Date Point: 2y 8m AV
Rimward Border of Dominion
Station “Hopeful Endeavour”, orbiting Hirgaronous IIV
She had a name, once. She hadn’t used it for a very long time – meat-slaves weren’t permitted names. They were food, sometimes labour, and it made no sense to give a name to something that was going to be eaten anyway.
Somehow she’d escaped that particular fate. She’d been judged more useful to work, to fetch drink and to rub oils onto the Master of Masters, the most terrifying of all the Masters, to salve the places where its cybernetic augmentations joined with its flesh. Perpetually within inches of horrible death… and always yearning for it. It was the common wish of all the meat-slaves: that when death came – because nothing could stop it – that it be swift and painless. Even trying to escape their fate through suicide was punished horrifically. Death arrived when the Masters allowed it… not before.
She really had no idea whether she’d avoided that fate or not.
She wasn’t in the care of the Masters anymore, but she could always feel them… like the cold of a shadow. There was no escaping them: the galaxy was theirs, the sapients within their prey, and life and death was always at their whim. She knew she could be taken again at any time, just like anyone else, and the most she could hope for was that the Master of Masters would acknowledge her obedience at having delivered its message. Maybe she’d be fortunate, and the Master wouldn’t play with its food before consuming her.
The terror had been with her all her life and she was used to it. The sapients she’d delivered the Master of Masters’ message to (she didn’t know what they called themselves, but the Masters called them egg-heads, stick-legs, and the herd) weren’t as accustomed to it, and words she’d been commanded to deliver frightened them. It was strange… they sometimes looked at her as if she was one of the Masters themselves, and she didn’t like it. Other times they became angry, and fired questions at her so quickly that she sometimes didn’t have a chance to answer before the next was spoken. Eventually she ran out of answers to give, and she was handed over to an egg-head.
His attitude was refreshingly cold, simply examining her for some purpose she didn’t understand. He also snidely told her that he was a “Corti”, commanding her to stop referring to his people as egg-heads. She was grateful for the order… obeying was all she knew how to do. The aimlessness since she’d arrived and delivered her message had been upsetting. She worried a bit when he drew blood, as slaves that were overly damaged were relegated to food status, but the mark was small and easy to ignore, and she didn’t think it would harm her ability to serve.
“Your name is apparently `Triymin’,” he said in a bored voice, reading one of the holographic displays in what was called a medical bay. “You were on one of the early colonization vessels sent out by Gao. It disappeared without a trace.”
She barely remembered the before-time, before the Masters had taken them. The word “Triymin” did echo vaguely in the back of her mind; it was strange, to have a name. “What… do I do now?” she’d asked. The Master of Masters wasn’t here to command her… who was she to obey?
The “Corti” had looked at her with his huge, black eyes. He seemed annoyed. “Do whatever you want. It’s none of my concern.”
She was handed off between many of the aliens, and none of them could answer her simple question. Eventually she was given clothes which were meant for her species, simple overalls in grey with pockets that she could see could be useful. Then she was… released. Placed into the common areas of the space station she was in… told to seek her species, they’d take care of her.
She had no idea what that meant, or how to accomplish it. She didn’t know where to go or who to talk to. All she could do was wait.
She’d been given a small bag of nutrient spheres… she recognized them as the feed the Masters would give the slaves, looted from the ships taken as the Masters hunted their own food. She ate them very slowly, barely a bite a day; like all slaves, she knew food was never guaranteed, and it was important to be conservative. She slept in the corridors of the station. The blue stick-legs prey, the “Vzk’tk” who were part of the station security, would tell her to move along, and she’d seize the orders given with the desperation of an addict… but while they’d tell her to go, they would never tell her where she should go.
Eventually a white stick-legs (Rrrrtktktkp’ch, she was told) gave her a fresh bag of nutrient spheres and put her on a ship which took her to a different station. There the cycle repeated, and she was put on a ship to yet another station. Pushed, like trash, further and further from the core of galactic civilization. Triymin wasn’t offended, merely confused. She wished someone would give her an order.
The latest station she was on was far dingier than any of the previous. The lights were all half-lit to save power, and some sections of the large space outpost weren’t liveable by any species. Machinery broke, and some sectors reeked of steam or chemicals; others were flooded, or unheated, or didn’t receive enough breathable air. Despite that there were a lot of prey – sapients – aboard the station, most of whom favoured the inner core where the heat and the lights worked. They would talk and joke and exchange items, very friendly as long as they knew you… if they didn’t, it was best to stay far away.
Triymin watched them from the edges. She was tired and weak, her fur grungy and matted. The beings here were less inclined to pity her and offer her food or water. She’d found a pipe deep in the station that leaked water that didn’t seem poisonous, but she was left with the last crumbs of her last nutrient sphere. So she tried to keep the hunger away by limiting her activity… she’d found a conduit along a wall in a dark corridor that radiated heat (whether it was supposed to or not) and would sleep there.
It was there that the strange being found her.
“Sister?”
Triymin looked up at the figure who had spoken to her. The creature was not one of the station security, who were almost all long-necked Vzk’tk carrying strange devices on harnesses. Instead the being was barely as tall as she was, clad in a long grey cloak that hid every bit of her flesh from view. A carrying-bag was slung over one shoulder, and the glove that covered the paw that was held out to her could have easily fit on her own. The words… the words were her words, the words she’d been allowed to keep, the reason the Master of Masters had commanded her to bring words to the Dominion.
She realized she’d been staring when the figured hunched over a little further and spoke again. “Sister? Are you well?” The voice was laden with a strong, strange accent.
Triymin couldn’t remember ever having been asked that question before, so she had no idea how to answer. “Are you here to tell me to leave?” she asked, her voice raspy from disuse.
The figure seemed to flinch. “What? No, I…” The being hesitated, and the cloaked head turned to take in the surroundings. “Sister, how long have you been sleeping here?”
“I don’t know. Why do you call me ‘Sister’?”
The question brought a curious noise from the being. “You are Gaoian, aren’t you?”
She paused to think… it sounded like a word the Corti had used to describe her. “I think so. Does that mean I’m a Sister?”
“Yes,” the creature replied. “I’m a Sister, too.” It paused, and its head shook from side to side in a strange gesture. “What’s your name?”
She’d been asked the same question when she’d been picked up by the prey vessels after being dropped off by the Masters. She hadn’t known the answer then, but this time she did. “Triymin.”
“Triymin,” the creature repeated. “When was the last time you ate something, Triymin?”
One paw absently touched the pouch which had held her nutrient spheres. It’d been very light for many sleep cycles. “I don’t know. The night cycles in this place confuse me.” All her answers seemed to be upsetting the being more and more… she hoped she hadn’t done something wrong.
The creature was silent for long moments. Then, finally, it held out a paw to her; she stared at it curiously. “Come with me, Sister.”
Triymin had no idea what the creature would do, but it’d given her a command, and she needed that almost more than food or water. She scrambled to her feet too quickly, the sudden movement and malnutrition made her dizzy. She staggered, but the being caught her before she fell, holding her up with all the ease of a bulkhead.
“Careful,” the cloaked being said softly. “Take a breath. We don’t have to rush.”
Triymin obeyed, pausing until the dizziness passed. She also cast sideways glances at the other “Sister”… even standing, it was almost impossible to see inside the hood. The other female – she assumed it was female, anyway – was wearing a scarf across her face. The scarf extended out in a way that implied a muzzle like Triymin’s own, and above it there was the glitter of dark eyes surrounded by pinkish skin.
“Do you feel better?” Triymin bobbed her head. “Okay. We’ll go this way to my ship. If you get tired or I walk too fast, let me know.” She paused. “You can call me… Shoo, by the way.”
“Shoo,” she repeated. It was a strange name, but then so was her own as far as she was concerned.
Shoo relaxed slightly as Triymin spoke her name. She gestured, and the two began to walk down the corridor, to where the slave knew the docking bays were located. They walked silently, though Triymin often glanced sideways at her new companion. She still didn’t know what Shoo intended with her, but it didn’t matter.
Eventually her curiosity got the better of her, and she surprised herself when she found her muzzle moving almost of its own accord. “If you are the same people as I, should I wear a cloak as well?” she asked.
Shoo’s head turned briefly. Soft, strange sounds emitted from under the cloak and then suddenly stopped. “No, Gaoians don’t wear clothing like this most of the time. It pulls on the fur and is annoying,” she explained. “Me? Well, I have a… condition. No fur. It’s very embarrassing. I wear this to hide it.”
“Oh,” Triymin replied. She tried to imagine herself without fur – it would look very strange. She knew what other fur-faces – Gaoians – were supposed to look like, of course. And she’d seen Gaoians without fur… but, of course, they were also without skin, mere moments before the Masters consumed them. The lucky ones were also without life before that happened.
Shoo paused as Triymin made a tiny whimpering sound at the memory. “Triymin? Are you okay?”
Again that question! “I don’t understand,” she answered timidly. “What does ‘okay’ mean?”
The sound of a long exhalation came from beneath the hood. Shoo raised a gloved paw as if to touch Triymin’s shoulder, but hesitated and lowered it instead. “It means… happy. Heathy. And you aren’t. Let me help you.”
“Why?” Triymin finally asked. Amongst the Masters, the slaves who were too sociable – too helpful to the others – were the first to be eaten. The ones that survived the longest were the ones who hesitated to speak, to associate… they lived among each other without bonding, allowing only their misery and wish for a swift end to unite them. It made it easier… when the inevitable occurred.
She could tell that Shoo was staring at her from underneath the cloak. “Because you’re my Sister,” she answered.
Triymin allowed Shoo to guide her the rest of the way to the docking bays. She lead them into one of the cavernous private hangars, where a large shuttle – or perhaps a small ship – lay quietly. The hangar’s door to space was closed, and the lights were as dim there as everywhere else in the station, but the low light seemed to not bother Shoo at all even with her hood up.
The berth was roomy – built to accommodate ships built for the other races of the galaxy, who were almost invariably larger than Gaoians – but clutter robbed the area of usable space. Visitors would leave their trash in the hangar before departing, leaving the station management to deal with it. Of course, the management didn’t care, so it piled up endlessly until a visitor would either scavenge it or throw it out into space in annoyance. Polymer storage containers stuffed one corner, and bits of debris or discarded ship parts lined the walls. In one corner, near where the huge door would slide upwards to reveal the blackness of space, a maintenance project had apparently begun and then been abandoned – scaffolding climbed the metal walls nearly to the distant ceiling.
The shuttle definitely looked out of place inside the drabby hangar, even to her naive eye. It was painted and smooth… in good repair, which contrasted greatly with the exposed framework and piles of spare parts of the hangar.
Shoo walked over to the rear of the ship and tapped on its hull. A holographic display appeared, and she gestured a pattern in the air over it with the digits of one paw. The back bottom of the vessel split open and slowly lowered, forming a ramp. Triymin followed Shoo up the ramp, glancing around curiously at the brightly-lit interior, so different from the rest of the station. The Masters didn’t like light that was too bright, and so the poor lighting of the rest of the station was both comfortingly and terrifyingly familiar.
They were in some kind of cargo area, she guessed… the ceilings were very high, much like the station’s, built for races that tended to be much larger. The controls were placed in positions reachable even for shorter species, and Shoo had no trouble as she tapped the wall, closing the ramp behind them.
Leading her up one of a pair of ramps that led to the upper level of the ship, Shoo gestured as she spoke. “You wouldn’t think it, but this is apparently `just’ a long-range shuttle. It’s foolishly big, though. It’s meant for many species, but mostly for Guvnagnu-… Guvnuragna-…Guvnagnag- argh.” She flapped a paw. “The big ones with lots of fur and colour stripes. The galley is up here.”
They entered another room, filled with appliances and some utility tables, with another hovering table off to one side near some crystal-matrix windows that looked out onto the dreary shabbiness of the hangar. Triymin’s sensitive nose caught the scent of the food that had been prepared in the room previously, and her stomach clenched painfully as her hunger asserted itself again.
She was well-used to ignoring such aches, so she said nothing, but her stomach spoke for her as it growled quietly. Shoo’s hearing was surprisingly sharp, and her head turned to regard the female from beneath her hood. “You must be very hungry. Do you want me to cook you something, or should we start you with something more bland, like a nutrition sphere?”
She could only blink at the question; she’d only ever known eating what she was given. “I… don’t understand.”
Shoo stared at her quietly, and she battled the need to fidget, worrying that she’d answered the question wrong. Finally, the other spoke gently. “Okay, a nutrition sphere. And a cup of water, I think. Maybe I’ll have the same. Have a seat, this won’t take long. I hope you don’t mind if I ask you some questions while we eat.”
Ayma knew their new, nomadic life was difficult for Xiù… all the more so because she felt like she was dragging Gaoian Mother and Regaari on the run with her.
An illogical worry, but feelings were rarely based on logic. If anything it was Ayma who’d forced the life upon her, stealing her human friend away even as she lay sleeping on her hover-bed in the medical bay of the Rich Plains. It had been strange working together with Furfeg – who, up to that point, she’d actively despised. The diplomat ran interference, arranging for security patrols to be diverted and for the captain’s yacht of the diplomatic vessel to have its security protocols left open.
Finding Regaari waiting inside the yacht when they arrived had also been surprising – and yet, not. His arm still encased in its protective kinetic brace, the Whitecrest male had glared at her… but it had been the kind of glare that wasn’t scolding her for what she was about to do, but for not inviting him along as they did it.
“We’re leaving, Officer Regaari,” she said. “We don’t know when we’ll be back to Gao… if ever. You have duties-”
“My current duty is escorting you and Sister Shoo,” he responded. The yacht wasn’t equipped with the translators that helped the two Gaoians pronounce the human’s name. “The Mother-Supreme didn’t place conditions on that assignment. I knew it would come to this as soon as I heard the general broadcast, and I’m guessing Ambassador Furfeg agreed.” If he noticed her staring at him rather stupidly, he was too polite to comment on it. “So… are we stealing this ship or not?”
Getting away had been appallingly easy. The shuttle bay was still a shambles because of the Hunter attack, and the Rich Plains still hadn’t brought its FTL back online. They were out and away before anyone even protested, and Ayma had her suspicions that the lack of response was because the crew of the Rich Plains were only too happy to have the human away, even though they all owed their lives to her.
They’d been sitting in space nearly two Gaoian days later, deep in the black and far from commonly-travelled lanes, when Xiù finally woke from her drug-induced healing sleep. Regaari had been in the yacht’s cockpit, quietly hacking the ship’s registry identifier (she didn’t ask where he learned to do so), so it had been up to Ayma to explain to Xiù where she was and why.
“Why?” Without the translators, Xiù was forced back to her simple Gaori, and it was a struggle for her to remember the words under the weight of the drugs and her injuries. “Why do they do this? They took us, now scared we here? Kill us for being?”
Ayma had no explanation, other than the obvious: “They’re scared. Scared and stupid.”
As Ayma had suspected, Xiù utterly rejected the idea of returning to Gao and placing it in danger; in fact, she demanded that Gao make a statement that the lone human had left the world, just for the sake of those ears that might be listening.
She slipped into a depression even worse than when when she’d learned her home system had been caged, and this time there were no cubs to drag her out of it. Her metabolism burned through the few painkillers they’d been able to steal from the medical bay swiftly, so healing was a long and painful process. Ayma hid her fear that the neural damage Xiù had suffered from the nervejam grenade hadn’t been completely repaired, but after three ten-days with no seizures or other effects, she was pleased to (grudgingly) concede that Tragh was every bit as talented as the Corti doctor claimed.
A few ten-days later Regaari and Xiù removed their kinetic braces together. Although Regaari immediately began training himself, recovering the mobility and strength he’d lost while his broken elbow repaired itself, Xiù did not. In fact, she spent much of her time sleeping. Her body had recovered… her spirit had not.
In many ways her depression seemed too severe, and Ayma worried. Tragh had muttered something about how finely-tuned the human brain was, as delicate as their bodies were sturdy. It was why they were so vulnerable to nervejam grenades, as it took little to upset that balance. Xiù had avoided paralysis and seizures… but was there other, finer damage that had been done? If there was, what could they do about it? They couldn’t visit a doctor, not in the current political climate!
Fortunately, there were other, non-medical ways of helping her friend. The first had been taken by Regaari, and Ayma wondered why she’d ever thought of leaving him behind.
The yacht was a bulky thing. For a Guvnuragnaguvendrugun it was merely comfortable, but for the smaller species like Gaoians or humans, it was cavernous. The upper deck held the cockpit and galley, while the lower deck contained the small medical bay and three sleeping areas. The latter third of the ship was a large storage area spanning both decks, the rear bulkhead capable of swinging downward to form a ramp for loading and offloading. Regaari had instructed Ayma to wait in the storage area (curious and bemused, she’d obeyed), while he went to fetch the lone human, who was moping in the room they all slept in.
Then he demonstrated that combat, hijacking, and hacking weren’t the least of the knowledge the Whitecrest bodyguard possessed. For instance, it was thought that nothing short of anti-tank weaponry could dislodge an obstinate human. Regaari proved otherwise: simply grip the upper part of a human’s ear with two digits of a paw, and partially unsheathe your claws… the human will become quite compliant.
“Ow! Ow! Regaari! Stop!” Ayma blinked as the other Gaoian lead Xiù into the bay. The human’s ear was held in his paw, her face was twisted in pain, and though she was perfectly capable of swinging the Gaoian over her head she was hunched over as her arms flapped impotently. She cursed in both of her human languages and even included a few choice Gaori words that Ayma was quite certain she hadn’t learned from her… she sighed and made a mental note to scold Yulna on her next message home.
“Enough,” Regaari said coldly as he released her. She rubbed at her ear and grumbled, but didn’t test him by trying to return to her bed. The male reached over and picked up his pulse rifle from where it had been leaning against a bulkhead. He held it in front of him. “It is time both of you learned how to use one of these.”
Ayma startled, but Xiù voiced surprise for both of them. “You want us to learn,” she struggled for the word, “shooting?”
“I want you to learn to shoot, yes.”
“But… why? I hit things, it’s better.”
“Except when your enemy has a nervejam grenade,” he pointed out sternly.
She wilted in remembered pain. “But… why? Why Ayma, too?”
He looked at her as though the answer was obvious. “Because you are Sisters, and Sisters protect each other.”
The human had reluctantly learned how to use the weapon, as had the Gaoian Mother. But that was hardly the limit of the male’s plans. A couple of days later, he unveiled the second part: a long grey cloak which would cover Xiù from head to toe, a pair of gloves, and even a scarf to cover her face, which had even had a conical piece of plastic attached to the inside to imitate a Gaoian’s muzzle.
“You are Sister Shoo,” he explained, “a Gaoian female who is unfortunately burdened by Hayari Syndrome.” Ayma winced… Hayari was a humiliating genetic affliction, one that caused a Gaoian’s fur to fall out in large patches. Then her ears flicked as she realized the male’s brilliance.
“Why?” Xiù had asked as she held the garments, but her voice wasn’t as downtrodden as it had been.
“Because in two day’s time we will arrive at the station Onward Endeavour,” he said. “I will need to visit the station communications centre to make my report to the Mother-Supreme. And while I do so, you and Mother Ayma will pick up supplies.”
Ayma had been incredibly nervous, her fur practically standing on end; Xiù wore her cloak and scarf, shuffling quietly alongside her as they walked through the station. She was acutely aware of Xiù’s accent when she spoke, of the immovable density of the human when they’d bump into each other navigating the crowded confines of the marketplace that stretched across several levels in the cylindrical core of the station. But it worked. They were both newcomers, so her slightly bewildered look was really no different from the Gaoian female’s. Gaoians were still relatively rare across the Dominion, the member-world too new for anyone to have bothered learning the language themselves… and translators hid accents. The other denizens of the station would glance at them, and then their gaze would shift away to find something more interesting. Even the station quartermaster dismissed the disguised human standing not two paces away from her with a bored sniff.
It was bold; it was risky; it was exactly what the human needed. If Xiù had imitated Ayma well while outside, then she was doing a more-than-passable imitation of little Myun when they returned, nearly bouncing off the walls. The difference in their friend was like night and day; she took to wearing the cloak even while they travelled in the yacht, and she seemed to watch Ayma with a critical eye. It was strange… and a little disconcerting, honestly.
“She is studying how you move,“ Regaari explained when Ayma commented on it to him. She thought nothing could disturb the businesslike demeanor of their bodyguard, but he was visibly amused. “The humans stand taller, and they walk with long strides. Do you see any of that when she’s wearing her disguise?” And in truth, she didn’t… she was also embarrassed to note that Xiù had taken to moving her gloved fingers in imitation of the way Ayma would pick her sheathed claws against one another in idle thought.
“You forget that she was studying to be an actress on her homeworld,” Regaari pointed out, and yes, he was definitely amused. “The content may be different, but human actors value the same thing our own do: surrendering yourself to the role.”
The disguise worked perfectly on that station and the next. Regaari was the one choosing their course, and neither questioned him on his choices of ports-of-call. Ayma did note that their course generally took them along an arcing path that was nearly on the opposite side of the Dominion from Irbzrk station, where the infamous human who had ignited the war with the Hunters had been sighted. A lazy tour of backwater stations, where sapients who wanted to be left alone weren’t remarkable, and the curiosity and concern about the deathworlder species wasn’t quite as intense.
It was on the third station that Xiù found her small piece of home.
“Ayma! Ayma! Look at this!”
Ayma wandered over from where she’d been speaking to the bored-looking Rauwryhr quartermaster. The details of having the yacht’s consumables resupplied had been dealt with, so it was one less worry. Meanwhile, Xiù had wandered a small distance, scanning the station commercial area from underneath her hood. A shop had caught her eye, a vendor of curios.
In the front of the shop, in a large case protected by transparent crystal (and visibly threatening alarm systems) was a preserved animal. Ayma twitched her muzzle in distaste… killing animals and displaying the corpse was not something Gaoians did, though she knew of the practice. She had to admit that this creature cut an imposing figure, even deceased. It was covered in orange fur decorated with black stripes, and it had been posed in a ferocious stance, its teeth bared from its whiskered muzzle. It reminded her of a gricka, but no gricka had ever grown so large (thank the stars!) – this creature was as long as Ayma was tall, and its paws, nearly four times the size of her own, held claws that looked fit for shredding starship hull.
“It is a tiger,” Xiù said, and her voice was a mixture of awe and surprise, and she struggled to not speak too loudly. “It is from Earth!”
“Really?” Ayma replied, sharing her surprise. She looked at the creature’s teeth, which looked more than a match for a Vulza. “Creatures like this live on your world?”
“Not many,” Xiù replied, her accent stronger than usual; Ayma realized she was angry. “There are not many tigers. They are very rare, very precious, very beautiful. And someone has killed one to display.”
Ayma had her reservations about calling such an clearly dangerous animal `beautiful’, but it was obviously very important to her human friend, so she didn’t argue. Fortunately, she was spared by the shopkeeper wandering over. She laid a paw on Xiù’s arm as the elderly Robalin wandered over with its wobbling, three-legged gait – a silent signal to be cautious, and a comforting gesture – she knew of the human’s phobia of insectile species. She herself eyed him with a suspicious gaze.
“I see you admiring our centerpiece,” the alien said congenially. The shop was fitted with a merchant’s translator – no implants required, but with a more limited set of languages and tonalities. There was no way to know if the smarminess of his voice came from him or the machinery.
“A fascinating creature, is it not? Apparently they are called `tiggers’.” Xiù made a small choking noise, but his eyes only briefly flickered to her. He leaned in toward Ayma, identifying her as the one in charge. “They are from the human homeworld, you know,” he said as if sharing a secret. “A deadly, vicious creature from a world full of deadly creatures! No intelligent being would be so irrational as to visit such a place… but I have artifacts from the world, to save you the danger!”
As he gestured towards the shelves at the back of his shop – all covered in kinetic fields – it was on the tip of Ayma’s tongue to ask if he meant he relied on idiots to fetch his stock, but she restrained herself. Still, he had a surprising amount of salesmanship for a species mostly known for backstabbing. “Truly? Human items?”
“Oh, yes. You are from Gao, yes? I understand your people have some fascination with the species? Even sheltered one for a brief time?”
“Not anymore,” she replied ambiguously.
“Yes, I heard,” he replied, making a gesture which she assumed meant agreement. “A wise decision… they’re far too dangerous to keep around, and not just because the Hunters pursue them.”
She could feel Xiù fuming behind her. Still… “Let’s take a look, Sister Shoo,” she said.
Xiù hid her surprise. “Of course, Mother,” she replied in Gaori.
The cases in the back of the shop held a number of objects, none of which she dared ask Xiù to identify in front of the shopkeeper. Worse, they were all ridiculously expensive… while Regaari’s credit chit had a surprising capacity (which she’d not questioned him about), throwing about too many credits at once was wasteful and a sure way to unwelcome scrutiny. But Ayma was determined that she wouldn’t leave the shop empty-pawed.
Fortunately, physical objects weren’t the only thing the shopkeeper had. Sensing the two females were about to walk away without buying anything, he reluctantly revealed that he also possessed media – digital information stolen from the human homeworld. Gigaquads of music, art, video… all neatly copied, converted to common formats, and stored on a data chip. It was an effective compromise, and Ayma paid him gladly even though it was still far more than she’d planned on spending that day.
Xiù’s eyes were wide behind her scarf as Ayma turned and handed the chip to her. “Ayma…”
“Let’s go back and see what we’ve got, shall we?”
Xiù’s little data chip quickly became her most treasured possession. She would spend vast swaths of her waking time sorting through the archive, curating and organizing the contents, eager to show the two Gaoians the pieces she thought most interesting. Much of the video had been raided from something called “Youtube”, she explained: banal and boring, although it did offer the Ayma and Regaari their first glimpse of other humans – males and females, adults and cubs – and of their homeworld.
It was a pretty world, Ayma decided. The climate and geologic variance was astonishing, between desert and tundra, jungle and ocean, canyons and mountains. Yet they were attractive in their extremes, even if Ayma would never want to live there. The humans certainly seemed to enjoy it, though she definitely had to question the sanity of those who paused to film a tornado or earthquake, or even actively chased them!
Then Xiù found and played something called “Riverdance”, and they were rapt. Dozens of humans, moving with astonishing coordination and strength. Other species might be able to emulate the motions, but never with such effortless grace… gravity simply meant less to humans, and there was only motion and music.
And the music! Ayma actively disliked most of what was found on the data chip, with its rough rhythms and thumping beats. But the music the these humans danced to was joy turned to sound, and they transformed themselves into instruments with their tapping feet. There were other treasures on the chip, but Riverdance remained Ayma’s favourite.
It was interesting to see Xiù expound on the stories and meanings behind the “movies” despite her still somewhat limited vocabulary, and Ayma was reminded again that this was her clan-sister’s area of study. She was surprised by the depth of it – humans seemed to love allegory and metaphor, meanings both blatant and subtle… even the position of the recording device could be selected to appear ominous or exciting!
That one spontaneous purchase raised Xiù’s spirits immensely, and Ayma congratulated herself on credits well spent. She also made careful note of how her friend would watch the human actor, Chow Yun-Fat, with a very intent gaze; she suspected if he were to appear out of thin air Xiù would offer him a mating contract on the spot. Useful data for teasing, later.
It was a few ten-days after that discovery that they arrived back at the yacht to find Regaari waiting for them, with another piece of hope.
As usual, the male had made a visit to the communications centre of the station as the two females replenished the yacht’s food, fuel, and breathables; on-ship communications equipment tended to be limited, and stations had the facilities for bulk FTL data transfer. Regaari would take the video letters the two females would put together – Ayma to the other Mothers of their home commune, and Xiù would put together greetings and gung-fu lessons for Myun and the other cubs, all of whom missed the human terribly – and encrypt them using a cipher available only to the Mother-Supreme and the others of the Whitecrest clan. He would bundle them with his own report to Giymuy and send them off, waiting patiently for the encrypted data packet containing the reply.
It was on that day that the data packet contained something extra: a name, provided by the Mother-Supreme and the agents of the Ebony Paw clan: Krrkktnkk A’ktnnzzik’tk.
“Who?” Xiù asked, confused.
“He is a former Rrrrtktktkp’ch politician and representative to the Dominion,” Regaari explained. The three sat around the main table – lowered to a comfortable height for humans and Gaoians – eating the delicious end-of-day meal prepared by Xiù. “He distinguished himself in helping repulse a Hunter raid upon the station Outlook on Forever, an act which helped launch his political career. He resigned shortly after the force field was placed around your homeworld. Since then, he’s been spotted on several worlds and stations where humans have been… and when he leaves, they are gone.”
“He takes them again?” she asked, furious. Human anger could be as quiet as their misery, but Ayma had learned the signs.
“No, Sister,” he replied. “A’ktnnzzik’tk spoke often in favour of your people. In fact, he was given a human nickname: `Kirk’.”
“Kirk?” she repeated, incredulous. The strange name rolled off her tongue much more naturally. Her eyes widened. “He saves them!”
Regaari nodded. “The Mother-Supreme and the other clan leaders believe so.”