The Green Hour
"This is a nice ship."
"Well, she should be," said Field, defensively. "Did you expect otherwise?"
"No," answered Wren, the squirrel. The captain of this new ship. The Luminous. He stepped gingerly onto the bridge, moving slowly (as if savoring). "I just ... it's a different configuration. What class of ship is this?" He stopped at the curved captain's chair (complete with a hole in the back ... for one's tail). Ran a paw along the grey-blue armrests. "Hmm?" He turned his head to the mouse.
"Wabash-class. It's ... registry number is ... "
"I saw that part on the hull," Wren interrupted. Still looking around. "So, it's a 'she,' is it? The ship?" He smiled at Field.
The mouse blushed and shrugged. "Well ... she is."
"Why's that? How does one check," Wren prodded, "a ship's gender?"
"It just is," was all Field said, whiskers twitching. Wearing a bemused expression. He wasn't one to respond well to teasing.
Wren chittered in amusement, eying the helm. Tactical. Ops. It was all here. Three other furs were present, quietly going about their business. The lighting was soft, white. There were little beeps and melodic mechanical sounds coming from various panels. From the computer. The viewer showcased the planet (their home) below. They were still in dry-dock, awaiting launch. They would launch today. For a deep-space exploration and patrol mission. To serve in ambassadorial functions. Et cetera.
"I don't know why you want me here," Field said quietly. Frowning (again), whiskers twitching. Nose sniffing silently. Ears going swivel-swivel. Standing still but not looking it. As mouses had a tendency to appear. "I get space-sick."
Wren rolled his eyes, hugging his mahogany-colored tail to his chest. Sighing. "You do not."
"I do," Field insisted.
"They gave me a crew of eighty-three ... I chose the compliment, and I wanted some fellow rodents. We're outnumbered ten to one down there," he said, nodding at the planet on the screen, "by the felines and wolves and foxes ... on this ship, I want us to be the majority." A slight chuckle. "It'll be like the voyage of the prey ... "
Field just whisker-twitched.
"Anyway, you're my friend." He looked to the mouse. "And it'll be good for you."
"I don't know ... " Field was worried.
"You agreed, didn't you? You're standing here ... "
The mouse could only nod, staring at the viewer. At the blue-green. Aquamarine. A color that looked like how a lazy summer day would sound. So precious. So ... full of flower. There were wispy whites stretched out, as if lazing on a bed of blue (the oceans). It all glowed. And Field let out a breath, and then took it slowly back in. Praying quietly. Trying to ease his (yet unbeknownst to him or anybody else) revolutionary mind ...
Wren smiled at his friend, putting a paw on his shoulder before moving to the lift.
Field, blink-blinking, turned. "Where are you going?"
"For a walk. For a meet-and-greet." A smile. "You have the bridge." He chuckled at the anxious expression on Field's muzzle as the doors whooshed shut.
When Wren reached the simulation room (which is where the computer had indicated the ship's doctor was), he knocked on the door. The squirrel felt it was more personal to knock, rather than to ring the door-chime ... though the door-chime had a pleasant, little sound. However, he knocked. And partly did so ... because he knew the good (and he used the phrase loosely) doctor was unlikely to hear it in there. And when the squirrel went in there and took him by surprise, he could say he knocked (and it would be the truth). Wren always liked to plan ahead.
The door was locked, so he used his command codes to override the lock. And the doors whooshed open, stopping with a clunk-clunk ... to expose the inside. It was dark in there. Warm, misty ... like a temperate forest on a summer's night. Crickets were sounding, and there was moonlight, and ...
... the squirrel stepped inside. The doors shut behind him, going invisible. Giving more credence to this illusion. Wren didn't entirely trust these things. He'd seen enough of those old sci-fi shows to know that ... holographic simulations would always go awry and trap the hapless crew members indulging in them. Putting everyone in peril. Or the holograms would gain sentience, and ... all that good stuff. Only, on the shows ... the problem would always be solved at the last minute, and everyone would share a laugh as the ship continued to sail the stars. He doubted, however, that it would end so neatly ... were a real-life malfunction to take place in this ... thing. He frowned and looked around, treading on pine needles. On fertile soil. Knowing none of it was real, but ... feeling that it felt real. The contradiction sent his senses silently reeling.
"Mm ... hmm ... "
The squirrel paused, angular ears swiveling on the sides of his furred skull. He squinted (though in this dark, it aided him not). It took him a moment to pinpoint the noise, but ...
"Mm ... "
Well, at least he knew the doctor was enjoying himself. And he stopped in the brush, between two tall trunks, among vines and night-bugs. He wondered, momentarily, if he should leave, but ... where was the fun in that? Best to surprise the rabbit ... best to ...
"Uhn ... " A huff ... huff ...
The squirrel stepped forward a few more paces, peeking into a clearing. In the glow of some kind of camp-fire, inside a zipped-up tent, he could see the rabbit's shadow. See it moving. And Wren paused, not feeling like a voyeur. Rather, feeling ... rather aroused. Seeing two shadows yiffing ... as if they were just a full five paces in front of death. As if it were going out of style. As if they desperately needed it.
But it was only the doctor in that tent. His partner was a hologram, the squirrel knew. Or guessed. He was fairly certain.
In the flickering flame and shadow, the rabbit pulled back ... and haphazardly humped forward ... nestled between feminine legs and foot-paws. Huffing.
Wren swallowed. Watching this form of shadow-dancing ... watching, watching, letting out a breath, and then shaking his head. Closing his eyes. Muttering (despite a quiet plea not to do so), "Computer, end simulation."
The air blurred, blurred, whirred, and started to dissolve. And with a final hum, the grid of the simulation room was revealed, and only Wren and the rabbit remained.
The rabbit, panting, looked dazed, as if pulled out of some kind of dream. And, blinking, sniffing the air, he turned and saw Wren.
"Damn ... squirrel," he puffed. "What ... what ... "
"I need to talk to you," Wren said.
"Now?" Eyes widened in bewilderment. "You can ring, you know? Did you try and call me up?"
"No, but I knocked," he replied, shrugging. Allowing a cheeky smile.
The rabbit, bare, in the fur ... and still erect, still wet (all over, and from various things), regained his breath. His mind spun. Rabbits, of course, had an infamously strong breeding drive. It was said that yiff with a rabbit was better than with any other furry species (save bats, but ... bats were different). And when one was stopped in the act ... well, it left him frustrated. Most furs would've been furious or embarrassed at this (being walked in on, and deliberately), but ... the rabbit was cocky, to say the least. He had an ego. And he'd known the squirrel for a few years. They had been rivals in school.
But, most of all, the rabbit didn't object ... cause he loved the look of animal lust in the squirrel's eyes. Loved the quiet way the rabbit could flirt with the squirrel. Just by moving a foot-paw a bit this way, or ... spreading his legs and ... oh, he was enjoying the look on the squirrel's muzzle. In his eyes. And he half-suspected the squirrel had barged in here ... because he knew the rabbit would oblige him. All the squirrel had to do was ask ... but the rabbit wouldn't make it easy.
"I've always heard that most furs use the simulation room for ... yiff. Rather decadent, don't you think?"
"It's safe, it's instant ... it's yiff. And don't tell me you've never done it," said the rabbit, fishing for his clothes. Pulling them on, and then stopping, saying, "No, I'm going to finish ... when you LEAVE," he emphasized, staying at a sit. White bob-tail behind him.
"We're launching in an hour. I need you at your post."
"You never answered my question."
"You didn't ask a question. You made an assumption."
"Come on, squirrel. Anyone who's ever had access to holograms has used them for yiff ... and anyone who denies they've yiffed holograms is lying."
"I'm the Captain."
"Ah, so you're above such things? Above yiff, now, are you?" A head-tilt, a devilish grin.
"No," was Wren's enigmatic reply. Not caving to the rabbit's silent seduction. "Anyway, you know I don't approve of casual yiff."
"It's holograms."
"Doesn't matter to me."
"Why's that?" was the challenge.
"I've been hurt too many times," was the quiet response. "If it's not for love, it's empty, and ... I don't want that." His eyes were a bit distant. "Besides, I've seen what holo-addiction does to furs. They lose all sense of reality. They can't live without ... "
"You giving me a lecture, then?" the rabbit asked, knees to chest. Arms around his legs. He sighed and blinked his eyes.
"I'm saying you're a cheek, and you're a bit crude, but ... you're one of those introverted geniuses, and ... you're this ship's doctor. You're responsible for our health. We're going into deep space, and I won't let you get yourself into trouble. You're too valuable here. I know your past ... and they all told me not to give you this chance, but I am. So, don't screw it up. Keep yourself in check, okay?"
"Yeah, fine," the rabbit said, sounding defensive. Sounding ... a bit humbled. "But I don't get into trouble. Trouble gets into me."
"Looked the other way around," Wren replied. "From what I could see of your shadows ... "
"Ooh, a cheap shot, squirrel ... is that all?"
"Be at your post in an hour, yeah?"
The rabbit squirmed, sighing, nodding. "Yeah, yeah ... turn it back on." And a devilish grin. "Stay and watch?"
Wren squinted back at him, showing no expression. All the trouble the rabbit had gotten into back in school ... there had been times, a few times, when he'd dragged the squirrel into it. Into a lifestyle ... into things. Had been a time when the squirrel had felt a tortured, buried desire ... for that rabbit. Had never told him, but the rabbit had known. And ... oh, he was tempted. And he half-suspected that, if he stayed, the rabbit would coerce him into ... lying with him. You could yiff all the holograms in the universe, but it wouldn't, not for a moment, rival the feeling of being with another flesh-and-blood fur. And ...
The rabbit cocked his brow.
"No ... thanks," Wren whispered. "Later, Kody," said Wren, using his shortened name. The rabbit's full name being Kodiak.
"Uh-huh ... "
The squirrel left without reactivating the program.
Kody huffed and got to his knees. "Computer," he began, heart pounding and muzzle smiling.
"No, it's ... you gotta push the blue ones."
Field turned his head, blinking.
"You're trying to access the navigational system?"
The mouse nodded quietly. Staring at the ... bat? He'd never seen a bat. Not in the fur. Not face-to-face.
"Well, use that blue button there ... I mean, these computer systems," she said, sidling up next to him, "are like the ones you've probably used in your own home, or on any other ship. They're just sleeker. More streamlined. Designed to look prettier. But ... " She tapped the controls, which chirruped under the fingers of her paws. Field, swooning silently, imagined he would be chirruping, too, if his buttons were being pressed by her. Or ... well, if ... he told his mind to shut up. Stop thinking!
"Uh-huh," was the mouse's reply. And he nodded. "Thanks ... thank you," he managed. "Um ... yeah, I just wanted to make sure we were going to the right place. Cause, sometimes, they don't check, and ... I also wanted to do some research. I wanna know about a place before I get there, and ... " You're rambling, you're rambling ... stop it! Stop, he ordered himself. He took a breath, whiskers twitching.
She tilted her head, smiling a toothy smile. She had teeth, but ... also a set of fangs. He wondered if she ever used them. "I don't bite." But her eyes twinkled as she said this ...
Oh, why didn't she? Oh, why didn't she bite ... he wouldn't mind. Honestly, he ...
"You have a name?"
"Field," said Field.
"The first officer?" she asked.
"Yeah, it's ... a surprise to me," said the mouse, sitting up straighter. Regaining his composure. "I'm in no way fit for this job."
"Not a way to speak about yourself," said the bat, leaning against the bulkhead, crossing her arms, which had webs and wings. Her fur was a carnation-pink. Pink. Such a feminine color. Utterly effeminately pink! Like the world after a glass of bubbly.
"Well ... "
"Hey, I was gonna go ... catch a bite to eat, you know, before we launch ... a quick bite in the mess. Um ... like to come?" she asked. And, for a moment, the mouse thought she appeared just as nervous as he did. But that couldn't be possible. Could it?
"Well, I'm ... supposed to stay here until Wren gets ... "
" ... back," said Wren, coming off the lift. Looking to Field and the bat. "And, yes, you can grab a bite to eat, but ... be back in fifty minutes."
The bat smiled her toothy, pink smile, nodding.
Field looked a bit trapped, but nodded, too.
In the mess hall, Field nibbled on some buttered French bread. And dabbled his fork in a bowl of broccoli casserole (rice, onion, cheese, broccoli) ... and he sipped from a glass of water. Had fancied ordering pink lemonade (one of his favorite drinks), but figured that would be some kind of sub-conscious, twisted sexual ... thing ... to sip from a pink drink while fantasizing about a pink bat he'd just met.
The bat was eating berries. Her name was Adelaide. She was two years older than Field, and she was the head operations officer. She would lead away teams and such.
"Don't you feel it? The excitement?" she asked.
Field chew-chewed. Swallowed. "Mm?"
"We're about to launch. This is a new class of ship, and ... we're going out there. Maybe father than any fur has gone before."
The mouse nodded quietly.
"Aren't you excited?"
"Mm ... nervous," he said, chew-chewing on the bread. They were the only two in the mess hall, and the lights were a bit dimmed. Outside the window, their home-world hung. As if watching them. It was watching them through the windows. Cheeky world!
"How come?"
"Well ... anything could happen."
"Well, that's what makes it exciting," she explained brightly.
"Well, it's ... I guess," was all the mouse could say. She had such energy. Such vibrancy. Such a sense of flight and fancy. He didn't want to contaminate her with his own, reeling thoughts. His own beautifully melancholy mood.
"Anyway ... " She eyed his broccoli casserole, squinting, trying to figure out what was in it. "Anyway," she said, looking to his face, to his twitching whiskers and murky blue eyes. "You look like you could use a friend. I mean, I grew up scared, so I know what it's like ... "
"I've never met a bat ... "
"There aren't many of us left," she said. Not elaborating.
Field nodded quietly, swallowing. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. It's just unfortunate that we ... reproduce slower than other furry species. It'll take us a ... few centuries to stabilize, but we're still here. We'll be okay."
"Well, mice aren't as rare as bats, but ... I know what it's like to be hunted, too. I mean, at least ... I know the fear, anyway," said Field, trailing.
The prey species had long been second-class citizens to the predator species. A hundred years ago, that had begun to change, but ... the instinctual attitudes remained. A silent friction. Sometimes, the predators couldn't control themselves, and ... hunts began. And if blood was spilled, it became a frenzy. A predator with the scent of blood ... wasn't going to let off. It was ...
"Wren's the first rodent captain in the fleet," Field said, trying to make conversation.
"I know. He's well-liked."
Field nodded again. Wishing he were more like the squirrel. More like his friend. Stronger. Able to deal with things.
"I've never had broccoli ... is it good?" Adelaide asked.
"Hmm? Oh, well ... yeah, when it's ... mixed with all this stuff," said the mouse. "I won't eat it plain, but as a casserole ... it's pretty good. I mean, I try to eat green stuff when I can. To get dietary fiber and stuff. Of course, I'm ... a mouse. I don't eat meat, so ... but, sometimes, I forget to eat green stuff, and ... I would be content to eat breads and grains all the time. Which doesn't make sense, seeing I'm so thin and ... I'm a bit underweight for my height, but ... "
"You look fine," she offered. Giving him a smile.
He tried not to smile back, but ... had to. It was contagious. But, when he smiled, he looked away ... out the window. Not making eye contact.
She watched him. His fur was a honey-tan, a light-brown, and almost white on the lower neck. She assumed the white covered his chest and belly, too ... but his limbs were that brownish amber color. And his nose was at a constant sniff. Ears at constant attention. He was a mouse, alright. And it was adorable ...
The mouse stole a glance at her, and then poked at his casserole.
"Yes, I use them," she said randomly.
A blink. "What?"
"My teeth."
"I don't understand ... "
"You were thinking about my fangs. Wondering if we ever use them."
"How ... "
She hesitated. "I'm ... a bit telepathic."
"Oh." He looked to her.
"No, no, don't ... don't think I'm probing your mind, or ... I don't do that. We don't do that."
The mouse bit his lip. "Well, I ... okay."
"I just ... sensed you were thinking about my teeth, and ... my fangs, and ... yes, they have their uses."
"Other than eating?"
"Other than eating," she whispered, nodding quietly.
"Are all bats," asked Field, touching the condensation-chilled glass of water ... but not drinking from it. "Are all bats telepathic?"
She nodded. "Yes."
"I didn't know that."
"It's not something we reveal. We're feared for our ... we're mammals, and we have wings. We can fly. If furs knew we were telepathic, they would fear us more."
"Why ... why are you telling me this?" Field asked, confused. "I mean ... "
"I trust you."
"We hardly know ... "
"Not yet, no," she said. Voice hushed. "We don't know each other yet, but ... I would like to. I would like for us to." Her words were so innocent and soft and genuine. The mouse was terribly touched. To where his eyes watered, and he looked away ... and she, seeing this, told him, "I wanted you to know I trust you. You have my greatest secret in your paws."
The mouse exhaled. "I won't ... tell anyone," he promised. "I wouldn't."
She nodded. "I know." And she did.
Field cleared his throat, swallowing. "So, what are they for? Those fangs?"
She smiled, and he could've imagined, had she not already been pink, she would be blushing a shade of it. There was something in her hesitation that radiated bashfulness.
Field bit his lip again.
"Well, it's," she said, speaking up. "During the act of ... " She bobbed her head a bit, trying to imply it rather than say it.
"Oh," went the mouse.
"Yeah," she whispered. "During that, we ... nip each other on the neck ... and we bite. It's a way of prolonging it, and ... it links us. Sensations, feelings, thoughts ... everything is shared. It's a complete spiritual union."
The mouse let out a breath.
"I know it sounds intimidating, but it's ... not. It's ... yes, you're very vulnerable, but it's ... such closeness and warmth and trust. It's like a punch-drunk love. Without the hangover." She giggled.
Field nodded very quietly. Whiskers waggling.
"It only requires one set of fangs," she told him, reading his mind again. The mouse had been wondering ... dreaming, rather, of connecting with her like that. In such a way. "I mean, two sets of fangs makes it stronger, so say ... I mean, a bat and a ... non-bat, they wouldn't get the full brunt, but it would be enough. Enough to definitely feel it. It ... " She went quiet.
Field's heart was pat-pattering in his chest. He felt a bit flushed. "Um ... " He swallowed. "We ... should get back to the bridge."
Adelaide nodded gently. "Okay."
Field sipped, and then gulped ... of his water, and stood, letting out a deep breath, but feeling no less nervous. No less in want.
And, again, she appeared just as nervous as he did. She just hid it better. And he wondered what it was she saw in him. How ...
She giggled, shaking her head.
"What?" he asked.
"That was a ... I heard that."
"You are reading my mind," he accused, swallowing.
Her smile faded a bit. "You're not fighting it. We can't read minds unless the mind allows it. It's a simple matter of will. Will me to stop," she said, opening her wings a bit.
The mouse didn't. He just asked, "What was so funny?"
"You were thinking to yourself, 'how are we connecting so quickly ... right off the bat'."
He smiled, giggling very quietly. Airily.
"You know what that is?" she asked.
"What?" He looked to her as they went to the mess hall doors, which opened. They stood in the gateway.
"I think that's a cheesy pun," she said. "Even for a mouse."
Field giggled. Smiling, unfettered, for the first time all day.
Wren nodded at the comm officer, who piped him throughout the ship. And the squirrel, sitting straighter in his chair, having arrived at this hour, this moment, cleared his throat and let out a breath.
"I know," he began, "this is where I make some ... inspired speech about ... us being here. Us going out there." He was looking to the stars beyond their world. "I know I'm supposed to talk about what we'll find and discover. And, in the process, what we'll rediscover in ourselves," he said, looking to Field. To Adelaide. Looking, one-by-one, to the rest of the bridge crew. "It goes so fast, and ... we're supposed to commemorate these moments. Pause and ... thank God for them. That we have these things. I'm supposed to speak until the music swells, and then we'll warp out of here, but ... all I'm going to say is ... " He smiled, smile growing wider. Feeling a sense of pride. A sense of anticipation. "All I'll say is ... "
A sudden draining sound. Quickly, like a plug pulled. All the mechanical purring seemed to stop, and the lights on the bridge, the sounds of the consoles ... it all drained away.
" ... what happened to the lights?" Wren demanded.
"If that's all you have to say," said Kody over the comm (from sickbay, where he'd been listening), "then I want off the ship."
"Report?" asked Wren, eyes wide. Getting agitated. Already out of his chair. Somehow, suddenly ... feeling that he would get very few opportunities to actually sit and relax in that chair during the course of this mission.
Emergency lighting came on.
"Lights are off down here, too, by the way," said Kody, still on the comm. "You would think they'd have had the foresight to ... "
Wren, frowning, made a throat-slash gesture to Adelaide, indicating him to mute the rabbit's comm line. She nodded and did so.
Rella, a squirrel at tactical, seemed perplexed. But, then, she usually did. She was rather intimidating ... until you got to know her. And even then ...
"Anybody? Somebody?" Wren asked, going to tactical.
"I don't know, sir," Rella replied. "I just ... I lost contact with engineering, and then the power died, and ... "
"Engineering, status," Wren barked.
Field was twitching in his corner of the bridge. Eyes darting over to Adelaide. Their eyes meeting from their separate locations. His eyes, quiet and darting, seemed to be begging for her to ... quell his anxiety. She gave him a sad look. It wasn't within her capacity to do that ... not unless they were joined. But she gave him a reassuring smile, all the same, mouthing, "it'll be okay" ...
Engineering didn't reply.
"I'm going down there," Wren said, reaching under his chair and undoing a latch, withdrawing a phase pistol. And a paw-held beacon.
"Sir, you can't ... "
"Stay put. All of you."
"Captain," Field piped up (shakily). "She's right ... maybe the predators put a mole onboard. It could be sabotage. You can't do down there alone."
Wren sighed, stopping in front of the lift doors. The lights still very dim. A red, blood-red glow (from the emergency alert lights) made him seem more dangerous than he otherwise would. Or maybe he really was that dangerous. Field knew the squirrel had a darker side, and ... his ship was being messed with. Wren, ignoring all the crew-furs looking to him and awaiting further words, gestured for Rella to follow.
She nodded eagerly, bolting after him (with a phase pistol already in paw).
"It's locked," Rella whispered. "And power's down."
"We'll pry it open," Wren said steely. Looking to her.
She nodded.
And they put their paws in the crease of the door. And, on the count of three, they pulled the double-doors apart. Slowly ... and Wren, before Rella could stop him, slipped in first. Into the dark. She sidled in behind, own beacon-light dancing with his.
"The power core's been shut down."
"Sir ... "
Wren turned to look. Followed the beam of her light. Seven furs lay unconscious. Three squirrels, two rabbits, a mouse, and raccoon.
"They're still breathing," Rella whispered.
"There are supposed to be seven more. Where are they?"
"Probably on the other side of the room. At the secondary controls."
Wren nodded. Peering through the dark, nose sniffing the air ... he could sense they were there, but ... there was something else ...
The sound of a body hitting the floor.
Wren whirled, his light dancing, and ... saw his tactical officer unconscious. On her side. Her light having clattered to a stop against the wall. Her weapon ... on the floor.
Wren closed his own paw around his pistol, and turned his light off. Leaving him in the dark. Unable to see, but ... unable to be spotted, either. How stupid had it been to come in here with those beams?
"I don't want to hurt you," came the raspy voice.
Wren paused. Heart pounding. Prey heart ... fearing. His natural instinct was to be on higher ground. Squirrels were expert acrobats. Their bodies were agile. He didn't fear getting into a fight, but ... his instinct was that, if a fight broke out, he have the higher ground. He looked upward in the dark. To the second level. The railing of the second level. Not the same as climbing a tree, but if he could get to a ladder.
"Don't run," the voice pleaded. Sounding not so raspy this time. Sounding ... silky smooth. Maybe the squirrel had imagined the raspiness.
"Who are you? What are you doing to my ship?" Wren demanded.
"Captain, I'm here to help you ... "
"Answer me."
"You are angry," said the voice.
The squirrel's ears were pivoting out of control, trying to locate the direction of the voice.
"But you will thank me. One day ... "
"Answer me," Wren whispered, feeling so helpless. So suddenly helpless. Clutching his pistol. Finger on the trigger. And he flicked the setting to kill. His darker side willing to do anything to protect himself, and protect those he cared about. Protect his birthright. This ship, this crew ... he would kill for them. And he'd only been here a day. "Are you a predator?" he asked aloud.
"No," was the reply.
"I have three felines on this crew. I have ... a lone wolf. I have two foxes. If you kill the rest of us, you'll kill them, too."
"I'm not trying to kill you," said the voice in the dark. "But I cannot let your ship go. Luminous must not leave dry-dock. It cannot be launched."
"Why not?"
No answer.
"Why not?" Raising his voice.
"If you go, you will find them, and when you do ... it will trigger a chain of events that, once set into motion, cannot be undone. It will lead to the destruction of us all."
Wren frowned. "I don't ... understand."
"I know what will happen," said the silky voice. Sounding ever so slightly out of phase. Sounding as if it were ... shimmering, almost. It sounded like that for a moment before it went back to a smooth, silky tone. And, to be honest, it was hard to tell if it was male or female. "I have been told ... what will happen."
"What?"
"You will meet them on your journey."
"Who?"
"Humans ... "
"Never heard of them," said Wren slowly, starting to take a few steps this way ... and then that way. Stopping ... "who are they?"
"It is fated ... that if you leave now, if you go out with this ship, that you will meet them. On this mission. It is imperative you be stopped from meeting them. We are not ready to fight them off. You cannot let them know of our existence."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Wren said, feeling it was getting hotter in here.
"It hasn't happened yet."
"No?"
"I told you ... I know what will happen."
"How?"
"There are ways," replied the voice. "I am working in the best interests of all furs."
"You just don't want this ship to be launched ... because of who I am, because of who we are, and ... "
"No. You MUST understand ... do NOT approach the humans. I can't trust you to go out there and ... stay away. You will want to study them. You will be fascinated by them. If I could trust you to stay away, but I can't ... I was shown it. I was shown that future."
"By whom?" Wren demanded. "The furry science directorate has proven that time travel is impossible. So, even if I believed you, which I don't ... "
"Don't trust your soul to science," was the voice's reply. "There are more things possible than you realize. You don't know what you're getting yourself into. I can't risk you discovering the humans, because they will discover you, too, and ... "
A zip of ruby-red light. A pulse of light. And the voice stopped. And there was a shimmery sound.
Rella, wincing, standing woozily, was holding her light again. And holding her pistol. "I have ... really good ears. For a squirrel."
"I'll say," Wren whispered, but rather than make further conversation of it, he went to the source of the voice, only to see an undistinguishable fur ... phasing in and out of the room. In and out of reality. In a blue, hazy light. Some kind of fur. Wren squinted to make out which species, but ... it was too vague. And, soon, the light swallowed itself up, and ... whoever it was, he (or she) was gone.
Silence ...
"What just happened?" Rella whispered. Sounding, if anything, spooked.
"I have no idea," Wren admitted. At a loss. "But ... " He sighed. "I'm not going to let it stop me. Not going to let it stop us. We're getting out of here," he said, fire in his voice. "Now."
"Sir, maybe ... "
"I won't be stopped. We're going to the stars, Rella. Regardless of risk, it's ... what we're doing. Where we need to go."
"What just happened, though? I mean ... " She sighed.
There was a pause.
"Don't tell the others," Wren finally whispered. "We're on a ship of prey. We finally get our own ship. I don't want them panicking at some cryptic phantom ... that, for all we know, is completely bogus. Someone doesn't want our ship to leave this system." He took a breath. "I'd say that's reason enough to leave ... "
"Sir ... " Rella had strong reservations. She was a tactical officer. She had a good sense of danger. "I ... don't know ... "
"We'll tell them it was an EPS overload. System shock. The computer's off-line, so ... no one will know the wiser." Another pause. "I don't wanna have to order you to do this."
She hesitated, but nodded in the pale, pale light. "Alright."
"Anyway, who would believe us ... if we told the truth?"
She nodded quietly. He was right about that one ...
"Come on," said the Captain. "Let's restore our power."
A day later, the ship was underway. Traveling at stable speed through the stars. Heading toward a system a few days away. Toward an uninhabited world they would study for a bit, before jetting off to an asteroid belt that harbored a space station or two. There was no firm plan. No rush. Not now. Not at first. The ship was simply going. Hardly knowing ... what it would, in future, be forced to face.
And in the mouse's quarters, nearing midnight ...
... Adelaide's baited breath tickled the exposed fur on his neck. As they lay together, both having been shy at first. Terribly shy, but ... snuggling so shyly, hugging so brightly, they had begun to ease. Had begun to see what they could have. And had decided, in a mutually mental moment, to pursue it. All of this happening so fast, yes, but ... the mouse was lonely. As was she. And this would be a long mission. They were hurtling away from home at incredible velocity. And if they could cling to each other ... maybe ...
Their fears were still there. Suppose they got hurt? Suppose they let themselves love, and what if it fell apart? What if one of them messed up?
To Field, it had happened before ... he'd been deeply in love, and ... had risked everything for his love. Only to have his love turn on him, give him the cold shoulder ... in the mouse's most dire hour of need. But, then, his love had been a feline, and ... he should've known better than to get involved with a predator. Predators only ate your heart. Tore it to shreds with their claws. To them, a mouse was a toy. Not an equal. Not something to risk anything for. Not ...
Field had come close to death over that. So devastated ... had he been. Fearing he would never hope or love again. But, in time, he had healed ... with scars, he had healed, and had learned, and ... but he feared being lied to. How could he know if someone really loved him? How could knew know where they would be and what they would do when things got really bad? How could he trust anyone again?
But Adelaide wasn't a predator. She was an equal. She was ...
... reaching out to him. With her mind. Probing his.
And he knew ... just knew, just felt it ...
And, in bed, on top of the sheets, in the dark, in the dim, starlit ...
Paws ran through fur. Gentle, raking through fur.
Twitching noses touched.
The mouse's tail trailing off the bed, limply.
The bat at a straddle, and then leaning over him, lying on top of his chest ... sinking her teeth into his willing neck. Nipping him.
The mouse arched, squeaking ... eyes starting to well ...
"It hurts at first," she said (though her voice was muffled in his neck). "Hold on, darling ... I'm not going to hurt you. Trust me ... "
Field squeaked and squirmed, and ... after a few seconds, the pain dulled, replaced by a warmth, by a connection. By a shared presence.
And she kept her fangs in him ...
It won't leave a mark, her thoughts told him ... it heals almost immediately.
He exhaled in response.
Her tongue pressing to the fur on his neck, lips there ... the hot breaths of air ... he felt what she was feeling. Her emotions. Her worries. Felt the reasons she liked him ... and he flushed and blushed. Relived some of her memories (the ones on the surface, the ones she hadn't pushed to the back of her mind) ... and, she, in turn, felt him. What he was feeling. What it was like to be a mouse. To grow up on a farm. To be a country mouse. To be so shy.
And the bat reached down a paw ... to stroke him ...
He huffed and arched.
She chittered, feeling what he felt ... how that felt to have that organ touched. And she pawed him, guiding him ... between her legs. Still latched onto his neck with her teeth. Not giving them a horrible amount of maneuvering room, but ... oh, he could manage it. He could ...
... do it, she pleaded. To his mind. Directly to his mind. Do it ...
And he did so, slipping through warm wetness. Well into her, and feeling it ... from her perspective. As well as his own. The experience was mind-blowing. He couldn't think. Not at all. Could only feel. It was starting to overwhelm him ... he began to twitch ...
She mentally soothed him, trying to buck down on him ... from her horizontal position on top of his bare, furry form ...
The mouse squeaked and writhed, and then calmed ... lying still.
Let me do the work this time ... let me show you ... learn ...
The mouse was only glad to ...
Share with me, she asked of him. Without words, she asked this of him, and he opened his mind ... as she opened her body.
As they came together.
As the pleasure ticked, ticked, ticked upward ... pacing, pacing, pacing ... steadily upward. Such a feeling of pleasure, of contentment. As if they had found themselves in the green hour before dusk. When the summer's day, overcast and grey, humid and beckoning rain ... when there would be that slightest breeze. That slightest cool. And everything would be waiting for that rain. Everything, in this light, would be that shade of waiting green. That hour ... that perfect moment of anticipation. Of momentum.
And, for all Field knew, their yiff (that was more than a yiff) seemed to last that long. An hour. Maybe it had only been minutes. He couldn't be sure. He couldn't focus. Could only feel ...
... the little shiver of joy racing up his spine like a burning fuse. Bursting the firework! An explosion!
"Oh ... huh ... uh," the mouse huffed, squeaking. Shivering! He turned his head slightly, and her drooling mouth (still biting into his slender, furry neck) went with him. "Huh, huh," he panted, finding his arms and paws were clinging to her dearly. Paws in her fur. Paws around her warmth. As if she were a life preserver.
She quietly took his seed ... allowed him to sow, and waited until he was nearing his finish ... before she allowed his own climax to trigger her own. She purred lowly ... arching, spreading her wings ... to full length. The wings, held open, trembled, fluttered ... as she moaned and endured this.
As the mouse gasped.
As she squeaked (their mental link causing her to unconsciously mimic him).
And they panted ... panted ...
"Mm," she breathed. "Mm ... " Her smile was weary but so worthwhile.
And Field's eyes, squeezed shut (so watery had they been), peeked shyly open. Seemingly glazing over as her fangs pulled out of his neck. And he could've sworn that, as they left the muscle of his neck, little electrical sparks flickered between those wet, white fangs and his fur ...
She exhaled sharply, swallowing, breathing in through the nose, and she laid atop of him ...
The mouse, shrinking, was forced to pull out of her ...
And, blushing, they lay side-by-side, nuzzling. Cuddling.
They were in love.
In a dark room somewhere light years away, underground ... a smooth, silky voice called into a static-filled comm unit. Repeating, "I failed to stop their launch. I need instructions ... I need instructions ... "
Static.
"I need ... "
"Give us time," was the deep-voiced response.
The smooth voice hesitated. "When will I hear from you?"
"You needn't be concerned with when ... give us time ... "
And the channel was cut.