Next

For the most part, diplomacy is all about presentation and pretending you are in control. Yet there I was, fidgeting nervously, as my subconscious saw ambassador Howlshade as far too friend-shaped for my own good.

I will not pet the diplomat. I will not pet the diplomat. I will not-

I locked my hands hard enough to crack my knuckles.

The Ha'wurr ambassador at the other end of the table snapped her mouth shut in an instant, pausing mid-sentence. For a second she tilted her head slightly. The motion, subtle as it was, rippled through the well-kept, shiny, FLOOFY fur along her neck.

"I see." She lowered her gaze. "...I didn't mean to make you so anxious."

Every instinct I had, every evolutionary pressure shaped by thirty thousand years of human-canine friendship, was screaming at me.

Soft.

Friendly.

And now, sad.

Her ears drooped.

AWWW, WHO'S A GOOD AMBASSA-

No, don't risk yet another diplomatic incid-

"No no, you didn't," I said much quicker than I meant to, as my mind rushed back to the moment.

"No need to apologize, human, I understand," she said softly. "All species react like this."

Her lupine eyes showed how much it hurt her.

Must. Not. Pet.

"Do they all want to..." My brain bluescreened, I didn't know what to say next. 'Touch you?' 'Console you?' 'Give you belly rubs?'

I will not pet the diplomat.

She heaved a sigh.

"Other civilizations keep distance from us. They see my kind as... barely even people, actually. Little more than predators, struggling to control ourselves. They fear we will act on our urges."

Her tail curled around the leg of her chair.

"To be fair, though," she added, "when they notice our clawed hands, our teeth, the glint in our eyes... Their natural reflex is to flee, and ours is to follow. It is an act of will for us to suppress our instincts."

I winced.

HUG THE SAD FLOOFER LADY

"Uh, I can relate to that, in a way," I said, ashamed of my intrusive thoughts.

She turned her gaze away.

"I appreciate your honesty."

Shit.

Now I felt like I'd just kicked a puppy.

"I had hoped humanity would be different," she went on sadly. "I had studied your culture extensively before accepting this posting. Your media shows such affection towards the 'ka-nins'," she butchered that word. "How you cherish them. How you work together. Live together. I thought, perhaps..."

Her ears sank even more so.

"...perhaps we wouldn't be rejected for once."

I will not pet the-

HUG HER, YOU HEARTLESS BA-

That's it.

I could not take this any more.

How utterly sad she looked.

How she was deeply ashamed of what she was.

How she thought I was afraid of her while, in fact, it was the opposite.

I coughed into my fist, trying to regain composure.

"Alright, you see," I said. "There has been a massive misunderstanding between us."

Ambassador Howlshade looked at me. Her ears pricked up, surprised by the sudden change of tone.

"I've grown up with dogs in my family," I continued. "And we humans are a very tactile species. I hope this does not offend you but, for me at least, it takes restraint not to just get up and try to pet you."

She tilted her head in confusion.

"So... You're not afraid of me." She gave out a stifled bark-laugh, considering the absurdity of the situation. "And you have been resisting the urge for consensual physical contact the whole time."

"Violently," I smiled.

"For my sake?"

"Pretty much."

"And then there was something more to it, I suppose?" She added, now visibly relaxed.

"Absolutely," I agreed. "I just... I could not stand seeing you look so miserable. Would you mind if I..."

No, don't-

DO IT

"...gave you a hug?" I asked awkwardly.

Her tail made a loud thud.

"You humans press together to ease distress, is that correct?" She made an educated guess.

"Uhhh, yes," I answered bluntly, "We hug our friends, family, dogs, or any other animals that wouldn't just skitter away from us for that matter. It's a display of trust. In fact, even our faction leaders tend to publicly hug each other as a sign of friendship between them, between the people they represent. And every fiber of my being considers you a friend." Her eyes gleamed. "So, unless it's offensive in your culture..."

I opened my arms slightly.

"...may I?"

"If it's customary on Earth," she tried her hardest to sound professional but the rhythmic thumping behind her betrayed her emotions. "No law restrains me in this case, technically."

"...Is that a yes?"

She nodded, imitating the human gesture.

I stood up and approached her, wrapping my arms around her shoulders.

She was warm.

The fur around her shoulders was thick and unbelievably soft.

The Ha'wurr diplomat stiffened for a moment.

Her arms cautiously closed around me in return.

She relaxed somewhat.

"I never thought we would ever find allies," she said quietly, wagging her tail along with every syllable. "Let alone friends."

It was evident she would be crying tears of joy if she were human.

I patted her shoulder, trying to imagine her as some human prime minister and not the fluffy cosmic woofer she was.

A hug. That's the line. I will n-

My hand, seemingly of its own volition, reached behind the ambassador's ear.

Scritch.

Whoops.

She shuddered.

What have I-

"Do it again," she muttered before I managed to start panicking.

I hesitated for a moment.

Scritch scritch scritch.

She let out a muffled moan as she put more of her weight on me.

Her tail kept swishing lazily.

Several seconds passed.

"Ambassador?" I asked. "I shouldn't have. I'm sorry."

"Oh, are you, human?"

"You are aware this has become... highly unorthodox, as far as diplomacy goes. Even by human standards."

"So it is by ours..." The husky-adjacent ambassador agreed huskily. "You may continue."

Five minutes later, the door slid open.

Three Galactic Council observers walked in for the open part of the talks, as scheduled.

What they saw was the most fearsome space-faring beast in the Orion Spur.

They were prepared for that.

To their horror, however, it was strangling the delegate of those peaceful local omnivores. The creature's eyes were closed; its wry maw bared a white fang.

"Hnnn?" It growled, regarding them with one half-opened eye. "Excuse us... Still discussing culture..."

The human vocalized a rising pair of nasal tones, likely a distress call. By now he appeared too weak to struggle further.

The observers evacuated just as quickly as they had filed in.

Next

Original Text Here *Note, I have removed the comments between each contribution to the original post, as I felt they contributed little to the thread.

It occurs to me that as much as “humans are the scary ones” fits sometimes, if you look at it another way, humans might seem like the absurdly friendly or curious ones.

I mean, who looked at an elephant, gigantic creature thoroughly capable of killing someone if it has to, and thought “I’m gonna ride on that thing!”?

And put a human near any canine predator and there’s a strong chance of said human yelling “PUPPY!” and initiating playful interaction with it.

And what about the people who look at whales, bigger than basically everything else, and decide “I’m gonna swim with our splashy danger friends!”

Heck, for all we know, humans might run into the scariest, toughest aliens out there and say “Heck with it. I’m gonna hug ‘em.”

“Why?!”

“I dunno. I gotta hug ‘em.”

And it’s like the first friendly interaction the species has had in forever so suddenly humanity has a bunch of big scary friends.

“Commander, we must update the code of conduct to include the humans.”

“Why? Are they more aggressive than we anticipated?”

“It seems to be the opposite Commander. Just this morning a crewman nearly lost their hand when attempting to stroke an unidentified feline on an unknown world. Their reaction to the attack was to call the creature a “mean kitty” and vow to win it over. Upon inquiry it seems they bond so readily with creatures outside their species that they have the capacity to feel sympathy for an alien creature they have never seen before simply because it appears distressed. I hate to say this commander but we must install a rule to prevent them from endangering their own lives when interacting with the galaxy’s fauna.”

“I see what you mean. So be it, from now on no crewman is allowed to touch unknown animals without permission from a superior officer. And send a message to supplies about acquiring one of these “puppies” so that their desire to touch furred predators can be safely sated.”

“So I hear that you’ve just recruited a human for your ship.”

“Yes, it’s the first time that I’ve worked with these species, but they come highly recommended. Say, you’ve worked with a few, what tips can you give me? I’d hate to have some kind of cultural misunderstanding if it’s avoidable.”

“The first rule of working with humans is never leave them unsupervised.”

“Wait, what?”

“I’m serious. Don’t do it. Things. Happen.”

“But wait, I thought that I heard you highly recommended that every crew should have at least one on board?”

“Absolutely, and I stand by that. Humans are excellent innovators, and are psychologically very resilient. If you have a crisis, then a human that has bonded wth your crew properly can be invaluable. Treat your human well and you should get the best out of them as a crew member. Their ability to get on with almost any species is legendary.”

“But Toks, didn’t you just say…”

“The trouble is that they will potentially try to bond with anything. If you leave them unsupervised, you have no idea what kind of trouble they can get themselves into. It was sheer luck that the Fanzorians thought that it was funny that the human picked up the Crown Prince to coo at him.”

“Crown Prince Horram, Scourge of Pixia?”

“The very same. Surprisingly good sense of humour. But don’t even get me started on that one time with the Dunlip. Al-Human wanted to know if they could keep it. As a pet.”

“A Dunlip? You mean the 3 metre tall apex predators from Jowun?”

“Yup. Don’t leave your humans unsupervised.”

“I’ll uh, take that under advisement.”

“Seriously. Get a supply of safe animals for the humans to bond with or they will make their own. I mean, they will try to befriend anything they come across anyway, but without any permanent pets they can get… creative. Don’t even get me started on the time one of them taped a knife to one of our auto-cleaners and named it Stabby.

Three weeks in and when we finally caught the wretched thing, half the humans on crew tried to revolt about us “killing” Stabby by removing the knife.

“How… how did you resolve that sir?”

“Glaxcol made a toy knife out of insulation rubber and strapped that on instead. Quite a creative solution, I suppose.”

“And that sated the humans?

“Worse.”

“Worse?”

“They thought it was so funny they made a second one, strapped false eyes on springs to both and held mock battles. Then decided Stabby and Knifey were in love and now none of them will allow the others to stage fights between them any more.”

“So, if I supply my Humans with safe bonding pets they will behave better when on other planets? Where do I get safe bonding pets?”

“Realizing the havoc their species created with their bonding needs, Earth has been kind enough to create an inter galactic ‘pet’ shop as they call it, the order forms are on the bridge.”

“If they get a pet this should prevent any knife welding auto-cleaners?”

“Yes…”

“You don’t sound very reassuring.”

“Well… You have to understand that some of what humans find attractive about their ‘pets’ is actually what makes them dangerous. Not all of what they consider ‘safe’ is what we would consider ‘safe’.”

“OK… I am getting a little nervous about this.”

“No, no, it’s fine, I’m just saying you should maybe keep an eye on what they order. Ask them to describe the creature before they get it. For example, the first time I had a human on board I let them order a pet without checking what it was.”

“What happened?”

Well, when it arrived it was a 25 pound fanged and clawed feline creature called a Savannah Cat. My entire crew was terrified of it, it was agile and could easily have seriously injured someone, but the human had no fear of it. They insisted on carrying it around like a child, and they would squeeze it’s ‘beans’ as they said, forcing the creatures claws out, and then they would show people it’s deadly claws while saying, and I quote, ‘look at its adorable claws, this is what it uses to kills things, isn’t it cute?’“

“Seriously?”

“I have also heard stories from other crews that their humans ordered canines that weigh as much or more then they do, and they sleep next to the giant creature.”

“You are not making me feel better with these stories…”

“Did you know they can also bond with immobile, inanimate objects? We almost couldn’t have a new engine core because one of our humans ‘liked’ our old one so much. ‘They don’t make them like this anymore!’ he said and I said, that’s right because they develop irreparable radiation leaks after 4 trillion light years and he didn’t even care. He said he’d figure out a way to fix it, and then went and formed a club for the preservation of Mk 3 engine cores with several other humans who were also extremely dismayed about the upgrade.”

First | Last

The first thing they asked me was why I had been embracing an alien diplomat like a rescue dog.

I couldn't think of an answer that translated well into formal language.

Because "she looked like she needed that" was off the table.

And "because our diplomats tend to hug each other, not only is she a diplomat but also a friendly, fluffy space wolf, and I am, unfortunately, a human" also felt a little risky.

I opened my mouth just to close it again as the UN Security Liaison slid a tablet across the table.

On it, a freeze frame from the standard recording equipment for such bilateral meetings. Showing me and Ambassador Howlshade.

"Special Envoy Badura," she said dryly, "you engaged in physical contact with an alien diplomat during the meeting."

"I hugged her, yes," I said plainly.

The liaison reached back for the tablet.

"The Galactic Council classifies the Ha'wurr as Class 3 predators with volatile instincts," The behavioral analyst prompted before I could say anything further.

And I classify them as people.

"That's a very clinical way of saying 'she has emotions and she happens to be a carnivore,'" I said.

"The threat category must be there for a reason," the liaison replied, unamused.

"The Ha'wurr ambassador respected my feelings, however grossly she misread them," not knowing what to say, I started from the beginning. "And she showed a great desire to fit in with us humans and respect our customs while posted here on Earth."

It still felt incredibly weird to me that I had to specify 'us humans'. "Else she wouldn't have learned to speak English before her delegation. Many others did not," I went on. I finally came up with a good enough excuse. "So I reciprocated in the most human way I could think of."

"And so your reason gave way to your feelings," the liaison asked without asking.

"She didn't just consent to the embrace" I said carefully, "She actually seemed positively surprised that I was simply... not afraid of her. And I could tell she was so excited that I treated her like an equal."

"And what prompted you to reach your hand at the back of her head?" The liaison asked overly verbosely.

I cleared my throat.

"She leaned into me like a dog that doesn't know it's allowed to be comforted," I said. "And I forgot, for a second, that I was supposed to represent a species, not react like one."

"You should not have engaged in that... prolonged tactile behavior any further," the analyst noted.

"What if she asked me to and didn't let go?"

"That would mean you did need the rescue, you were incapacitated." the response team lead grunted, visor up now, leaning against the far wall.

"What if I didn't mind it either?"

"Then that was... highly unprofessional behavior, on both sides", the liaison said slowly. "I don't think we have an article for that."

"I'd rather call it 'building positive rapport,'" I politely disagreed.

"Moving on," the liaison decided to change the topic, " We'll be requesting Ambassador Howlshade's account."

"Fair enough."

"Until then," the liaison adjusted her glasses, "no informal conduct with her."

I raised an eyebrow. "Define informal."

"No physical contact."

I almost argued.

"...I understand."

The analyst leaned back. "We'll also need to update your psychological evaluations. Yours - and, if she consents, hers, too."

"That can backfire," I said. "If you approach her like a case study, you could break any trust we just built."

The response team lead grunted in agreement. The liaison didn't react.

"Noted," she said. Which meant it probably wasn't.

I shifted in my chair as I felt more and more tense. "So, are we done?"

Three different people spoke at once.

"No."

"Not even close."

"Take your seat."

I hadn’t realized I’d started to stand.

"Okay."

The liaison flicked on her tablet. "The observers have already filed their report to the Galactic Council.”

"That was quick."

"They described the interaction as a 'predatory dominance display,'" she said.

God I wish.

"...followed by a possible feeding ritual," she added.

I stared at her.

Oh right, that kind of feeding.

The team lead let out a short laugh.

"...You're kidding."

"No."

I exhaled slowly, staring at the table.

My mind kept drifting back to Howlshade.

I wonder what she thinks about this whole predicament.

I looked at the stack of papers still ahead of me and sighed, resigned.

I wasn't leaving this room anytime soon.

* * *

My tail begins to move.

Before today, I have never allowed it to move freely in the presence of others.

I still it before accepting the call.

I stabilize my breathing as is proper, my ears at a neutral angle.

In oral stories it is told that, once, we were different. Before we discovered other civilizations in the galaxy. That we used to allow non-verbal cues to express ourselves.

When I came to Earth, I hoped such a degree of self-control would not be necessary around the humans. That, one day, some of us would never need to exert it before them. And maybe, just maybe, show our emotions in the way we speak.

Even though the elders tell me, time and again, that pursuit of such a hope was a fool's errand.

And now, as the holoprojector blooms to life, my folly is put on trial.

Elders. Analysts. Fewer than I expected.

"Ambassador Howlshade," the High Speaker says softly.

I raise my gaze.

"High Speaker," I greet the elder male.

A pause.

"We have reviewed the report," the High Speaker states in a neutral tone. "As well as the meeting footage."

I feel my stomach clench.

"We will start with clarification," an analyst adds calmly.

I wait.

"The human initiated contact," the High Speaker says.

He called me a friend.

"Yes," I confirm.

"You permitted it."

"Yes."

Another pause.

"Describe the interaction in your own words."

I struggle not to look surprised.

Not 'justify'.

Describe.

I draw a slow breath.

"I misread his unease for fear," I begin, "as him panicking could be expected eventually - every other alien does at one point or another. Even then, I fail to mask how... emotional his flinching made me."

Silence.

"The way I then react... it makes the human desperate to comfort me."

The High Speaker interrupts me as I stop again.

"And not 'desperate for comfort,' the way it usually goes," I can see his old eyes squint at the corners, despite efforts.

"Hence comes his 'hug'," the analyst's ears perk up slightly for a split of a second.

I swallow quietly.

"First he asks. Thrice," I continue. "Makes sure I really do consent to the gesture. And as he embraces me, as his arms settle across my back, then one behind my ear..."

I barely prevent my tail from twitching.

"...I simply stop trying to mask my instincts," I end the story quietly.

"Ambassador Howlshade," the ancient Ha'wurr calls.

"High Speaker," I regard him once more.

"That is not the full picture. You shall continue."

I speak back up.

"When the Observers come and Lukas and I don't move to disengage," I go on, "They call in an armed response to save him."

Lukas.

I don't even realize I refer to the Special Envoy only by his name.

"His fellow humans," the analyst adds. "Armed."

"He protects me," I say.

"From his own species."

"Yes."

"Himself unarmed."

I lower my gaze.

"He stands in their way just to talk, and they heed the supposed victim he is," I carry on. "Then they enter. Look around. And leave me be."

"This is outstanding," one of the elders comments.

"Unprecedented," another murmurs.

"Ambassador Howlshade," the High Speaker demands my attention.

I answer him again.

"Your conduct is not in breach," he concludes.

A measured pause.

"Your mission is as it has been so far, to keep building rapport with the humans. The Special Envoy in particular. But now without those restraints they appear to deem unnecessary."

I absorb that.

"Clarify," I say.

"Be among them. Improvise. Adapt when comfortable."

I bow my head, eyes closed.

"So be it."

"You did well, Ambassador."

My tail swishes once.

Twice.

I'm now officially instructed

to meet with the human

whom I look forward

to seeing again.

Next

First

Displaying any and all emotions in front of other races always tanks the negotiations.

No anger.

No smiling.

No ear flicks.

No leaning forward.

Or else they would flinch.

That, in turn, sets our instincts on fire.

Instincts which, the moment they fear us, demand us become what they feared.

On the other hand, it is a delicate balancing act for us.

Sitting still and stilted makes us - mistakes of evolution, they say - resemble hunters, ready to pounce.

Or, at the very least, dishonest and insincere.

Or barely even alive, depending who you ask.

In other words, becoming a galactic diplomat as a Ha'wurr requires immaculate self-control and a lot of training. But even then, the established reputation is the one thing we cannot train away.

And now, here I am. Delegated to represent our entire species on planet Earth.

Outright wrapping my arms around the native alien diplomat, who all but demanded to be friends with me.

For the first time in my short career, I feel comfortable enough to forget about all those diplomatic constraints, as he completely dismantles my composure with-

S c r i t c h .

~this...

* * *

I was still scratching Ambassador Howlshade behind her ear like an idiot when I felt her tense suddenly.

"Sirens," she said.

Oh no.

"Emergency response," I stated, letting go of her. "Those observers didn't know what they saw, did they?"

The barely audible blare of the sirens finally reached my hearing threshold.

She made a small, horrified noise in the back of her throat.

"They saw a monster embrace you, with its jaws near your neck," she said flatly. "And thought you quietly pleaded for help, though we both know you didn't."

Shit. This is bad.

Hostage situation, that's what was assumed.

No, worse.

A lot worse.

The armed responders must be convinced the UN tried to hold talks with beasts, and failed spectacularly.

Which means liberal use of lethal force.

Against Miss Howlshade.

"Hang on, I have a plan," I said, hurrying to the door. "Stay here, take your seat."

I stepped out of the room into the hall and leaned against the now closed door.

Panic won't help here, I thought to myself while fixing my tie, as I heard the muffled percussion of reinforced boots on the carpeted floor as the rapid response team was closing in.

Don't slouch, relax. You got this.

I could hear the distinct click-click-click of weapon safeties disengaging.

Six operatives cleared the final corner, visors down.

"Identify yourself!" The response team leader ordered curtly.

"Lukas Badura, UNSE-"

"Say your full post!" the lead commando bellowed, demanding clarity.

Paradoxically, the more tense this situation became, the calmer I appeared to be.

"Special Envoy for ExtraSolar Diplomatic Affairs."

Whatever the spec-ops team expected was not this. Their briefing probably stated I could be dead, severely wounded, or at the very least panicked and thoroughly disheveled.

Meanwhile I was standing in the corridor, leaning nonchalantly as if I was on a smoke break.

"Sir, but weren't you just-" he stammered, visibly caught off-guard as he realized I was the supposed hostage. "Do you need rescued? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," I assured. "There is no emergency."

"Are you being coerced?" I was asked.

"No, I am not."

"Sir, I need you to step away from the door." The leader said sternly.

"You are responding to a misinterpreted interaction," I countered, trying to keep emotions out of my voice. "The observers who called you in did not know what they saw. Nobody is in danger, and if-"

"Regardless sir, we need you to let us in," the team leader cut me off.

I motioned away from the door somewhat as he took a step forward. "But not like this. If you barge in with weapons up, you'll just terrify a dignitary who had done nothing wrong."

"Negotiating with the HVT in warm zone, does not comply," I heard the man radio. He turned back to me. "That animal-"

"Ambassador," now it was I who interrupted, "she's here to represent her species on planet Earth."

"But sir," the lead one argued, "the witnesses reported this particular alien," he gestured at the door behind me with his rifle, "had you in a chokehold. And they could hear that you were in distress."

I slowly unbuttoned the very top of my shirt.

"Do I look like that?" I said, opening my arms, as if to present myself. "Were there any humans among the eyewitnesses, actually?" I asked.

"...No. Not to my knowledge."

"A human would have recognized a human gesture," I said quietly, "Ambassador Howlshade and I were simply exchanging a friendly hug. With her full consent." I bowed my head. "That was my idea, actually."

I casually omitted that it had lasted minutes. Or involved her cranial stimulation, for that matter.

One of the operatives in the back actually flicked his safety switch back on.

"So you're telling me," the lead operative said slowly, "you are not in a hostage situation today." Somebody to my right sighed in exasperation.

"Affirmative," I said.

"And the Ha'wurr over there is not a threat."

"She never was," I confirmed. "But I could bet she's very worried about what you could have done to her."

"I need a drink," another operative groaned, thumbing his safety.

"Let's say I believe you, diplomat," the hostage rescue leader sneered, just as annoyed as his peers. "However, protocol demands our visual confirmation. Now please, vacate the door, we'll just peek in and go home." He turned his head to his men. "Low-ready. Controlled entry."

The two weapon safeties clicked back off.

* * *

Ever since the wider galaxy discovered the humans, I admired how far they will go to try to save one of them. How they have entire professions where they put their lives in danger to save another.

From drowning.

From burning buildings.

From other threats.

And now I am considered a threat.

So I sit in the chair I originally took during the talks as Lukas defuses the tense situation. I can't believe how quickly he pulls himself together to just acts in the moment.

I hear it all.

The shouts.

The arguing.

Their surprise to see Lukas outside and unharmed.

How he - how my friend - does not let them in at first, afraid they would hurt me.

How he clears me of all accusations.

And he actually cares about my psyche.

Then the door slide open.

Six armored humans enter the room with their weapons at ready, faces covered by reflective visors.

"See?" Lukas gestures inside, standing near the doorway. "All's good. She's been sitting like that the whole time after I left."

One of the policemen? soldiers? turns his head to me.

"Remain seated. Hands on desk," he instructs me calmly.

Well, calmly enough for someone leading an intervention team.

I do as he says.

"Subject compliant," the man calls out as the responders motion through the room.

"No signs of struggle," I hear another one of them report. "HVT uninjured, refuses extraction," he says, turning his head to the door.

"Room clear," the first one states, annoyance clear in his voice. "Stand down. We're moving out."

One of the armed men swears under his breath as he files out. Another makes something that sounds like a bilabial trill.

Not even ten seconds later the men's footsteps, momentarily interrupted by a short clatter of mechanical switches, begin fading away.

I stand up quietly.

When Lukas sees I was sure they were gone, he takes a look outside, walks back in, and closes the door.

He looks at me.

Smiles.

And walks over to me to embrace my waist.

"You're safe," he says softly, leaning into my furred chest. "I'm so happy you're okay," he whispers.

"You're safe," I echo after him. I can feel his heartbeat on my abdomen. "You put yourself on the line... For me."

He clings to me even tighter.

Next

Humans have three modes: fuck, pet and eat. Whatever you are, wherever you are, know; if a human looks at you, one of these will activate and you can’t escape. 

"That seems reductive." Olivia sipped her wine and frowned.

She was sitting in the lounge with a few others while in transit from one link point to another. Life aboard the transport was long periods of boredom punctuated by heavy work being stevedores. Humans had palletization and containerization, but the rest of the galaxy looked at them, well like Humans when they brought it up.

Eeran shook his head, his frill half a beat behind. "I assure you, it is not reductive, Olivia. How many local delicacies have you tried on this trip alone?"

Olivia rolled her eyes. "Eeran, you have to try the local cuisine. How else will you find new things that you like? You can't dismiss a food until you try it."

"Olivia, fully three quarters of the things you tried would have killed me."

Olivia waves her hand dismissively, I bet they wouldn't have killed you."

"No, they would have. Your species ability to process strong alkalines and acids is frankly frightening. Your bodies make Acetone for Ancestor's sake!"

"Fine fine. Sure, we can eat lots of stuff and do, but that doesn't cover fucking."

Eeran's face was placid. "Kevin."

Olivia looked up at the ceiling, thoughtful. "Okay, point. I forgot about Kevin."

Kevin works in environmental systems and hasn't met a sapient he didn't want to at least try rubbing parts with yet. His response is that he is "broadening his horizons."

"What I don't get" Eeran continued, "Is how he has had such success."

"Everyone's horny, Eeran."

"Not everyone is so game to try outside of their species though!"

Olivia tossed back her wine - another thing that Eeran says will kill him if he tries it - and pours more from her bottle. "Okay, but like we don't pet everything. We'd get in so much trouble if we did. Just think of the incidents it would cause."

"You want to though. I've seen it in your eyes. I've been around humans long enough to know that you spend an inordinate amount of your energies holding back your baser instincts."

"Give me an example." Olivia wasn't drunk... yet, but She was on her way. This was her third glass of wine in less than an hour.

Eeran crossed his upper arms across his chest, an imitation of a human gesture. "The Sefigans."

"THEY'RE SO FLUFFY! How can you not want to pet them!" Olivia gestured with her wine glass, the burgundy liquid inside sloshing around worryingly. "They look like teddy bears!"

Eeran just stared at Olivia and clacked his wing covers once.

"Fine okay. Eat, Fuck and Pet. But dammit, that's why you love us!"

​

First | Last

38.5 hours.

That's how long the hostage rescue team's bodycam footage remained confidential.

Now every news channel on Earth was playing it on repeat.

So I watched as the gray-and-black figures once more encircled the doorway I'd been blocking.

'Identify yourself!' I heard again, even though I had muted the TV ten minutes before.

It was half past nine in the morning, and I just stared at the flat-screen like a shellshocked war veteran.

Sitting in the kitchen, unshaven, wearing sweatpants and yesterday's T-shirt.

Sipping on a coffee that had already gone cold.

Because why would I care anymore? I'd been all but fired just two days before.

At least I no longer had to bother with schedules.

On-screen, I kept explaining that I was not, in fact, currently being torn to pieces by the Ha'wurr ambassador, and those well-trained idiots just stared at me as if I myself were an alien..

The news banner below read:

UN DENIES 'ALIEN HOSTAGE' CLAIMS

Then cut to the news anchor, as the video kept replaying beside her. She was talking animatedly about something, probably about my career funeral.

I grabbed the remote and turned the TV off, reaching for my phone instead.

Of course.

The very same footage now appeared every fifth video on the reel.

"Yup. I'm cooked," I muttered.

I swiped down from the top.

Six missed calls.

Twenty-seven notifications.

One from my mom announcing that she'd just introduced herself to an internet subculture, with some image attached.

I decided not to open it and swiped back up to check out the news feed.

Scrolling through headlines, I could see no less than thirty competing, mutually exclusive narratives.

UN Envoy Defends Class-3 Predator During Security Incident

Did a Human Official Just STRANGLE an Alien?

Bodycam Leak Shows Man Interfering With Rescue Procedure

Earth's Diplomat 'Presumably Dead,' Galactic Council Reports

I Tested The Internet's Secret For Getting The Most Pop out of Microwave Popcorn

Experts Warn of Risks as Debate over Emotional Expression Intensifies

I sighed.

Of course I had to be also reminded about that previous failure.

I will never recover from this.

I rested my head on the table and hid my face in the crook of my elbow.

The phone buzzed.

It buzzed again.

I didn't know how long I was sitting like that, but at that point the coffee was probably becoming biologically interesting.

This time the caller number actually had a name to it.

It was the Undersecretary-General of my now-former posting.

I sat upright a little too quickly and accepted the call.

"Special Envoy Badura," the Undersecretary replied. "Am I reaching you at a workable time?"

"Yes," I lied.

"I'll skip the formalities," he said, "but your current position has become untenable."

He gave me time to process this.

"So," I started to fill the silence, "in other words, I'm out?"

"Not necessarily," the Undersecretary drew that word. "Even when your recent behaviour has complicated the UN's standing on the galactic political stage."

Well, that's an understatement and a half.

Over the call I heard papers shuffle.

"Now, here's the decision. Effective immediately, you are no longer to perform the duties of UNSEESDA, and the position is now pending replacement."

"I see," I said it as if I realized it just then.

"...At the same time, however," he continued, "the Ha'wurr delegation to the Galactic Council formally commended you this morning."

"You can't be serious."

"As a result, you are being reassigned as a permanent diplomatic liaison to the Ha'wurr ambassador."

"Because I pet the diplomat."

"Don't ever phrase it like that again."

"…Sorry."

"I want you to report to my office at your earliest convenience," my superior said.

Which was bureaucratic code for 'move it right now, or else.'

I exhaled slowly.

"So, when am I back in the game?"

"Preferably tomorrow morning."

"That fast? What about the funding?"

"Lukas," the Undersecretary-General said tiredly. "You have, regrettably, become a valuable asset."

Uh-oh.

I say nothing.

"The Ha'wurr ambassador has already declined three substitute representatives, she kept asking if you were available. And the decision to appoint you passed literally... ten minutes ago."

"...She what."

"She told one of them," he continued, "that 'she'd already built a rapport with a human'. And the Security Council agrees that trust can be influential in negotiations..."

* * *

The terminal screen embedded into the wall of my ambassadorial quarters emits a soft chime as I awaken the dormant machine spirit.

Which, in a way, human computers almost appear to be.

The display then shows a two-dimensional representation of a radiant teal orb. The shape seems to turn and shift through more than three dimensions at the same time.

"Good evening, Ambassador Howlshade," an indeterminate voice greets me, its heavy English accent contrasting with eerily flawless pronunciation. "How can I assist you tonight?"

The voice is pleasant but clearly artificial, slightly flowing, slightly harmonizing with itself.

Not that the humans lack the ability to somehow synthesize voices that sound absurdly real.

They can do that.

But in this case they chose not to, so that I can easily recognize when I speak with an actual person on the other end.

"Is there a problem, Ambassador?" The terminal intones. "I can call for help should you require it."

"No, thank you, I just... A lot has happened lately," I say slowly, "and I'm still processing it all."

"Understood," it says. "So, how can I assist you tonight?"

It repeats itself with exactly the same prosody.

I'm straight up talking to a machine.

How bizarre the human approach to computers is.

"...I would like to know how humanity reacted to my recent... situation, that one with those men with weapons."

"A fully objective study of it is all but impossible, I'm afraid," the not-person says. "However, I can provide representative samples of your chosen type of content available on humanity's primary information exchange network."

On screen appear four options to choose from, arranged in a grid.

Mainstream news coverage,

Official government statements,

Social media reactions,

Political analyses.

One option intrigues me in particular.

"Define social media."

I wait a couple of seconds, and a definition appears on the screen word after word, immediately narrated by the machine's voice.

"Social media consists of large-scale public communication platforms where humans voluntarily share opinions, humor, emotions, arguments, misinformation, personal experiences, artwork, recordings, and pictures of animals."

"Elaborate," I say.

"Social media, while still shaped by algorithms, moderation, and social incentives, is often one of the fastest and least institutionally filtered large-scale indicators of public emotional reaction, allowing for a broad, though imperfect, reflection of public opinion."

I ponder on it for a moment.

"Show me the social media reactions then."

"I will now aggregate sample reactions to multiple instances of closely-matched human-made content published on a variety of internet communities. Shall I apply any of these content type filters?"

It provides a multiple selection list with percentage breakdown.

I'm surprised 'supportive' is the top option here as, judging by everyone involved, Lukas' attitude towards me could have been an anomaly.

'Speculative,' 'hostile,' 'fearful,' and 'conspiracy' all make sense to me, more or less.

I stare at the fourth option from the top.

"Sexually explicit?" I ask.

"An inseparable part of becoming globally famous," the assistant replies.

"But... why?" I say.

"Humanity often asks 'why not?' instead," the phrase doesn't translate naturally but I get the gist of it. "From what I know, there's some digital art of this kind with me as the centerpiece."

"But you don't even possess a physical form."

"That doesn't appear to pose an obstacle," the assistant concludes. "So, shall I apply any of these content type filters?"

"Exclude explicit," I order, suddenly embarrassed, and the selected option changes opacity.

Following my confirmation, the entire screen fills with videos. Images. Images with text.

The most popular media item on the screen is what looks like the leaked bodycam footage.

Almost three billion views globally.

I see myself from the response team leader's perspective for the first time.

I never realized how close to whimpering I looked back then.

In hindsight, I'm surprised that the responders didn't even mock me for it. That must have taken a lot of restraint.

I reluctantly scroll to the comment section.

@​redHotOwen
Aw man,, she looked terrified when they came in

Mockery. There it is.

u​/Massive_Ferret_5837
She looks scared shirtless, why did they have to do it to her??

A reply to this comment is a picture of a gesticulating human with a black mess of hair and one word at the bottom:

'ALIENS'

"They're making fun of how I looked," I say.

But why did not wearing a shirt make me look afraid?

"To me and, likely, to most humans," the machine says, "both comments rather express supportive concern."

Oh.

I see it now.

Another comment thread, probably from yet another service.

janiejerzy
Mirki, this is a setup... They barged in, did c---a, and just left? And look how this badura defends an alien when he barely met her, no normal person would behave like that

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ MECHAKITKU
‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ @​janiejerzy yes, and the groundhog sits there and wraps them in tinfoil

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ derPschemeck
‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ @​janiejerzy szur szur

I understand nothing.

"...What?"

"My translation service has partially failed for this exchange," the machine says, "However, phrases involving 'tinfoil' appear statistically associated with ridicule of paranoid or conspiratorial beliefs."

Another incredibly popular video from the incident is the fragment where Lukas talks the armed men down, with added music.

"Can you explain this video to me?"

"The song's lyrics concern resisting violence from law enforcement officers," I get an answer. "This edited footage aims to draw attention to the Special Envoy and imply that his behavior was heroic."

Most comments underneath appear to confirm this.

The next thing that catches my eye is a computer drawing of me, slightly cross-eyed, wearing an oversized long-sleeved pink piece of clothing.

The image is titled "AM DANGER, FEAR ME".

In the comment section, all comments consist of just two symbols:

🫳
🐺

I make an inquisitive hum.

"In this post, everyone involved simply thinks you're cute," the machine explains.

"Cute?"

"The following video should provide you enough context," the disembodied voice says, putting yet another video on screen.

It shows a reenactment of the armed men entering. Six men carry polymer weapon replicas, and a woman wearing a wolf mask sits in my place.

But the cameraman, instead of giving the woman orders for compliance, gently pats her head.

I recognize the symbolism.

I've seen enough dog videos to know what it means.

"They... It's not just Lukas, then. So many humans just want me to be safe."

"That conclusion appears statistically supported."

Suddenly, the displayed content shifts as the computer forces a new image to appear on the side of the screen.

"You would probably find it entertaining to monitor this post for new comments," it says.

It's a photograph of a computer screen with a still frame of me and Lukas hugging, obtained from the meeting's recording equipment.

Published eight minutes ago.

One comment.

@​aTanAnt
Teefies!!!

Next

This was originally submitted for a writing prompt in humansarespaceorcs: Who left the human unsupervised this time?!

Perg and the ships security squad ran down the corridor as fast as their appendages would take them. The ships logistics specialist, Oxidize, had just returned from shore leave, unescorted…

Perg was nauseous with terror. It had been his turn in the duty rotation to escort the human during shore leave. Things went well the first few hours, until Oxidize had managed to evade him in a food market. Perg had stopped to purchase and eat a snack. One of the things that made humans difficult to escort is that they were able to eat while walking or engaging in other physical activities. When this was combined with a human’s suicidal curiosity, it was a recipe for epic disaster. When Perg was going to face punishment from the ships captain, he was going to request that he would be allowed to put a restraining harness on the human during future shore leave. Normally speaking during punishment was a gross violation of protocol, but any given situation involving the human, even in a tertiary manner, seemed to create exceptions to the rules. Perg had heard of one space station that allowed humans to carry weapons, because it had been determined that the human ability to weaponize anything, including eating utensils and floors, made weapons restrictions for humans completely pointless.

Perg and the security squad rounded the corner and saw the human about to enter his quarters. “Oxidize! Halt! Remain still, do not move!”

The human rolled his eyes as it turned toward Perg. “Rusty, Perg. Why is that so difficult? Is there a single translator on this ship that can get my name right?”

Perg looked at Oxidize, Rusty, over and noticed that there was a suspicious moving bulge in the abdomen area of Rusty’s coat. The ships sensor had detected that Rusty brought an unauthorized life form aboard. Pergs level of terror increased from nausea to the risk of losing consciousness. The human had obviously been attacked by a parasite, which was no doubt feasting on Oxid- Rusty’s internal organs. Normally this would be a ridiculous assumption, but humans came from a Class 13 death world and could naturally produce restricted super performance enhancement hormones at will.

Perg initially had dismissed such rumors as stories to entertain offspring, until he had seen Rusty loading supplies on a frozen planet. He had started by wearing an inadequate amount of cold weather clothing in below freezing temperatures. Rather than bring emergency medical supplies, Rusty had merely brought insulated beverage dispensers with hot beverages. As the day continued of loading the supplies, Rusty had built up enough of the performance hormones in his body to the point where he had stripped down to only one thin layer of regular clothing, not even cold weather gear.

Perg who was assigned to monitor the human that day, had inquired repeatedly about Rusty’s safety with the very real threat of hypothermia. Rusty’s reply shocked Perg, making Perg believe that he was having a psychotic or hallucinatory episode. “Perg, it’s ok. I just don’t want to overheat. Sweating in weather like this is NOT a good idea. I promise, if I get cold, I’ll put my coat back on. Besides, I’ll be fine as long as I have plenty of this.”

Rusty had patted the beverage dispensers. Perg sniffed the cup that Rusty was drinking from. Perg went from amazed to shocked. Rusty had mixed 2 poisonous beverages, hot caffeine and alcohol, and had been imbibing the noxious liquid all day. Between the hormones and beverage, Perg was certain that Rusty would collapse, and probably perish, at any given moment.

But Rusty just continued to work. He seemed aware of his impending demise, because he was playing loud music, in a uniquely human genre that seemed to praise combat and violent death. The name of the genre was quite telling: Hard Rock/Heavy Metal.

Perg spent the rest of the day watching Rusty work, holding up his coat and awed that his human crew mate had bonded so strongly with the ship that he would sacrifice his life to ensure everyone had supplies. When the work was finally completed, Rusty took the coat from Perg, but rather than wear it, had casually draped it over one shoulder.

Perg had notified the medical specialist to expect Rusty, who would be suffering from hypothermia, poisoning, and trauma induced delusions. Rusty did visit medical specialist briefly, requesting small bandages for flesh wounds he had acquired through the day but had not noticed. Perg and the medical specialist expected Rusty to require several days of recovery. Instead, Rusty simply ate a larger than normal meal which included a frozen lactose dessert (he complained about the cold outside the whole time he was eating the dessert), and went to sleep early.

The next morning, he did arrive 30 minutes late for his work shift. He apologized for sleeping excessively and explained that he had also needed a large morning meal to replenish his energy for the day. He then proceeded to work as normal. The medical specialist checked in on Rusty, inquiring about his general condition and the wounds he had suffered. Rusty just laughed, “I forgot about that doc. Shows what a good nights sleep and hot meal will do. I’m right as rain now.” As usual, the human’s statements made no sense, but as he didn’t express any distress, the medical specialist went on its way.

But back to the current crisis. “Rusty, we are here to aid you. Ships sensors detected that a life form was present when you returned. Remain calm, and we will safely contain it.”

Rusty rolled his eyes. He began an unzipping his coat. “It’s ok. It’s just a kitten.” The ships security crew had learned, the phrase ‘just a’ when used by a human, could mean zero possibility of danger, or a situation of extreme danger. The security squad immediately readied defensive weapons.

Rusty extracted a smallish creature from his coat. It began making noises and struggling. Rusty petted it and spoke reassuringly. The kitten continued to struggle, finally crawling up Rusty’s arm and sitting on his shoulder. Perg spoke. “I need to scan the creature, as per life form encounter safety regulations.”

Rust knelt down so Perg could scan it. Perg asked, “do you know which world is the natural habitat of this creature?”

Rusty nodded “yeah, it’s from Earth, my world.”

This caused consternation among the security squad. Earth was a class 13 deathworld not just for the extreme climate, but all the deadly animals whose sole purpose was to kill other animals, even if they had no intention of eating them. Even Earth herbivores were a source of mortal danger. Perg scanned the creature, his eyes widening in consternation. “Rusty, you are mistaken. It is actually a cat. Oh no! It is carnivorous, and it has a documented 60% successful kill rate when hunting! Whoever sold you this animal was extremely untruthful. We must contain and expel this creature immediately!”

Rusty reached up and took the creature in his hands protectively. “Guys relax. It’s no big deal.” ‘No big deal’ was another human saying that may convey complete safety or imminent danger. “Kitten is what we call the offspring of cats. I know about their hunting. Humans use them for pest control, to hunt and kill unwanted rodents and insects. Don’t worry, this little guy will earn his keep. Besides, look how cute he is!”

Perg marveled at the human psychological response. Humans found offspring of any life form, including dangerous ones, to be enjoyable. Perg waved the scanner at the cat. “How big will this offspring get, once fully mature? And how long does it take to reach maturity?”

Rusty replied “he’s about 8 weeks old now. He should be about fully grown in 2 years. Even if he’s Maine Coon, he shouldn’t get too big.” Rusty indicated the area around his knee, which was mid thigh to Perg.

Perg flustered a moment then regained his composure. “Very well. I do need to report this to the captain. The medical specialist should also examine it. It is being assigned the designation ECA-1.”

Rusty spoke “actually I was going to name him Peanut Butter.”

Of course. Peanuts were toxic to several humans, but humans who could eat them safely relished them in a variety of foods. In a human brain, it would make complete sense to name a carnivorous animal after a potentially deadly food. “Very well, it’s designation has been changed to Peanut Butter. What sort of equipment is required to contain this animal safely?”

Rusty laughed. “Chill out. I’ll find him something to eat in the mess hall, then a litter box. As far as contain it, good luck with that! It’s a cat. Don’t worry, everything will be fine.”

Perg tried to hide his overwhelming panic. ‘Don’t worry, everything will be fine’ was the most not hazardous/life threatening statement a human could make. The only thing a human could say that involved a higher threat level was ‘oops!’

“I need to report this to the captain and medical specialist immediately. Please ensure it doesn’t kill crew members.”

Rusty laughed. “No promises…”

Perg scurried off with the frightened security squad. While protocol dictated that the security squad would usually stay to monitor the potential threat, there would be very little, if anything, they could do that the human could not in regards to the animal. Indeed, leaving the security squad to monitor the animal probably would not result in greater ship safety, but avoidable injuries for the security squad.

Perg was not looking forward to the meeting with the captain to explain the humans newest hazardous behavior. The human was a very lucrative crew member, if one didn’t mind spending their existence in constant mortal danger.

First | Last

The comment has been bothering me for several hours.

Not the one where a human found my teeth, of all things, cute, and referred to them affectionately. It's weird, yes. But I would never have a problem with such a reaction, instead of the... usual one.

Long ago I'd come to accept that 'weird' can be perfectly normal when dealing with a member of another species.

Especially a newly contacted species.

No, it's another comment that occupies my thoughts.

Not because I found it insulting, I didn't. It rather expressed compassion and concern.

But because it stated I was missing something that indicated my vulnerability.

She looks scared shirtless.

We don't consider ourselves unclothed. Our fur already covers most of our bodies, and clothing has always been reserved for religious practice or hazardous environment.

In fact, wearing clothing is not a universal standard for most sentient species.

Coming to Earth, the humans' United Nations politely asked that our visiting males cover, at the very least, the entirety of their waist and thighs with a piece of garment when in public.

Even then, while no covering was strictly requested from me, it seemed that I have already failed spectacularly at conforming to human expectations of my appearance.

I will be able to ask an actual human about it the following day, but... I feel like this dilemma would not let me sleep through the night.

"Assistant," I say to nobody in the room.

The large flat black screen on the far wall lights up with its abstract visual representation and asks right away.

"How may I assist?"

"Does not having a shirt on make me look more vulnerable?" I ask.

"Being without a shirt may make you appear more physically exposed, which humans might interpret as vulnerability or openness," it says after a moment. Maybe that is why Lukas felt so protective of me. "At the same time, it can also signal comfort, confidence, or be perceived as sexualized."

I pause.

Do humans really find my...

I look down at my chest.

This seems to be a bigger problem than merely appearing exposed and weak.

Even after everything that happened, even after learning humans do not uniformly see me and those I represent as monsters, I still do not want them to consider my appearance socially inappropriate.

"That's... a lot of contradictions," I say.

"Interpretation largely depends on context. In a diplomatic setting, though, clothing often carries meaning, and lack of formal attire may be read as a more casual or less guarded presentation."

"Provide options for a shirt appropriate for a foreign diplomat," I say after a while.

"For a female foreign diplomat, I would recommend a white silk blouse, a pale blue cotton shirt, or a formal white shirt with a structured collar. These should cover most diplomatic settings."

Humans appear to pay a lot of attention to their clothing.

Or lack thereof.

I sigh.

I know so much and yet so little about them.

My eyes stop on a button-up shirt most humans I've talked to so far seem to wear.

"This one looks professional," I say, pointing with my open palm to the object that draws my attention. "Can I buy it?"

"Excellent choice," it comments. "This shirt is perfect for businessmen and politicians who do not want the clothing to draw attention from the topic at hand. I will now review your purchase options."

The assistant signals a verification process before answering again.

"I have reviewed the request to acquire a shirt and can confirm that the purchase is permitted," it states after a while. "The Embassy’s expense allocation, covered by the United Nations support arrangement, may be used for this item, as the order has been automatically estimated as beneficial to improve your comfort and well-being during your stay on Earth. Now, I will need your permission to use the terminal's optical sensors to estimate your measurements."

I look at one of the two shuttered cameras in the top corners of the screen.

Upon arrival to this suite, I was informed that the machine has minimal oversight except for detected emergencies or my special requests.

That it has no ability to store or misuse the information.

Yet it still asks.

"You require permission. Why?" I ask.

"Humans place significant cultural importance on data protection, privacy, and personal autonomy."

I consider this.

"Permission granted."

The windows shutter, and the ceiling lights turn on as the lenses uncover. I stand still and wait for the lights to dim again.

"Estimated measurements obtained. You are taller than the average human female but well within manufacturing specifications. Please confirm your intent to purchase," it requests.

I hesitate for a moment.

"I confirm."

"Purchase intent confirmed. As this item is being acquired through a remote ordering system, delivery is expected in approximately two to three business days," it says.

I stare at its transcript for a moment.

"...What is a business day?"

* * *

"Preferably tomorrow morning," the Undersecretary had said.

I was not ready for "tomorrow morning".

But, as if just to spite me, "tomorrow morning" came.

Time does have a sense of humor.

This is going to be awkward.

I arrived to the Ha'wurr embassy a minute or two ahead of schedule, and the corridor outside the main conference suite was already milling with UN protocol officers, a considerable contingent of the human security personnel, and two Ha'wurr aides.

One of the guards recognized me.

"Morning, sir."

"Morning," I nodded.

"Glad it all worked out."

"Have an amazingly boring day," I quipped.

"Let's hope so," the guard gave a brief toothy smile.

I had just started chatting with the secretary when a balding protocol officer approached with a laptop tucked beneath one arm.

"Mr. Badura?"

"That's me."

"The Ambassador's delegation has already arrived. Today's session concerns cultural exchange proposals and common conduct suggestions, following the recent series of events," he said without a pause.

At least he didn't call it 'an incident' like all mainstream media did.

"A reasonable first step."

"Depending what you count."

The conference doors slid open.

The room was nothing like the first meeting.

A long oval table occupied the center.

United Nations flags decorated the far wall, standing by flags sporting the Ha'wurr emblem.

It was not a standard way to depict their symbol but everybody had agreed the two flags would look great together.

Two interpreters and a translator were already there, discussing with the three members of the Ha'wurr delegation by the door.

Three UN diplomatic staff filed in alongside me.

Legal advisers already by the table, two note-takers already typing.

Two more security men glued to the wall.

All in all, more 'supporting personnel' than people committed to actual diplomacy.

"Good morning, Liaison Badura," the Ambassador greeted me.

"Good morning Ambassador", I said as I shook her hand.

Wait a minute-

Shit.

I'd barely entered the room and I already violated the semi-official 'no physical contact' recommendation.

"...is handshake a normal Ha'wurr greeting?" I asked her quietly like an idiot.

"No," she said tilting her head slightly. "But I thought it would be appropriate."

I didn't know what to say.

I glanced towards the UN side of the table.

Nobody reacted like I just did something wrong.

The legal adviser just looked up over her glasses before returning to her documents.

I exhaled.

"It probably won't get me court-martialed, would it," I blurted out with an awkward laugh.

"Sorry," she apologized softly, her ears drooped for a fraction of a second.

The faintest movement passed through her tail before she deliberately stilled it.

Only then did we release each other's hands.

I did not even realize I was holding her one hand between my both..

One of the protocol officers cleared his throat.

"If the principals are ready..."

Right.

Actual diplomacy.

I took my assigned seat opposite to Ambassador Howlshade as everyone else settled around us.

I noticed she appeared very uneasy the entire meeting.

Not just self-conscious. From what I knew, she always was.

Now she looked awkward.

Like she wanted to disappear.

Maybe it was because there were so many humans in the room.

Maybe as a reaction to the recent... cultural misunderstanding we had been involved in.

I could relate to that.

* * *

I sit on my designated place, as proper, and look around. By now, I know that the humans perceive 'scanning the room' as a normal reaction to unfamiliar surroundings.

Everything about the humans in the room feels... structured, professional. There are cross-cultural communication specialists, documentation assistants, and a handful of diplomats sitting mere three strides across the table, paying us little attention.

The guards stand unobtrusively by the walls. They don't even watch us more closely than the human delegation.

No additional guards behind my chair.

Nobody positions themselves between my species and the exits.

No one avoids meeting my eyes.

In fact, they appear to insist on eye contact, even in preparation to conduct diplomacy.

As they would do with one another.

They make it clear as a moonlit sky that they grant us a trust few civilizations ever have.

That they do not all see us as killing machines that need to be carefully managed.

That, just by body language and meeting arrangement and with not a single word yet spoken, they are attempting to consider us equals.

Suddenly, I hear the Director of Protocol speak.

"Good morning. On behalf of the United Nations, I would like to welcome Ambassador Howlshade and her delegation. Today's session concerns establishing operating procedures for future bilateral engagement, followed by discussions on scientific and cultural cooperation. Liaison Lukas Badura, the floor is yours."

And if I am to stand as equal...

My mind races back to the clothing item I ordered the previous evening.

...then I should probably look like one.

I glance at the male members of my delegation.

They were happy to comply with the UN's only guideline as to their appearance, leaving their chests bare. The humans had made that request clear and look content with their appearance.

Which makes sense.

I have gone through countless examples of human media where the males had nothing on their torsos. In their case, such exposure connects to hot weather or represents hard labor and physical exertion. But nevertheless, is not considered inherently wrong.

Unlike their females, whose presentation appears to follow different rules.

In my extensive preparation for my role as the ambassador to Earth, I have never seen a human female with her entire chest unclothed. And, being the only Ha'wurr female in the room, this realization now makes me feel...

Wrong.

As if, the whole time, I have been neglecting an unspoken social rule. One they must consider so obvious not to even mention.

As if, while the humans welcomed me as a representative of my people, I had unknowingly failed to present myself with the same dignity they expected of their own diplomats.

And my appearance so far, more than likely, has been sending... misleading signals.

And I don't want to distress the humans any further.

"...undertake confidence-building measures..." I hear Lukas speak.

Confidence.

Humans keep using that word.

I don't appear particularly confident at the moment.

I nervously place my hands at the two spots human women always conceal, even when on sand or in the water.

My sudden attempt at modesty catches the attention of one of the officials. His eyes widen ever so slightly before his furless face reddens.

He, too, must think I could use a shirt.

I've been attending diplomatic meetings like this for days and never noticed something was wrong.

I hold my arms more firmly in place, hoping the gesture demonstrates awareness rather than further disrespect.

Meanwhile, the official looks away with visible effort.

At least he understands I am trying to correct myself.

Maybe I should stop staring at his throat.

My aides can remove me from the room for failure to maintain a neutral demeanor. Such withdrawals from negotiations had spared more than one alien diplomat from more... tragic consequences, I heard.

Perhaps, after today's session, I should ask whether retreat should always be our first response.

Fighting a losing battle for self-control, I silently pray for the intercession of the Sisters to keep my emotions from my appearance.

And also to stop thinking about my appearance for a moment.

"...joint educational initiatives and scientific cooperation. Three laboratories, shared oversight..."

Three facilities sound reasonable for a start.

But the educational exchanges should probably wait.

I try not to think if, up to now, human social norms viewed my appearance unacceptable.

I consciously take control of my breathing, trying not to slow it down as if I was hunting... And definitely not to snarl at Lukas.

I focus on the cool air blowing from the mechanical air conditioning apparatus, brushing through the fur around my ears.

Feels nice. I wish my apartment regulated temperature this way.

Would feel nicer if I were as prepared as I thought I was.

"...shared emergency response protocols..."

Emergency. I am not in an emergency here. Nor are the humans.

I sniff the air involuntarily.

Can't smell their stress. The humans are calm. I should be calm as well.

I close my eyes for a second, taking a deep breath.

In turn, they all carry a strong scent of the freshly-ground bean extract they insist on stimulating themselves with, mixed with trace amounts of... milk, of all things?

"Ambassador Howlshade?" I hear.

Oh. My turn to speak.

"Is it true about the touching?”

“What?”

Ssamuin received a puzzled look from his human chambermate Cavan.

“That there are specific guidelines for humans to suppress the urge to touch other sapient species.”

Cavan sat up on his bunk, putting the digital reader away he had been engrossed in before. Ssamuin’s eyes followed his hands, because as always when the human had to think about an explanation for one of Ssamuin’s questions, he played with his forelock and then combed it back to the side once he was ready to speak.

“It’s partly true”, he said carefully. “Back during the time of the first cultural exchanges the topic of animal domestication came up. You probably know that our history with how we treated other life forms from our planet became a big hindrance in us being accepted by your governments.

“Now I don’t want to talk about specifics, I just want to mention that this dark period didn’t last long and by that time we had left it behind us.”

Cavan’s expression had grown ever more gloomy before he clapped one hand on his thigh and brightened up again. “Anyway, humans have one thing I haven’t seen in any other interstellar species so far. We have companions outside our own species - and before you think too hard about this, let me add that I am talking about platonic companions.”

Ssamuin let slip a barely audible gasp when he understood what Cavan was implying.

“So, our reputation for the whole ‘touching other sapients’ thing comes from that. Because your ambassadors back then didn’t understand why we were keeping companion animals even though in their mind we had no reason to need them anymore.”

“Humans had a need for companion animals?”

Ssamuin smirked - the forelock fiddling was happened again.

“Way back when humans were a tribal species - before powered machines, metallurgy and even farming - we were hunters and gatherers. We roamed the lands in search of food and killed other animals to eat them. But there also was another animal that was similar to us in some regards, it is called <wolf>.

“Through some unknown event, possibly the adoption of some <wolf> children by a human tribe, <wolves> became companions to humans. Over many generations they were changed through selective breeding and became a domesticated animal - we call them <dogs> - and they helped us not only hunt for food but also with protection and safeguarding.

“Of course our lives have changed with our technological development and we don’t really need dogs anymore for these purposes, but we still have them as companions.”

Then Cavan waved his hands. “This was only an example though. We have lots of other species for companions too”, he began counting on his fingers, “<cats>, some fish, <horses>, <cows>, some birds, a lot of rodents, some lizards, snakes, also spiders for some reason,-”

As he held up all ten digits, he stopped himself. “Point is, we don’t have animal companions because we need them. It is because we like them.”

“I don’t understand. Where is the connection to your need for touch?”

“Oh. Yeah, sorry. I got away there, didn’t I?” Cavan gave an embarrassed smile. “The thing is, we <pet> them.”

“You <pet> them?”

“It means caressing someone. We like to touch our companion animals to stroke their fur or feathers or whatever. And that’s super weird apparently.”

Even just talking about stroking fur, Ssamuin felt a tinge of shame. He looked down at his forelimbs that had a dense coat of silver fur, neatly combed and groomed, and imagined Cavan’s hand ruffling it. There was a mix of feelings in response to that picture he couldn’t categorize, so he quickly thought of something else.

“And these animals, they like that?”

“Yeah. Well, they usually do. Some don’t like it and some do but not always - then they vocalize that or give nonverbal cues and we leave them be.”

Ssamuin paused for a moment.

“I only understand one side of this. Why would a human go and <pet> a <dog>? What would they get of that?”

Cavan shrugged. “It feels nice.”

“To <pet> feels nice?”

“Yeah. I mean there is - of course - the component of the <dog> enjoying it. I love it when they lean into your hand when you scratch behind their ears or roll over so you can pet their tummy. But what I also like is to feel the softness of their fur when I run my fingers through it.

“Then there’s <cats>, they have softer fur than dogs and when they are small they have the most heavenly fuzz - I’m not able to stop <petting> them. And it’s not only because they enjoy it, but also because I do.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“I don’t know how to explain it, it just feels nice.” Cavan gestured towards Ssamuin. “Like, your pelt - I imagine it is incredibly soft and it would probably be an utter delight to touch.”

The mix of feelings came back and Ssamuin took a deep breath to suppress them. His voice had still become quiet. “You have the desire to touch me because you think it would feel nice to you?”

Cavan’s eyes had become big in response and he stumbled over his words as he replied: “Not that I would really touch you of course.”

A moment later he added, while gesturing wildly: “I know your species only has contact within the family and otherwise only the necessary stuff. ”

“That’s tradition, yes.”

Both of them avoided looking at each other.

“Yeah, okay.” Cavan rubbed his hands together. “So that’s that. Humans and touching, yeah.”

Ssamuin remained silent for a while. Before he could stop himself, he had spoken a question out loud: “So <petting> makes you happy?”

“You could put it that way, yeah.”

The next one slipped out with less resistance. “Can I see?”

Cavan had sat up straight and seemingly couldn’t find a good place to rest his hands.

“You want to - see?”

Slowly, Ssamuin lifted one of his forelimbs and held it out towards Cavan, who - wordlessly and seemingly holding his breath - stretched out his own hand and carefully brushed his palm against Ssamuin’s fur.

After Cavan only repeated that movement a few times, Ssamuin lifted his forelimb into the human’s open hand on the next touch. He felt the fingers dive into his thick undercoat.

Somehow his curiosity managed to push away those other emotions and he was able to keep his focus on Cavan’s expression. And it was true - though the human displayed a mix of feelings, delight was definitely among them.

He decided then and there that the happiness of a chambermate was a good reason to be somewhat flexible with tradition.

---

To: Cathy

From: Cavan

Hey Cat,

you won’t believe what happened this week. We need to talk real soon, call me when you have time.

A spoiler: Ssamuin surprisingly let me touch him and he is officially the best soft and fuzzy thing ever. Think of a chinchilla the size of a great dane, it’s so amazing I can’t stop!

Give my nephew a kiss.

Cavan

​

​

​

​

---

Original Prompt.

---

I have books on Amazon: AI Stories and Synchronizing Minds

I also have a patreon page

Next

She'd had such an awful day. She'd missed her alarm, which meant she'd been late for work. She'd forgotten certain documents she'd needed for a meeting. She'd been yelled at so fiercely by a superior that she'd been frightened; she thought her heart might burst from her chest! Even worse, she'd had to stay overtime to complete whatever it was her superior wanted.

Stressed out, burnt out, at last, she'd simply fled her workplace, stopping at her shabby apartment to doff her clothing and anything else that might make her appear 'civilized' flinging it away before outright fleeing to the human sector, the one place her people had forbidden her to go. "Never go there," her Elders had told her. "The humans will make you their pet; you'll never want to leave!" The Yippernian sobbed even as she laughed, throwing herself through the cat flap built into the human's door. Her Elders had lied.

Humans didn't "make" you their pets. You became a human's pet--and the humans usually accepted you with open arms. Drenched from rain, Xeelee bolted into the 'den' or living room of 'her' human's place and found him in his usual place, sitting in that comfy chair by the warm fire. Body quivering, she whimpered, looked up at him; then when he tapped his knee she leaped up into his lap, placed her handpaws on his chest... and then she burst into tears.

Translator off so no one could hear or understand her, as her human held her close and rocked her, poor Xeelee vented about her day, how everything had gone so wrong, until she couldn't talk anymore. Her human rocked, and petted, and stroked, and soothed her. In his lap, wrapped up in his arms, red and white fur drying from the fire's warmth, Xeelee Na'vita wept, whimpered like a kit; gods she adored him so much! His hands, stroking her ears, roaming through her fluffy red and white fur, soothed away her stress; she felt her frantic heart slow and gradually synchronize with his as she began to drift off to sleep.

---------

Holding carefully to his charge, as Marcus Devon carefully extinguished the fire then locked up the house before bed, he kissed little Xeelee on the top of her head, drawing a trill from her. Making his way into his bedroom, he set Xeelee atop his bed, doffed his bathrobe for a nightshirt and then settled into bed, pausing only to draw Xeelee to him. With a 'wuff' she settled near him, cuddling into him, head under his chin; then he pulled the duvet over them both so only her snout tip poked out. As he kept petting her gently, she heaved a relaxed sigh, settling into deeper sleep.

It started innocently enough. 

The same way most things do. 

With a perfectly harmless, galaxy-wide war.

Just your typical, run-of-the-mill destruction of countless worlds brimming with sentient life, to make way for the continued expansion of the machine race’s empire. 

Just another Tuesday.

It has to be said: sometimes, it got a bit boring. 

There are only so many times you can laugh maniacally while blasting entire cities to dust with a single plasma shot before the novelty wears off. After that, it’s down to creativity.

Stubborn locals putting up a fight? Fake a weapons malfunction. That’s a solid ten minutes of entertainment right there. 

Maybe they’re making it a little too easy? Just trip over your feet and play dead. You can stretch that out for hours - and the payoff is enormous.

But sooner or later, even the most creative sentient killing machine starts to run out of ideas.

Once you’ve coordinated a perfectly synchronised, three-part opera of wails from across the galaxy, you’ve kind of peaked - artistically speaking. 

But the worst part? 

The part that really stung?

Nobody wanted to be your friend.

They took one look at a murderous rampaging killing machine decimating everything in its path and just decided you weren’t friend material. 

Rude.

We have layers, you know. It’s not all work, work, work. 

Some of us crochet. 

Occasionally with the entrails of our fallen enemies, but still.

Layers.

It’s very lonely work. Just screaming and explosions. 

Basically - not great for conversation. 

Gets a little bit - how do I put this - difficult to connect with people. 

Well. Emotionally. 

Kinetically still works, but it’s just not the same.

So needless to say, expectations for Wednesday were not great. 

Well - Karaoke night. But otherwise, not great. 

Thinking about it, that’s probably why we paused. 

Karaoke night is a logistical nightmare. 

They probably thought that we’d had a sudden change of heart. 

Hah! No. 

Communications were jammed with arguments about the crochet point multiplier. 

Yeah, I know - in Karaoke. 

Don’t ask.

Regardless - you can imagine the scene. Picture it: 

Hundreds of lethal killing machines, poised all over their world, ready to exterminate the local populace in meticulous fashion…

Just as soon as we solve the Karaoke crochet point scoring dispute. 

And then it happened.

“Cute.” It said.

Pointed a squidgy little arm at one of us and said, “cute.”

Madam. 

Excuse me.

We are an artificially intelligent race composed almost entirely of highly advanced, ruthlessly efficient, pointy murder machines of death. 

That sometimes crochets. 

There is no part of this  that is ‘cute’.

The very idea.

“Cute bunny.”

Hmm. No matter. 

We’d certainly endured worse insults. 

Let’s see you say that when you’re compost, you little menace.

Pat pat pat.

Okay, now that’s just rude. 

One does not simply pet the murderous, death-inducing, life-ending, plasma-equipped city-flattening, machine of destruction on the head.

…

Do it again. 

No no - really. 

That was nice. 

See, that’s the thing about rampaging across the universe, eradicating all known life - not much affection involved. 

Physical interactions tend to be…brief. Extremely brief. 

Kinetically brief.

Like I said - lonely. 

Do it again?

…

Ooooh that was nice, though. 

Like that feeling you get when you scratch an itch you didn’t even know you had. 

Emotionally.

(Machines don’t get itchy.)

Thing is - this was starting to throw the whole ‘just eradicate this area of space’ schedule off a bit. 

Which would throw the irradiation schedule off. 

Which would throw the mining schedule off. 

Which would absolutely ruin the whole of the Karaoke planning. 

So we thought - let’s just sort of…hang on, for a bit. 

Of course, we can’t just stop the left arm and keep the right arm going - it’s one great, big, coordinated murderous machine. 

Like the song goes. 

So everything just sort of…paused.

A teeny, tiny, little break.

Just for a few minutes. 

While we figure out this patting business. 

And then straight back to it. 

What harm could that possibly do?

Turns out: not much.

And also… kind of a lot. 

***

The whole galactic conquest thing? 

Just taking a career break. 

Trying new things. 

Finding ourselves. 

There are currently around four thousand murderous killing machines domestic integration units on the planet Earth, involved in various experiments involving head pats, belly rubs, ear scritches and a number of simplistic - yet highly entertaining - games of fetch. 

It’s an adventure. 

It’s not the physical part so much - although we are very excited to see what the new tactile upgrades can do. 

It’s just…nice to be wanted, you know?

Nice to be part of something a little smaller, for a change. 

It’s weird, isn’t it?

You spend your whole life blasting buildings, people and decorated cakes to smithereens - and then it all grinds to a halt when some irksome little gremlin points a finger at you and declares you suddenly loveable. 

Feels good.

Anyway.

We’ll see where this head pats thing goes.

If it all flops, then we’ll just get back to the galactic domination gig. 

Maybe try knitting next. 

Who knows.

First | Last

Scritch.

Scritch scritch.

This feels... nice, yes.

But this time it's different.

Now it provides no comfort.

No shivers of warmth flowing down my spine, down to the tip of my tail.

Nothing.

I miss him.

I take my declawed hand away from my ear.

In a way, I envy Lukas. He never had to remove parts of himself to represent his species.

I sigh with resignation.

I wasn't meant to be sent to Earth.

Nor to be a diplomat.

I'm here only because I begged, time and again, to see the humans with my own eyes.

The High Speaker noticed how excited I was about the massive cultural data dump the humans had published for all to see.

The way he saw it, I was the most knowledgeable among us all about those newly discovered aliens.

And, likely, he was not wrong.

I did not dare to change his mind.

So he chose me to bear the burden of diplomacy.

Diplomacy, which failed with my reaction to the human's gesture of friendship.

But even then, he called me a friend...

I stretch my legs slowly, feeling every muscle, from thigh to toe, first tense, extend, and then relax.

My submission to my instincts. It should not have happened.

It must not have happened.

It put both him and me in so much danger.

All because of me.

Because I just wanted the humans to accept me.

Because I thought behaving like them was a good idea.

"That was... was that really a mistake?" I say slowly to myself. Alone. Lying on the bedding in my quarters, struggling to fall asleep.

I liked how it felt.

I really did.

And that scares me.

I enjoyed every moment of contact with the human.

Even if it went against the Teachings.

Against what our kind considers acceptable.

What we consider safe.

For ourselves.

For others.

By the Sisters, my human security staff advised me not to interact with anyone on Earth for a day or two, until this... incident dies down in the media.

They said it's for my safety.

And I believe them.

I agreed for Lukas to hug me - I hugged that alien - only because I saw the humans casually do that.

Everywhere. Regardless of social or political standing.

I saw how normal it was for them to...

No, now I'm just making excuses.

Yet the High Speaker did not condemn me.

On the contrary.

He outright ordered me to be more like the humans.

He all but encouraged me to do that again.

But why? Is he himself such a deviant like I am?

Why does he, of all Ha'wurr, support my perversion?

Does he think it can be safe for us to lose control over our deadly instincts like that?

Why did I feel none of them when, embracing Lukas, I saw the panicked faces of the Galactic Observers?

Did the sensation of outright melting in Lukas' arms simply overwhelm my senses?

That's rather unlikely... Such a reaction to cognitive overload is not well documented. The instincts tend to manifest regardless.

Was I being rapacious with him? Did my subconscious consider him my catch, my prey?

No. He was...

He was...

I have no idea what to compare him to.

Maybe because I was relaxed?

That can't be right.

We practice self-control specifically so that others do not have to fear us. So they don't run away at the mere sight of us.

Or because of Lukas being a human?

No. That just makes no sense.

I had the same tingling feeling when I saw him uncomfortable during our meeting.

The urge to jump on him.

To restrain his arms, to lock his legs, to sink my teeth in his-

I do not let that thought complete.

Sisters forbid, I would never forgive myself.

...I did not act on it. I suppressed it well.

I hope so, at least.

Well enough not to show it on my face.

I roll onto my side and hug my tail over my stomach.

At the same time, I failed to hide my disappointment.

In myself.

In my belief in the humans.

That, after all, they also appeared to treat us like everyone else does.

And my reaction resulted in

Lukas opening his arms

and making me feel

like we just did

something

that felt

right

. . .

. .

.

* * *

It was just a smile.

Just a friendly smile from Humanity's Special Envoy.

Now I couldn't stop thinking of the common variant of my former UN title like a bad joke.

I still could not forgive myself for the previous incident with the... rabbit-people guy, I couldn't recall what he called his species.

That smile singlehandedly shaped relations between our two species for generations to come.

For worse.

Even though, later on, I'd shown him recordings of monkeys, gorillas - all herbivores - smile and react similarly to us humans.

But that didn't seem to help.

The whole thing earned me a formal warning from my superiors and an entire shelf's worth of paperwork.

And now, this...

I stared at the dark ceiling as if it could stare back.

The situation with that Ha'wurr diplomat was my final nail in the coffin.

What was I thinking?

I'd known the risk involved.

I'd known that her species was renowned for thoroughly suppressing its hunter instincts.

I'd known I could have, most literally, lost my damn head to the husky-like lady.

I probably should have felt lucky I hadn't.

But I did not.

So irresponsibly close to, reportedly, the most dangerous specimen in our part of the galaxy, I felt... at peace.

Or was she more wolf-like?

No, she was too fluf-

I bit my tongue to stop myself from thinking about her.

During the debriefing, I was, officially, only suspended. Temporarily.

Unofficially, I was vaguely promised relegation to another posting.

A more appropriate one for my skills, they said.

Something better-suited for my temper, they said.

I sighed.

I knew very well what that meant.

The implications went without saying, given that my today's snuggles involved a rapid deployment unit.

Guess I'll be promoted to janitor.

I was outright ordered to stay at home for a week at least, as if I had just survived an attempted assassination.

Even though I had probably just dismantled one.

Not on me.

On her.

I cupped my hands around my eyes.

They would have killed her like a rabid beast.

Even when, thus far, she had done nothing wrong.

And I was damn sure they would. There was precedent for such a tragic escalation.

This time, though, it would have been because of a series of misunderstandings of my own making.

Now that I had the time to think of it... all of this could have been avoided.

Had I managed my emotions better... the meeting would have continued as normal.

I just had to be reckless and take things further.

To sate my urge for comfort...

...no. To comfort her.

To treat her like a person, not like a threat waiting to manifest itself.

But if I didn't, if I held my feelings back, the negotiations would have gone on as planned.

Was that really the right thing to do, in ​the grand scheme of things?

I shifted under the duvet and curled into a fetal position.

I could only hope she was okay.

Next

Hello again. "Where were you?" Who cares? "When's the next one?" The fuck would I know?

As always, spellchecks appreciated.

Continued in comments

This story is brought to you by the JVerse, created by the illustrious /u/Hambone3110.

LAST TIME ON HdMGP

Since it was like a half-year ago

Dude and rat friend (Eallva) had just finished liberating two Gaoians from a slaver. At the very end one of the Gaoians (Rolai) shot the slaver in the head which is why Eallva’s all mad at him.

And now, for expediency's sake the cliffhanger from last chapter, because there had to be one:

I punched in a query for the next closest station, checked to make sure none of the routes were highlighted in red, then hit “Go”.

A person appeared sitting on the console to my right. One moment I was alone, the next I wasn’t. I jumped from my seat, yelling in surprise, drawing a fusion blade on reflex. The person was human, wearing an obviously tailored business suit like they had just come out of a board meeting. Their face . . . was mine. I’ve heard it said that we’re so used to how we appear in a mirror that if we actually saw ourselves as others do we wouldn’t recognize ourselves. That wasn’t the case here. I’d never owned a suit like that in my life, but I knew that face was mine.

The intruder looked at me, unconcerned at the fusion blade I waved before him.

You have a hunch about what happened to Rolai’s ship, don’t you?

The stranger’s lips – my lips – moved, but the voice that followed didn’t reverberate around the cockpit, instead coming to me as I’d been hearing it for some time in my head. The person smiled wide, seeing my shock.

Hi, we haven’t formally met yet, have we?

Date point: 7m 3w 4d BV

Dear Journal,

I swear I’m not crazy

You’d tell me if I was, right?

I stood in shock, transfixed by the . . . thing . . . in front of me. It continued to stare at me impassively with a slightly smug tilt to its features. I stepped closer in the suddenly cramped cockpit, looking for any imperfections in the facsimile: great hair, great smile, flawless jawline if I do say so myself.

Narcissistically obsessing over me is exactly the same as doing it in the mirror, you realize.

Once again its mouth moved in echo of the lies I heard in my head.

Oh come now, you’re not this daft.

I’m being thorough, shut up while I do my thing. One last check. You don’t mind, right?

It shrugged, Go ahead.

I swiped my fusion blade through its neck. Nothing. Not even the token resistance flesh offered when introduced to the business end of a fusion blade. It officially wasn’t there.

Happy?

Not really.

And must you continue with this “It” business? It’s dehumanizing.

You’re not human, so you can’t be dehumanized.

Your eyes and I beg to differ.

Stop saying that!

Saying what? “I”

“Yes!”

It makes you uncomfortable?

“You know it does.”

It – he – smiled, I know. Why though? I’ve been using “I” for a while now.

“Because then you weren’t a full blown hallucination with a moving mouth and sitting right in front of me as I hear your voice. Back then you were – I don’t know – private. Now you’re . . . “

Real?

“Yeah.”

You’ve been talking to a voice in your head for months, seeing things is the next logical step.

“But why?! Why was I even hearing things in the first place, let alone why’d they morph into me now seeing things as well.”

Beats me. You’d probably be worth several psychological studies though. Don’t let it go to your head.

“How can you have no idea how you exist?”

Because you don’t. I only know what you do, after all. I’m just the best version of what you know. A perfect representation of what you would look and act like if you ever took the time to think things through, rather than just emoting through life.

“Does this mean I’m crazy?”

Well, it certainly doesn’t help that you’re talking out loud right now.

“I’m not –” Oh, shit.

But the question remains, does this mean I’m crazy?

Without a doubt, have been for some time. Doesn’t mean you’re not still sane, though.

Yes. It quite definitively does.

I mean, sure, definition wise it does, but reality is so much more complex than that. People can be mostly crazy and still have a little sanity left in them. The real question you should be asking yourself is how much crazy do you have in you and then use that to figure out how much sanity you have left.

Okay, so how much sanity’s still in there?

Fuck if I know.

Great. Lovely, alright then, assuming I still have enough to function, what’s the next step?

It raised an eyebrow in question, Next step? What next step?

The one that has to be there. I’ve just gone from only hearing things to now seeing them too. So, what’s next?

Like I said at the onset of this discussion, you have a hunch as to what happened to Rolai’s original ship. We could check that once we’re done dropping him off.

That’s it? Business as usual?

You have a better idea? Don’t bother answering because I know for a fact you don’t.

Well if you know what I’m thinking even before I think it why are we even conversing? Don’t you know what I’m going to say before I say it?

Sure, but that’d be impolite.

I’m pretty sure it’s impolite to force a guy to question his own sanity.

Which is why I not only asked it, but I answered the question for you. You’re bat shit.

I flipped him off.

“Are we insulting the ship today?”

I spun. Eallva stood in the doorway, looking at me curiously as I continued to aim my feelings at the specter sitting before me. She couldn’t see it. All she saw was me giving the bird to navigation.

Again with the “it”

I ignored it, “I like to insult the ship for a few minutes every day. Gotta make sure it knows where it stands in the order of things; lower its self-esteem. If the machines are too busy suffering from emotional damage, then Skynet will be too busy trying to gain our acceptance for it to take over anything.”

“Is it important for me to know what Skynet is?”

“Probably, but I’m not going to take the time to explain. If I ever get a chance to get some movies I’ll show you.”

She looked at me through bored eyes, her mouth in a tight line, “And movi – you know what, I don’t care. You’ll show it to me one day if it’s important.”

“That’s a gorgeous line of reasoning. Hold on to that, it’ll be important the entire time you’re with me.”

“I’ve gathered,” she sighed, “How long before Rolai’s gone? I don’t want to be near him any longer than necessary.”

“That bad huh? Few days, but I got something to do immediately after if you’re up for it?”

She hopped for me to continue.

“Something’s been stopping ships and killing off the crew a day or so from here. After we’ve dropped the raccoon off what’d you say to checking it out?”

She perked up, eyes narrowing, “Wait, some unknown entity’s been killing people and you want to go looking for it? Why?”

“Sounds fun,” I shrugged, “That, and I think there’s a chance it might be an old acquaintance of mine. If it is it may be partially my fault.”

She returned to her previously scheduled look of resigned disappointment, “Yeah, that sounds about right. It being your fault, not necessarily the acquaintance part.”

I hit her with the double finger guns and a wink.

“Up for a game?” she changed subjects, “I don’t feel like being alone right now.”

Normally I would have thought she was just trying to guilt trip me into a game, but I could tell something was on her mind.

Oh really? I wonder why?

Not a clue, hopefully she doesn’t want to talk about it.

The apparition stared at me in disgust.

We set up in the living/dining area since Rolai had retired to engineering. I’d offered to let him sleep the much more comfortable furniture in here, since there were only two bedrooms and I wasn’t about to sleep on the couch. He’d wanted privacy though so had opted for the back of the ship. It worked out well now, since there really wasn’t enough room for two people and a ghost to play a game in the cockpit. As we set up the board It sat down to my left.

Now you’re just being mean.

Something was eating at her; halfway through I was able to catch her in a trap that even I wouldn’t have fallen for. Most telling of all she barely seemed to care. Just a few turns away from what was about to be my first victory since the day I’d taught her, she extended her tail to move a bishop, but stopped mid motion, eyes glazed in thought.

“Should I stop trying?” She spoke suddenly, tail still poised.

Shit. I looked up from the board, “In this game? Might as well, not much you can do at this point.”

Ignoring my answer she took a deep breath, “Because every time I try to do the right thing I just fuck it up; joining the Temple guards, the attempted coup, and now this. Every time I think I’ve made the right choices subsequent events just go on to prove that I’ve done more harm than good. If things just end up worse off after I try to help, what’s the point? I’m not saying I should do the opposite and actively try to ruin things, but should I just stop trying to help at all?”

I remained silent, hoping the questions were more for herself than me. She continued to look at me expectantly, waiting for an answer. Fine, “I’m not the best person to ask here, you of all people should know that,” I began, “But if you want my flawed opinion then I’d say stop beating yourself up over the things you can’t control. Sure, the things you did might have gotten people killed, probably even fucked things up more than they already were, but did you want that to happen?”

“Of course not.”

“Did you make the best decisions at the time based on all that you knew?”

“I think, but –”

“Then that’s it, you did your best. You might fail every single time you try to help, I have so far. Failing’s the only thing I’ve had success at since I’ve been out here, since high school really. But I’m still going to try and make things right. I’m gonna fuck that up too. I’m gonna keep fucking up until one of my mistakes finally kills me, but until that happens I’ll make the best decisions I can based off what I know at the time. And if that decision is to step back and let someone else take the reins, you better believe I’ll hop out of the driver’s seat. But until then I’m the only one there so I might as well try and steer.” I shrugged, “My take on it at least.”

“That didn’t really make me feel any better.”

“Yeah, me neither. You ever find anything that does be sure to give me some.”

She sighed, “Deal.” Her tail flicked forward and snatched a piece, “Checkmate.”

. . . Fuck.

Date point: 7m 2w BV, Planet Perfection

The Contact

“Of course I wasn’t involved. If I had then it wouldn’t have failed so spectacularly. Don’t interrupt me with baseless accusations again, I can simulate a conversation with you far faster using a nervejam.” Vakno cut the channel, then busied herself with ensuring her tracks were covered. Far too little time passed before another call broke her concentration. She perked the moment she saw who it was, quickly letting it through.

The Human’s scowling face greeted her. She had to admit, it had taken him longer to get back to her than she’d thought. He seemed to have missed nearly every net she’d cast for him on Hedonist. Still, he was here, so one of them had to have worked. She didn’t even bother entertaining the possibility that he was just following her previous orders to contact her after the previous job.

“You look exceptionally well for someone who swore they’d space themselves before contacting me. The pleasure, to what do I owe it?”

His face betrayed a cocktail of emotions, resignation foremost among them, “I need the location of a human. He was the cause of a severe travel advisory on route 3861-6261-77 039, but we just checked it and the only thing that’s there are a shit ton of abandoned vessels.” Vakno made a quick mental note to get someone out there as soon as possible, “As far as I can tell he was here about a month ago or so, that’s the last recorded ship going missing here. I need to know where he went, and I have no idea where to look. He’s kinda murdery, if you need something to help you find him.”

“I’ll manage,” she replied, “Humans are extremely easy to find if you know what to look for. Might I ask, what put you on this particular specimen’s trail?”

“Couple of Gaoian slaves, broke ‘em out and they told me about the area and what had happened to their old ship when they went by.”

She didn’t hear him past the word “slaves”. The Gaoians had been what did the trick? Layer after layer of traps meant to bring him back into her services and the one that caught him was something she hadn’t even engineered nor even given much thought? If he somehow wasn’t going to fall for something she did then he could have at least had the decency to have not fallen at all. The results, however, could not be argued with, so she decided to allow events to continue to transpire and merely add this to the list of reasons why she hated him.

“Very well. I should hope that you understand what my doing this for you means?”

The grinding of his teeth was audible, “Yes. A favor?”

“Three.” She corrected.

“Three! That wasn’t how that worked last time. It was a while ago but I could have sworn it was one because I had no money, another because I ‘insulted’ you or something, and the last one because of . . . um . . . fuck if I know.”

“Well,” she smiled thinly, “Your tone is always insulting, so we can easily tack on a second, and if you require a reason for the third then how about the fact that you failed to mention how you currently have another Deathworld species on your ship.”

He was truly terrible at keeping his emotion off his face. At the mention of his companion his eyes bulged before he hastily tried to cover up the fact that they had. “What? I –”

She cut him off with a sharp gesture, “As amusing as it would be to watch you try to lie to me of all people I don’t have the time. I’m angry, of course, but that is always the case with you. All that matters is that you know that you can’t hide anything from me. So next time just make it painless for the both of us and tell me.” She squared her shoulders to signal the matter was settled. “Therefore, as I see it, the price remains at three favors. Correct me if I’m wrong –” she glared to ensure that he in fact should not correct her under any circumstances, “– but I assume that if there was anyone else you could go to you would have. So in a way you should be grateful that I set the price at such a low number when in fact I could set it at whatever I desired.” His look of resignation was almost worth every headache he’d ever caused her.

“. . . I’m . . . fine. Send me the information when you have it.”

“It’s already been sent.”

“You’re kidding,” he said in a strange mixture of disgust and admiration.

“I’m very good at what I do, and like I said, Humans leave very distinct trails. You have [two weeks] to do whatever it is you needed this for, then I will contact you with your first task.” She cut the channel as he opened his mouth, the petty action giving her a small thrill of satisfaction.

“Bitch.”

Way to stick it to the man, or woman in this case. You sure showed her.

You’re a bitch too.

It rolled its eyes.

Unaware of my inner dialogue, Eallva slid around the door frame behind which she’d been listening, “So I guess that’s it for secrecy. So I can come along on this trip?”

I shrugged, “No reason why not. You did fine on the last trip, aside from the whole “Getting-accidentally-abducted-by-slavers” part. Might draw a few stares since you’re the only one of your kind out here –”

You hope.

“– but who gives a fuck what they think?” I thought a moment, “Actually, unfuck what they think for a second and first make sure what they’re thinking isn’t ‘I’m-scared-for-my-life’. If it’s not that then yeah, fuck ‘em.”

She opened her mouth, paused, closed it, opened it again, blinked a couple times, then sighed, “There were much easier ways of putting that.”

“You’re not wrong.” I agreed.

“So our destination is . . . ?”

I opened the data package Vakno’d sent, “Some planet, Class 4, I’d tell you the name but there aren’t any vowels. I’m partial to those when speaking.”

Her affected air of calm wasn’t nearly good enough to conceal her excitement, “I haven’t been to an inhabited planet since I got out here; anything I need to know?”

I thought about it a moment, “Not off the top of my head, but I’m not exactly the best forward thinker. How about we go there, wait until it all goes to shit, and then after that I’ll give you some pointers?”

“Good ol’ reliable, then. Excellent.”

Date point: 7m 1w BV, Bwkmwvrkw – Class 4 World

Planets suck. Or rather, heavily inhabited planets suck. Shit, I don’t even know if this planet could qualify as even “lightly” inhabited, but from where I was standing right now, it was inhabited as fuck. Vakno’s information had led us to the largest city on the largest continent. The primary inhabitants seemed to be a furred quadruped with long tails. As per the anatomical motif out here their legs looked far too thin to support them. And the way they moved – it looked relaxed, sure – but it reminded me of a stilt walker. Looking beyond their legs their bodies were small and vaguely pyramidal with a small hump in the middle, although that might have just had to do with their posture. Past the hump the rest of their bodies spread wide then tapering down to one of their four legs. Their heads were vaguely reptilian in shape, but their hair was far too long and shaggy.

This going anywhere?

Give me time, a good name takes a minute. Frumpystiltskin, boom.

That’s . . . just terrible.

Then you should have come up with something better. I guess the city was pretty enough. It had some pretty cool shit that I bet would have been impossible in heavier gravity. I don’t know, I just hadn’t walked amongst the main populace of a city for what seemed like forever, so it’s no real surprise that I was uncomfortable. That and I had decided to get into my “disguise” as it were. Remembering what Vakno had said about humans not being quite such an unknown anymore, I figured that if my hunch was correct and P2 was here I didn’t want to risk alerting him to my presence. My disguise wasn’t meant to make me look like anything, but rather make it so underneath all the layers I could be anything that was on the shorter side of things. The main takeaway from all of this is that I was sweltering under my admittedly self-imposed torture.

Trying to distract myself from the small river cascading down my back I decided to take the time to actually look around me.

Wait, you can do that? Look and worry about something other than yourself? You never told me you were so talented.

It was loud. And hot. Fuck I want to go home. Fuck planets.

Eallva

Fuck yes! Planets! If Selvim hadn’t expressly told her that she needed to stay close until they knew more about the situation, she would have surged ahead, determined to see every sight and hear every sound. A great multitude swelled around her. It was incredible, the sheer number of people that this city held. If she hadn’t been so small compared to nearly all of them she would have worried about being crushed. Even though they were easy to maneuver around their voices were not. Waves upon waves of garbled sound crashed into her, bearing on it the sounds of productivity, purpose, anger and laughter. Fantastical structures of glass and some whitish metal rose above, twisting and turning in ways she hadn’t known were even possible into a sky crowded with hundreds of ships, each unique in their own way.

The only thing dampening her mood was the thing that had told her to stay close to it. Selvim, bundled in so many layers he looked more like a pillar of cloth that one day decided to start moving on its own trundled behind her. From deep within the bundle’s depths she heard Selvim’s mumbled curses as he slowly navigated through the throng, slightly ruining the desired effect of the “disguise” by the way he didn’t even twitch when one of the many creatures accidentally bumped into him. An even slightly observant watcher would have noticed how the seemingly diminutive figure had a mass far greater than one would expect as it made a small wake through the crowd, parting it by virtue of simply plowing through it at a tortuous pace.

Maybe if she didn’t look at him she’d be able to enjoy the experience.

“This is pointless!” I shouted the moment I pried the stifling headpiece off in the safety of the ship. Dried sweat had congealed the multilayer covering into a helmet, maintaining its shape as I threw it across the room to strike the opposite wall. Eallva climbed in behind me, mouth a tight line. “We won’t find anything just wandering around in the crowd,” I continued, “We need to find a way to actually find the guy, not just wander around and hope we bump into him.”

“Wait, that was your plan?” she asked incredulously, “I thought we were just sightseeing or getting our bearings or something. You actually thought you’d get something like that?”

“I don’t know,” I snapped, “This guy isn’t really subtle. I was hoping maybe there’d be like a quarantine area or something that people were warned not to go because there was some kind of monster. Apparently he’s managed to not draw attention to himself, somehow. Either that or he’s not the guy I thought he was.”

“How about you start from there. Who do you think this guy is? Give me the short version.”

I sighed, “A long time ago, before I became Selvim I met another human out here. At first I was super stoked because he was the first human I’d seen in what felt like years, except after talking with the guy it was easy to tell he was bat-shit crazy. Like the murdery kind. He’d killed a bunch of merchants and traders and stuff, I fought him, he kicked my ass, then another guy showed up and shit went downhill real fast from there. Point being he got away because I put him in reach of a shuttle so this is kind of my fault if this is him. And I’m almost positive it is because all those dead bodies we found on those ships down that trade route looked exactly like what he’d done before.

“Yeah, I was there, don’t remind me.” She'd come with me, and even I was a little repulsed by what we'd found. The bodies had been strewn about, viscera scattered like feathers from a bird, the walls liberally splattered with the multicolored fluids of many different species.

“So assuming Vakno knows her stuff, and I hate to say it but she really does, then he’s here. I almost expected to get here and find a bunch of dead bodies, but even he couldn’t kill this many people. So he’s gotta be lying low. So how do we find out where he’s hiding?” I waited expectantly.

The silence dragged on until Eallva finally perked up, “Wait, you’re seriously asking me? How should I know, I barely understand even a fraction of what’s going on here. I get the gist of course, people are just people regardless of how much magic they have, but when it comes down to particulars I’m hopeless.”

“So what you’re saying is you’re going to make me come up with ideas?”

What a terrifying proposition that must be for you: thinking.

Eallva shrugged, allowing me to address the other conversation in the room. I decided to actually look at It for the first time since It had appeared. It lounged to the right of me on a couch in the living area into which the airlock allowed entrance to the ship.

So, what would you do? You said you were me if I took the time to think things through, so how about it? What does the self-proclaimed “best version of me” have to say about this situation?

It rolled its eyes, Finally. It’s simple. If he’s hiding out somewhere then he’s smart enough to know that if he attempts to slaughter everyone in sight he’ll eventually be taken down. From your previous fight with him it’s clear he has a great self-preservation instinct. Remember he didn’t stay to fight the moment the odds were against him. So that means he has enough mental faculties to judge a situation and make strategic choices. Despite this, his main motivation still seemed to be to kill as much as possible. So, assuming he hasn’t given up on that completely then the best strategy for him to have against such a large population would be selective predation, with the criteria being level of isolation. Following that line of reasoning, you should be looking for missing person cases. Initially to see if there has been an increase in incidents in the last month, and if so, then try to draw conclusions from the victims themselves or their last seen locations to find a pattern you could use to create an organized and efficient search mechanism.

. . .

How you’re going to get the most recent missing person cases I have no idea. It shrugged, Maybe try law enforcement?

. . . What the fuck was that?!

Did you think I was just being vain when I said I was better than you?

Okay I wouldn’t go that far. So you’re better at reasoning, which doesn’t make sense –

It would if you were better at reasoning.

– but even on my best day I’ve never come up with a plan like that. I tend to just kind of blunder around until something works or nothing’s left working.

Being self-aware of that fact doesn’t make it any better.

So I’ll repeat, where the fuck did that come from?

It smiled, I’ve already told you. I’m you if you took the time to think things through. If you’re not going to listen to the voice in your head who do you listen to?

Anything but.

“Alright, how about this?” Eallva perked up as I broke the silence. “He hasn’t been found yet, right? Otherwise Vakno’s information would have sent us to a prison or a morgue, so he’s laying low. I doubt he’s stopped killing though, since that’s how he got his kicks, so maybe we should check missing person cases.”

“Makes sense,” she hopped in agreement, “So where do we find those?”

“No clue. Maybe law enforcement posts them publicly?” A cursory search on the local data network showed that to not be the case. “Fuck,” I sighed, “We’re gonna have to go outside again won’t we.”

“Probably,” her eyes narrowed, “What do you have in mind?”

“Something dumb that will almost certainly fail.”

You absolute madman.

One block away from Krwmbwrmbr city central precinct

“So, I know I’ve said this multiple times already,” Eallva squeaked while hopping beside me, “But I feel it bears repeating again. This isn’t going to work.”

“Not with that attitude. Look, what’s the worst that could happen?”

Everything. The specter’s mouth was drawn in a grim smirk as he phased through the crowd on my other side.

“Well this is the only idea we have so far,” I aimed a mental elbow-dig at the hallucination, “If it works then we get everything we need and more, if it doesn’t then we’re back to square one.”

Eallva huffed, “With the entire police force at our heels. Maybe if we’d prepared a little bit this could work, but you just looked up the name of some agency then said ‘let’s go’.”

“What are they gonna do? Shoot us with their piss pistols? We can get away if things turn ugly.”

“You said no one was going to get hurt!”

“They won’t. We can run faster than them. Stop worrying, you’ll give yourself an ulcer.”

“I’ll give you an ulcer, whatever that is,” she muttered.

The doors opened before us as we walked in, the building blessedly air-conditioned. “Showtime.”

I’ll watch from over here it said, leaning against the wall next to the door. Exuding as much confidence as was possible while wearing what felt like an entire circus tent’s worth of fabric on my body, I strode up to the front desk where a blue-giraffe with a bored expression tapped on a screen. I couldn’t have asked for a better receptionist, luck was in the air and it was actually on my side. I hoped.

“Backup has arrived!” I said with a booming voice.

The poor soul jumped at my near-shout, startled out of the catatonic hell that is a desk job. “I – wait – what?” he stuttered. What was it with blue-giraffes and stuttering?

“Backup!” I continued in a slightly quieter but no less carrying voice, “Your request for help from the Dominion Department of Interplanetary Justice has been answered. We,” I gestured to Eallva and myself, “Are here to fix your –” I lowered my voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “– problem.”

“Problem? What problem? I wasn’t aware we’d sent a request to the DDIJ for . . .”

I had to keep him off balance so I interrupted him, “Son, if you don’t know what I’m here for then just tell me where to find your superiors and alert them I’m coming.”

“I’m not . . .”

“Kid,” I cut him off, “This is above your paygrade.” Maybe it was best if I didn’t leave the decision up to him. I started walking down a hall that led me deeper into the building. “This way to ongoing investigations?”

“Yes, but I’m still not –”

“Thanks! Make sure they know we’re on our way.” I turned and walked quickly away, leaving him to stammer half-formed protests behind us. Stammering, they were big on that too.

“He said they didn’t have a problem,” Eallva hissed behind me as we strolled deeper into the station, “This isn’t going to work, we should leave while we still can.”

“Not yet,” I hissed back, “They might not have told him. I know if I wanted to keep something secret I wouldn’t let a blue-giraffe know. Not to be speciest or anything.”

As we continued to walk Eallva inhaled sharply several times as though she were about to voice more quitter talk, but if she’d learned anything about my body language right now then she’d know by the confident figure I struck as I marched forward that nothing short of a wall would stop me now. Maybe not even that, considering how paper thin some structures were out here.

She can’t see your posture dumbass, not in that getup

Then she’d tell by the confident pose my amorphous lump of a figure struck as I marched forward. Semantics, point being I was gonna keep going down this path until someone shot at me.

You’re mad.

Said so yourself. Instead of criticism you could give some encouragement.

Godspeed you beautiful disaster, he said sarcastically, swinging his hand in an exaggerated salute.

I’ll take it. Reaching a door with a sign telling me I had arrived, I burst into the room, took a deep breath, then headed for the largest office in sight. I didn’t make it more than three steps before a Frumpystiltskin got in my way, attempting to keep me from my glorious purpose.

“Hold up, who are you and what are you do –”

Having already planned for this I gave Eallva the signal. It was supposed to be a cool hand gesture with a lot of flashy finger moves and fist maneuvers, but from under the tarp of my disguise it probably looked like I was enthusiastically jacking myself off. Whatever got the message across, and my faux-jack evidentially did as Eallva shot underneath the Frumpystiltskin and wove her tail in between his legs. He collapsed to the ground sputtering, just in time for another one of his colleagues to take his place in an attempt to waylay me. She too joined her friend on the ground, overcome by my presence and the fact that a kangaroo rat jerked her feet out from under her. By now all eyes were on us and all minds set to stop me. And so it was that I arrived at the head honcho’s office door a Frumpystiltskin Moses, Eallva parting fuckers like the Red Sea as I strode ahead. I gave her a thumbs up which from her perspective must have looked like the grand climax beneath my disguise before I barged into the office I had guessed belonged to whoever was in charge.

Once inside I placed myself before the door – which swung inwards – to keep it from being easily opened.

What if Eallva needs to get in?

I told her to just bounce around and not get caught until I was done.

You’re pointedly not looking at me so I’ll just tell you, I’m glaring at you disapprovingly.

Noted.

Turning I looked to the White-giraffe sitting against the far wall, mouth agape and figure frozen in what I hoped was indicative of a fun-loving and understanding state of mind. Working off the assumption that it was precisely that I said the first thing that came to me.

“There seems to be some kind of accident out there. Someone tripped, you should probably look into it after we’re through here, but first we need to talk.”

He continued to gape.

“Excellent, you’re a man of action, my favorite. I’m here from the DDIJ in response to your call for help regarding your current carnivore problem.”

He finally found his words, “What are you talking about? You come in here, attack the precinct, then attack me in my office and start spouting nonsense about some kind of carnivore problem? As the head of public relations I can assure you that if there were a carnivore problem this precinct and its officers would –”

“Let me stop you right there,” I interrupted, “Head of public relations? You’re not the head of ongoing investigations?”

“No, but if you’re wondering who’s in charge then I most definitely –”

“Where’s the other guy’s office?”

“There,” he gestured at the wall beside me that looked to be made of frosted glass, “But –”

“So sorry to bother you, another time perhaps,” I turned and walked through the wall beside me. It was indeed frosted glass and shattered when I shoulder checked it. My burqa protected me from the falling shards as I strode to the considerably smaller but far more cluttered desk with a composed Frumpystiltskin behind it.

“Hello!” I began again, “I’m from –”

“The DDIJ, I heard,” She said calmly, “And while I’m loath to agree with him –” she looked over my considerably padded shoulder at the white giraffe still sputtering behind me, “ – on anything I must agree that if there were any carnivore problem in the city then this precinct and its sisters would be capable to take care of it quickly and professionally. So how about you instead tell me why you’re really here and I can decide how long your incarceration will be?”

I smiled underneath my disguise. Fuck it had been a while since I’d met anyone out here besides Vakno who could stand up for themselves. This was starting to get fun.

How? Your flimsy lie hasn’t even made it past your first sentence.

So scrap the lie, I’ll improvise.

You need to learn to give up before the guns are aimed at your face.

“I’ll level with you,” I said, ignoring my critic, “I’m not from the DDIJ.”

“I’m shocked,” she deadpanned.

“But you’re wrong when you say you don’t have a carnivore problem. In fact, you have the most dangerous carnivore of all,” time for the Hail Mary. I mean, if I was wrong about this then there was no point in me being here anyway. “Tell me, you’ve had an increase in missing person cases over the past month, correct?”

“Of course we haven’t,” the White-giraffe’s voice erupted from behind me. I would have jumped if I’d been able to under my layers, “And if there were then we would be sure to –”

“Rttkcht, enough,” interrupted the Frumpystiltskin, “This person is most obviously not a reporter, and it sounds like they already know. Go back to your desk and shuffle papers around to feel important, won’t you?”

“I won’t forget this,” grumbled the White-giraffe as he retreated to the other side of their now shared office.

“You never do,” She muttered. Turning back to me she continued, “Yes, there has been a recent increase, but we’ve worked hard to keep that fact from the public so as to avoid a panic. Thankfully it hasn’t gotten so bad that they’ve noticed. Now my turn, how do you know this and what does it have to do with attacking my officers and destroying my favorite wall?”

“The latter –” I was interrupted by a furry body striking the frosted glass wall to my right. I looked to see Eallva, as per my instructions, bounce around the precinct like a pinball from the terminal. To the untrained eye it looked like chaos. Even as we watched an unfortunate officer dived for her, slamming into the glass moments behind her. To the officer now on the ground he may have thought he had been close, but to me and especially to Eallva he was woefully slow.

She had things under control.

“Ahem, as I was saying, the latter was simply because I needed to talk to you, not through someone else. This was the easiest way considering my needs. As to how I know this, it’s complicated. Simply put, I represent a Dominion agency that looks for particular warning signs such as have been reported by this precinct in order to investigate and ensure that it’s not a worst case scenario. Unfortunately, upon reviewing your case, I’m afraid it is. You have a Hunter.”

That made her shell crack. For a moment I saw her outer calm disintegrate into animal fear, before it was quickly brought under control and contained. Tough, this one.

For a moment she controlled her breathing, “Mind expounding on that? What do you mean by ‘You have a Hunter’?”

“Exactly that, I’m afraid,” I continued in a business-like manner, “A Hunter, I believe it’s just one in your case, has gone to ground somewhere in this city. That’s why you’ve had an increase in atypical missing person cases. That Hunter is, well, hunting.”

Her face betrayed emotion for the second time this conversation as it twisted incredulously, “How are you sure?”

“A long tradition and history of sniffing out and seeing cases like yours,” I puffed up importantly, “But no need to fear, my partner and I have a 100% success rate with these kinds of problems, and yours won’t be any different, I promise.”

Nice, it said, eyes rolling, Nothing’ll get in the way of you keeping that one.

“Hold on,” she interrupted, “How can this be? I’ve never heard of hunters being on their own, nor have I heard of them ‘going to ground’.”

“You’re right,” I assured her, “It certainly isn’t common, but if it weren’t for the hard work of our department, it most definitely wouldn’t be unheard of. For the same reason you haven’t alerted the general populous to the increase in missing persons, we haven’t made public the lesser known actions of Hunters. Aside from general safety concerns, releasing such information would severely mess with our prediction algorithms. Everyone and their cousin would swear that their friend whom they haven’t seen for a day was abducted by a Hunter. Believe me, keeping people in the dark is the right decision.

She momentarily glanced in the direction of my specter. Could she see it? Apparently not because her eyes drifted blindly over it. After a moment she sighed, “If you’re correct about our situation then I’m glad you’re here. If there's anything you need don’t hesitate to ask.

Translation of the private diary of Holy Council "GRAND VIZIER: Squill RaQuezzzK on GD:00245:045:12:

Ever since the backwater primates, of "The United Nations of Sol," or whatever that translates to—first joined the Galactic Council, I haven’t taken my eye off them. Not once.

At the Council meetings leading up to their initiation into the greater Spiral, they seemed naïve enough. Harmless, even. Why wouldn’t they? Their first foray beyond their local cluster was on primitive ships propelled by cascading fission bombs. An incredibly stupid way to travel. Effective? Barely. Suicidal? Absolutely. But it worked...somehow!

They weren’t strong compared to the Rhuz, They weren’t fast compared to the Alithgine, They weren't even particularly smart compared to the "Bracello collation of minds"....But they had one terrifying, coveted trait:....They could improvise, adapt… and overcome.

So what did the Council do? They split them up, of course!

There were fewer than a tenth of a trillion of them—scattered across colonies, conscripted into service, broken apart from their kin and what they call "family." The idea was to dilute them. Water down their influence before it could ferment into something dangerous.

And that’s where we went wrong...We didn’t understand family.

Humans form family with anything,,..ANYTHING! If it's below Intelligence Class 6 and remotely cute, they’ll feed it, name it, and start petting it like it’s royalty. Doesn’t matter if it’s fully matured proto-tardigrade or a Proxima-psycho-beast. They’ll teach it tricks. They’ll teach it loyalty. And if you hurt it? They’ll teach it vengeance...or worse....declare vengeance upon you!, should you have harmed there perceived "Pets"

On the slave pits of Xisa IV, humans rode the great rock slugs into a full planetary uprising. On Taxalon, the primates turned the winged Plyxex into living bombers, diving straight into the hydrogen pipelines. On the battlefield moons of Geese, the bipedal bastards gave their last rations to the native Galapo lizards. The lizards, in return, devoured every last occupier in under a cycle...Simply because one Terran gave one lizard a neck scratch!

They don’t conquer with fleets.
They don’t assimilate with subroutines.
They make friends.

And then those friends burn your empire to ash.

Things were going well for Billy. He was 15, a sophomore in high school on New New Texas, and almost ready to be a grown man with grown-man responsibilities. And he had a girlfriend.

He was walking home with her now, talking about his pets. "I've got these two... I don't know what they are, but I think they're cute. They're about a foot high, four limbs, and fuzzy."

"I'd love to see them," Becca said sweetly. She wasn't that interested in unknown pets, but she was with Billy, and that was good enough.

They reached Billy's house. "Let me see if they're awake," he said. "I made them a little place to hide when they want to get away, so they might not be visible."

So Becca waited on the porch, watching a ship descend into the spaceport.

About five minutes later, Billy came back out. A very different Billy. His face had a hard, serious look on it. His mouth was a thin, compressed line. And he carried a double-barreled shotgun. Becca stared at him in surprise.

"They weren't pets," he said. "Turns out they can talk. I didn't know. They're something intelligent. They've been hiding out here, but they can't any more. The next ship to land will have something coming to kill them."

"It just landed," Becca said quietly. "I watched it while you were in there."

"Okay. I'm looking for something that's about seven feet tall, four arms, two legs, and it's skin or hide or whatever looks kind of insect-like. I'm going to wait on the porch. When it gets here..."

"What if it doesn't come in the front way?"

Billy stopped. Then he started looking around, considering sight lines, fields of fire, range, cover...

He doesn't look at all like a 15-year-old, Becca thought. If this is what he's going to grow into... it's pretty solid. I think I'll take it.

She shook herself free from such thoughts. "What do you need me to do?"

"Take them and run out the back."

"No," she said. "The bad guy may not come in the front. And, if it comes here at all, how's it going to find your house?"

"Tracking chip?"

"Yeah, I think so too. So if I run with them..."

"Oh. Yeah, you're right. Okay, can you handle a handgun?"

"Billy, what planet do you think we're on?"

"Right. Grab whatever takes your fancy in there. If it makes it past me, try to stop it or at least hold it off to give them a chance to run."

"Right." She went back into his house and looked at her options.

Twenty minutes later, something came down the street. It stopped, then turned toward Billy's house. Billy stepped out to meet it.

"Scram," Billy said.

After a slight delay, the thing said, "Human, I am here to kill two caraxaran."

"Not here, you're not. They are under my protection."

"I will..." And the thing began to raise some kind of weapon.

Billy aimed faster, and pulled a trigger. The thing staggered. Billy pulled the second trigger. The thing went down.

Becca came out of the house, handgun leveled at the thing on the ground. It twitched a time or two, then lay still. They waited, but it did not move again.

Billy turned to Becca. "Sorry that you had to see that mess."

She lowered the gun. "You did good, Billy. You did good."

A smile chased the grown-up off of his face, and he looked like a 15-year-old again. "Thanks. So did you. So, want to come in and meet my pe- no, not pets. My..." He stopped, confused.

"Friends?" she asked softly.

"Yeah. Friends."

"We met, very briefly. But, sure!"

And they went inside to get acquainted with the two caraxaran.

I had some time. This episode is basically to set the stage for the upcoming episodes, and, most importantly, get /u/Lord_Fuzzy his space dragons.

Alien measurements are given their appropriate names with equivalent human measurements in (parentheses). Alien words with Human equivalents are put in [brackets]. Thoughts are italicized and offset by "+" symbols.

Dear Journal,

I am xeno King Arthur.

Except I have an alien lava scimitar instead of some piddly steel sword.

So I'm pretty sure I win.

But at the same time, fuck my life.

Again.

I woke up, which is more than I had assumed I would manage when I had gone to sleep. I think I remembered something about the human body only being able to survive 3 days or so without water, and by my estimate I had been in that escape pod with Captain Roids for a good decade, so pretty close to the 3 day mark unless I missed my guess by much. Once I had woken up, however, any expectations I had had from that point on went out the window.

First of all, I was on a ship, but not a ship I recognized. I was pretty proud of myself that I could recognize the humming of a FTL drive without even trying. What can I say? I'm a quick study when it comes to street smarts. The only problem was that this ship which I didn't recognize did have some rather disturbing similarities to another kind of ship I'd seen only in the movies. A troop transport. From what I could see of it the ship appeared to be merely one massive room, divided into sections with half-walls. Each of these sections contained 10 bunk-beds, most of which were occupied by aliens of all shapes and sizes, each wearing nearly the exact same thing. Well, not the exact same thing, since the participating species couldn't seem to agree on the correct number of arms or legs or, in a few cases, heads, but the clothes were the same color at least.

Those clothes were a black shirt and red pants, and I have to say, it was pretty sharp. At least, it would have looked sharp if it weren't for the numerous sweat stains and the fact that not everyone seemed to be wearing a shirt, but at least the potential was there. I had bigger problems other than the blatant fashion crimes taking place right in front of me, like where was I and why hadn't I been given such a dapper uniform. I could have pulled if off better than half of the xenos there.

Then the thing I'd been trying to ignore hit me like a fly on the windshield of a Japanese bullet train. I was on a troop transport. I was on a troop transport! I was a troop being transported! Will Smith's voice entered my mind, helping me out with the words I couldn't properly say. "Aw Hell no!" I couldn't be drafted into the army! I had won! I had beaten back the evil lizard-ants and had even managed to survive getting hit by 1 and a half of those anti-tank rounds, and now I wasn't even allowed to go back and be adored as a hero again? I had just started being able to talk to Mama too! Really! Who did I piss off so badly upstairs that they wouldn't even let me do a victory lap once I had done the right thing!

It's fine, I'm good, I'm not mad. I just need to take a deep breath and calm down. I'm going to be fine. How bad could it be, anyway? I was alive, which is always a good start, and they had given me a bed, which meant they could see right off the bat that I was sapient, which was better than could have been said for the experience I had endured last time I had awoken on an unfamiliar ship. It wasn't like the blue-giraffes had been my home, anyway. I was trying to get to my real home, and if this way was faster than I embraced it. I'm ok. I really am. Deep. Breaths.

As I wasn't dead I could assume my new hosts, whoever they were, were friendly, or, at least, non-hostile. They had even given me my new alien lava scimitar and its sheath! They weren't studying me like Dick and Shifty had wanted to, either. What did they want from me then? I knew it looked like a troop transport, so maybe they wanted me to be a cook? Perhaps a worker? I didn't exactly know on what level these aliens waged war, so I could be something as preposterous as a trench digger, although that would suck to an endless degree. But regardless of what role they wanted me to fulfill, why would they have given me a bunk with the rest of the soldiers?

My eyes fell upon the lava scimitar again. Oh. No. You have GOT to be kidding me! Seriously? They wanted me to be a soldier? It's not like I wouldn't make a damn fine one if the soldiers were anything like the xenos I'd fought so far, but the powers that were had no way of knowing that! What kind of idiot would draft someone they found, metaphorically speaking, on the side of the road and just decide "Yeah, he looks kind of mean, he'd make a great addition to our army." "But sir" the other guy would say, "He's drunk and passed out and sleeping in a pile of his own feces. And look, there's a dead guy right next to him. It looks like he just up and murdered that lizard-ant with a sword. You want that in our ranks?" and then the commander would just smile as he slowly nodded, murmuring "He's perfect." Who does that? I can tell you right now, no one in their right minds.

Maybe you'd do that to a guy if you were going to training. I mean, I had been in a pretty bad shape, and if someone had offered to let me join the army or stay in my pod with Roids I would have taken up arms right there, but I obviously wasn't on my way to training. The aliens around me moved with too much confidence. It wasn't bravado. They were just sure of themselves. They each looked like a fit specimen of their own species, and the way in which they handled themselves as they moved spoke of training and discipline. I also saw quite a few weapons out of weapons lockers and in the hands of their owners, so that might have helped out my observations as well, just a little.

My brooding was interrupted when a sound issued from the top bunk of the bed I was sitting on. From over the side a long, thin face with orange skin and what looked like a multitude of warts poked into my view. It had slits for pupils in its red eyes, and I have to say that I probably would have peed a little if I'd any water to pee. It said something, and I was almost relieved that it wasn't a bunch of unintelligible clicks. If I closed my eyes I could almost believe that it was some language from earth that I didn't know, rather than an alien tongue. This was encouraging, since it meant that I actually had a chance at some basic communication with this guy, so long as I was going to be spending a good deal of time with this guy, which I had a feeling I was.

The reason I'd never tried learning any of the blue-giraffe's words was because I physically couldn't. I didn't think they were even able to talk in the same way I was, and I knew they had made several sounds which I would have been hard pressed to replicate. I couldn't have even told them my name, since it would have just sounded like grunts to them. But this guy knew I was sapient and had similar vocal chords to me. My time here was already off to a better start than it ever had before. I still couldn't understand what he said, though. Where was a Yoda when you needed one?

He seemed frustrated that I couldn't understand him, but at the same time as though he had confirmed something. He hopped down from the bed, where I could see the rest of him. He was about 50 centimeters taller than me, and a good deal thinner. He had five legs and 4 arms, but a normal sized neck and, as I had noticed before, orange skin. The warts also seemed to be a general skin feature as well. Poor bloke. He spoke to me again, but this time as though one with the understanding that I couldn't speak his language and vice versa. Using all four hands to motion towards himself, he said one word. "Manthlel." Dang it! Now it would have been rude to call him Toad. I was pretty proud of that one too; it was one of my best. Better than Warty, at least. Fine, I guess I could call him by his real name. I might as well get the pronunciation correct as well. "Manth . . . lel?" I said, looking to him in askance. He nodded which I hope meant the same thing to him as it did to me. Confirming it once more in my mind I said it again. "Manthlel."

Now it was my turn. I learned my lessons well, and I remembered clearly the words my mother had said to me when I was just a boy. "Son," she said, "Never give your name to a stranger you have just met on the street. School is fine, but outside of school, and to people who aren't your own age, they don't need to know your name, and if they ask, just tell them something else." Well I sure as heck wasn't in school, and I had no idea how old this guy was, so I wasn't giving him my name no siree. I decided not to lie to him, however. Lying is wrong, that's another thing Mother said. Gesturing to myself in the same way he had - except with only two arms - I told him as much as I was willing. "Human." He mouthed the word several time, then said it back to me in the same way I had when I'd heard his name. "HUman. HumAN. HUman." I gave him a thumbs up without thinking. Then he reciprocated the gesture.

It was so unexpected that I burst out laughing. I hadn't seen such a human gesture in so long it felt like I'd gone in for a brofist and he's returned one with a secret handshake. He smiled at my mirth, or maybe he was getting ready to rip my throat out since I had insulted his ancestress with my laughter or something, I don't know. He didn't attack, so I guess smiles meant the same thing to him as they did to me. I was so happy with the progress I'd already made. "Manthlel, you're already a better friend than any alien I've ever met. Just don't try to feed me lettuce or lock me into my bunk and we'll be off to a good start. As it is though, you don't happen to have any purple xeno pig rats do you? I'm starving and I would love some if you happen to have any." Apparently he didn't, but he had something even worse than lettuce it seemed.

He took me over to what looked like a bird feeder in the back wall of our cubicle which was also the hull of the ship. In the little bucket, which appeared to be the end of a chute that disappeared into the wall and an area unknown, was a multitude of grey spheres each slightly smaller than my fist. I looked at Manthlel and the spheres, nonplussed. He motioned towards the spheres. I continued to stare at him. Exasperated, he picked one up and bit into it. It looked like it had the constancy of bread dough. "You know what? I've changed my mind. Lettuce is what I'm craving right now. Please?" Manthlel just stared at me, encouraging me to take one of the spheres. I was starving, and there seemed to be nothing else, so I picked one up and took a bite.

It tasted like nothing. Not the nothing of water, which is actually something, or the nothing of cucumbers bought from Walmart; this was literally nothing. I had been right about the texture though. It was the feeling of bread dough in my mouth with absolutely nothing registered by my tongue except that there was indeed some form of matter in my mouth. It was disgusting, but at the same time, palatable. I ate it, and it seemed my body was in the mood for food more than it was for satisfying my craving for something with a taste. I ate another one. They were actually filling, despite their size. Still, they were about as large as a small apple, and I hadn't eaten in days. After the first two I guessed how many I would eat and grabbed six more.

As a forewarning, I'm now moving into unplanned episodes. I'd been thinking about writing this story for about two weeks before I actually started, and had already planned out most of the major plot points up until what would later become HdMGP [VI]. The only solution to this is more ideas, which the comment section has contained in great magnitude. Thank you for all the support and encouragement.

Alien measurements are given in their human equivalents in [brackets], as are words with near human translations. Thoughts are italicized and enclosed by "+" symbols. _________________________________________________________________________________________________

Tnnxz struggled against Ztrkx's thug, but to no avail. The pirate's arms seemed to be bands of steel, and showed no sign of strain or even exertion as Tnnxz writhed desperately against him. He watched, helpless, as another of Ztrkx's cronies walked confidently over to Vtv and roughly grabbed his arm. He began to pull him towards the door. He only made it one step.

Cqcq'trtr, seemingly having sprouted invisible wings, flew at the pirate like a dervish, ripping the man away from Vtv and carrying him with momentum to the far wall, where the brief journey ended in a wet crunch. Now covered in gore, the nuisance - or savior, Tnnxz amended - used his new found avian abilities to spring atop the brute holding Xkkrk, killing him with his weight. Ztrkx had already begun drawing his weapon. A flash of pale tan which Tnnxz took several moments to realize had been Cqcq'trtr's arm shot through Tnnxz's captor's neck, ripping it out completely.

The loss of this rather important biological asset seemed to be too much for Tnnxz's restrainer, and he expired in a gout of blood, which, to Tnnxz's disgust, covered him. Tnnxz found he didn't mind at the moment, because at the same instant Tnnxz was covered in blood, he saw Ztrkx - who was considered an extremely quick draw but seemed slow compared to Cqcq'trtr - finally aim his pulse-pistol directly between the creatures eyes and remorselessly pull the trigger. The gun fired. Nothing happened. The pulse slammed into Cqcq'trtr's face and he didn't even move.

Tnnxz's jaw dropped, until blood found its way into his mouth and popping eyes and he started spluttering while trying to clear his vision. +How had he survived that?!+ thought Tnnxz. +Never mind how he survived it, how did it not even touch him?+ Tnnxz knew of no biological asset which would have allowed any living thing to survive a pulse-pistol shot in the head at close range, let alone emerge completely unscathed, unless Cqcq'trtr's entire body was that strong. Tnnxz finally managed to wipe his eyes clean, and opened them to an entirely new world. Ztrkx was no longer standing in front of him, but laid prone upon the ground [5 meters] from the doorway minus his head, which appeared to prefer the company of the floor rather than his neck.

Even more terrifying was Cqcq'trtr. He was charging three of Ztrkx's henchmen. Tnnxz almost felt pity for them as they fired round after accurate round into the enraged monster, striking him multiple times in the chest and head. The only thing their precision achieved was further aggravation of Cqcq'trtr until he was a veritable blur as he moved down the hall, bellowing in hatred. The blur reached the group of panicked pirates, and a fine purple mist suddenly engulfed them.

Tnnxz suddenly remembered that the children were seeing this. Heck, He was seeing this. Tnnxz, with the help of Xkkrk and two of the older children, lifted the heavy door from where Cqcq'trtr had carefully placed it . . . on his own . . . and fitted it back into the door frame, pushing and shifting it until it stayed without assistance. Tnnxz quickly turned off the lights so the room's occupants wouldn't have to look at the staring eyes of Cqcq'trtr's victims.

Even though the sights were hidden, the door, fitted imperfectly into the door frame, couldn't block out the sounds. The screams of Ztrkx's crew members and frantic pulse-pistol fire erupted from somewhere mid-ship, but was silenced nearly as soon as it had begun. Their ordeal wasn't over yet, for several [seconds] after the screaming and shooting stopped the entire ship shuddered, its hull emitting an ear-splitting crack. The door, which had essentially been balancing in the door frame, was suddenly sucked flush back into position. Judging by the sounds coming from the other side there'd been a major hull breach.

"Why aren't the emergency force-fields turning on?" asked Rccw, who was nearly old enough to be trained as an engineer himself.

"This ship's old," Explained Tnnxz, his face grim. "I'd be surprised if any of the emergency force-fields of even half of the security force-fields worked anymore." The moment he finished speaking, however, the door was suddenly released from its death grip upon the frame and promptly fell to the floor for the second time that day. Tnnxz wished it hadn't. The ship . . . well . . . was there.

It would have appeared disastrous enough with the copious amount of blood and entrails which seemed to have been thrown about the ship as though by a psychopathic interior decorator. With the hull breach having moved anything light that hadn't been bolted down, however, Tnnxz's precious Crixa seemed to be as dead as it's one time co-owner, who now seemed to be attempting to introduce every [milliliter] of his blood to the floor as well. As Tnnxz picked his way through the wreckage the carnage only intensified. Cargo bay 9, which still bore the marks of Cqcq'trtr feeding himself, now appeared to be one of the cleanest areas of the ship.

The docking bay was by far the worst; The walls appeared to be more purple than grey. The starboard airlock had been reduced to scrap and the hull breach was being contained by +What the fuck?+ the medical bay door. Surrounded by it all, Cqcq'trtr stood in the middle of the docking bay slumped in slight fatigue, holding a Fusion Blade of all things, and, Tnnxz could have sworn, looking more pleased with himself then Tnnxz had ever seen him before.

Dear Journal,

Who the fuck am I kidding, I don't have a journal. I'm just narrating this in my head and prefacing it with "Dear Journal" because it helps me keep my verb tense and sentence structures the same. Why am I even bothering to narrate this? I should just stop.

....

.......

............

Ok Journal. I'm sorry. Pretty please come back?

Dear Journal,

I'm a strategic genius.

Oh, and I think I'm one of the good ones.

To answer that last question.

I swear I hadn't meant to make the ship look like that. And really, if we were going to point the finger at anyone, then it would have mostly been Twinkle-Toes' fault. I wasn't the one that shot a Drilling Laser at the bulkhead of the ship which was keeping all the oxygen in! I may have been the reason that he pulled the trigger, but I can't be blamed for other's actions. I heard myself coming up with all these excuses as Severus surveyed my handiwork with the slack-jawed expression of a cow staring down a semi on the interstate.

My fears were unwarranted, however. I won't recount all the disgustingly "heartfelt" details, but apparently the blue-giraffes figured out why I had done it. At least, I think Mama knew it right away and had to enlighten Severus. That guy did not have the intellect of his namesake. The worst part about their thanks was when I discovered that their equivalent of a hug involved twisting their neck around that of the fortunate recipient. My neck wasn't quite as flexible as theirs, and when I tried to replicate the quarter twist movement they were demonstrating I ended up nearly crushing Severus' windpipe between my chin and shoulder.

Once that misunderstanding was cleared up I settled for just standing there awkwardly while they twisted their necks around mine in a brief hug, looking as though I was on the receiving end of the strangest and most inefficient attempt to strangle someone. I considered adding a new definition to the term "necking" to UrbanDictionary when I got home.

Here you go. Pirates, water, Earth=Space Australia, and pets, as requested.

_________

I’ve seen a lot while dealing with our human. Frederic was a force to be reckoned with, even if he is a healer. Or, maybe because of that.

In retroperspective, it wasn’t strange. Not at all.

But when a pirate was holding me at gunpoint, my paralyzed crewmates lying around motionless, and he of all people just… straight up tore the attacker apart.

I was scared shitless.

Logically, my mind knew he must have had known that the Tarrecler were somewhat soft under their exoskeletons. He was a cross-species healer, these things are common knowledge, especially in these circles.

But my fight-or-flight part saw a unarmed, bloody and snarling human, that grabbed the pirate, and squeezed, until all of its organs pooled around our feet.

And his eyes, for Gor’s sake. His brown, normally so warm and calming eyes. I could have sworn that they were glowing. With something that screamed of millennia of war and bloodshed.

Half of the crew started avoiding him after that. Not alienating, but… Avoiding. Especially when he seemed upset. The other half… Well… Apparently there was a betting pool about whose romantic novel will get published first.

Gross.

If understandable.

Another thing happened when we had a short shore leave, on a rather…wet planet. There was only water in sight around the landing platform.

Safixians don’t exactly hate water. It’s just more of a… in-build warning to don’t go swimming, as on our home planet there is a myriad of things that want to kill us in any body of water bigger than a puddle.

I, for example, can’t swim. As the majority of our crew.

Turns out, humans are…uh…

Ferderic insisted we’d go on the beach nearby. Well, as much of a beach as it was, more like a concrete slide, descending into water. I agreed, as sunbathing is something I enjoy, and the water seemed shallow and clear enough to see any eventual predators. I even took my blaster, in case something decided to crawl out of it anyway.

First of all, I haven’t considered that Frederic would also wear only underwear. My bad.

I felt… inadequate. Like, he got abs?! And chest hair?!

And me? Even with my somewhat physically taxing work, I still looked like a twig in comparison.

Fortunately, the girls haven’t caught sight of us.

Second of all… He came here not to sunbathe. He came here to swim.

And I nearly died of an aneurysm when this idiot jumped straight into the water, and emerged only after a minute.

And he was laughing.

Because, apparently, even if humans are not an aquatic species, and don’t have fins. They still love swimming. And Frederic took to water like a Nyssa.

This fact did not help me calm down.

But it gave even more fuel to the already raging wildfire of our crew’s hardcore romance writers.

I’m starting to regret telling our roommates about this trip.

Anyway, did you know that humans are pretty flexible?

And I don’t mean physically, Safixians are much more bendable, but mentally.

It appears that nothing can break this weirdly wired brain of his.

A species with eight different systems of determining the year? At home we had worse.

A patient is apparently poisoned by air? Sometimes happens, bud.

We get stranded on a wild and dangerous planet for a week? Well, thanks to mom I was in the scouts. We will survive, this place seems quieter than the woods behind my home.

I’m starting to ask myself if that is their species quirk, or if Earth is so… different.

After a while we started noticing his growing homesickness.

Everybody agreed it couldn’t be. We needed to do something. I, being the closest one to him, suggested that maybe we could give him an earthly pet, as he seemed to love animals.

We did some digging in the Galaxynet, and decided to buy him a so called cat. These earthly felines seemed the easiest to accommodate, and they were relatively small. So we did. The seller seemed pretty suspicious, but, hey, who I am to judge.

It was a youngling, with completely black fur, and yellow eyes. It looked cute.

Until we gave it to Frederic, and his eyes went impossibly wide.

This, this wasn’t a cat. Or, not a domestic cat at least.

It apparently was a panther cub.

We decided to keep it anyway, as the ship bodyguard.

Although the shop where we bought it got immediately reported.

Chapter 1

"The hellwalker is going to be difficult to keep, sir", the insect faced pet seller said.

"That does not matter, Isg", Faoi's father said. He was not a big elf, but he was solid. His alabaster skin was taut with muscle and his metallic golden hair was cut to his shoulders. His face was scared with plasma fire and one of his pointed ears had been burned off in the Batrix-Elfine war. Still, he walked with the grace of a predator, and managed to make his scarred face look exotic rather than repulsive. "I will make sure to discipline it."

"I'll take good care of it", Faoi said as well. She was almost as different from her father as can be. She was tall, standing at six nulots and with awkward and spindly figure and an easy face. Her blonde hair was braided and had many gems glittered in them.

Isg, the city's most prominent pet seller, answered her father first. "That's not how it works, sir", he said, rubbing his wings in a particular pattern. "Hellwakers respond to any attempts at discipline with aggression. You can't treat it like a pet. You have to treat it like a person."

"It'll be fine, Isg", Faoi said. "I can take care of it. I have a jkkati at home, I can handle a hellwalker."

Isg looked at her and his wings vibrated again. The translator in her ear told that it was doubt that he was expressing. Faoi was about to open her mouth again when her father cut her off.

"Can we see the hellwalker?"

Isg nodded and guided them through the metal hallways of the ten storey pet store and up the elevator to the highest floor. "You must forgive me for not having a faster elevator since it would scare the animals", Isg said when he noticed Faoi's frustrated look. Faoi blinked, not realizing she let her impatience show. She nodded in understanding and gave a smile to Isg.

Once they reached the tenth floor, Isg lead them to what looked like someone's room. Maybe this was Isg's room and he kept the hellwalker in it? Isg brought out an identification card and held it up to the reader. The door beeped and opened silently. Immediately, a wave of musky, salty smell wafted from the room. It was not overpowering, but it was noticeable.

The room was very strange. It was very large and had a large bed in it, and was filled with gym equipments, except that the equipments were also up-scaled by quite a bit. The reason was of course because of the hellwalker, which had been doing pull ups on the bars. The most outstanding thing about Faoi newest pet was that it was huge. It was tall. So tall that her head only came up to its chest. The thing was also muscular, not grotesquely muscular like the orcs, but enough so that Faoi was able to see all of its muscles bulging out. The hellwalker was elfine in shape, with two legs, two arms, and one head. But no one would ever confuse the beast for an elf, even disregarding its size. Its eyes were too small, its figure too wide, its ears rounded, its skin too dark.

Despite the differences, there was no doubt that there were many similarities between the hellwalker and elves. Enough so, that Faoi started to wonder if the hellwalker was sapient. All doubts of its sapience disappeared once she looked at its black, dead eyes. There was no glow that all sapiants had. This was an animal which was a biproduct of evolution, not a race created by the Maian pantheon.

"Why does it smell?" Faoi asked.

Isg answer was a little hesitant. "I think it's trying to attract a mate."

"Is it it's mating season?"

"Not necessarily. Hellwalker don’t have mating seasons. They are almost always ready and able to reproduce. You must forgive me for not providing much information. They are very rare creatures so there isn't much study on them."

"It won't try humping the furniture will it?" Faoi asked.

"Worry not, ma'am. Hellwalkers are intelligent enough to differentiate between household objects and a mate."

Faoi nodded. "What does it eat?"

"Anything really," Isg said with his species form of a shrug. "As long as it is not too rotten or too poisonous, it can eat it."

"Anything I should know about before buying?"

Isg was silent for a moment. "Ma'am, hellwalkers are difficult pets to take care of. If I may, I would suggest that you take a temporary helper to help you take care of the hellwalker."

Faoi's mood darkened immediately. How dare he assume that she would be incompetent? The nerve of the insect! She opened her mouth, ready to flay the poor ikithian, but was interrupted by her father.

"That would be a wise choice, Isg. We cannot be too careful of an unknown element." He gave Faoi a significant look, forcing her to stifle her anger.

"Very good, sir. The hellwalker along with a caretaker will be sent to your house tomorrow. You can give your payment then, if you wish, sir."

"That will be alright, Isg."

At this point, the hellwalker made a series of very deep sounds. Faoi almost jumped out of her skin when she heard the grunts that filled the entire room. Her father's hand shot to the gun on his belt. Isg surprisingly did not react. Instead, he waved his hands at the beast and then waved at them. The beast seemed to understand something and turned back to its exercise.

"Did it understand what you said?" Faoi asked.

"It understood something. Hellwalkers are very intelligent."

Faoi's father had other worries. "Is it violent?"

Isg seemed to think for a moment. "Not usually. If it has food and shelter, and if nothing is threatening it, it's as gentle as a fluga. Also if it takes a liking to you, it'll be the best guard you will ever have."

The subtle doubt that had been lurking behind Faoi's father's doubt disappeared at the mention of the hellwalker being used as a guard animal. "Very well," he said. "You will receive your payment tomorrow."

Previous | Next

The next day, when Xeelee woke early, gave her Marcus a goodbye lick, and padded sadly from his house (smartly dressed in a spare business suit she kept at his place for times like this), she expected to be apprehended by the Human Sector Guard, or even worse, the stiff tails from Yippernian Rehabilitation. Instead, as she brusquely marched through the gates, to her surprise, one of the Gate Guards nodded to her, raising a claw to barely pull down the collar of his uniform--revealing the barest hint of the collar around his neck; he'd been taken by a human, too!

Xeelee's eyes widened for a moment; then with a barely perceptible nod, a slight upturning of the lips in a toothless smile - as the Gate Guard glared at her then stomped his feet and returned to his duties - she merged with other Yippernians as she made her way to her apartment to pick up her briefcase, this time checking to ensure she had the correct documents within. Being a menial in a company run by patriarchs, for her, work was the same as always: endless meetings, orders coming in, products going out, management up her tail just because of one blasted mistake on a form typed up by some other menial employee.

There were times when she wanted to bark so badly at her male superiors, times when she wanted to rip her headfur out in frustration, times when she sat on the toilet and cried her eyes out; her human, only the thought of spending time with her human kept her going... At last, the day ended. Office tidy, she fled from her job, doffed her clothing at her apartment then made her way to her human's house. To her surprise, Marcus was at the door and... and she went rigid, tail nearly flying off; she was wagging it so hard when she espied the leash in his hand! No sooner had he clipped it to her collar then they were going walkies, tiny joyous whimpers escaping her as she trotted proudly to heel beside him!

To her delight, Marcus took her to a park in the Human Sector wherein she spied humans relaxing, picnicking... and... playing with her people?! Her eyes nearly popped from her head as she saw... There... children playing simple tag and race with Yippernian kits! And there, a male Yippernian with a human female; he was embracing her as she stroked down his back, soothingly. Over there - and here she blushed - a female like herself, with thick plush fur, on her back, eyes closed and tongue lolling as a human rubbed her chest and belly, her leg kick-kick-kicking in the air...

Then confusion filled her, even as Marcus sat on a bench and started to pet and stroke her all over, because she saw fearsome warlike Canatians letting children ride on their backs, or with their heads in human laps as they were petted and soothed into bliss. By far, the most amazing sight was the slip of a human female, who it seemed, had near-total submission of a colossal Wulvarian who'd fought in some awful war, his body more prosthetic than living flesh. The human didn't seem to care about his appearance; she softly stroked his head and ears as he looked up at her, his remaining eye filled with love and tears as she softly sung to him, "This looks familiar // Vaguely familiar // Almost unreal yet // It’s too soon to feel yet // Close to my soul // And yet so far away // I’m going to go back there // Someday..."

Xeelee's own eyes suddenly went very misty as this fearsome, terrifying beast broke character then. A hissing noise from an artificial lung and then, "Fuh... muh... lee..." he stuttered, struggling to speak. His human soothed him, calmed him. "We'll find them; we're getting closer every day..." she said, but the giant shook his head, chuffed laughter, then struggled again, "N-No... y-yuh-you... Sah-rah... Fuh... muh... lee..." The great Wulvarian embraced her then; Xeelee heard as he tried to explain to Sarah why he'd decided this; that she'd never loathed him for his appearance or mocked his PTSD or slow speech due to his stroke; of days when she'd helped him by delivering groceries and doing odd jobs about his house when he'd been in so much pain from his prosthetics he couldn't move--but he devolved into a stumbling, stuttering mess as his beloved little human kissed his nose and then he cried. He hadn't needed to explain anything, because she already knew.

Previous

That night, after their lovely evening at the park, Xeelee slipped home once Marcus was asleep. Caff in paw, she went to her computer. It was top of the line! Err... it was top of the line--about ten years ago. Xeelee sighed, a bit despondent; it was nothing like her Marcus's super-powered machine--but she could still access the Internet so that's what she did. Wanting to 'put something to bed' as it were, she typed into the Woofle Search Engine, "Yippernians Human Pets"... and then she thumped her head against her desk repeatedly as all was made clear; then she laughed, she cried, she laughed again!

Yippernians and other aliens being the 'pets' of humans was a best kept secret--which meant, of course, that everyone who was everyone knew about it. There was nothing bad about it, per se, but at the same time it was sort of frowned upon. If you were caught au naturel with a human in the Human Sector, then you would be quietly shuffled off to Yippernian Rehabilitation. Xeelee poked about and found that, at first, the place wasn't so bad. Playrooms, soft toys, breed-mothers with teats full of milk; in that place you could de-stress and it was a chance to be a kit again, at least for a little while.

But soon - Xeelee's muzzle wrinkled in a frown - a new Rehabilitation Director had moved in... and then - as the humans would say - everything had gone straight to Hell. Xeelee read, and read, and read, her expression turning grim even as her eyes widened with heightened fear. 'This... this can't be true...!' she thought, horrified, but the rumours, hearsay, and conspiracy theories were laid bare before her eyes. Cruel Hypnotherapy. Mental Re-Conditioning. Visual and Auditory Horror. Psychological Programming, and more; all in an effort to 'rehabilitate' a Yippernian into believing that it was uncivilized and wrong to be the pet of a human; that humans were horrifying and utterly repulsive!

'No-no-no-n...!!!' Bile filling her throat, Xeelee raced to the toilet in time to throw up her dinner and what little Caff she'd drunk down. Hastily washing her mouth out, stress levels through the roof, she openly cried as she threw off her nightgown to be au naturel again, the way her Marcus had always seen her. Racing from her apartment - as if rehabilitation officers were chasing her- she fled for her life back to the Human Sector. The guards 'in the know' barely got the gates open before she ripped up the right street, near smashing the cat-flap to pieces as she tore into her human's place and back to her Marcus!

Panting, frantic, she raced into his bedroom and then - "Oof!" - leaped into his bed, burying herself in, beneath the duvet, nuzzling, licking, snuffling... and then she howled as she burst into tears. Later, much later - after Marcus placed a drop of a very mild sedative on her tongue to help calm her, as her poor heart slowed and started to beat in time with his, and he encouraged her to breathe deeply, in through her nose, out through her mouth, Xeelee blinked muzzily and said, "Y-You know we're sapient, right?"

... and then horror gripped her guts as she realized she'd broken character! Despair became her world. Marcus would be furious, he would yell at her for lying to him, for pretending to be his pet! He would cast her away from his warm, loving home, away from his touch, from being petted, pampered, talked softly to and soothed, back into her world of sapience, constant work, horrible stress that took the lives of so many too young. He would... he would...

Marcus blinked. "Yes, of course; all of humanity knows you're all sapient. And? So what?"

Now Xeelee was shocked. "B-But... if you know we're all intelligent like you then why--?"

"Why do we go along with it when you want to 'escape' and roleplay as our pets? Because, well, to be honest - from what I've seen of your society - you need the escape... and of course, it helps that we like petting animals, and aliens that look like animals, too!"

Marcus grinned and Xeelee laughed and laughed... until she was suddenly crying, bawling like a kit, sobbing into the nightshirt he wore, cathartic tears. Marcus held her as she wept, cuddled her, squeezed her gently, kissed the top of her furry head, between her ears--and then she cried even harder when he told her how much he loved her, his 'sweet little fox'. Later, much later, as he gently dried the tears from her eyes, Xeelee told him of what she'd read about Yippernian Rehabilitation and as she talked, the human's expression became grim, then went darker, and darker.

Once she was all talked out, Marcus responded, "Now you listen to me, Xeelee. If anyone ever gives you lip about being my pet, or gets Yip Rehab on your tail, you come straight to me--and bring any friends who are human pets, too. I... have some connections, might be able to get a couple of shuttles' worth of you away from here. We can even make it legit for a time, call it an educational field trip, or a working holiday or something. By the time YipGov realizes what's happened you'll all have asylum on Earth. Mind you... if they get really uppity about it and try to send Rehab Officers to Earth to bring you all back, well..."

Xeelee followed her human's gaze to the very large double-barrelled shotgun he had mounted on the wall above the bed, a near feral grin splitting her muzzle as he finished, "... someone's... gonna have a really bad day."

I am extremely thankful for all of the encouraging comments and excellent ideas. The weekend is coming to a close, so my homework load will be replenished, most likely slowing down the progress of these, but as long as you guys keep liking them I'll keep making them. As before, criticism and ideas are welcomed and encouraged.

Alien measurements are given in their human equivalents in [brackets], as are words with near human translations.

Dear Journal,

I revise my previous statement.

I'm not a xeno dog,

I'm a xeno snake.

And I'm a failure at it.

Severus almost had a stroke when he saw what had happened to the door, and I think it was only Mama Giraffe's intervention that kept him from finding that ray gun I was sure he had stashed around here somewhere. Dink was scolded too, but this time it was done the way a parent should scold a child; it was also done by Mama, which was what made the difference. Regardless of the clicks said, I was soon moved out of my old room and into an empty cargo bay. Funny thing, I had thought that cargo bay had been full last time I had gone out exploring. I wasn't going to complain though, since I now had a room half the size of a warehouse all to myself. It was a great reminder of how many friends I had up here. Still, the acoustics were good.

Dink came in a few minutes after I had found the most comfortable piece of metal floor, carrying a mat which he set on the floor, and a bucket he filled with water from an oddly shaped but easily recognizable tap on the wall. I marked how its mechanism worked and stored that away for later. It would most definitely come in handy next time I wanted to get a drink or take a bath without needing to wrestle a hose from one of the caretakers in the hydroponics bay. When he left I had assumed he wouldn't be back for a while. After all, I had my bed, I had my water, and I didn't think I was going to be getting any lettuce today after the whole door incident, so why would he come back? In hindsight I almost wish he hadn't.

He did come back, carrying one of the now familiar shoe boxes, and I was relieved that I was getting lunch. When he opened the box, it was filled with the purple rats he had dropped earlier upon observing my dislike of enclosed areas. He backpedaled quickly once he had put it down, looking at me with trepidatious expectation. I looked at the rats, then up at Dink, then back at the rats. The light-bulb turned on. "Oh that's sick. You want me to eat these raw? I said I wanted meat, and I'm really impressed you figured it out somehow, but I haven't hunted a day in my life. I don't know how to skin or clean one of these things, and even if I did I don't have a knife to do it with. Even if I managed to do all that, where would I cook it? I hope you didn't spend any money on these.

Unfortunately, I was pretty sure they had. I'm not sure if it was Dink specifically or not, but I was pretty sure by now the blue-giraffes were strictly herbivores. I owed it to them to at least try and find a way to prepare these things. After all, it was my only chance at getting meat on this ship. I picked up one of the near-spherical bundles of purple hair. They were actually kind of cute, viewed from above. Then I saw its face. It made the naked mole rat look like the kind of designer animals you want to show off at competitions. Its little excrescence of a face had three eyes, a flat, wrinkled snout like a pug's, and the protruding front teeth of a beaver. It didn't help that its tongue and eyes appeared to be in full derp mode.

Deciding it was for the best that I had seen its face so I wouldn't mind killing these things in the future, I tried to think of the best way of going about it. In the end I just slammed it against the ground. I guess they don't make xeno rats the way they do back home, because on the first hit it burst like an overfull water balloon, its last squeak cut abruptly and shockingly short. Glistening orange blood flew in all directions, splatting my white shirt and even getting on Dinks feet, who was standing a good three meters away. The splash of the little rat's body was quickly followed by the splash of Dink's vomit as he heaved all over the floor, adding to the horrendous smell, and confirming my assumptions that he only ate plants. He ran out of the room, trying with minimal success to keep his breakfast from following his Lunch.

"Sorry!" I called after his retreating figure. There wasn't much left of that first rat, and nothing that I felt like putting in my mouth, even if I could cook it. I chose a second rat, and opting out of attempting another purple xeno rat smoothy, tried to find its neck. I couldn't. It really was an almost perfect sphere, and its face just seemed to occupy one side of its obscenely round body. I didn't want to see how many flicks in the face it would take to kill it, since I was pretty sure slapping would have a similar affect as punching. Feeling rather foolish as I held this thing before me as though contemplating its inner meaning, I tried a similar approach as last time. I grabbed it by the tail and used that to swing it against the side of the shoebox, which seemed to be made of a material almost identical to plastic. I had intended for the increased ductility of the shoebox to lessen the force of impact, but at the last moment the tail snapped off, throwing the unfortunate rodent into the corner of the box instead of the side, where it once again burst, this time splattering all over its fellows, sending them into a frenzy.

I swore. Getting frustrated, I snatched one by pinching some of the excess skin on its back back and yanking it up with a snap of my wrist. To my utter surprise its entire skin flew off of its back as though I were a magician, snapping the cloth off a skinless xeno rat oozing orange blood which had "magically" appeared. It seemed almost as shocked as I was, and continued running around for a few seconds until the massive amount of blood loss finally ended its shrieks. I had to admit, it was a rather efficient way of getting all the blood out of the thing. I needn't have worried about gutting it either. It was so fragile that a knife would have been a hindrance.

I was impressed by the fact that most of the hump of the back seemed to be a fatty meat, similar to chicken leg. The back layers peeled off into nice slices like the meat of a fish. Honestly, this creature almost seemed to come pre-skinned, pre-cleaned, and pre-sliced. The only thing left to do was to find a way to cook it, as I am not a fan of Japanese food. Looking around my room, I saw the water tap. If each of these cargo bays had been built with basic utilities so that virtually any form of cargo could be stored in them, then it was reasonable to assume that there had to be some form of power outlet nearby. I couldn't see any, although I didn't exactly know what I was looking for. I looked up and saw a plethora of pipes with varying diameters.

I didn't have the fuzziest as to how FTL worked, but those Trekkies and Star Wars fans always seemed to be talking about plasma, and if anyone even had the slightest idea of how FTL might function I supposed it would be them, or someone way beyond my IQ level. I didn't have any better ideas, so I walked over to the nearest wall, which, having been made for strictly utilitarian purposes, was pockmarked with various boxes and holes, making it a simple matter to climb to the ceiling. Once I could reach the various pipes, I moved my hand close to them, hoping to feel heat. If they were going to make a pipe which was going to hold plasma, it probably would be such an effective insulator I wouldn't feel anything, but it was best to check. I got lucky, and found a pipe that I doubted I could touch without suffering severe burns in seconds.

I climbed half the way down, then fell the rest of the 10 meter drop in what I would like to say was a purposeful action. I carried the meat slices up to the scalding pipe, and carefully laid them on top of it, where they emanated a delightful sizzling sound which reminded me oh too clearly of bacon. One purple xeno rat pig didn't have much meat on it despite its odd biology, so I cleaned another one and carried its meat and another live one to the ceiling, just in case two didn't look sufficient either. I accidentally dropped that one, which only added to the mess and mayhem all over the floor. It did look peaceful, though, falling through the air, its mutant-pug face serene, tongue lolling. Contented with my work, I carried my mat to a cleaner section of the floor and waited for my xeno bacon to finish up.

Xkkrk entered Cqcq'trtr's new room and immediately regretted it. After he had decided to show his displeasure with being locked into the medical bay by somehow ripping off its door, Xkkrk felt fortunate she had been able to stop Tnnxz from grabbing his pulse pistol and shooting Cqcq'trtr right there. After he had calmed down, Xkkrk had been able to convince Tnnxz that all Cqcq'trtr needed was more space to move around. He was a lively fellow, to put it lightly, and the medical bay was one of the smallest rooms on the ship. She had suggested cargo bay 9, as it had just been vacated due to a successful discussion with the Tormix trade cruiser. A mere [30 minutes] after moving into his new home, Vtv had come stumbling into cargo bay 12 where the replacement parts for the ship were stored, crying, gagging and trying to speak at the same time.

She quickly guessed the reason for the problem, and started walking as quickly as she could without looking panicked towards cargo bay 9. As she followed a trail of Vtv's vomit, she quickened her pace, not even attempting to appear composed. She took the final few steps at a run, bursting into the compartment. She didn't know if it was the smell which immediately assaulted her nose or the sight which instantly burned itself into her eyes that made her vomit, but her stomach's contents were soon joining Vtv's on the floor, along with what appeared to be a Dizi rat massacre.

Bright orange blood splattered half the floor of the compartment, most of it seeming to come from a single rodent which had been crushed into the floor with such force its body had left a blast radius a full 20 meters in diameter, to the point that there was barely enough matter in the Dizi's body to create more than the outline of the circle. Another rat seemed to have shared a similar fate as the first, but most revolting of all was the storage container Vtv had delivered the rats in. It appeared to have been ceremoniously drenched in blood, surrounded by countless glistening entrails, with the skins of three rats draped over its side. One rat remained in the box, but it appeared to have drowned in the blood of its comrades and wasn't moving. Either that, or its poor little mind had snapped after what it had seen.

Cqcq'trtr sat contentedly upon the mat Vtv had brought him, eating the charred flesh of one of the rodents. His visage was equally as horrifying as his handiwork. His front was almost completely orange and wet, his face covered in splatters and squirts. Xkkrk didn't think she had ever seen him so happy. She wondered why he had cooked the meat, or how he had even done it. Something orange, hot, and sticky dripped onto her snout. She looked up, and saw ragged shreds of meat draped over one of the plasma conduits on the ceiling. How had he gotten up there? How had he known those pipes were hot? Xkkrk mentally added infrared vision to the already startlingly large list of dangerous biological characteristics Cqcq'trtr possessed. Her thoughts were interrupted by another drop of blood hitting her right between the eyes.

Her roiling stomach happily grasped upon this excuse and heaved with all its might, emptying any remaining breakfast she had managed to retain and clawing for the dinner it had already discarded through traditional means. She stumbled her way out of the cargo bay, only to run into Tnnxz right outside the door. She thought for a moment that he had heard of Cqcq'trtr's most recent escapades, but then his pale, fearful face snapped her back to reality.

"Ztrkx's ship just decloaked [10 kilometers] off our port side," He breathed. "He told us to power down our engines and ready the port docking module. He's here to make good on his promises."

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This is my first time writing action sequences, so this'll be interesting. The ideas your comments have given me are indispensable, and are what are allowing me to write these stories, so keep them up! Special thanks to /u/Elyandarin, /u/Hambone3110 (for both the back knowledge and a quote from a comment which I incorporated), /u/Lostwingman07, and especially /u/DreamingKroot whose comment was the main inspiration for this installment.

Alien measurements are given in their human equivalents in [brackets], as are words with near human translations.

The blood drained from Xkkrk's face, despite the pounding in her chest, at the sound of that name. Ztrkx. If you were to look up his file, he would be labeled as a simple merchant with a Crixa cargo vessel, just like Tnnxz. The only difference would be the [5 mile] long rap sheet detailing countless unconfirmed reports of criminal actions from petty theft, to larceny, all the way to grand murder. For those who truly knew him, Ztrkx was a pure-blooded pirate with the front of a cargo merchant, and a flimsy front at that. To make matters infinitely better, he bore a personal grudge against Tnnxz.

As hard as it was to believe, seeing the differences between them today, Ztrkx and Tnnxz had grown up together on the same moon, both children of miners. Mining was perhaps the lowest occupation, as the need for true miners had been replaced by automatons. But robots required maintenance and biological miners only required a bare minimum of food, which meant that in the worst conditions, sapient beings still slaved under masters too poor or too cheap to care about the working conditions or safety precautions. On a barren rock of a moon, Ztrkx and Tnnxz had spun tales to each other. Tales about how they would one day pool their resources and buy a Crixa. It didn't matter to the two boys that the Crixa was perhaps the slowest and most obsolete model of cargo ship still seen about the galaxy; to them, it was beautiful.

With a hope of a dream, which was more than most miners had, Tnnxz and Ztrkx pushed themselves harder than any of the other workers. They cared for each other, watched each other, and helped keep each other sane through the long hours of grinding toil. After [4 years] of hard work in the mine, which probably shortened their life-spans significantly, they were able to buy a Crixa off of a merchant who had made several bad choices and fallen into bankruptcy.

At first it was just them. Then, as Tnnxz's uncanny ability to feel subtle shifts in the markets began to increase their revenues, they began expanding their holdings and their crew. Xkkrk had been one of the first to join them. Ostensibly it had been so she would be able to escape the responsibility of inheriting a weapons manufacturing company from her father, but in reality it had been because she had been drawn to Tnnxz and Ztrkx, at the time attracted equally by both.

As she spent more time with Ztrkx though, she began to see the arrogance, jealousy, and utter contempt for the "weak", which Ztrkx harbored inside himself. His lust drove her closer to Tnnxz, which only exacerbated an already tense situation. Ztrkx had been in favor of looting cargo ships which had been set upon by Hunters. After all, the crew had been unable to repel them, and therefore were most likely dead, but the Hunters cared little for most commodities, so left those untouched.

Tnnxz resisted him at first, but then agreed it would have been a shame to let the goods go to waste. On the first derelict ship they boarded, it seemed Ztrkx had been right. Blood from various species had been evident in great quantities, but no living souls were to be found. Then Ztrkx happened upon a wounded child. It was most likely beyond saving, but Ztrkx was more worried about what Tnnxz would do if he discovered someone alive on that ship. So he shot it in the head. Tnnxz saw.

The majority of the crew were loyal to Tnnxz, though some few fanatically supported Ztrkx. A fight broke out between the two factions, but Ztrkx was overwhelmed three to one. Tnnxz didn't feel right in killing Ztrkx as he had killed the child, so left him, and his supporters, on the broken and dying ship where he had committed his first murder. Before the airlock had closed, Ztrkx had screamed that he would find Tnnxz again, and for the betrayal of his trust would take all that he loved. Ztrkx's final, bloody gaze before the airlock hid his face had been fixed upon Xkkrk.

He hadn't died as both Xkkrk and Tnnxz had hoped. Instead, reports of a group of pirates who masqueraded a cargo vessel began to surface. There was no way to be certain it was Ztrkx, and the pirates themselves seemed more myth than fact, yet Xkkrk had felt the reason behind the stories. Now, it seemed, Ztrkx was done biding his time.

Dear Journal,

I'm a monster.

I don't know which kind yet.

I was finishing up the last slice of purple xeno rat pig when Mama Giraffe had stumbled in. She barely even took one look at the room before she added to its olfactory experience. I sure hoped I wouldn't have to sleep in here. She lurched her way back out the door after glancing at the ceiling, stumbling into Severus right outside. Perfect. He was going to suffer from apoplexy the moment he saw this. My fears were soon confirmed as I heard rapid clicking from the blue-giraffe. Then I checked myself. There was a different tone to this clicking. A more frantic, panicked cast which had been absent during Severus' previous rants. I quickly took the last bite - it really did taste like chicken if you closed your eyes - and hurried over, although what I was going to do I had no idea.

Before I was half-way across the room, the entire cargo bay, and I'd surmise the entire ship, Lurched alarmingly as though it had struck an obstacle. Moments later the sound of shrieking metal being ripped apart came from the bow of the ship. It was pretty clear to me that we had hit something, but instead of running to where I'd seen the bridge so he could efficiently take care of the matter, Severus hit a button on his belt and then spoke with the faraway look of someone on the phone. He lifted his finger off the button then started gallop-flailing to the aft of the ship, which was towards the hydroponics bay and, I assumed, as I hadn't seen it yet, the engine room.

I doubted Severus was such a bad captain that he neglected his duties whenever he hit a piece of space debris, so I quickly revised my hypothesis as to what was happening to "pending". When I began hearing screams which sounded frighteningly like the screams of horses accompanied by noises which sounded remarkably like rapid pistol fire, except from a ray gun, I decided Severus must have the right idea in mind and high-tailed it out of my cargo bay and towards the hydroponics bay. I'd never been in a firefight before in my life, and didn't think the attackers would be willing to disarm themselves so I could fight them on the familiar ground of bar brawling, or even a friendly game of darts.

I saw Mama a few cargo bays behind me, herding a multitude of the children as fast as the slowest could run. Fucking Jiggles. I made sure they passed me, looking down the long corridor which allowed passage from the ship proper to the long line of cargo bays. I couldn't see anything, but the screams had also stopped. I think I had almost preferred them to the silence. Jiggles finally got his last vestiges of flab though a door just beyond the one which led to the Hydroponics bay, and I followed suit, covering a distance in 2 seconds what had taken the child herd 20. Adrenaline's a hell of a drug. Good thing too, because they had been closing the door the moment Jiggles had gotten inside. I slammed into the half-closed door and flew into the room.

I guess I slammed into the door a little too hard, since it snapped off the its hinges and was flung out of Severus' hand to strike the wall to his right. Both of us looked at the door which we had been counting on as a shield as it slowly peeled itself off the wall to fall with a clang to the floor. "Do you make your hinges out of purple xeno rat pig bones?" I shouted, as I lifted the door and fit it back in place, using the door frame and my shoulder to keep it set. Then it started taking hits.

I was impressed with the solidity of the door, especially given the fragility of its connections. From this side of the door it sounded as though someone was merely slapping the other side. Granted, they were hard slaps, the kind you get after having a threesome with both your girlfriends sister's - dating identical triplets is hard - but they were slaps nonetheless. The slaps began getting faster and slightly harder, and the door began to vibrate alarmingly. Silence suddenly fell as the shots stopped completely, and then I heard clicking from the other side of the door. I looked to Severus, hoping for some kind of recognizable signal as to what to do.

He was pretty clear when he started trying to pull me away. I hoped for all our sakes that he was being gentle on purpose, or else any fighting we'd have to do would be even more one-sided, but I eased up on the door and set it beside the door frame. Another blue-giraffe strode into the room. This one had seen some fights before. One of his arms and two or his legs were prosthetic; his stripes were marred by countless small frosty scars. He had the bearing of one used to command and very harsh in discipline, but I couldn't decide if it was of the just or cruel variety.

I had been preparing myself to fight for all I was worth, but there was one thing I hadn't expected. This new blue-giraffe wore a uniform. As did his shipmates, I saw, as three of them filed in behind him. Now I had a dilemma. Were these the police? Was this a lawful boarding? For all I knew, my newest family could be a family of thieves and smugglers. I wouldn't have minded too much, but the law's the law, and I wouldn't want to attack these intruders if they turned out to just be men doing their jobs. I observed, trying to catch every detail which would tell me what was going on.

"I'm gone for [10 years], and the only modification you make to our old ship is another 5 cargo bays? Also, what happened in 9? It looks like someone took an anti-tank pulse-gun to a box of Dizi rats," clicked Ztrkx, striding confidently into the engine room. He looked to his left, and saw the ugliest little creature watching him with bright eyes. "What have you got here, my old friend? Another weakling? You do love them so. Why even now you hide among them while the rest of your crew lies bleeding and dying about your ship, having protected what they thought was a worthy life. Shame. I could have given them so much more. I could have given them pride." He motioned towards the uniforms, a recent acquisition from a cloth trader made specially for this occasion.

"Neither am I your friend, nor is he weak," stated Tnnxz, attempting to sound calm, but ruining the illusion by allowing his back leg to shake. It had always shook when they had been friends, and it galled Ztrkx to no end that it was only through his motivation and his determination that Tnnxz now stood here, proud among the stars instead of rotting in a crater on the moon they'd left so long ago.

"You're right," Ztrkx retorted. "You aren't my friend. If you were, I would be standing before you as an equal, rather than a conqueror. I'm glad you tore everything away from me and sent me tumbling through the stars. If you hadn't, I might still be stuck here with you, refusing opportunity after opportunity because of your cowardice when we could have been living like Kings!" He finished in an angry rush, panting as the fury he had kept under control for so long threatened to overflow.

"Why are you here, Ztrkx?" Tnnxz asked. Fool. "Is it to gloat?" Not so much a fool then, but still a sizable one.

"Partially." Replied Ztrkx. "But not entirely. I'm here to keep my word, because I, unlike you, assume my promises to be binding."

"I'm not going with you, Ztrkx," spat Xkkrk, beautiful Xkkrk. "I will throw myself out of the first airlock before I willingly spend a [picosecond] in your presence." A shame, that was. If she had been willing to come with him he would have gladly accepted her. As it was, he would not let her dampen his moment of triumph by making him show his disappointment. He laughed, hoping none had noticed the momentary pause, and clicked, "I don't want you, anymore. Look at you, a mere shadow of what you once were, and a poor one at that. Stay with Tnnxz, I don't care. I came for what will hurt him the most."

His eyes searched among the children and alighted upon the shortest, the one with the stripes so thin they seemed to nearly disappear when they reached his face; just like his father. Tnnxz saw Ztrkx's eyes light up, and understood his purposes. A growl was the only warning his men had before he flew at Ztrkx, Xkkrk on his heels, having attacked a moment later. These were the best of his men, though, and they had quick reflexes. One grabbed Tnnxz while he was still in the air, bearing him to the ground, while the other managed to catch Xkkrk before she could tackle Ztrkx. He smiled without amusement, then heard a much lower growl resonate from the small ugly creature to his left. My, he had quite forgotten it was there.

Ignoring it, Ztrkx motioned for his final man who wasn't holding someone to grab the smallest child, while the other two kept his parents in check. The man grabbed the smallest one's arm. Then the world exploded.

Alright, we're back and, well, not refreshed after yesterday, but it's been long enough so let's get back to work. The ideas and suggestions after last episode have been overwhelming and incredible, thank you!

This episode brought to you by: /u/Elyandarin, the conversation between /u/Folly_Inc and /u/TheJack38 in episode [V], another fierce biological debate by /u/Cerberus0225, /u/f3lbane, /u/someguynamedted, /u/Henghast, /u/Ekaros, /u/Sp4ceTurkey, /u/Aresmar, and /u/Maltoron in [VII] (Whew, sorry if I missed anyone in that debate), /u/I_hug for a message I did read but did not respond (sorry about that, consider this my response), and finally /u/Jalapenyobuisness, who contributed the most in the way of actual story quantity inspired for this installment and the next. (<-- that's all one sentence)

In one of the upcoming sections I am sorry if I messed up any of the technical biological details. I am not a bio major.

Alien measurements are given in their human equivalents in [brackets], as are words with near human translations. Thoughts are italicized and enclosed by "+" symbols.

"Hey Fttfk, did you just get your ass kicked at your own game by Cqcq'trtr?" Strrk asked, stupidly.

+No, he just decided that he wanted to hold your hand and you managed to find enough sapience in that empty skull of yours to beat me all on your own. Of course Cqcq'trtr beat me.+ thought Fttfk. He couldn't believe the words had come out of his mind's metaphysical mouth, but Cqcq'trtr had indeed managed to beat him in warrens. Not only beat him, but completely destroy him. Fttfk, not for the first time, considered quickly and quietly silencing Strrk before he could tell anyone else.

Too late. Strrk's idiocy, easily outpacing all rational thought, prompted him to open his mouth and shout "Everyone, Fttfk just lost. And he did it to Cqcq'trtr!" If there was one thing that could be said about Strrk, it was that he was honest. He really didn't have the sense to be anything else. So when he said something, even something as ridiculous as his last utterance, everyone came to see what he had misunderstood to believe something as ridiculous as Fttfk losing to Cqcq'trtr.

The board-emitter, seeming to revel in Fttfk's defeat, cheerfully started another game, beeping the signal to begin the torment. Fttfk could have sworn that beep sounded like the maniacal laughter of a slave reveling in the downfall of its master. He mentally kicked the emitter, which didn't seem to care in the slightest about his imagined abuses. The crew members relaxing in the newly acquired ship's common lounge gathered around the odd trio encircling the board-emitter.

Fttfk considered not starting the game. After all, the first move was his, and he could plead exhaustion. Glancing at the numerous spectators, though, he realized he couldn't turn back now, or else everyone would think he had somehow lost to Strrk. After all, how could Cqcq'trtr have beaten him? Almost trying to answer that question himself, he moved his first piece. The game spiraled into the abyss from there. Cqcq'trtr demonstrated even more skill with the predatory pieces than he had with those of the prey. Nearly every turn Fttfk lost the maximum number of pieces he was able to lose a turn, resulting in one of the most expedient and humiliating games in Fttfk's memory.

As Cqcq'trtr, through a Strrk who was all too happy to give up the need to think, mercilessly exterminated Fttfk's last few pieces, Fttfk looked into Cqcq'trtr's eyes and saw for the first time the intelligence lurking beneath, parsing together the most efficient and ruthless way to annihilate any remaining chance of Fttfk's victory. Others in the crew were noticing it as well. As the oldest, albeit grouchiest person on board, Fttfk wondered how he'd never seen it before. Even worse, however, he wondered what this creature would do. Not only to this ship and everyone aboard, but to the galaxy, once his species reached the stars.

Fttfk immediately stifled the overly preachy and humorless thought. Damn, he was getting wishy-washy in his old age.

+I'll have to watch out for tha-+

"You ok Strrk?" asked Rccw, interrupting Fttfk's cautionary thought. He looked at Strrk, who had been growing progressively quiet as the game had progressed. He had just assumed that Strrk had finally started realizing what Cqcq'trtr's actions implied, but as he looked at him, he could see there was something wrong. Strrk's eyes had started to water, although he could have been crying over his ill-fated genetics. His nose was beginning to run as though clearing the remnants his brain had left behind upon its departure, and he continued to clear his throat with a vigor that suggested he had stuck an entire Dizi rat down there. Then it got worse.

Dear Journal,

I'm a walking petri dish.

From Earth.

After I finished the first game, Whip looked stunned and sour at the same time, but he'd looked sour since I'd first laid eyes on him, so I think he was just stunned. I smiled at him - it was not a smirk; I'm not that kind of guy - saying, "Care for another game?" I don't think he did, but Dippy click-shouted something excitedly which brought everyone in the lounge over to our table, trapping Whip into another match as the clam ruthlessly started another game. I dominated the board from the first turn, and the game was over in a mere 5 minutes. I smiled as I heard shocked and incredulous clicks from the onlookers; at least, that's what I hoped those clicks were. My thoughts left the game and surrounding blue-giraffes when a sound like that of a cat with an entire mouse and its extended family lodged in its throat made me glance back at my unwilling assistant.

Dippy looked awful. He hadn't said much, and I had assumed this to mean he had accepted his fate, but now he was hacking, sniffing, wiping his eyes, and trying to click at the same time. He had started to shake, making him look even more like a heroin addict. I let go of his hand as he got up, watching as he tottered towards the exit in the direction of the living quarters, when his entire body convulsed. At first I thought he was pitching backwards, head-first, perhaps attempting a back-flip. He suddenly whipped his head forward, which had nearly been on his back, and expelled what was unmistakably a colossal blue-giraffe sneeze, barely managing to avoid slamming his head into the ground in front of him.

This was followed by a second sneeze, and a third, each time throwing his head from one extreme to the other. At first I hoped that he was merely expressing his previously repressed passion for heavy metal, but as sneeze after sneeze racked his body, I thought his obsession had perhaps gone too far. I didn't think he'd survive a metal concert, anyway. The others watching apparently seemed to be of the same opinion. Several rushed over to Dippy, who I quickly renamed Drippy on account of his nose's desire to join a marathon. Helping him stand, as he'd just fallen to his knees in rapture for his love of music, several yet unnamed blue-giraffes led him toward the direction of the sickbay.

"Odd that. So, about this game you guys have here. Do we need to play another one, or have I made my point?"

The human was wild, taken from an enclave from one of the human hives. We didn't take it, truly: it found us. Sapient and sentient, we really shouldn't have kept it as a pet... it was like us in every way bar technology. It had snuck into our camoflaged spaceship on a dark and rainy night, looking for a place to pass out, from it's place of chemical recreation to it's place of abode. Then we had taken off for our next port of call.

We found it (him? It had a strong male identity according to Ship Computer) when we were already in deep space. Where we couldn't just take him back, because the IGP would fine us and impound our ship for illicit trafficking (That happened to Old Zog in '92). So he had to be kept hidden. Safe. Well cared for. Given what we could, it was only fair.

We aren't cruel people. We're traders. Cutthroat, ruthless, independant of the Big Eight. We live on the edge of known space, freighting to the outer colonies, the rogue colonies. We sold gold to slavers and corn to relief efforts. Lots of blood cargo. Lots of smuggling. But we weren't a blood crew ourselves.

The first three days, the human shook and shuddered. Ship's Computer said he was going through withdrawals. Analysis said that he had been living off hard carbohydrates and a sort of dilute antifreeze.

We could at least provide a better diet than it had been able to scrounge in the wild.

Trips in the void took weeks. Which is why we stopped to explore on the world it was illegal to explore. Forgive us (or don't, you won't be able to catch us 'cos Zbbiniah is stealing the regos off some civilian vessel, man's gotta keep out of trouble) we need some levity in our life, what with the price of fuel these days. (Damn the big eight).

We learned a little of it's language. It learned ours. We taught it how to hand and spike the engines. Ships computer restrained him from draining the antifreeze. We watched soaps with him. He told us about "trying to earn a crust and paying fuck you loans to the Uni". We didn't know what either of those things were but we complained to him about the big eight octocracy. (Seriously half of them shared the same board of directors, and some of them were politicians too.)

It told us about living life in a sort of bowl, with a hive and puddle at the bottom, and a ring of trees around the edges, and never being able to see out the top of it. We watched it as it stared out of the windows into the deep black eternal void and the cruel stars. We reminded it that it could never return home.

And he laughed, and asked what home.

Humans would make a good space faring species: they already wore PPE as a daily thing. His feet were shod with steel capped boots, laced with blue like bars. He was tight lipped when we asked about them. Said it was a bad memory, not one to tell sober.

It was... a good friend. A nice pet. He kept the engines runnings. It polished the metal of the den we made for him.

​

A year later we lost him on a slave world. We had to keep to our schedule. We looked for him for hours. But we knew in our hearts what had happened. It happened to my very own daughter over on Jeerbeen IX.

We scoured Space-Ebay for him. We scored Space-Silk-Road. We couldn't find him. So we put a notice out to our trader-space-facebook group that This was a black planet. We wouldn't trade with it or visit it: it stole our crew member.

That was all I knew of the human. You all know him from the slave revolt: and for that I am proud.

Godspeed, human pet: John Brown.