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Attention - Parts of this series may be offensive to those with sensitive sensibilities. If you have any objection to M/M relationships, and possibly explicit depictions thereof, or of violence (or violent situations), please take yourself elsewhere. Boilerplate warning message, you know the drill :)

"You have absolutely no idea what you've dug up, do you?"

"Why, what's wrong?"

"We don't deserve to live."

"What do you mean? Everyone deserves life."

"Not me... not us."

<~>

So many stories start with a moody establishment of the rainy weather. It helps set the atmosphere for the story soon to start. It creates an impression of desolation and despondency, an impression of a moment pregnant with possibilities. Is it any surprise, then, that this story begins also with a rainy day?

I need to admit to myself, it sure is great weather to be broody, thought Nestor. This day was going in entirely the wrong direction. Because of the new timecode designation, all the timers in the compound had been reset to reflect the change. Among other things, this meant that Nestor had been late to drill practice, had been late to the drop bay. It also meant that he had been assigned to scout duty, only the second-worst job in the compound for privates. So here he was, walking the outer wall of the compound, cursing himself and trudging through mud and slush.

It was cold out... even by Northern Perimeter standards. The thick wool cloak and high boots did nothing to ward off the chill that Nestor felt sinking into his bones. With his hands in his pockets, he slogged around the compound, twitching every time a raindrop fell into his goggles. The sky was darkly grey, despite the fact it was midday, and the lightning in the distance was punctuated every few seconds with a crushing boom. The distant horizon was hidden in a veil of mist, with the difference between sky and earth being a slight darkening in the colour of the ground. Nestor knew there were mountains ahead of him, to the East, but they were currently obscured by the tonnage of cloud and water weighing down upon the ground, like some great anvil trying to crush anything in between. The compound itself rose forbiddingly above him and to his right, a huge structure composed of solid brick and stone, with small crenellations at the top, to allow for blazer fire, in the all-too-likely event of an attack.

I should be lucky enough to be outside when it happens, thought Nestor morbidly. He didn't pretend that he had joined the service; he knew, as well as everybody else, that he had been forcibly enlisted. It was obvious from the disdainful way he treated the whole affair - he had no compassion for their cause or a scintilla of patriotism, a sin during wartime. He merely did his duty, as assigned to him by his superiours, and did it well, but he never felt the enthusiasm that his fellow soldiers felt. He merely shrugged when greeted by his messmates, and soon they learned to stop talking to him.

The last time I had a conversation that lasted more than four minutes, it was with my brother, before I left for this god-forsaken hole.

Nestor peered at the sky again, noting the flashes of lightning were getting closer and closer together. The storm was advancing rapidly, and he was only finished half of his rounds.

Actually, I should be lucky enough to be struck by lightning... all the other bad events in my life happened with similar spontaneity.

<~>

It was War. Had been War, in fact, for the past two hundred years. The ironic thing about it all was that, despite this year of 2821, man was still at war with himself. No interstellar enemies, no intergalactic wars. No giant ants or tentacle-things or insectiod menace - it was with himself that man had finally decided to end the never-ending War. Luna had been colonized, and then, seven hundred years later, annihilated. The same for Europa (despite its distance from the sun - it had been successfully colonized in 2340). The Earth, while regarded as a distant cousin, was no longer the base of operations for such politically-charged turmoil. This lot had fallen on Mars, long held to be the centre of the solar system, due to its thin atmosphere and difficulty in successfully navigating to (there were strange complications as a result of the planet's ionized atmosphere and the magnetically-charged solar rays bombarding it). It had been the centre for all of the destruction that was now, and had been, wracking man's universe.

New weapons had been developed. Then, newer weapons to counteract the old ones. Perpetuate, perpetuate, perpetuate. There was an end to the evolution of destruction, however. It had ended with Wide-Range Atomic Array Device, or RAY for short. This simple device, while working on the principle of atomic fission and compression as first discovered and harnessed by Einstein and Oppenheimer in the early 20th century, added a few elements to an amazing, if underpowered, theory. It expanded the range of atomic power, by using a controlled-activation device to channel and reflect the atomic power of the core itself to a new destination. Thus, you didn't even need to approach your target destination to nuke it. And the effect was devastating. A happy result of the controlled-activation system was a 300% increase in the pure destructive power of the atom. This device, utilized properly, was capable of destroying a planet.

The RAY had never been tested in that capacity, and like the Cold War of the mid- to late-20th century, no one dared use it first. The uneasy truce had lasted until the end of the 27th century, when the RAY had been used against Luna. The resulting nuclear fallout had showered Mother Earth with enough radiation to make her uninhabitable for millions of years.

The Northern Perimeter was in the far north of Earth, where the nuclear effects weren't as devastating, as a result of the low nuclear absorbency of ice and permafrost. While still dangerous, it was inhabitable for up to two months at a time. And an ideal area to set up a secret base of operations, and the last defense... the End to the War.

This was where Nestor was currently stationed, watching the East through grey goggles, colouring the already grey landscape and sky. The lightning was much closer now, hardly a heartbeat between strikes. Looking closely, Nestor heard the thunder booming and crashing, coming nearer and nearer. It was under the crashing of thunder that Nestor first heard the klaxon alarm sound from within the compound. Eyes widening in comprehension, Nestor ran full-tilt back to the compound, rushing through the now-unmanned gate. Weaving through the hallways, he barely had time to appreciate the panic around him as hundreds of officers and personnel passed him in stark terror. Remembering his training from orientation, he ran to the medical bay and picked out a cryogenic coffin, and slammed it tight behind him. Keying the commands with his mouth, he took one last look out of the small window before his face. People screaming, running... light and muffled rocking swaying buckling and bursting of the compound walls. The walls turned a dull orange, and then...

BLACKNESS.

<~>

I walked through the town square, continuously bumping my tail against the passersby. I kept apologizing, endlessly it seemed, because of my inattention. Now, I'm not a naturally clumsy person, but that day I was preternaturally preoccupied because of the news I had received from the Centre earlier that day. It was exciting, and more, it was an opportunity to establish myself in a sinfully under-appreciated field of knowledge. I regarded the bobbing tide of ears and headfur ahead of me, and carefully navigated my way through the maze, taking care to not bump my tail against anybody.

A familiar voice from behind me caused me to turn around, and see a well-built otter gliding towards me through the crowd.

"Dear Gods, what are you doing here, Makar? I thought you were going to be at the shop for the rest of the day!" I said, exasperated. I had hoped to get straight to work, and instead I found myself face-to-face with my best friend and sometime competitor. We shared a room at the Centre for the Natural Past, and periodically were at odds with each other regarding theories and hypotheses. Makar was a decent guy, but he had a tendency to show up at the most inconvenient moments, and had an amazing ability at not picking up on other people's urgency.

"Listen Misha, I know you're probably in a hurry, and I can probably guess why," he said, grinning at me slyly. I blushed; I know I did - a wonderful example of how your body can betray you. He constantly jibed me about Tybalt, my current boyfriend, ever since that night I brought him to our room without noticing that Makar was there pretending to be asleep. "but I had to tell you," he continued, "about this strange object that we found down by the bay. It has the same alphabet as the ones before, but this time there seems to be some sort of equations, or mathematics involved. I've been working at it all day, and it seems that who or whatever was responsible for these artifacts, they were clearly in advance of us..."

I cut him short, responding with a terse, "Yes yes yes, I know, terribly exciting. I know I'm being rude, but I really need to get to the Centre, right now."

He looked at me with an equal measure of abashment and insult. As much as it was possible, he blushed beneath his deep brown fur. Eying me disdainfully, he stalked off in the direction he came from, his thick tail swinging languidly behind him as he parted the crowd.

I regarded his retreating form for a moment, before turning around and walking briskly towards the Outskirts, the only place that the city council would allow for Natural Studies.

The ground was soft, the grass adding a spring to my step as I approached the Centre. It was a rough, squat building about twice as tall as myself, with large windows and an equally large front portal. A simple sign on the outside proclaimed its name and location, and as I started walking down the steps, my mind started racing again, thinking about the news that I had received earlier that day. If Makar was all a-flutter about finding some words scrawled on a plate, think about how he would react when he heard of the Centre's discovery that morning. Because he was down at the bay, he wouldn't have gotten the news yet. He would be adorably upset when he found out that I had had access to it before him, but he would get over it, laughing about it with me and some of our friends later in the evening. Until then, I had priority.

I walked through the corridor, offering a quick hello to anybody I happened to pass, and walked directly up to the cubbies located right next to the door of the History Room. I quickly took off my shirt, and donned my assistant's coat. One day I would wear the white coat of the Historians, but right now I was content to merely be in on the project.

I checked myself quickly in the mirror. Now, I'm not vain in the truest sense of the word, I just like to look good wherever I go. My ears stood at attention, my grey white-tipped tail flagging slowly behind me. My muzzle was long, sitting neatly beneath two vulpine eyes. My whiskers needed a trim, though. Straightening my back and my jacket, I walked quickly and purposefully into the room. The door opened, I walked through, and stood stock-still, staring at the object on the table surrounded by various Historians. It had been ravaged by time, rust and dirt clinging to it like a second coat - but that didn't stop me from recognizing what it was. The design I had seen several times before, long and squat, with a faint whirr emanating from it periodically. It was a safe-case. It was another link to the past.

It was another human.

Only three of these safe-cases had been found in the past eighty seasons, and each time, we cracked it open impatiently, trying to save the flicker of life inside. All of the previous three had died within one season, developing burns and blisters that eventually lead to crippling, and then death. But not before we had attempted to speak to them, and not before we had gleaned a small insight into their inner workings and external mysteries. The first had pointed to himself repeatedly, and used the word 'human', and so it was we called them ever afterward. They seemed to respond to it immediately, only pausing when they realized that that was the extent of our knowledge of their language.

It was baffling. It was still unbelievable. But here it was again, another link to the ancient past. Another link to another race.

The Lead Historian, a greying badger by the name of Yuri, addressed me, "Misha, come here. You seem to have an uncanny knack for these things - let us know what you think."

I approached the safe-case, and said it was the same design as seen before, the exact same design. The same strange alphabet set in the material, although the characters were different. I looked at the top of it, and wiped away the dirt and debris, clearing a space for the small window I knew was there. Yes, it was another human resting in there, looking like he was dead - frozen mouth and nose, ice caking the inside of the chamber. Although the strange thing was, that its eyes were open, and the mouth was frozen in an expression that was most certainly horror. I regarded the face quietly, musing.

As one of the Historians made a move to select the release switch, I quickly grabbed his arm and halted him. "We know what happens when we do that," I said, eyeing him critically. He blanched, and then rested his arm by his side again. I regarded the safe-case again, and added quietly, "Let's try not to kill this one, okay?" The Historians looked at Yuri, looked at me, and then back at Yuri. Yuri nodded slowly, and then motioned for the others to leave. They filed out quietly, smoothly, not a ripple of cloth or a brush of fur.

Yuri looked at me tiredly, motioning for me to sit down. I sat, sweeping my tail to the side with a brush of my paw. Yuri took a breath, paused, and then exhaled. Looking at me, he began with, "Misha, you have been with us for the past twenty seasons. You are respected and appreciated. But unless you can come up with another means of learning from this," he regarded the safe-case smoothly, then returned, "human, without opening the safe-case or invariably killing him within three seasons, we'll have to exercise the same course of action that we have followed in the past. It isn't because we enjoy this course of action, but because we have no alternative. Furnish us with a way of accomplishing our goals without jeopardizing its life, and we will gladly consider it. I'll give you four weeks, and then..."

He didn't need to continue. I understood. Nodding, I thanked him, and left. There had to be an acceptable solution to this problem - after all, there had only been three in the past twenty years. It was a non-renewable resource. We weren't learning anything of purpose or use in killing them, however unintentional it was. Who knew when we would find another... if we even found another at all?

I walked home through the twilight, the bustle of earlier seriously diminished. I sauntered to my shared room, thinking heavily. Arriving at the small series of dormitories, I walked up the steps and into the corridor. Still deep in thought, I opened the door to the apartment, and sat heavily on my bed. Makar was in the other bed, and it took a minute for me to recognize the sounds coming from under the sheets. I smiled, thinking to myself, "Let him have his fun. He can help me figure this thing out tomorrow."

Undressing quickly, I slid into bed. Rolling over, I was surprised at finding another furry body on the other side of my bed. A brown and tan head popped out of the covers, looking at me invitingly. The German Shepard's ears were perked and at attention, as well as the rest of him.

"Tybalt, do you ever think about anything other than sex?" I asked smilingly. He looked at me slyly, and responded,

"Only as often as you do,"

I accepted this argument, and kissed him deeply. He returned it with amazing fervor, and snuggled up close to me, the length of his body along mine. The last thing I thought as his head went under the covers, tongue trailing along my tummy, was that the safe-case argument, as well as everything else, could wait. Hell, even an overworked student like myself needed a little recreation too, right?

Okay, this is my first story. Parts of it are probably still buggy, and I know there was nothing explicit in it... yet. I want the yiff to serve the story, not the other way around. Doubtless, there will be some in the next chapter. I gotta paw off too :) Anyway, please feel free to email me @ mandrake nospam @ noreply fatbabies.com , sans the despammer crap, though. Tell me what you think! Much appreciated :D