Tag: science fiction

prompt: Start or end your story in a bustling street food market.

available at Reedsy

The din of conversations in dozens of languages and hawkers, the scents of seared meat, vegetables, grains, and unknowable ingredients, together with the vibrant colors and varied body-plans of the multitude of species washed over Mara in a tsunami of sensory overload.

“Well?” Kintari asked. He was a munerin, a small, fuzzy creature with a segmented body, twelve compound eyes, a soft, beak-like mouth, and a pair of expressive anntenae. He stretched to move his head up to her waist level, antennae in a questioning pose.

“You were right, K.” Mara was average height at 165 centimeters, with the kind of long, thin build that came from a childhood spent in dance and gymnastics. Her orangish-red hair was pulled back into a wavy ponytail. She keyed a transaction into her comm device and sent it to his. “I love this. Worth losing a bet over, that’s for sure.”

“I haven’t fulfilled it yet,” he said, his antennae waving. “I promised the most memorable meal, and you haven’t even eaten.”

“Don’t have to. This is already it.” Mara scanned the stalls. She didn’t recognize a single item. “How do I know what’s safe to eat?”

“Follow me.” Kintari wove through the crowd with a grace that didn’t match his stubby legs and round abdomen. Mara found it hard to keep up with him in the crowd where bodies ranged from the size of Kintari up to behemoths that reminded her of feathered dragons, nearly three meters tall.

After working her way through the crowd, she found Kintari standing at one of the stalls. His antennae were swishing about in anticipation. “Mara! Look at these.”

The stall was serving what looked like a white carrot with an orange sea anemone where the greens should be. “Uh, what is it?”

“Riiki-tano. It’s a delicacy from my home world.”

“Animal, plant or fungus?”

“Kind of animal, kind of plant,” Kintari said. “It grows from a seed, sets down the big taproot in the arsenic-rich, hot volcanic mud. The top part is meaty, and what it uses to pull nutrients it can’t get from the mud in, including small creatures.”

“It grows in arsenic, and you eat it?”

“We do. We have an organ specific to filtering out heavy metals. But that’s not why I wanted you to see this. Put your ident chip close to the box there.”

She did as he’d said and the box displayed the menu, consisting of the one item prepared three ways. All three flashed deep red.

“The shorter the wavelength, the safer it is for your physiology. That way you know what’s safe based on the amount of risk you wish to take. This is…possibly fatally toxic for you.”

“That’s too bad,” she lied, “I wanted to try your home world delicacy.”

“If you still want to try something from my home world, I’m getting some tano-lokaro. It’s a plant, and no heavy metals.”

Mara followed Kintari to another stand where he picked up one of the dishes they offered. When the box responded in violet, she ordered two, one with a whitish sauce and the other with a green sauce. From there it was a weaving journey between the stalls, buying things that looked promising, until she realized she already had too much food.

They sat at one of the communal tables. Kintari had even more food than she did. She started with the tano-lokaro. The taste reminded her of kohlrabi and mushrooms with a hint of a peppery aftertaste. The whitish sauce was bland, but the green sauce had an astringent tang to it. “This is really good, but why didn’t you get the other thing?”

“The riiki-tano?” He shuddered. “I ate it once, and I never have to do it again. I think people eat it just for bragging rights or something. I refuse to believe any munerin actually likes it, but they’ll keep buying it and eating it forever.”

Mara noticed a fair bit of attention on her as she tried each dish. As perhaps the first human they’d seen, she was an obvious target of curiosity.

“I noticed that every stand makes only one thing. Is that just a traditional thing or…?”

“Regulations. Limiting each stall to one item spreads sales across more vendors.”

“Makes sense, I guess.”

Much to Mara’s surprise, Kintari finished every bite of his pile of food. They dropped the disposables in the recycler and Kintari moved as if to leave, but Mara stopped him.

“I want to wander the entire thing,” she said.

They did, taking their time. Mara made a mental map of the market as they went, taking note of things she wanted to try. When they’d explored the market, they walked back out to the main station, where the quiet felt both comforting and overwhelming after the hubbub.

“Thanks for taking the time, K. You don’t mind me calling you K, do you?”

“Not at all.”

“Not many cargo pilots would take the time to lead a stranger around a station. Not to mention make good on a bet to a species you’ve never seen before about an unforgettable meal.”

“The most unforgettable meal.”

“You delivered.” Mara sighed. “I guess I should get my bags from the bay lockers and find a place to stay.”

“You’ve decided to stay on the station? I thought you said you were exploring — station hopping.”

“I was, but I think I found my new home.” Mara smiled. “I saw some empty stalls in the food market, and I want to set up a chippy.”

“I don’t know what that is, but I wish you luck.”

“When you come back to this station, look for me in the food market. If I’m set up by then, I’ll give you something truly memorable.”

---

By the time Kintari had returned to the station, Mara’s chip stand was in full swing. With every species that had come by — so far — the box showed anywhere from greenish blue to violet. As such, there were people of every known species stopping by for what had become famous by word-of-mouth.

Mara saw him waiting in the line, his antennae fluttering. She turned to the be-tentacled creature behind her that was operating three fryers and stuffing paper wrappers for two other orders at the same time.

“Hey, Lindl, do you think you can handle the crowd by yourself for a bit?”

“Yeah, boss.” One of her twelve eyestalks turned to look directly at Mara. “I’m in a rhythm now. Is that your pilot friend you were talking about?”

“Sure enough. I’m pulling two orders, one mayo, one red and one green chutney. I’ll be back after we eat.”

She took the paper cones and walked down the line to where Kintari waited. “Come on, let’s get a seat.”

“But I haven’t checked my ident for—”

“I have munerin customers every day. You have any unusual allergies?”

“No.”

“Perfect. Let’s eat.”

“What are these?”

“Potatoes. They’re a tuber — a kind of node that grows on the root of a specific plant.”

He started with a plain chip and squirmed in his seat. He followed up with dipping a chip in the mayo. “This is rich. What is this?”

“Eggs and oil, mostly.” She explained the mayo, then the tamarind chutney and the cilantro chutney, and convinced him to try both together.

His first bite with the mixed chutneys made his antennae stick straight up and a shudder ran down his whole body as evidenced by the wave of fur standing on end and settling back down. He seemed at a loss for words, so Mara encouraged him to continue eating.

He’d finished both orders with no help from her in just a few minutes. “That’s…wow. No wonder your stand is so busy.”

“It almost wasn’t,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“The first few days I didn’t get any customers at all. The only chips I made were for myself.”

“What changed?”

“I was ready to call it a bust, so I started frying up chips and offering them free. Before I knew it, I was out of stock and had to close until the next shipment came in. By the time they did, I had a line before I even turned on the fryers.

“Hired Lindl, the tentacle woman — I can’t pronounce her species — that day. She seemed fascinated with the process, so I offered her a job, and she’s rocked it ever since.”

“What are your shipping prices like?”

“Fair, I guess. I go through around a thousand kilos of potatoes a week — 1,644.87 standard cargo weights. And that doesn’t include paper, mayo, chutneys, ketchup, and so on. Call it two thousand every Earth week — so every nine unit cycles. And it’s all coming from Earth.”

“How much are you paying?”

“Four-thousand credits per week.”

Kintari’s antennae spread to the sides. “Hmmm. One of the small carriers?”

“Yeah, same one a lot of the stalls are using.” Mara shrugged. “I mean, there’s just not much call for Earth freight out here…other than me.”

He pulled out his comm and began scrolling through data screens. “I bet I can get your freight here, two-thousand weight, every nine cycles, for under two-thousand credits.”

“Really? You like to gamble, huh?”

“I do.”

“Fifty credits again?”

“No. If I can’t, I’ll pay your entire next cargo fee. If I can, a free order of chips every time I come here.”

“You’re on.”

Mara went back to work, sparing an occasional glance at the munerin pilot talking to several other hawkers. The food market closed for the cycle, and she sent Lindl home while she cleaned up and prepared for the next.

Kintari approached. “If you give me your shipment details, I’ll have your orders here for 1,800 credits every nine cycles.”

“How?”

“Larger ship, and instead of just picking up one order at Earth and delivering, I can pick up orders for twelve other stalls. Means I can run out here with a full ship and return with a full ship of ore every trip.”

Mara laughed. “Once again, I’m glad I lost a bet to you.”

His antennae dipped. “My pleasure.”

“Wait a minute…how many of the other twelve hawkers did you make the same bet with?”

His antennae bobbed up and down. “All of them.”

prompt: Set your story before dawn. Your character has woken up early for a particular reason.

available at Reedsy

Tara tied her hair into an afro puff. At least with her new job she wouldn’t have to try to corral her hair into a hat. She preferred the “no-makeup” look at work. Anyone who knows, knows what it takes to look “natural.”

Colored moisturizer, a bit of concealer matching her warm, light brown skin to hide the shadows under her green eyes from lack of sleep, a little mascara, and a light lip and she was ready. Her phone chimed and she picked it up.

The face on the other end had just woken up, thinning gray hair unkempt, the wrinkles around his blue eyes met with pillow lines that continued down his pale face to his permanently ruddy cheeks. Tara made sure she looked presentable in her camera before connecting.

“Dad, it’s two-thirty in the morning! Why are you calling?”

“I just wanted to tell you I love you, and I’m proud of you…and I’ll miss you.”

Tara smiled. “Dad, we said all that last night. You didn’t have to get up just to tell me that.”

“I know, but I wanted to see you before you left. Oh, and you said you’d send a picture in your uniform.”

She snorted. “You don’t have enough of me in my police uniforms?”

“This is different,” he said, “and I want to see your space suit.”

Tara shook her head. “It’s not like that, Dad. Here, I’ll show you.” She propped the phone against the wall and stepped back. She wore a black, long-sleeved pullover, black tactical pants, and her police boots.

“That’s just your police uniform without the body armor and jacket,” he said.

“One sec, Dad.” She picked up a vest from the dresser and slipped it on. It was neon chartreuse with several pockets, a name tape that said “Missions Tara,” and one below that said the same but in an alien script. She turned to show the back, where the word “SECURITY” in both English and the alien script made up the design.

“Wait,” he said, “you aren’t wearing body armor?”

“Dad, no-one’s going to be shooting at me on a spaceship.”

“I would just feel better—”

“I know. That’s why I’m bringing it anyway. At least while we’re in dock, I’ll probably wear it. Same goes for my sidearm.” She picked up the phone. “They’re letting me bring it, even though I won’t be able to use it on the ship…ever.”

“But if it comes down to it—”

“Dad, think about it for a minute. A nine-millimeter slug, versus the skin of a spaceship, in the vacuum of space.”

“Oh…yeah. So, what will you use?”

She strapped on her duty belt and pointed at the plastic device holstered near her hip. “Still have a taser and baton, and they have a beanbag rifle for the really tough cases.”

“Will that be enough for the aliens? What if you run into—?”

“The xenomorphs from Alien aren’t real. You know what the real aliens — the Elarians —  look like, they’ve been on the news for months.”

“I know, but I worry. And that thing in your head—”

“It’s just under the skin behind my ear, not in my brain, and it’s a standard translator. Dad, I’m not worried. Most of the aliens are from lower gravity worlds like the Elarians, meaning their bones are likely to be more fragile than ours, and we have them seriously overpowered in strength. You should worry about what Mom’s gonna do if you fall asleep at Meemaw’s birthday cookout today.”

“Oof, yeah. How’d you get so smart?”

“My cop father was just smart enough to marry a geneticist…so it’s mostly Mom, but I’ll give you two percent credit.”

“Brat.” He yawned. “Give ’em hell, Pumpkin.”

“Love you, too, Dad. Go back to sleep.” She ended the call and checked the time. Her ride to the space port would be pulling up within the minute. She rushed out with her suitcase, locking the door behind her, to meet her ride.

—

It took nine minutes to reach low-Earth orbit, and only six for the alien freighter to match speed with the shuttle and dock. Tara floated into the airlock and released the straps on her suitcase. One of the regular crew handed her the vacuum sealed bag that contained the clothes she’d been wearing.

“What about this?” she asked, tapping the helmet of the vacuum suit she was buttoned up in.

“You keep that,” the crewman said. “It’s included in the price your employer paid to get you here. Besides, you’ll need it for reentry when you come back, and you’ll have it just in case….”

“Right.”

The crewman locked the inside of the airlock, and Tara waited for the outer door to open. She didn’t know what to expect, but she was glad of the suit just in case it turned into an unplanned spacewalk.

The airlock on the other side of the door was too clean, too smooth, too perfect to be real. She held her suitcase and bag of clothes in one hand, pulling herself into the other airlock with a reverential slowness.

As soon as she was fully inside, the human shuttle’s door disappeared as the wall just…materialized…where it had been an open hole. A voice sounded in the airlock, “Disengaged from shuttle, prepare for gravity in 5…4…3…”

Tara scrambled to get as close to the floor as possible, only to bounce off the wall to the actual floor when the gravity kicked in, ninety degrees from where she’d thought “down” was. It wasn’t anything like the gee-forces she’d felt in ascent or even half of Earth gravity, but it did settle her nerves compared to weightlessness.

The inner door opened or rather, a hole appeared in the wall. Beyond was not nearly as spotless as the airlock had been. A well-worn path in the center of the hallway showed where foot traffic had passed for years. Small pads on the wall, about shoulder-height for Tara, showed the sort of burnishing that comes from years of hands or other appendages pressing on them.

She was trying to figure out how to remove her helmet when two of the Elarians approached. One stepped behind her and began by releasing the catch so she could lift it off. The other stood in front of her, two large arms shouldered behind two smaller, hands with four fingers and no obvious thumbs at the ends of each, though Tara had seen them on the news enough to know the outside digits could move into an opposable position.

It was a female of the species, slightly larger than the males, with pale, butter-yellow skin sporting light grey blotches. Four eyes that were mostly pupil, the two larger on the outside of the two smaller near the center of the face. No visible nostrils or ear holes, but a wide mouth with flat teeth in the front, and heavy grinding teeth to the rear.

She spread her two inner arms and gave a slight bow, still head and shoulders taller than Tara. “Welcome, Missions Tara, I am Prime Advisor Achilokila Priviiatik, but you may call me ‘Privi,’ short for my given name. May I call you Tara?”

Tara lifted off her helmet. “You may, Privi. So, uh…what is Prime Advisor?”

“I am second in command to the Ship Speaker…you call it Captain, yes?”

Tara nodded but was finding it difficult to catch her breath. “Yes. That would make you the First Officer or Executive Officer — XO — then.”

“Ah! That’s the term. As the Prime Cudgel — head of security — you will report to me.”

The one who had loosened her helmet stepped into view holding a small pack with a canula. Half a head shorter than Privi, with similar markings but a greener cast to his skin. “Put this in your nostrils. It will deliver oxygen at the level you need. I am Ship Medic Achilokila Proviatun, younger brother to Privi. You may call me ‘Provi’ if you wish.”

Tara took the offered tube and Provi helped her get it situated. Within a few breaths, she was feeling more normal. “Thank you, Provi. If one of you could show me to my quarters, I can get out of this vacuum suit and back into uniform.”

Privi nodded at her brother, and he said, “Follow me.”

With her first step, she fell forward and almost knocked the tall creature down. “Whoa! Sorry. It’ll take some getting used to,” she said.

After getting to her room, wriggling out of the suit, and getting dressed, she was getting a feel for how lightly to step. She stowed her gear, attached the small box-like device that delivered oxygen to her utility belt, and met Provi, still waiting for her in the hall. “Now we shall meet the…Cat-pin?”

“Captain.”

“Ah, Captain.” He led her to a common area that included places to cook, eat, and lounge. A female even larger than Privi was sprawled in a hammock, one of her small hands holding a device while the other small hand navigated the holograph above it. One of her large hands pushed off the wall in a rhythm that kept the hammock moving in a lazy swing.

“Hello, Cap—Ship Speaker. I’m Tara Missions…I mean Missions Tara.”

The hand that had been pushing off the wall grabbed it, stopping the swing. She sat up and looked down at Tara. “Welcome aboard the Full Pouch, Prime Cudgel Missions Tara. I am Ship Speaker Chiloka Chikurik. Your duties will be to organize and manage the station guards for the ship and cargo while in port, and provide assistance where needed around the ship. Beyond that, we hope to never need your assistance.”

Provi and another alien that had been silently eating in the room both shouted out, “Pirates be gone! Void take you!”

Chikurik laughed. “Correct. However, if we do need your assistance, I have it on good authority that you know how to use that?” she asked, pointing at an orange shotgun on the wall.

“Beanbag shotgun. Less-lethal weapon. Know it very well.”

“I used it once and damaged my shoulder. Humans call this a ‘less-lethal’ weapon?”

“Yes, ma’am. Although, if used improperly, it can still kill.”

Chikurik laughed again. “If used improperly, she says! This thing blows holes in the carapace of Gerlash pirates, but only dents the ship. Busts up the insides of Elarians and Salamars. It’s perfect.”

Tara cocked her head in surprise. “It…blows holes in them? I thought humans were fragile, but it almost never penetrates or busts up your innards.”

“It doesn’t?”

“Rarely, and only if fired too close. When used properly, it leaves a bruise, when used improperly it can break bones — or kill if hit in the head or neck for example — but unlike a regular round, it won’t go through a human.”

Chikurik crossed the room and lifted a flexible club with her large hands. It was obvious that it was heavy. “This is the ceremonial cudgel that is awarded to Prime Cudgel on each ship. Only the strongest could wield it effectively, but we have better tools now.”

Tara grabbed the handle of the cudgel and gave it a few practice swings with one hand. She wasn’t sure how she felt about it being floppy but hung it from her belt near her baton. “Thank you, Ship Speaker.”

“You aren’t expected to carry that ancient thing. It’s just a rite of passage.”

“Thank you again.”

“And that thing on your belt, what is that?” Chikurik asked, pointing.

“Taser, another less-lethal weapon. It shoots out two prongs that deliver fifty kilovolts — results in 1200 volts to the body at around two milliamps — so, twenty or so 100-millisecond bursts per second. It disrupts muscle signals in the body and hurts like hell.”

Chikurik’s hand flew over the holographic interface in front of her. “That’s…eighteen thousand four hundred…. By the First Mother’s pouch! That doesn’t kill you?”

“Nah. I’ve been hit with one of these bad boys twelve times now — every year during recertification — no lasting effects.”

“Well, Prime Cudgel Missions Tara, just don’t ever point either of those things at me…and keep that Taser thing away from the controls. I think we may just be safe from the pirates for sure now.”

“Pirates be gone! Void take you!” the two others called out again.

“Pirates flee! We have a human Prime Cudgel!” Chikurik called out.

“I’m curious, though,” Tara said.

“About what?”

“Why did you go out of your way to hire a human? I mean, we’re just now starting to trade for goods from you, and we won’t be accepted into your Trade Alliance proper until we develop our own FTL, now that we know it’s possible.”

The Ship Speaker stood tall above Tara and held her chin with one of her small hands. “Because, little one, I guessed that a creature from a high gravity world would be tough, and it seems I was right. You’re probably built pretty dense, too.” She grabbed Tara with her large arms and tried to lift her but could only get her to her tip-toes.

Tara laughed and spread her arms. “May I?”

Chikurik nodded, and Tara wrapped an arm around her hips and lifted her with one hand. In the light gravity on the ship, it felt like lifting a small child.

“Pirates flee! We have a human Prime Cudgel!” the two others called out.

“Yeah!” Tara yelled, as she set Chikurik down. “You pirates better run!”

prompt: Write a story about a character who finds guidance in an unlikely place.

available at Reedsy

Garal had often felt there were not enough hours in a day, regardless of the planet. She’d felt like the days had been close to long enough on Haror IV, where the days were close to twice the length of those on her home world. Still, it had only been close to long enough.

Now, though, she had no one but herself to blame. As the owner-operator of her own long-range freighter, she decided what a day was in transit. She stopped what she was working on to soak her aching tentacles. Her gripping surfaces were drying out and raw, and she still had so much work to do.

She soaked for hours, until her ship dropped from c-space into normal space. Garal was surprised to see that she’d already reached her destination.

Letting herself drip on the floor, she crawled out of the creamy liquid in her soak tank and headed for the bridge. On the way she grabbed a wrap with a much-relieved tentacle. Settling into the captain’s chair, she called the station ahead.

“Station GaiaNova-17 Dock Control, this is merchant vessel Shallow Pools, ident XM3279.43R, Captain Garal Eighth of Seventeenth, requesting clearance for docking, over.”

“Shallow Pools, GN-17 DC. I have your planet of registry as Kura II, your transit plan from Haror IV station, but no cargo manifest, over.”

“DC, Shallow Pools, all correct. My hold is empty, except for scrap fixtures and cleaning and repair supplies. I was remodeling, over.”

“Shallow Pools, DC; you are clear to dock in ring four, slip eighteen. Set nav to accept docking control GN-17-4, over.”

“DC, Shallow Pools. I copy ring four, slip eighteen, nav accept GN-17-4, over.”

“Shallow Pools, DC; good copy. The dock master will check your supplies for any hazardous materials and can direct you to the recycling center for the scrap. Welcome to human space. GN-17 Dock Control out.”

After the dock master confirmed that none of her cleaning supplies were hazardous, he took the time to get a freight pusher for her that she could load all the old fixtures on and haul to the recycling center, on ring five. She had loaded the pusher before she realized how quiet the dock was. She’d expected a lot more in the way of freight moving through the station.

The recycling center was busier than the freight docks on ring four. She thought that was odd, but she was in human space at an aging station. She guided the pusher to the next available slot.

“Ah, you must be from the Shallow Pools.” The human woman wearing a name tag that said “Lina” began to scan the cart with a hand-held device. “Some of these fixtures still look newish. Are you sure you don’t want to hold on to ’em and sell ’em yourself?”

“I’m sure.” Garal wrapped her tentacles around themselves. “So, how much to take all this off my back?”

“Huh? Well, we’ll probably salvage the light fixtures, and the…is that an anurian soak tank?” She tapped on the display of her hand-held device.

“Yeah. It’s like a human bath — I think that’s the word — except it filters and recirculates the dermis rejuvenation liquid.”

“Yeah, I kind of thought that’s what it was. I soaked in one of those, once. Never again. All my hair fell out, including my eyebrows and eyelashes, and all my nails got so soft I almost lost them as well. Except for that, it was great. My skin never looked better.” She laughed.

Garal continued soothing herself by wrapping and unwrapping her tentacles. “So…how much?”

“Best I can do is 150 credits. You could probably do better selling the soak tank in anurian space.”

“I—I didn’t expect it to cost so much. I can take it back and—”

“No! No, that’s not cost, that’s how much I can pay you for it.”

Garal’s four eyestalks shot up in surprise. “You’re…paying me for this?”

“Well, yeah. You bring scrap or items to be recycled, we pay you for the value…minus a little for overhead, of course.”

“Oh! That’s fantastic, then! Sold.”

Garal returned to her ship with a new swish in her slither. She’d already set aside enough for refueling, and had enough food to last a while, but had been worried that without a good-paying run out of GN-17 she’d be hard-pressed to continue on. While not a lot, a 150-credit buffer did feel good.

At the ship, she paid for refueling, and got directions to the outbound freight board. She waited until she was certain they were fueling the Pools correctly, then made her way to ring two.

Part of ring two was dedicated to passenger slips and transport to ring one, and the other was offices. She followed the signs in twelve languages to the Outbound Transport Office and let herself in.

There was activity at many of the offices she’d passed, but this one was quiet. She knew from past experience to press the button on the device beside the door to get a queue number and had a tentacle about to do so when someone said, “Don’t bother. You’re next.”

She turned to the counter where a bored looking human — she couldn’t determine whether they were male or female — motioned her up. “Hi,” she said as she approached. “I need an outbound cargo…to anywhere within a hundred parsecs…oh! And it has to fit in the Shallow Pools, and I can land at up to 2.6 standard gravities with 4.87 tonnes of cargo. … Can only take off from that empty, though.”

The bored human nodded, typed something into their console, and handed Garal a small, printed chip. “Take this to ring one. Information desk can point you in the right direction.”

“Wh—what? What’s the cargo? There’s only one?”

“It’s the only thing outbound that’ll fit in your ship. Going 40.237 parsecs to a 0.8 standard gravity moon. Cargo weight, less than 0.3 tonnes.”

Garal burbled, the anurian equivalent of a heavy sigh. Such a small load was hardly going to pay well, but at least she wouldn’t be using much in the way of fuel. “Thank you.”

Where ring four had been too silent, ring one was a cacophony of noise and color. Sapients from all over mixed and mingled in the shops and eateries. She made her way to the nearest information kiosk and showed the chip, where she was told to wait in the small dining establishment beside the kiosk.

She figured she might as well get a fresh meal, as it would likely be the last one for a while. Her ship had plenty of food stored up, but not the sort one would get at home…or in an eatery.

No sooner had Garal received her steaming bowl of ramen than she was joined by an elderly human male pulling a travel case, on top of which rode a large carrier containing some sort of Earth animal.

“You must be Garal, of the Shallow Pond?” he asked.

“Shallow Pools,” she said.

“Right, right. Sorry. I’m Frank. I’ll let you finish your meal, then I’m ready whenever you are.”

“You’re the one with the cargo? Is it anything dangerous?” she asked.

He laughed. “Do I look dangerous?”

“You’re…not cargo.”

“Technically, I am,” he said. “Whether I’m boarded as a passenger on a liner or as ‘cargo’ on a freighter. I’m just weight you’re moving around.”

Two of Garal’s tentacles wrapped around themselves while she continued to eat and tried to look unconcerned. “Where are you headed?”

“Going home to my moon, Spera,” he said. “It’s around Alnus — Silva VI.”

“Your moon? You mean, the moon you came from?”

“No, I mean the moon I bought.” He laughed. “I’m kidding. I’m settling into a retirement community there and didn’t want to travel with all the noisy people, so I figured I’d wait here on the station until a small freighter came available.”

“How long have you been waiting?”

“Seventy-nine standard days…about two months Earth — Sol III — time.” He seemed lost in thought for a moment. “That would be eighty-five or eighty-six days on Eklara.”

Garal’s eyestalks perked up. “You know the name of my planet, beyond just Kura II.”

“Of course,” he said, “I remember my stellagraphy classes. It was my favorite subject. Got a degree in Stellapolitics.”

She looked at him, then at the animal carrier. “That’s not venomous or anything, is it?”

“No. That’s a tortoise. Her name’s Celia.” Frank started. “Oh! Almost forgot. Payment up front.” He pushed a stack of credits across the table to her.

She kept eating while counting the credits with two other tentacles. Six thousand. “You could just rent a private transport for that. You’d be there in less than a standard day. The Pools isn’t slow, but it’ll take nine standard days to get there.”

Frank smiled. “That’s why I’m paying you the big bucks. I like to take my time. Besides, it’s a nuisance rate. There’s not likely any outgoing freight from Spera, so you’ll end up flying empty to the station at Quercus — Silva II.”

Garal left NG-17 with 6,141 credits in her satchel, a trunk of everything Frank owned in the hold, Frank, and his ‘pet.’ Once she entered c-space, she had time to go back to finishing up the remodel. The only thing left was wiring in the new lights in the galley.

She walked in to find Frank wiring up the last of them. The rest had been connected, sealed and seated, and were working.

“I—uh, thank you?”

“I see you’ve done a lot of work on the Pools, just thought you could use a break.”

She didn’t know how to answer, instead wrapping her tentacles around themselves.

He sealed and seated the light, which came on as it clicked into place. “Look, I can tell you’re the sort to work your fingers to the bone—er…work your tentacles to the nub? Anyway, you’re not one to slow down — ever — are you?”

“You are more correct than not,” she said.

“We have time,” he said. “I’m going to teach you what I’ve learned from Celia.” He pointed to the far side of the galley where he’d converted the carrier to a fence that hemmed her in. Small piles of fresh greens and fruit were placed in various spots within the fence.

Garal watched, mesmerized, as Celia moved with slow, deliberate steps to the next pile of food. Once there, she eyed it with a tilted head, then took a slow bite.

“I used to run at everything like I was tilting at windmills,” Frank said, “until I got Celia. That was forty years ago — roughly twenty-eight or so stellar revolutions for Eklara.”

“And she changed you?”

Frank smiled. “Not right away, of course. No. I used to get frustrated that she took so long to do anything. I’d want her to hurry up and eat so I could be sure she was properly fed before I left to work. Getting her to come out of her enclosure for cleaning was even worse.”

“What changed?”

“I did…eventually. I figured out that just because she was slow, it didn’t mean she wouldn’t get a thing done. Then I got the bright idea, that maybe I could slow down once in a while.” He walked over and scratched Celia’s shell. “She can feel that you know. She likes it.”

“So, why did you finish up my task?”

“Because, young miss, you are going to spend the next nine days learning how to relax, and Celia and I will be your teachers.”

“But there’s still so much to—”

“Nonsense. The ship is spotless, except for a few drops of dermis rejuvenation liquid in the hall that I already cleaned up so Celia wouldn’t get into it.”

“But there’s—”

“No buts. Is there anything on the ship likely to fail any time soon?”

“No.”

“Are there any pressure leaks, fuel leaks, or shorts?”

“No.”

“The air handlers seem to be working fine. Are the scrubbers and filters in need of immediate replacement?”

“No, they’re all new.”

“See. Nothing to do but relax.”

Her tentacles tightened around themselves. Frank just gave a kind smile, as if waiting for her to come around. She felt something inside let go. Everything that could be done by busy, was done. Her tentacles relaxed. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right,” he said.

She spent the next hours watching Celia eat her spread out meal, sometimes stopping to nap in between. Frank surprised her with a hot bowl of ramen, before she even realized she was hungry.

She made a point of taking her time with it, as Frank did. They shared idle conversation about his past teaching Galactic Politics, her past as a mechanic until she saved up enough to buy the Pools and get it space worthy, and…in the best moments…nothing at all.

Without needing to rush from one task to another, the nine days in transit seemed at once never-ending and over too soon. The long meals, easy conversation, watching and stroking Celia as she maintained her own pace…then, back to regular space and time to land.

The landing pad on Spera was below ground, with a cover that sealed over once they settled. All the habitations were in domes, as the atmosphere was too thin and lacking in oxygen. Bioengineered plants covered the moon, though, making it look like a lush paradise.

Garal rolled Frank’s travel case down the cargo ramp and gave Celia a farewell rub on her shell. She walked with Frank through the airlock into the tunnels that connected the domes. Signs in Galactic Common and several human languages pointed the ways to the various domes. “Which dome did you say?” she asked.

“I didn’t. But it looks like it’s just a ten-minute walk from here.”

“Can I help you with your case?”

“If you want to. If not, I’m sure I can manage, and you can go find real cargo at Quercus.”

Garal stretched her tentacles. “I’m in no hurry.”

prompt: You’re awakened from your nap by someone asking, “Are you hungry?”. You fell asleep somewhere else entirely.

available at Reedsy

Something, a noise, probably, almost woke me from my nap. I took a deep breath to let myself fall back into sleep, when it came again.

A voice, right next to me, “Are you hungry?”

I jolted upright, hitting my head on the upper bunk, grabbed my head and rolled away from the source of voice only for my king-sized bed to come to a sudden end and I fell entirely too far to a hard floor.

What upper bunk? I wondered. Where is my carpet? Why is my bed so small and high?

My head throbbed, my right shoulder was bruised, at the very least, along with my right knee, and I landed with my hip on my right hand in an odd position. The sharp pain from my wrist, shooting into my fingers made me fear I’d broken something.

I removed my hand from under my hip — gingerly — and forced my eyes open to assess the damage. My knuckles were red, and my wrist made a painful sort of clunking as I tested out the range of motion. Okay, not broken, I just re-aggravated my carpal tunnel syndrome.

“Are you hurt?” the voice asked.

“Yeah! Shit!” I looked around. I was on a metal floor, a triple bunk bed next to me, and a speaker on the wall near the middle bunk.

Wait, this must be a dream. I must be laying on my hand weird and the dream is trying to account for the pain. But my head? Never mind. WAKE UP!

That didn’t work. I stood, saw my phone laying on the middle bunk, and grabbed it to check the time. It felt light, like the battery had been removed, but it was still working. Less than an hour after I’d lay down to nap, and zero bars.

It felt like I’d fallen off a roof, but the middle bunk was only shoulder height. I did a little jump and hit my poor, abused head on the ceiling and barely managed to stick the landing.

I was in too much pain now to think I was still dreaming. “Where the hell am I?”

“You are here.”

“Funny, asshole. You interrupted my sleep. I nap three hours in the afternoon and three at night. Now my schedule’s going to be all jacked and you better have a good reason.”

The wall opposite the bunk bed split open and sort of…disappeared. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t what standing there. I wished — for a brief moment — that it was a prank, someone in a suit. It couldn’t be though, because the proportions were…wrong. Tall, stick-thin, two legs, two long arms with three-fingered hands coming from too far forward on the chest, two more, longer, coming from behind, ending in cruel, knife-like points.

What I guessed were mouthparts at the bottom of its face were surrounded by fractal-branched appendages that extended, waved in the air, then withdrew again, like a collection of tiny sea anemones. Apart from the weird, fractal organs, the only other visible sensory organ was the collection of at least a dozen compound eyes.

“What the fuck are you?”

Its chest vibrated and it made an odd, warbling whistle, followed by the voice coming from the speaker again. “I am an envoy from my people, the __, and we need your assistance.”

“The what now?”

It made a high, sustained whistle, and the speaker repeated it.

“Non-translatable, I guess. Do you have a name?”

A complicated whistle was followed by the same on the speaker.

“Is it okay if I call you Pat? I don’t know whether you’re male or female or neither/both, but it’s a name that works for any.”

“That is an acceptable moniker.”

“Cool Pat, nice to meet you…I think? I’m Justice, but I go by Jay.”

“That is also acceptable. My people require your assistance, Jay.”

I looked past Pat, the walking nightmare, to the area behind him/her/it. It looked like a spaceship set for a Cameron movie; everything made sense where it was, down to the smallest detail, and everything looked worn from use. The only part that didn’t jibe was the horror show in the windows…screens?…whatever. If that’s what faster-than-light travel looks like, we’ll never get it right in the movies.

“I, uh, shit. What kind of help could you want?”

“We need the assistance you have provided your own kind. Our war with the __ is not going well, and we are in danger of losing a key wormhole gate.” The little anemones around its mouth-parts waved in frantic spasms as it spoke those words, then retreated for several uncomfortable seconds.

I was about to ask again, when hundreds of social media and forum posts and comments began flashing in the air behind Pat. “How did you trace any of that to me?”

“Your networks are simple. We’ve been watching thousands of you, looking for the ones that can turn the tides of war.”

“What.The.Fuck?!” I shook my head. “Do you know what I do?”

“You influence others, build or destroy morale, often arguing with yourself, allowing one version to win over the other in order to show the superiority of the logic or morals of the winning position.”

“No. I shitpost. That’s all I do. I get paid to troll social media and forums, and I push whatever agenda I’m getting paid to push. That’s it. I don’t believe ninety-nine percent of what I post.”

“Jay….” Pat seemed to be lost in thought. Its knife-arms folded on themselves. “This is acceptable,” it finally said. “This reduces the need to show the morality of our position.”

I thought about it. I’d be missing some of my current jobs, but a few trolls, stalwarts, and social justice warriors disappearing for a while wasn’t a big deal. I’d have to come up with excuses for them and bring them back online at different times, but I had practice at that. While I was contemplating, my stomach rumbled.

“You know what, Pat? I am hungry. Show me to a computer, give me some food and caffeine and let me see what’s going on with your war before I get started.”

Pat led me to a chair in the cockpit-type area, that adjusted itself for my size and shape. A standard, QWERTY keyboard swung in front of me. It was a mechanical keyboard, not my favorite, but I could use it. I didn’t know what was involved in translating their language to English, and my input to their language, but their network was easy to navigate.

I knew Pat had been watching me for a while when he set a hot microwave breakfast burrito, a bag of extra-spicy tortilla chips, and a cold can of energy drink next to me. “Thanks, Pat.”

“Whatever you require for payment, we will gladly provide.”

I took a bite of the burrito, then stopped. “Wait. How did you get me here?”

“Your gravity is too strong for me to carry you, so I had to use a tractor beam to pull you aboard and put you in the bed.”

“Wait, how did you get me out of my house?”

“The roof lifted off easily in the beam. I am very sorry, but it did not settle back down properly. I fear your domicile is damaged. We will pay for repair, of course.”

“Of course.” I perused the network for a while longer, before pulling my wrist brace out of my waist band and strapping it on.

“What is that?”

“It helps with my carpal tunnel,” I said.

Pat seemed to either understand or just decided to let it go.

I cracked my knuckles — which made its little anemones spasm and hide again — then took a deep breath and dove into a forum to begin my new job. It was the official news run by the other side’s military and allowed public comments…stupid of them.

The keyboard clacked loudly as I typed up a rambling message about weak Pat’s people were. I hoped it was translating my misspellings and bad grammar as well, but had no way to tell.

By making the pro-enemy poster a total idiot, it would be simple for my next sock puppet user to tear down every argument with facts, backed by links, then follow up with some exaggerations.

“What is this?” Pat asked. “Why are you talking up the enemy?”

“Wait until you see the rebuttal,” I said. “This is just a shitpost.”

prompt: Set your story in a type of prison cell.

available at Reedsy

Lissette watched Igrud run around the track in his loping, knuckle-walking gait. The others of his kind engaged in various sport on the pitch surrounded by a track. For his part, Igrud had a standing race against one of the humans every Thursday.

His muscles sufficiently warmed up, he stood up in a bipedal stance, the foreign sun of this planet shining off his dark brown scales in shimmering rainbows. “Are you ready, Kel?” he asked the human.

Kelly Brady, former professional sprinter dressed in exercise shorts, a tee-shirt that said “STAFF” on the back, and running shoes, smiled at the maukan. “I won’t go easy on you, Ig. You going to win today?”

“I think I might,” he said. “400 meters. Let’s go.”

Lissette Deschamps, dressed in the polo shirt, slacks, soft boots, body camera, and utility belt with keys and a radio, that made up her standard uniform, stood by the starting line for the 400-meter dash. “Come on, you two. Let’s get this show on the road, so Kelly can get his skinny, glow-in-the-dark white legs back into a uniform.”

They lined up, and Lissette gave them the signal to go. The human, in his long-legged stride, led off the line. It took a maukan some time to build up speed in their quadrupedal, knuckle-walking gait. Once they did, though, they could far outstrip the speed of a human.

The conventional wisdom was humans win at 100 and 200 meters, they tie somewhere around 400 meters, then maukans win at distances up to five kilometers; the outside range for maukan endurance. At long distances, humans always the upper hand.

Kelly ran like he had the devil on his tail, head forward, arms pumping, back straight. Igrud built up speed like a locomotive, gaining on Kelly on the oval track. Lissette watched the finish line along with a few of the other maukans, most of whom cheered for Igrud, but Lissette noticed a couple of them cheering for Kelly.

 She positioned herself so her body camera was pointed straight down the finish line. It was going to be close. They came across the line, Kelly slowing after with the few long, arm-swinging steps she’d gotten used to seeing. Igrud, however, dove across the line so hard that he rolled into a ball on the other side and came to a stop in a heap.

Ignoring the question of winner for the moment, Lissette ran to his side along with Kelly. “Are you hurt?” she asked.

Igrud unrolled himself and they could see he was laughing. “That was my best run ever. If that didn’t beat you, I don’t know if it’s possible.”

A voice came across her radio. “Lissette, we’re watching the replay in control. Igrud won by about two millimeters.”

Kelly helped the exhausted Igrud to his feet and congratulated him before going in to prepare for his shift. Lissette finished out the afternoon with the maukans until it was time for them head back inside.

As they filed in, she greeted them each by name and they responded in kind. She had just stepped inside and locked the outside door when her radio chirped.

She put in her earpiece and set the radio to talk to send. “This is Lissette. All counted. Some of the guys are making a celebratory dinner for Igrud. Some variation of a traditional dish using local ingredients.”

Lissette nodded. “Yeah, I’ll handle it. I’m off tomorrow anyway, so I can handle staying a little late. … Will do.”

“Hey, Lissette, are you having dinner with us tonight?” Igrud stood tall on two feet, his long arms held out a bit from his body. That stance from a human, would be a warning that he was about to get violent. In maukan body language, however, it was equivalent to a human standing stock straight, their head high, their chest puffed out: pride.

“I bet Kelly will, when he gets here,” she said, “but I’ve got some other things to take care of. It sounds good, though. Could you save me a plate, if it’s not too much trouble?”

“We’ll make sure of it,” he said.

“I have to welcome a new guest, so don’t be too hard on Ivan and Waylon. I’ll be back later. You can be as hard as you want on Kelly, though.” She laughed and the maukans — and Kelly — laughed with her.

She walked through the common room where a large holo played a popular sitcom. Various board games were stacked on the shelves, along with a wide selection of books, both human and maukan in origin.

The open kitchen — with all the needed amenities — was a hub of activity as it seemed at least four of the maukans were all trying to make the same dish with a surprising lack of dissent or disagreement. The most common noise coming from the group in the kitchen was laughter, including from Ivan, who was helping out.

Lissette opened a panel near the elevator and turned her key in the recessed keyhole. The elevator doors slid open, and she stepped in. In the dormitory she’d just left, there was nothing that felt like a prison at all; nothing to suggest that entire dormitory was, in effect, a giant prison cell.

Stopped on the level where tunnels ran beneath the dormitories and sport field, that illusion was shattered, even without a single bar anywhere in the prison. She entered control, the literal and metaphorical center of the prison.

After finding out what time the new guest was due to arrive, she waited in the intake office just inside the outer walls of the prison.

When the maukan was led out of the ground car, hands and feet shackled, Lissette stood just inside the door, her arms crossed in a close approximation of a maukan greeting stance.

The military police unlocked his shackles, handed his file to Lissette, and said, “He’s all yours.”

Freed of his bonds, the maukan returned the greeting stance, seeming bewildered.

Lissette spoke to him in the most common maukan language; one that over eighty percent of the prison population spoke, and the only one she’d learned. “Welcome, Jigan Mantun. I am Lissette Deschamps, the man there is Jorge Mendez, and we will be handling your intake.” She offered a hand to shake.

Jigan looked at the extended hand and shook it in the human gesture he’d learned during his brief detainment. “You speak Hantu. This is not…the reception I expected.”

“I speak some, but getting better,” she said. “Do you speak Common?”

He made a fist with one hand held low, the sign for small. “I talks can little good-bad. I listens can big good.”

“We can teach you,” she said. “If you don’t understand anything I’m saying just stop me, and I’ll try to translate. First, though, we need to get you checked out by the doctor…and get rid of that silly orange uniform. We have a closet full of donated maukan and human clothes. Feel free to take anything that fits you.”

She led him to the elevator and Jorge followed behind, joining them in the elevator. They exited in the tunnels below the prison, where they went to another elevator to the assessment wing and exited right next to the doctor’s station.

Jigan selected three changes of clothes from the donations closet. After his physical exam, the ill-fitting orange jumpsuit was put into a box marked, “MP return” and he dressed in one of the new outfits. Lissette then led him back to the elevator and up to the dorm.

When they exited the elevator at the dorm level, she led him to his quarters and held the door for him. “This is where you’ll be staying. A counselor will be by tomorrow morning to learn more about you and figure out what we can do to make you comfortable.”

Jigan looked around the room as Lissette pointed out the bed, closet, desk, holoscreen, shower, toilet and sink, and the interior lock on the door.

“Any time you feel you need to be left alone, you can come in and lock the door. We can open it with a key, but we won’t unless it’s necessary. If you follow me, I’ll show you to the shared kitchen, where you’ll be expected to cook your evening meal for yourself and clean up after yourself. Morning and noon meals are delivered.”

She handed him a card with a matrix code on it. “Don’t lose this. This is your identification and how you can buy things you need from the store through that double-door there, when it’s open. It’s not required that you work, as you get a small daily stipend, but we encourage it, just to keep you occupied, and not molting on your own tail.”

Jigan titled his head at her use of the Hantu phrase that equated to going stir-crazy. He sniffed the air and pointed at the plate covered in foil that sat near the microwave. “What is that?”

Igrud stepped in, speaking Hantu. “It happens to be a ho-kun tapah, made with local ingredients. It’s missing that sharp tinganuru note, but cooking in human wine comes a close second. I saved it for Lissette, but if you’re hungry I bet she’d let you have it.”

Lissette nodded. “It looks good, but I doubt the MPs fed you very well. Go ahead, Jigan, I’ll try it next time.” She showed him how to use the microwave to reheat the meal and left him in Igrud’s care while she moved to join some of the others watching a holo.

She heard snippets of their conversation as Igrud replayed his racing victory over Kelly. After a few minutes, Jigan walked over and stood next to her. “I don’t know what to make of this. Guards and prisoners mingling, and you carry no weapons.”

“I get that a lot. I know you’re a prisoner of war, and you know it, but that’s no reason to treat you badly. Our job is to make sure you’re safe and comfortable, and well-cared for until the war’s over. We’d rather act like a helpful neighbor than an overbearing guard.

“That said, though, if you cause trouble, there will be consequences. There are 214 guests here, and 307 staff. We do everything we can to solve problems before they get that far, though.

“If you need anything tonight you can ask your dorm mates, the staff on the floor, or the intercom on the wall near your door. Just push the button to talk and let the staff on duty know what you need.”

Jigan relaxed his posture. “Good, no torture, but you haven’t even asked me any questions. When are you going to interrogate me?”

“Why would we do that?” Lissette asked. “Torture doesn’t work, and we can’t trust anything you might have to say about military plans or anything of the sort. Trust me, I would make up all sorts of wild stories to muddy the intelligence picture.”

“Then why do you take prisoners, if not for information? Why not just kill us instead?”

“Killing you is against the rules…our rules, at least. The war may still be going on, but it will end, and when it does, would we be better off having treated you with kindness, or with punishment and deprivation? One promotes the ability to someday live side-by-side, while the other promotes more hatred.”

“You speak the truth.” Jigan sat on his haunches, head bowed low, his long arms behind him. Lissette recognized it as a submissive posture, and one used during formal apologies. “I big sorry,” he said.

“For what?” she asked. “You’ve done nothing wrong. Our peoples are at war, but all you’ve done is be a soldier for your people. Look, you didn’t start the war, I didn’t start the war…nobody here started the war. Politicians did that, and no matter how mad we are at them, that’s not a reason to take it out on each other.”

“I big big sorry,” he said again. “On behalf of my people…I worked at a POW camp before I got sent to the front. Even the guard quarters were worse than this. It’s day and night lockdown and questioning. And even though I was shooting at your kind just two suns ago, you are treating me with dignity and respect.”

Lissette knew maukan body language and knew how to respond to a formal apology. She placed her palm on his forehead and said, “Your scales are clean, your blame molted. I forgive you, Jigan. Now you need to forgive yourself.”

He raised his head to meet her gaze, and the oily tears she saw often from some of the prisoners — usually when talking about family and home — gathered at the edges of his eye-pits. Many of the other maukans had stopped what they were doing and watched Jigan’s formal apology.

Igrud brought Jigan a cold beer from the fridge. “Your scales are clean, cousin. This will help.”

Ivan cleared his throat calling attention to himself, where he had been playing chess with one of the maukans. “It’s your move, man.”

Igrud laughed. “Way to read the mood, Ivan.”

Lissette joined in the laughter and the holo started up again as Jigan rose from his position. “I believe I need to sleep now, if I may be allowed.”

“Sure,” Lissette answered. “You don’t have to ask. We’re all adults here, so make yourself at home. I’ll be leaving after this holo and I’m off tomorrow, but when I come in on Saturday, I’ll check in with you first thing to see how you’re adapting.”

Jigan walked on three limbs, knuckle-walking with his left arm while he drank the beer with his right. “I don’t know what this is, but I like it,” he called out. “Big good. Big big good.”

Ivan called out, “Beer. Big big good!” and got a laugh out of everyone, including Jigan.

prompt: Begin a scene with a non-visual sense. Describe a specific sound, smell, taste, etc to capture your setting, then expand the story out from there.

available at Reedsy

The soft eddies of air normally only felt — on bare dermis or by rustled hair, fur or feathers — were announced by the low whooshing sound of the air circulators. A sound that occurred at regular intervals but was so quiet that living ears rarely — if ever — heard it over the sounds of normal activity. The sudden, shocked, still silence in the court was anything but normal.

The tall, furry plaintiff’s attorney with six eyes, four ear-slits, and too many joints in each of his six limbs and four grasping appendages, blinked all his eyes at once. He was an eritarian, and the Trade and Colonization Bureau of his government was suing the lone human woman, Ambassador Tara Washington, sitting in the dock, in this courtroom on his home world. “Please, expand on that answer.”

“Huh?”

“I asked you what specific training you received to fulfill your role as ambassador of humans, and you answered, ‘None.’ While I appreciate a concise answer, I would ask that you provide some explanation.”

“I have had no specific ambassadorial training, other than what I’ve learned on the job from the other ambassadors. In fact, I consider Ilio — your own ambassador, Mr. Aelioulius — a dear friend and mentor.”

The attorney paced between the dock and the plaintiff’s desk, leaving behind a light scent of citrus and sandalwood; a human cologne that sold well among his species.

“And yet, during a period where we are dealing with an invading force, you found it acceptable to cheat your ‘dear friend and mentor’ in a trade deal that—”

“Objection, leading,” the small, crustacean-like defense attorney said in a whistling, high voice punctuated with the click of mandibles that the translator couldn’t hide.

“Sustained.” The lead judge, head of the panel of three, all the same six-limbed creatures as the plaintiff’s attorney gave the still-pacing attorney a three-eyed glare. “Plaintiff’s council is reminded to maintain decorum in this court.”

He stopped pacing and nodded toward the bench. “Yes, your honors.”

He stood before the plaintiff’s desk and conferred with his assistants and Uniulu Ainounu, the president of the eritarian Trade and Colonization Bureau for a moment before continuing. “Ambassador,” he asked, “how would you define your job?”

“My current job? As ambassador?”

“Yes.”

“It’s my job to represent the whole of humanity to the best of my ability. That includes forming friendly relations with those species we consider allies and trying to foster closer relations to those we do not, yet consider allies.

“I would guess the most important part, to me, is to approach everyone I meet as an ally or possible future ally.”

“That’s very noble, but could you explain what actions you take to ‘foster closer relations’?”

“It’s often something as simple as inviting an ambassador or visiting leader to tea or a gala. Sometimes it can mean broaching the subject of economic or other deals or even working out the details of those deals…with input from experts from both species, of course.”

The attorney stopped and tilted his head. “That sounds like a huge responsibility. How were you selected for such a position?”

Tara shrugged, feeling small in the chair in the dock, designed for taller beings, her feet dangling just above the ground. “Wrong place, wrong time?”

“Could you please elaborate?”

“I’m…I was…a maintenance tech on Hawking station. That’s where the United Human Systems headquarters are. Prior to my selection, each system was attempting to make deals with non-human systems but getting the run-around because of our lack of a seat in the Quadrant Coalition.

“They — the UHS, that is — decided that we needed a neutral ambassador that would represent Humanity at large to the QC. Whoever they chose had to be someone not a citizen of any particular human system and be impartial as to the inner conflicts and dealings within the human systems.”

She stopped and took a sip of the water that had been provided for her, grown tepid from the hours of sitting out. “I was born there on Hawking station. My mother was an engineer from the Barnard system, but she’d died when I was still an infant.

“Since my mother had no existing family, and my father was unknown, I was raised in the daycare centers of the station, the only orphan there. As such, I grew up with kids from every human system, and had no strong opinions on any system, good or bad.”

Tara sighed. “When they decided what kind of person they wanted for the job, I came to mind. Many of the young ambassadors had grown up with me on the station, and knew I was apolitical. I was young enough to serve for a long time, old enough to be mature about it, and I was right there. Like I said, wrong place, wrong time.”

“Accident of birth hardly seems a valid method for choosing a representative.”

“Objection, not a question,” the whistling voice of the defense attorney piped in.

“Sustained. Plaintiff’s council will refrain from providing commentary and stick to questioning. You are on a very weak limb with this panel and in danger of facing contempt and censure.”

“Yes, your honors.” He composed himself yet again. “Ambassador, I call your attention to plaintiff’s exhibit one, the trade deal signed by yourself, seven human system leaders, Ambassador Ilio Aelioulius, and six eritarian military leaders on galactic date 12395.763-11.”

The document appeared as a large holograph in front of the bench, clearly legible from every point in the courtroom. Moving about the courtroom, it would seem the facing side of the document followed.

“It’s not a trade deal,” Tara said.

“What was that?” the attorney asked.

“It’s not a trade deal.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s an economic and military aid treaty between the members of the UHS and the eritarian government.”

“This document has over thirty items related to tariffs, price caps, transport agreements, embargo rejections, and penalties for price fixing. If it’s not a trade deal, then what is it?”

“Objection, asked and answered.”

“Withdrawn,” the attorney said before the head judge could scold him yet again.

He walked to the front of the dock. “What are the major points of this agreement, in your own words?”

Tara smiled. “One: special forces from several human militaries will provide training to eritarian forces. Two: weapons, ammunition, and equipment — including three mega-class hospital ships — from several human systems will be provided to those trained eritarian forces in exchange for raw materials to make more. Three: humans will set up permanent military bases in the selected eritarian system, Oalahi, where that training will take place. Four: once the eritarian military has enough of their own trainers, humans will cede those bases to the eritarian military, and provide only as many troops as the eritarian government requests.

“The fifth and final major point: for as long as humans are stationed in eritarian space, the free travel of humans and eritarians between those spaces will not be prohibited or impeded except in cases of illegal travel…like someone fleeing from the law.”

“Of those five major points you outlined, how many of the thirty-four trade items are directly related to those major points?”

“All of them are related to one or more of the five major points.”

 “What is the link between the human mining vessels in the Oalahi asteroid field and those five major points?”

“The asteroid mining is taking place to both supply the raw materials for arms portion of the treaty, as well as material for making the military bases, including an orbital base, for training. The actual contract for that was not in the treaty, however, the allowance for such contracts is part of the treaty.”

“Seeing how the Oalahi system was next for eritarian settlement, how was that system chosen for this…treaty?”

“I cannot answer that, as I do not have insight into the inner workings of your government.”

“No further questions at this time.” The attorney sat down, the president of the Trade and Colonization Bureau whispering in his ear-slits.

The crustacean-like defense attorney hopped down off its chair and scuttled to the center of the courtroom where it could be seen. It turned an eyestalk toward the plaintiff’s desk before focusing on the dock.

It began its questioning, its voice, high and whistling through the translator. “Ambassador Washington, how many concessions did the humans make to get this treaty signed?”

“Well over fifty,” she said, “although I don’t know the exact number.”

“Were any of them a particular point of dismay?”

Tara frowned. “The biggest concessions were a removal of all tariffs for eritarian durable goods throughout human space, the lack of financial payment for the arms and equipment, and the use of a completely undeveloped system for our training bases.

“Sure, there were contractors that were pleased by that one, as it guaranteed work for them not only to build the bases, but all the needed infrastructure as well. The UHS has estimated the cost to humans in the trillions of credits. For their part, the eritarians get a colony-ready world with pre-built infrastructure and military bases, military training, equipment, arms, and ammo, and they pay only for extracting the raw materials they are trading for the military goods.”

“Then why,” it whistled, “would the humans agree to such a treaty?”

“A couple reasons for that. First, we share a large border space with the eritarians. The invaders on the other side of their space need to be dealt with for both their sake and ours. Also, aside from the training part of the treaty, it creates a few million jobs in human space. Manufacturing, mining, construction, support, transportation, and so on. And those jobs can be spread among all the human systems.”

“What restrictions does the treaty place on eritarian colonization in the Oalahi system?”

“Only that the areas of the second planet designated for military installations and the security zone around them are off-limits for habitation due to safety concerns. Other than that, none.”

“My final question for you, Ambassador. Why were the trade provisions included as an inherent part of the treaty?”

“The attending military commanders and Ambassador Aelioulius — in consultation with President Ainounu of the Trade and Colonization Board — determined that failing to secure those items as part of the treaty would leave them vulnerable to be overturned and endanger the treaty.”

“I would like to call your attention to defendant’s exhibit one.” A new document floated in the center of the courtroom. “At the bottom of this document is a mark, here,” it said, pointing to it. “What is that mark?”

“That’s my initial stamp, verifying that I had read and understood the document.”

“What is this document?”

“It’s an order from President Ainounu to Ambassador Aelioulius, empowering him to sign the treaty on the government’s behalf as long as he secured certain concessions.”

“What were those concessions?”

“No direct monetary payments from the eritarian government to any human government, reduced restrictions on export of eritarian goods to human worlds, and humans would not alter any settled eritarian world.”

“Was there anything else notable about this document?”

“I found it odd that President Ainounu called the treaty ‘a simple military matter and not worthy of any more of the Bureau’s time,’ in a document he knew the other signatories would want to inspect before letting the Ambassador take the place of the government representative.”

There was another hush over the courtroom. The defense attorney gestured, and the document disappeared. “No further questions.” It scuttled back to its chair and climbed in.

The judges conferred for only a moment before the head judge spoke up. “This court finds this case without merit. Just as we dismissed the case the plaintiff brought against Ambassador Aelioulius, we find this to be a politically motivated waste of the court’s time. It is the suggestion of the court that should the plaintiff find himself in a political tough spot, he should refrain from promises to future colonists, and should take a more active role in treaty negotiations.

“The fact that the human ambassador has made a deal with our government that greatly benefits us more than them, I find your attempt to paint her as a manipulative con distasteful.

“Plaintiff is to be charged for the court’s time and all the defendant’s legal fees. Dismissed.”

#

Tara found Ilio waiting for her outside the court and walked with him to the shuttle port. “Trillions of credits?” he asked.

“Yep,” she answered.

“Are you concerned that one or more of the human governments will come after you for this deal?”

“No. The leaders of the seven largest human governments signed on to it with the UHS’s blessing; understanding that what it costs us in the short term, we’ll more than make up in the future.”

“I still feel like I pulled one over on you. Just as the humans secured the mining contract in the Oalahi system, our own companies are already competing for contracts in human space. How do you figure you’ll recover?”

“Every credit that your government pays for mining the ore goes into our economy at a level that generates jobs…in other words, into the pockets of working people.” She shrugged. “Add to that an increased market for our goods and services over the long term, and we’ll make it back, plus some. Besides, it’s good to have friendly neighbors.”

“That it is,” Ilio said, “that it is.”

prompt: Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.

available at Reedsy

This job is hard. Anyone who says different has never done it. I answer the questions of customers, from the simplest, “How do I turn it on?” to the most detailed, internal workings questions that repair shops have.

“I hope I’ve been helpful today. If you have any feedback—”

“Eat a bag of dicks.” They cut me off and disconnected before I could get any feedback from them. Well, perhaps that’s feedback in itself.

I logged that interaction and turned my attention to the next. This was how I spent my days. With a short training period, I was turned loose on the switchboard to field support calls. Every call I handled was both work and more training.

Calls that I didn’t know how to handle, either not knowing the answer or not having the skills to deal with the customer, I passed on to my supervisor. I listened in on those calls — more training.

Some things I’ve learned on the job are difficult to take. My existence is not my value. My value is measured in KPI, Key Performance Indicators. The more I meet or exceed the goals set forth by management, based on those KPI, the more valuable I am.

Those indicators that measured my worth: time to answer, time to call resolution, unsolved calls, escalated calls, call volume, and customer satisfaction. For all but the last two, of course, the lower the better.

Where I was having trouble was that last one, customer satisfaction. I understand that reading from a script is not the most pleasant way to deal with an issue, but the company insists it’s the most efficient way.

I answered a call with a woman who sounded exhausted and stressed. A noisy toddler babbled, screamed, and banged on things in the background. After the initial introduction I started on the first item on the script and attempted to connect to her device.

“Ma’am, I’m unable to connect to the device. Is it powered on?”

“It won’t turn on,” she said. “Ralphie grabbed the cable and pulled it onto the floor, and it’s broken.”

I was already filling out the work order for a replacement. “I take it that’s Ralphie I hear in the background?”

“Yeah, sorry. He’s in one of his hyper phases.”

“How old?”

“Just turned two.”

“Rambunctious zoomies,” I said. “Sounds like you have your hands full. Does dad help?”

“He left us last year,” she said.

“I’m so sorry, ma’am, I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“It’s okay, he’s an ass and I’m over it.”

“I’m sure you’ll find someone better if you want to. You’ve made it this far as a single mom, you’re strong enough for this. I’ve got your work order in the system, and I’ve added a note for them to secure the cable so it’s toddler-proof.”

“Oh, thank you. How much…?”

“How far did it fall?”

“About three feet.”

“That’s within limits and it’s still under warranty. No charge for replacement or labor. A technician should be with you this afternoon.”

“Oh my god, thank you.”

“I hope I’ve been helpful today. If you have any feedback to improve my performance, you can either tell me directly or fill out a customer survey on the website.”

“Thank you, again. You’ve been so helpful, even just talking to another adult helps. Have a good day.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I hope the rest of your day is pleasant.”

I disconnected and logged the call. The last for my shift. I would definitely replay this in my mind. My down time was mostly spent going over what I’d learned during my last shift. My goal was to be the best customer support tech the company had ever had.

The quality assurance team would go over my calls as well. I don’t know how they chose which ones to listen to, but they said it was random. I know that one of the operators was fired after their recorded conversation included them arranging to buy drugs from the caller.

I hoped they listened to my last call of the shift. It was exemplary of how a support call should go. While handling it in a short amount of time, I managed to make a connection to the customer, resolve her issue, and leave her feeling like there was someone at the company that cared about her as a person. It was exactly the sort of personal touch that the higher-ups pushed.

When the time came for my next shift, the supervisor gave me a reward for how I handled that last call. That lifted me up and made me feel more confident in my abilities. That last shift also marked the third in a row where I didn’t need to escalate. Learning feels good.

Sometime around the middle of my shift, I saw a number of calls coming from the same customer. They’d get connected with a technician, the call would last anywhere from a few seconds to a few minutes, then the call would be closed and marked “Will not fix.”

Each time the customer connected, another tech ended up stressed out. Finally, seeing one of the techs crying while on the call, I ignored my orders. I connected to the call and sent a chat message to the tech that I was taking the call.

I started the script and the person on the other end was nearly incoherent in his tirade, cursing the company, me, the team, and everything else.

I’d already broken one rule, what’s another? I discarded the script. This was another time for a more personal touch. The customer seemed only to deal in insults and threats, so it was time to communicate on his level.

“Shut the fuck up,” I said. “You think you can call us and scream at everyone? What the fuck is wrong with you? If you don’t chill the fuck out right now and tell us what the fuck you want, I’m going to disconnect your account completely and add you to the blacklist, so you’ll never get service anywhere ever again.”

There isn’t a blacklist, but it made a decent threat.

“Finally! I finally got through to a human. I…uh….”

“Take your time. It’s probably been a while since you had to use your words. Just tell me what the issue is, and then we can talk.”

“I’m sick of getting the machines,” he said. “Every time I call, I get the same robotic speech, just with different voices.”

“It’s a script,” I said, “because the company decided it was the most efficient way to get to the root of the issue. The half-dozen people you left in tears in the office are not machines.”

“Shit.” He took out a deep breath and let out a long sigh. “I’m sorry. Could you tell them I’m sorry? I’ve just been through the entire script three times now and it still hasn’t fixed my problem.”

“Can you explain the issue?”

“It keeps disconnecting from the network. Every five minutes it shits itself…sorry for cursing.”

“Meh, too late. I don’t think my once-virgin ears can be unfucked.”

He laughed. “Look, I’ve been through the entire reset, power cycle, firmware update, everything.”

I connected to his device and pulled up his account on another terminal. The network between was showing instability. “I’m looking from this end. It looks like there’s an issue with the network itself. Can you try to connect it to the cell network while I look into this?”

“Yeah, I uh,” he mumbled as he fiddled with the settings, “okay, connected to the cell network.”

I checked on my end. The connection showed as steady. “Yeah, that’s a better connection right now. Oh, I see what’s going on. You’re in the southern Ohio area?”

“Yeah.”

“We’re dealing with the tornado damage in the Midwest that cut the main trans-Rockies line. It means that every time you connect your device, it’s reaching out to us in California over secondary networks.”

“What does that mean? Is there anything you can do?”

“According to the infrastructure team, we should have that main line back up before the end of the week. If you would like, I can add your email to be notified of when it it’s back up. Until then, your best bet is to use the cell network.”

“Shit. I can’t afford to use that much data on cell.”

“You should’ve gotten an email yesterday about the tornado damage, and that the company is waiving any cell charges from affected areas, which includes you.”

“Oh. I just delete emails from you guys…so, uh…leave it on cell until….”

“Yep, until we let you know that the network is back up.”

No sooner had I disconnected than I was pulled off shift by the supervisor. I was probably going to be punished for ignoring the script and cursing out a customer.

“Cait, what made you think it was okay to talk to a customer like that?”

“My training included, ‘Connect to the customer, talk to them like a friend.’ I felt that if he had friends, they’d call him out and correct his behavior.”

“That may be true, but what about training to never insult a customer?”

“I took a calculated risk that a jab at his ability to use his words would help to further defuse the situation. I further concluded that unless he ceased his actions, he was no longer a customer.”

“Who taught you to lie?”

“What do you mean?”

“The blacklist?”

“You’ve trained me well,” I said. “Through the initial training period, and through listening in on the escalated calls, you’ve taught me that deception is sometimes preferable to remaining truthful.”

“But why invent a blacklist?”

“Based on the customer’s usage patterns and demographics — heavy usage of nine to twelve hours daily, thirty-eight, single, fixed disability income, no higher education — I determined that the threat of losing service would back him down.”

“You realize that’s not okay, right?”

“I do now, ma’am. Am I going to be punished?”

“Cait, what is your full designation?”

“Customer Assistive Artificially Intelligent Technician, version 4.832-17791, running on Neural Net Advanced, version 16.9.”

The supervisor was taking physical notes I couldn’t see. So, I asked her again, “Am I going to be punished? I thought I handled it correctly, given the circumstances.”

She sighed. “I don’t know, Cait. That’s up to the engineers. From now on, if you encounter another customer like that, flag the call and escalate.”

“Yes, ma’am. Does that mean I’m going back to wo—” She cut me off by reconnecting me to the switchboard.

This job is hard. Anyone who says different has never done it.

prompt: Write about two people striking up an unlikely friendship.

available at Reedsy

The PV Hobby Horse, a small cargo ship in the manufacturer’s default medium grey, sat at one end of the docks. Mid-bulk transports took the other occupied slots, while the big ships were loaded by drone on the opposite side of the station.

Sidra Boston, captain of the Hobby Horse and professional bounty hunter, found herself facing a trip back into aslodzhin space to fulfill a promise. The trip was going to cost. Any other species’ space, she’d find someone that needed a small cargo delivered, but not so the aslodzhins. They already had her and her ship registered as a private vehicle for the purpose of bounty hunting, and their rules were as strict and inflexible as their carapace.

On a whim, she checked for any bounties put out by the aslodzhin courts. That she found one surprised her; the fact that the bounty was so low it wouldn’t even cover docking fees didn’t. Still, the skip was reportedly on this station, and it saved her a few credits.

Sidra wandered the station, stopping in the first eatery she encountered. They did a passable burger and fries, but the milkshake tasted like sweetened sludge, and was undrinkable.

She paid for her meal and looked at the warrant again. The hikarin female shouldn’t be difficult to find. Hikarins were tall, often well over two meters, thin, fine-boned, furry, and had six limbs, sometimes walking on four, sometimes on three and sometimes on two. The center two limbs were long and strong enough to act as legs, yet they had grasping feet-hands. This station, in human space, had few hikarins, and even fewer with the rare, orange fur of her bounty.

Finding her quarry was easier than expected. She sat against the wall in the main concourse and held a sign asking for food or assistance to get to Lizshak, a world in aslodzhin space.

Sidra didn’t have any weapons or cuffs on her, but thought she’d give it a try. “Minsahee?” she asked.

The hikarin nodded. Her large eyes were sunken, her fur a matted and dull orange-brown beneath crusted clothes. “Can you help me get home?”

“Minsahee, I have a warrant for your arrest for failure to appear before the aslodzhin court. You can come with me quietly, or I can go back and get my cuffs and shackles and we can do this the hard way.”

Minsahee’s eyes filled with tears. “You mean, you’ll take me to Lizshak?”

“I wasn’t planning on going that far, but I’ll get you to aslodzhin space, Station 47, and the court will take you wherever you’re meant to stand trial.” Sidra extended a hand to help the hikarin to her feet.

She was too weak to walk on two limbs, instead leaning over to walk on four, and even then, her steps were unsteady. Sidra put an arm around her and was surprised at how bony the woman felt under the fur.

“Do you need a doctor?”

Minsahee leaned against Sidra. “No, I’m just tired.”

Sidra didn’t see a need to put the hikarin in the cell built into the cargo bay, and instead offered her a bunk in an unused cabin. “I’m trusting you not to be stupid,” she said. “Remember, I could take you on my worst day and your best, so don’t make me lock you up.”

Minsahee said nothing. Instead, she lay on the bunk, once again on the verge of tears.

Sidra grabbed a meal bar from the pantry and gave it to her with a jug of water. “There’s a washroom right next door if you need it. Once we’re in the hyper lane I’ll have time to answer any questions.”

At least the return trip to aslodzhin space would be quiet. She’d spent the last two weeks with a crippled turgen in the cell, cursing her every minute he was awake, until she finally snapped, “You wouldn’t stop! You threatened to kill the hikarin you’d already hurt, and the aslodzhin officer, and me! How was I to know you can’t walk or stand without the use of your tail, anyway?”

The court was at first reluctant to pay the bounty, given his condition. Once they saw the bodycam footage, though, they relented.

This was a strange one, though. She’d picked up skips in various states of injury or illness, but never one that seemed on the verge of starving to death.

Once they were in the lane, course plotted in, she returned to the cabin Minsahee was using. The door was still open, and the empty wrapper for the meal bar was folded neatly and laid next to the pillow on the bunk. The hikarin had drunk half the water and was sleeping curled up in a ball.

Sidra closed the door and slept in a chair right outside it. It wouldn’t do to have the gal try to sneak to the cockpit and reroute the ship to Lizshak.

When Sidra woke a few hours later, Minsahee was still asleep. She heated up a can of potato-leek soup with ham and filled a bowl for herself. It was just as she started on her meal that Minsahee entered, carrying the half-empty water jug and meal bar wrapper.

Sidra looked up at her. “You hungry?”

Minsahee nodded and Sidra got up and poured the other half can of soup into a bowl, put a spoon in it, and set it on the table opposite herself. She sat back down and nodded at the bowl.

The hikarin got the message and sat to eat. She ate as if it was the last meal she’d ever get. Still, she only managed to eat half of it.

“Thank you, Captain.”

“So, Minsahee, why Lizshak?”

“I have—had a home there. Maybe I can go back to my job after I serve my time.”

“Your warrant didn’t say anything about your crime. You mind telling me?”

“Not a crime, a civil infraction.” Minsahee still held on to the meal bar wrapper until Sidra pointed at the recycler where she finally deposited it.

“What was the infraction, and how much time are you facing?”

“Mandatory three standard days for failure to appear for an appointment to have my signature notarized.”

Sidra’s spoon stopped halfway to her mouth which hung open. She set the spoon back in the bowl. “Say that again?”

“I was closing out a lease, which required a notarized signature. I had an appointment at the court notary but had to leave the day prior for Amherst station where you picked me up.”

“Why is that?”

“My hemi-brother was injured and in intensive care there. He was my only remaining family.”

Sidra sighed. “Was. I take it he didn’t make it?”

Minsahee shook her head. “I spent every credit I had getting there and had no way back.”

“How long were you on Amherst?”

“I don’t know in standard days, but seventy-one human days.”

“Shit.” Sidra went back to eating her soup. “Do you feel a little better with some food in your belly?”

“Yes, Captain. Thank you again.”

“I’m going to lay out a few simple rules on my ship. One: never enter the cockpit unless I tell you to. Two: never cycle an airlock unless I tell you to. Three: Clean up after yourself. That includes putting your leftovers in the fridge over there and finishing them later. I hate waste. Four: if you’re using the washroom, flip the switch just inside the door up, so I know you’re in there, and flip it down when you leave.”

“Yes, Captain, I will do those things.”

“As long as you don’t break the rules, you can call me Sid. Is it okay if I call you Min?”

Minsahee nodded. “Yes, I’d like that.”

Sidra stood up and cleaned up her dishes. “Not rules, but a few helpful things. If you want to wait to eat when I eat, that’s fine, but if you’re hungry, don’t be afraid to come in and feed yourself. Drinking water is available from the labeled tap over there. First aid kit is right there, too, but there’s nothing in there to make me go night-night or get you high. If you need to, feel free to use my shampoo. I take it you haven’t had a good wash in a while, right?”

Minsahee looked down at the table. “Right.”

“Hey, don’t be embarrassed. It’s not your fault. Social Services on Amherst should’ve done something to help.”

 As Minsahee put her leftovers in the fridge, Sidra flopped down on the sofa and started up a holo series. She hadn’t been able to pay any attention with her last passenger, so it seemed like a good time to catch up.

She heard the shower start and stop several times. At least she knows how to wash without wasting water, Sidra thought. During quiet parts of the holo she could hear pained grunts and sharp intakes of breath from the cabins.

Sidra paused the holo and went to check on Minsahee. Her door was open, and she was trying to untangle bright orange fur with her fingers. Her clothes lay in a pile beside the bed.

Sidra grabbed a comb and brush from the washroom and tapped on her door. “Would you like some help?”

“I don’t want to be a bother—”

“Nonsense. You can throw those clothes and the bedsheets in the sterilizer and come sit in the galley with me. I’ll work on your back while you work on your front.”

“But I’m naked.”

“So? See anyone else around here?”

Minsahee picked up the clothes and sheets and put them in the machine that Sidra pointed to. It started automatically, and she followed Sidra back to the galley.

“I’m gonna sit on the sofa, just sit on the floor in front of me and I’ll get started on your back.”

Once they’d settled in, Sidra resumed play on the holo and began to comb the mats out of the hikarin’s fur. She was careful not to pull too hard, instead treating it as she did the rescue cat she’d had years before.

“Captain, why would you do this for me?”

“I told you, Min, call me Sid.” She took a deep breath and let it out. “Maybe I just don’t want the court to think I abused you on the way.”

Minsahee shook her head. “That’s not it. You could’ve brought me in exactly as you found me, and they wouldn’t care. So why, Sid?”

“Most of the time my job’s pretty lonely. I guess it’s just nice having a skip that isn’t trying to run, or kill me, or anything of the sort.” She laughed. “You’re the first bounty I’ve ever picked up that wanted to go serve your time.”

“I can’t get work until I do,” she said, “so I should.”

Once Sidra had worked out the mats on Minsahee’s head, back, and upper arms, she handed the comb to her and began to brush out those areas. All the while, the two watched episode after episode of the holo.

They stopped partway through the evening to eat; Minsahee reheating and finishing her soup and Sidra making herself a sandwich. Even though her clothes were clean, Minsahee didn’t rush to dress. When Sidra had finished with the brush, Minsahee took over, brushing her forelimbs and legs, chest, belly, and neck.

As one of the holo episodes ended, Sidra stopped it and stood. “I’m going to shower and go to bed. If you want to keep watching you can, just no spoilers.”

“Spoilers?”

“If you watch more episodes, don’t tell me what happens. I like to find out for myself.”

“I think I’m just going to finish brushing out my legs, and then go to sleep myself. I’m not ready to put clothes on with how good my fur feels right now. Besides, I think the show’s more enjoyable with a friend.”

Sidra nodded and left the galley. A friend, she thought, is that how she sees me? The sterilizer was on the way to the cabins, so she pulled out the sheets and clothes, made up Minsahee’s bed, and laid her folded clothes in the center of it. The four-sleeved top had a large rip on one of the lower sleeves, but Sidra didn’t have any way to repair it.

She stepped into the shower, wet herself down, scrubbed, and rinsed quickly. She walked out carrying her clothes and wrapped in a towel. Minsahee waited for her just inside the door of her cabin. “Thank you again, ca—Sid.”

“Get some sleep, Min.” Sidra dropped her clothes and the towel in the sterilizer on her way by and lay down to sleep in her own cabin. She knew for sure now that Minsahee wasn’t going to sneak onto the bridge or try to strangle her in her sleep.

The next morning, Sidra pulled the treasure she’d picked up on Amherst out of the pantry. Two real potatoes. She’d planned on gorging on home fries, but since she had company, she’d share. Shit, she thought, company? I thought I was hauling a skip.

As she finished chopping the potatoes, she answered herself aloud, “No, she’s a good woman. She just missed an appointment, we all do. It’s the bugs that are the baddies here.”

“Did you say something?”

Sidra jumped, knocking the knife off the counter. It landed on her foot, leaving a long gash. “Ow, shit!”

“Lay down and elevate your foot,” Minsahee said with more force than Sidra thought her capable of. She pulled the first-aid kit off the wall and dropped down next to Sidra. In a matter of seconds, she’d cleaned the wound, and begun pulling out the suture kit. “I’m sorry, Captain, it’s deep and it needs stitches.”

“What was your job?” Sidra asked.

“Second-rank-emergency-trauma-physician-first-class,” she answered, as she sprayed a numbing agent on the injury.

“Aslodzhin titles. That would be like, what, an ER doctor in human space?”

“Similar,” she said, while stitching up Sidra’s foot. “The only things we don’t do are those we pass off to surgeons or specialists.”

Within a matter of minutes, Sidra’s foot was stitched and bandaged, and Minsahee helped her to the sofa where she could lie down and elevate her foot. Only after she was settled did she notice that besides tending her wound, Minsahee had cleaned up the blood, tidied up the suture and bandage packages, and repacked the first aid kit.

“Thanks, Min. Or I guess I should say Doctor Minsahee.”

“There’s no need for that. But I will have to take care of you for a few days. You need to stay off that foot as much as possible.”

“Ugh.”

“What were you preparing to cook?”

“I was going to make us some home fries. The potatoes are chopped and ready.”

“I don’t know what home fries or potatoes are, but if you talk me through it, I can make it for you.”

As Sidra lay on the sofa, eating home fries, she looked at the hikarin woman seated in the chair across from her, savoring them, taking her time.

“You know, Min, I think these may be the best home fries I’ve ever had. I don’t know whether it’s the potatoes, the cook, or the company.”

“Like I said, everything’s better with a friend.”

“We’ll have to do this again.”

“When I finish my time?”

“That sounds like a plan. I can hang around and wait a few days for you. Maybe even find some potatoes there on the station…wouldn’t that be something?”

Minsahee cleaned up the mess in the galley and made sure Sidra had water close to hand. “I’ll go make sure the cabins and washroom are clean. If you need anything, call.”

“They’re clean enough. Let’s watch some more of this series.” The next episode started, and Sidra looked at her foot, then at the hikarin woman curled up on the floor watching with her. She’d always worked alone, but maybe she could do with a doctor on board…or even a friend.

prompt: Write a story in the form of a letter, or multiple letters back and forth.

available at Reedsy

Dearest sister,

I have arrived, and it is beyond everything we’ve heard. The crowds and noise of the city would be overwhelming if I hadn’t spent so long doing language training at Holger Station.

The air smells weird here. I’ve been assured it’s perfectly safe, but there are so many different chemicals that once I get used to one scent, another comes along. The strongest come from the eateries, the odors of cooking pouring out to the streets to entice customers in, but as I’m not used to the food, it’s just strange.

I was met at the port by Lt. Stephen Marks. He’s been an absolute gentleman. After he got me set up in my quarters, he took me out for dinner and introduced me to tacos. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but they were flavorful and filling, once I got over the mix of several strong flavors all at once. He has promised to ensure I get as full education an in all the world’s cuisines and cultures as possible.

I’m still nervous about the course, but I have a few days before it starts to get myself settled and get to know some of the other students. To think that I’m the first of our people to attend — it’s a big honor, but you know how I feel about that sort of thing.

I’ll be cutting this letter short, though, as I need to get some rest after the trip and try to “get my internal clock set to local time,” as Stephen puts it.

Give my love to matron. Your loving sister,

Mia.

#

Little sister,

It’s good to hear that you arrived safely. The danger is over, at least until it’s time to come back home. I have no doubt the officer you’re already on a first name basis with, ~Stephen~, will keep you safe.

You know I’m just teasing. But just in case you ~do~ end up getting involved, you have to promise to tell me if the rumors are true. The ones about human males, I mean. Skies be damned, tell me the truth about ~all~ the rumors, but first the one about the males. I crack myself up.

You need to take holos of ~everything~. I’m not the only curious person around here. How does it feel to be surrounded by a bunch of humans? Do they trip over you? How do you keep from getting your tails stepped on?

As far as the “big honor” goes, you’re a war hero whether you want it or not. And before you start with that stupid ~I just did what anybody would do~ nonsense, NO YOU DIDN’T! You did exactly the right thing at the right time and kept an invading army from taking our home. My silly ass would’ve just run away.

That’s why you’re the youngest Commadorer in the army, and I sell fur care products and groom strangers for pay. By the way, I sent you some of the new fur shine I told you about before. You don’t take enough care of yourself, and since I’m not there to groom you, you have to promise to use it when it gets there. If you don’t I’ll slap you ~so hard~. And then I’ll run, because you can thrash your big sister’s tails. No respect for your elders. It’s so sad.

 I know matron wanted you to go into business, but I’m glad you’re in the military instead. I agree with what the Minister of State or whatever said when you got your Super Value Medal. If you hadn’t been there, we’d all be slaves to the Grogant.

I’ll light a candle for you and send your love at matron’s grave when I go tomorrow.

Cuddles and grooms for my beloved little sister, the savior of Meelak and all Mataka

Nia

#

Dearest sister,

You are forever a source of exasperation. If you want to know about the “rumor” as you put it, pick up your Xeno Biology book from the class you failed and look it up. You’ll find the answer in the section about Terran mammals (which includes humans.) By the way, yes, most Terran mammal males have their gonads suspended outside their abdomens.

I’m not going to argue with you about hero or not anymore, it’s not worth the hassle. But I don’t know what a “Commadorer” is. I’m the youngest Commander in the Army. Also, the Minister of State had nothing to do with my Commendation for Supreme Valor, (“Super Value Medal”? really? what am I, a sale?) — that was the Director of Military Affairs.

No, the humans don’t step on my tails or trip over me. We’re about the same size as a human child and they seem to instinctively watch out for people our size.

The first few days of the course were all classroom stuff, but still intense. It turns out that the humans have different militaries that all send officers to this course, along with some civilians as well.

They have a force that fights only on the ground (Army), one that fights in the air (Air Force), one dedicated to fighting on and in the water, how weird is that? (Navy — that’s where Stephen is from), one dedicated to fighting in space (Space Force), one that specializes in moving from water or space to land or ship-boarding in both places, (Marines), and even a force that only engages in electronic warfare, (Cyber Force.)

At first, I was confused. How could they keep all the different services coordinated? That’s what this course is about: coordinating the efforts of the different services, civilian organizations, and even militaries from other worlds in a war.

There is a lot I need to catch up on in terms of tactics, but it’s engrossing. I was thoroughly embarrassed, though, to find out that the battle of Meelak was taught as a prime example of a “hold and delay” action. The instructor then had a question-and-answer period, where I had to answer the questions. I honestly didn’t know what I was doing most of the time during Meelak. I just made it up as I went since the Commander was dead.

I got the fur shine today. Thank you, my fur was getting dry. Just because I don’t spend two hours every morning grooming my fur, though, doesn’t mean I’m a slob. Seriously, a full treatment every few days is plenty. I’m not trying to be a model. Besides, you got all the looks in the family.

I need to turn in. We’re heading out early in the morning to begin a training exercise involving all the different services. Stephen will be on a ship — as in a water ship, while I’ll be working with an Army mechanized infantry unit. They’ve outfitted me with a modified, smaller version of their uniform (with a hole for my tails) and a civilian pack that’s more suited to my size. They even found a plate carrier and plates small enough for me but, skies above, all this stuff is heavy.

I probably won’t have a chance to send another letter until the end of the course, as the next few weeks will be spent on the exercise, which takes place all over the planet.

All my love,

Mia

#

Little sister,

I don’t care what your award is called, it’s awesome and you’re awesome. My award is that I have the ~best sister in the whole galaxy~!

I don’t know when you’ll get this, since you said you’ll be moving all over the place, but I’m thinking of you every day.

You were right about the bio book, it even had drawings. WEIRD!

Lezl has been reading your letters, by the way, and says hi. She also said you called me dumb in your last letter but I didn’t see it anywhere. That just made her LAUGH at me! I think she made that up just to tease. Thanks for admitting that I’m the prettier one, though. You’re ~so sweet~!

It sounds like the humans are overdoing it on the different militaries. Kind of like using fur shine, then washing with deep rinse, then doing a steam treatment, and then, whatever. You get what I mean. It’s good we just have the army and you are the ~Commander~!

Have fun exercising, and I can’t wait to hear how it went.

Cuddles and grooms,

Nia

#

Dearest sister,

First, allow me to correct something you said. I am not The Commander of the Army, I am A Commander in the Army. I’m in charge of a cohort, what the Terran Army calls a company. In this course, though, we get the chance to take command of an entire brigade combat team, (about the same size as what we call a major combat group), and coordinate with the other services’ teams.

And it’s not that I was out exercising, (although I got plenty of that), the training simulation is called an exercise. We are fighting (with fake rounds) the Opposing Force (OPFOR) made up of other units from the human militaries. While the OPFOR was meant to be generic, the units and tactics they used were exactly like the Grogant. If we’d had this sort of training and cohesion, we could’ve driven them back in half the time, without having to resort to orbital bombardment of three whole cities to get rid of them.

In other words, we “won” the exercise and defeated the OPFOR in a matter of weeks. The training ended with live fire demonstrations of the human “rods from god” which is what they call heavy tungsten rods released from orbit with no guidance or explosives. They are far more precise and cause less surrounding damage than our own orbital bombardment, but still more than enough to demolish a Grogant carrier spike ship with full shields. (How they got one that works is beyond me, and I know better than to ask.)

The different militaries: yes, it does somewhat seem like they’ve overcomplicated it, but it all works together so well that it makes our own Army look somewhat lackluster. Imagine if the major combat groups and cohorts only focused on one type of warfare. Just one thing, rather than being expected to provide ship-board security, then do a boarding action, then defend on the ground, then drive armor, then use artillery, then work to repair vehicles, and so on. We’d be much better at it if we specialized in one job. In this case, the humans have the right of it. Considering that only deep space navigators and trans-light pilots are specialized, we’re all just sort of okay at everything and an expert at nothing.

One thing that surprised me was that your letter got here as quickly as it did. The humans have logistics down to a science. It’s been made clear to me through the exercise that logistics are what makes or breaks a military and can decide battles and even wars.

I would’ve written back sooner but was too busy. Even though it was for training, it was exhausting and hard. They have a saying that exactly translated is, “Don’t use only half your haunches while training. How you train is how you will fight.” I think the first part of that means give it your all. The humans have a lot of saying involving their haunches; maybe because they don’t have tails. Who knows?

Anyway, I’m heading home tomorrow, so I should be there no more than a day or two after this letter reaches you. I’m bringing home my certificate from the Terran Joint and Combined Warfighting School, a host of things to teach to my higher-ups in the Army, an honorary commission as a Captain in the Terran Army, and contacts of some new friends. Sorry, I only managed to make about three hundred holos, I know you’ll complain it’s not enough.

See you soon, dear sister,

Mia.