Welcome to the Journal of Now and Forever. This Journal is a collection of my Star Control and Star Control 2 fiction. Note: Some of this material is, by necessity, extrapolation from the slim information provided by canon sources.

New fiction is posted first at My Livejournal before it appears here. This story is not response to any challenge. Thanks to Redwolfoz for help with information on fibers.

" – don't see what the problem is. You've got a good voice. I'd think you'd be happy Bill got laryngitis and couldn't sing lead." Dean huddled his chin within his heavy coat, and puffed out his breath. He should've worn a hat, he knew it, but he hadn't thought they'd get back after dark. He shifted the weight of the full sack of oranges to his other arm.

"Bill's a tenor who can sing falsetto. I'm a baritone. You know that." Nick reached the door to their building first, hooked it open quickly before his own burden could list too dangerously to one side, then propped the door wide with his foot. "It's not the same range – "

"I can never figure out what the ranges are," Dean mused absently, and stepped inside ahead of his roommate.

" – and I know how to harmonize, mostly, not sing lead. Most of the songs aren't geared for baritone. Oh, at least it's warm in here," Nick finished as he let the door swing closed.

"You think it's cold here, go up to Starbase," Dean countered. "They've been climate-controlled for so long that I hear some of the spacers don't really remember what weather is like."

"That's crazy talk. They're supposed to come planetside regularly."

The pair continued to discuss the spacers' climatological barrenness until they reached their apartment. Dean was fairly at peace with the world at the moment, so he let Nick dominate the conversation: " – although I will admit that at least – Huh, what's that?"

The fast-blinking, angry red light in the darkness was revealed when Dean slipped the light switch: the "you've got an incredibly urgent message" flash on Dean's computer.

"You don't usually get those," Nick said.

"No, I don't." Dean frowned.

"You going to look?" Nick added, after a moment.

"Let's set the food down first."

"Jeez, some head of the church you are. Give me yours." Nick took awkward hold of the sack of oranges and managed to get to the kitchen without incident.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It could be some parishioner – that's the word, right? – some parishioner of yours who needs help, and you don't immediately drop everything. Shame!"

"Yeh, yeh, yeh..." Dean muttered as he clicked to accept the message. "See if you get anything for Christmas..."

"I heard that."

Dean rolled his eyes by way of silent response, and finally looked at the message.

Nick came out of the kitchen a few minutes later, having put the food away and removed his coat and hat, to see Dean still in his coat and gloves, frowning at the screen. "What is it?"

"Well." Dean leaned back in his chair and slowly tapped his finger against the tip of his nose. As if realizing he still had gloves on, he began shucking out of his cold-weather gear. "For starters, our big party – the Church one, I mean – that's been cancelled, so I guess your singing problem is solved."

"Cancelled? Why?" Nick moved to read the message.

"Because of the mara disease." Dean stood to hang up his coat. "The Consuls are worried about it spreading, so all scheduled meetings or large groups are cancelled to see if that helps keep it in check."

"It hasn't gotten worse, has it?" Nick asked. "I heard it was kinda bad, like flu or something, but – "

"Well, there's been a few adverse reactions... but I think there's something more to it than that." Dean came back to his computer. "Dina told me after the last meeting that we'd be sending another 'survey' ship out Sol way, see if the Earthlings have ever gotten past their moon. It's been something like eight years since we last sent anyone out there, and by now they might've gotten to Mars or even farther."

"My immediate response: So? As in, how does that relate?" Nick crossed his arms.

"If we want to get some Earthlings as captives, for the old reproductive research team to get back together, we don't want them falling sick or worse from this thing. So far we've all been okay, but let's face it, we're not exactly the same as Earthlings thanks to our biology."

"Granted," Nick shrugged. "So the Consuls want to get this under control and see about antidotes or vaccines. That makes sense. And just because nobody's had a real bad session yet doesn't mean it might not happen. But you said 'for starters.' So what's next?"

Dean scratched his head. "Oh, I just meant the party had been cancelled, and so had all other meetings – which probably means Mass, come to think of it. And Dina wants me to come in tomorrow to the Consuls' session, which means there's probably more."

"Hm." Nick looked up at the ceiling. "So, Christmas got cancelled, huh?"

"Oh, for – Look, I'm going to make some tea."

"So do you want your present now or later?"

Dean, halfway to the kitchen, stopped and looked back. "You got me a present?"

"Yeah, well, you Churchies make a big deal over giving and doing for others and all that stuff, so, y'know...." Nick uncrossed his arms and went into his bedroom.

Dean followed, at least as far as the door. "Twenty-three years we've been on this planet and – "

"Yeah, well," Nick repeated. He crouched next to the bed, searched underneath for a moment, and produced a package wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. "Here you go."

"What is it?" Dean asked. "You didn't have to, you know."

"Sez you. Every year you've done something, probably trying to get me to join the Church, and I figured it was probably time for me to give something back. So, happy Christmas and all that." Nick crossed his arms again.

Feels like cloth, Dean thought as he untied the gift. "It's – "

"A new sweater. You've needed one."

Dean shook it out, noting the pattern. "This looks like Jodi's work."

"Yep." Nick grinned.

"How the heck did you get this?" Dean examined the weave of the material. "This isn't wool. What is it?"

"As for how – save up enough favors across the planet and you get bumped to the top of the list. As for what – once the guard dogs were warmed up, some of them were long-haired enough that I guess they gave enough shed to make a sweater out of. First one that's been completed. What d'you think?"

Dean stared at his roommate. "You gave me a sweater made out of dog hair."

"Er, I guess technically – "

"A dog-hair sweater?!" Dean didn't know whether to be touched or insulted. "See if I give you any cherry preserves this year." He left the room, shaking his head, but smiling.

"Hey! I think the first dog-hair sweater on this planet deserves two jars of preserves!"

Comments? Email me: laridian at aol dot com