ... this is not the same thing. This building shouldn't even be able to stand, regardless, with this much glass? This far underwater? The shielding is the key."

"Then I guess we'll just have to fry the shielding," Milka said.

"How do we do that?" Wheldon asked.

"Fire our phase pistols at these controls here, and then quickly get into the runabout and undock ... "

" ... we would only have half a minute, at best, before this place was flooded after the shielding went down. Assuming it simply sprung heavy leaks. Perhaps it all caves in at once?" Amelie posed.

Milka considered, her rudder-tail steering behind her. "Overload. Leave a phase pistol on overload. Gives us time to get to the runabout, and ... you know, fries the controls, which hopefully lowers the shields, which makes it all collapse under the water's weight, right?"

"This place is giving me a headache," Wheldon said, with a frown.

The two femmes ignored the remark. Amelie nodding and looking to Milka. "Very well. Proceed."

"Alright ... uh, you two get going. I'll set the overload for one minute."

The two rabbits began to hop away, back to the access port, when one of Wheldon's big, rabbit foot-paws stepped on some kind of symbol on the floor. Making the room to hum, hum, and making a purple-ish light appear. A spotlight that swept over both him and Amelie.

" ... we are being scanned," Amelie said.

Wheldon's pulse increased. "It knows we're here. Maybe it'll lock us in!" he said, mewing in sudden panic.

"We must remain calm," was Amelie said, trying not to move.

Milka just watched, phase pistol in paw, looking up, around. As if she wanted to fire at whatever the source of the purple light was.

But the light ceased, and the humming stopped.

And Wheldon sighed.

Right before a blaring-bright ...

... f-f-FLASH!

It sparked the entire room!

Mews from the rabbits, and then slumping sounds, and a chirp from the otter. When her eyes had readjusted, and the flash had subsided, she saw both Wheldon and Amelie on the floor. Unconscious. "Oh, my gosh," she breathed, stumbling to them. Checking their pulses. Pulses. They're alive. Okay, they're alive. The otter looked around. Drag them back to the runabout. Then come back and set the phase pistol on overload. Then get the hell out of here. Seldovia had been right: this planet was definitely spooked.

A few minutes later, in the runabout, Milka was in the pilot's seat. She'd contacted the station, told them everything that had happened. They'd arrive back at the landing pad in a few more minutes. The underwater dome had successfully been destroyed. The pirates hadn't attacked the station, after all (not yet, anyway), and the two rabbits were regaining consciousness. All had ended well. The otter sighed a little sigh of relief. She'd be glad to get back to Benji, and ...

" ... w-what happened?" came a groggy voice. Amelie's voice.

Milka, turning in her seat, gave a reassuring smile. "Everything turned out fine. I think. You got zapped by a light. I think it was scanning you, but ... it's fine. We're returning to Redwing."

Amelie was squinting at her paws, as if something were wrong with them.

"What?" Milka blinked, not understanding. "You okay? Maybe you're still woozy."

Amelie blinked a few times, and then put one of her paws to her throat. "Something is ... different?"

"Uh ... look, I don't know. I don't know what that light was doing to you." A breath. "Maybe help Wheldon wake up, though? Prancer will be waiting at the landing pad with a med-kit. To check for residual effects. Just hold on a few more minutes ... "

Amelie made no motion to move, still dazed.

"You gonna help Wheldon?"

"Yes?" Amelie went.

"Wheldon," Milka said, nodding at the unconscious, tea-furred rabbit. "I have to pilot the runabout. I mean, I could put it on autopilot, but ... if we're ambushed by pirates, after all? I don't want the computer flying us. Just in case."

"I can fly."

"Check on Wheldon."

"I'm fine," Amelie stated.

"I didn't ask if you were fine. I asked about Wheldon." The otter was growing annoyed, thinking that the snow rabbit was playing some kind of 'logic came' with her.

"Yes?" Amelie said again.

... wait." The otter rubbed a paw against her forehead, not believing this, turning her chair forward. And looking out the window, tapping a few controls. Keeping them on their flight path. "Wait a minute. I keep saying Wheldon, and you keep saying 'yes' ... "

" ... yes," Amelie went, nodding properly. "I ... I do not think I am ... " Still dazed, sitting up, she looked to Wheldon's inert form. "That is me," she said, nodding.

"You're saying you switched bodies? That light ... you saying that's what it did?" the otter asked, eyes raising. "Are you serious?"

Amelie (who was really Wheldon) felt her (or was it 'his') own eyes widen. "Uh-oh," was the quiet, bewildered response.