Taban: It was a ferrox. All fucked up in a trap. You know what a ferrox is?

HARE (processing): A genetic hybrid of Earth, produced from splicing the DNA of a ferret (or Mustela putorius furo) with the DNA of an arctic fox (or Vulpes lagopus).

Taban: That’s right. Cutest little things. White as snow year-round, and trusting as hell, too. They bred them to be as docile as hamsters. Can’t survive worth a damn in the wild, which is why when some of them got out and started breeding, everyone got out their forks and knives and went to work.

HARE: I do not understand.

Taban: Not everyone lived near the canneries, back then. There were some Dryadjacks, even up in our neck of the woods—just trying to survive as best they could in the wild. They weren’t criminals, but they crashed the mode, so to speak. My mom used to not let me go through those woods because she was afraid we’d get kidnapped and . . . well, you know.

HARE: And what?

Taban: Nothing. Anyway, one of them must have set up a trap in hopes of catching a ferrox to eat. It was a mechanical metal thing, just steel teeth, hinges, and a trigger. Really barbaric. The ferrox was nearly cut in half.

HARE: I see.

Taban: But it was still alive. Harpa hated it. She wanted to leave as soon as we saw the poor dumb thing. I didn’t get why. She kept saying, ‘It’s horrible, it’s horrible!’ But I kept trying to get her to stay. I was an ass back then. She still brought it up years later.

HARE: Harpa is what designation to you?

Taban: It doesn’t matter. Anyway, she stormed off in a huff. Eventually I undid the trap, but it was too late, obviously. The ferrox was almost dead.

HARE: Did you consume it?

Taban: No. I just sat there and waited with it. Eventually it seemed to get that I wasn’t there to hurt it, because it stopped crying. It just laid there, all hurt and dripping. I sat there and didn’t move for over half an hour. The snow kept falling, but I just stayed there. Finally, it just laid its head down and looked straight at me. And then it died.

HARE (processors whirring): Why did you remain with the ferrox?

Taban: You know, I don’t know. Harpa asked me the same thing, on our honeymoon. I guess . . . I just felt bad for the thing.

[Taban swivels his chair so that he’s facing the door leading out of the cockpit, staring into the dark, empty hall that leads to Daley’s pod—or the hatch exiting the ship.]