The Buck Stops Here

An Apex Short Story

- by Ninmast Nunyabiz -

Mator's scales took on an amused tint at the question, but he answered all the same, and the coloring only became more pronounced as Ash's own face went blank. She did the tapping thing common to cultures who were more accustomed to earpieces than implants as if she expected that to somehow clear it.

Tona wondered if she realized it made her look like a rube, but didn't dare say it.

"I'm sorry," the human asked her fellow Defender across the table, "did you just say the name of your home planet is Water?"

Mator's amusement spread to most of the rest of the table at getting the anticipated response, but the scholarly amphibian kept his friendly chuckle brief. "Yes and no. Most species tend to name their home planet after whatever their primary environment was. If all you ever saw as your society developed was mountains, your people might very well name the whole of the planet Tall Rock. Oh, it will sound fancier in one's native tongue, but the eternal plague of translator technology is that it doesn't particularly care to differentiate."

He leaned forward over his saltwater ale. "Perhaps you'd like to provide us with an example? What did your people name your homeworld?"

Humans apparently had a similar method of dermal expression to the lanky Merians, as a moment after Ash opened her mouth to respond, and before she uttered a sound, her own face flushed a noticeable red that Tona's own translator immediately identified as an expression of embarrassment.

Instead of a planetary name, she simply uttered an, "... Ah," of comprehension.

Still colored amused, himself, Mator nodded. "While I am pleased to see you know where this is going, it was a genuine question."

The human clamped her mouth shut for a moment, then downed her entire glass of liquor in a single shot that made Tona cringe. The thought of the acidic burning such an act would cause, the quickened poisoning of the senses, the damage to the stomach lining. He would never dare do such a thing, let alone with the strength of what she was drinking. Why, from the smell alone, it had to be as much as five percent alcohol, maybe even ten!

Others around the table widened their eyes, too, but Mator took it in stride. But then, Merians always seemed to be good at keeping their calm.

After the booze settled and she expelled a deep breath, she finally answered.

Quiet chuckles drifted around their table in the low light of the tavern.

Mator took his time reaching to the dish in the middle of all of them as he spoke. "I'm sorry," he coolly mimicked, "did you just say the name of your home planet is Dirt?" This earned another round of chuckles as he plucked a flat leaf of toasted grain flour and dipped it into the big bowl of chunky vegetable paste.

Ash's reddened complexion deepened, but she otherwise took it in stride. "Yeah, yeah," she rolled as she gestured for a refill from a passing waitress. "I get it. Probably a big part of why everybody likes to use system names instead. In that case, it's Sol-3."

"Sol," Mator repeated, rolling the word across his long tongue. "Interesting. That didn't translate. But let me guess ..."

But the human just sighed and nodded. "Yes, it's a dead language word for Sun."

That made the Merian blink, and a bit of the amusement faded to blue surprise. "I was actually going to guess it was named after an ancient deity." The way he lowered his head suggested what he said next was a joke. "Your people aren't terribly creative, then, are they?"

Tona nearly gagged on his fermented shroom tea. Was the lizard trying to start a fight?!

But Ash just scoffed with a toss of her head, a gesture his implant told him was dismissive amusement, and he relaxed a bit. "We're plenty creative," she shot back. "You try coming up with a bunch of different words for the same thing!"

Normally, the once-a-week after-work outing would have been a time of relaxation, an opportunity to unwind from the stresses of policing their little corner of the planetary megacity. The reason Tona and several others weren't finding it as relaxing as usual was because one of their newest members had finally agreed to come after several months of being invited.

Of course, that, in and of itself, wouldn't be stressful, not to them. Plenty of newbies had spent their first night in this very bar getting teased and questioned to the amusement and curiosity of their senior teammates. It served as both a bit of an initiation and a bonding exercise. Tona distinctly remembered his own time in the same (metaphorical) chair, and that had been two years ago.

No, the reason why he was tense was because this newbie that Mator was so casually antagonizing ... was a predator. Something deep in him told him that at any moment, the alcohol would loosen her restraints enough and somebody would say something just offensive enough, and she'd go off like a ticking time bomb.

As the night had gone on and their own alcohol had worked through their systems, most of them had relaxed much more and fallen into more casual exchanges, but he couldn't. Just the other day, he'd personally watched her break a pred's arm with little concern.

Oh, it was justified, to be sure, he'd been coming at her with a crowbar in hand. It was how she took it so in stride that had unnerved Tona, like it was just another part of her day. Get caffeinated beverage, go to work, break a sapient's arm.

It didn't help any that she'd blocked the bar with her own arm and been fine. Sure, their suits were lightly reinforced, but still ...

"You sure you don't want some?" Mator asked her as he motioned to the dip before tossing the remainder of his chip into his mouth.

"No, thanks," she shook her head before lifting her refilled glass. "I prefer my salsa spicy."

"It'll help absorb the alcohol."

But she threw her head back in a short bark of laughter. "I'll worry about that when I get any alcohol in me!" She swirled the glass a bit in front of her for emphasis. "This stuff's so weak, I'll pass it before I can get more than a buzz out of it."

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Again, Mator was as calm and collected as one could be. "Oh? What you are drinking is considered quite stout. It's a malt base, isn't it?"

Ash looked down at it speculatively, giving it another swirl and watching the amber fluids spin. "Dunno. I just asked for whiskey. I didn't actually expect it to be something I could get without having to explain it."

The Merian colored in a way others would raise an eyebrow. "Did you think you were the only species to ever come up with grain alcohol?"

"Nah," she waved him off, "just didn't think the Union carried anything that stout." And then she downed the damned glass again! "Turns out, I was right. Flavor's alright, but there's no burn. If I had to guess, I'd put it on the same level as a strong beer back home." She glanced back across the table at the one making the most conversation with her. "Oh, right, your beer's shit, too."

Now, Mator's face was almost entirely blue, and even he had to regather himself with a forced chuckle before he could respond. "And how strong is Dirt Whiskey, then?"

She ignored his jab at the literal translation of her homeworld and leaned back to consider the question. "Hmm ... been a while since I looked at a label. About forty percent by volume?"

The entire table promptly choked, inhaled or violently expelled their assorted beverages - poor Letoi sneezed her agar shot in blue-red globules right out of her nose.

Even Tona had to speak at that, being one of the first to recover. "How are you not dead?!"

But she just shrugged. "Dedicated organ."

Of course they had a dedicated organ for poison removal ... Humans were nature's mad science experiment, he was sure. How they looked like tailless Undpani instead of the horrific nightmare beasts they were, he'd never understand.

Ash waved the waitress down again with an apologetic grin. "Hey, sorry, I feel awful running you over here so much, is there any chance I can just get the bottle?"

Any answer was interrupted by a ruckus at the other end of the pub, and the human looked toward it for only a moment before starting to stand. "Actually, hold that thought," she told the waitress as if it were a perfectly normal interruption, then casually headed over.

Tona watched her approach the rowdy Dekkin and the surly-looking Peludian he'd been bothering and sunk down in his chair. This was it, he knew it. The moment he'd been dreading all night. The whole place was about to become a bloodbath.

He'd seen her approach suspects like that before. She'd casually stroll up to a group of preds and toss them a greeting like she belonged there. She'd ask how they were doing, they'd say better now that lunch had arrived, and she'd laugh it off and tell some joke about a human delivery service that no one ever got.

Then she'd barrel straight into confronting the target and calling them out in front of their group. Of course, that could only be answered in one way by a pred. And yet, like that stupid joke, she kept doing it.

She was doing it again here. That same casual stroll, that same friendly smile, that same air of, I am a perfectly normal feature of this gathering. It made her look like she owned whatever ground she walked on, and just happened to be courteous enough to chat up guests.

It was all going to happen again, Tona just knew it ...

There she was, putting herself right in between the two as if the cervid man's horns couldn't gore her in an instant, as if the black and white ursine woman he'd been harassing didn't stand at least a head taller than she did. She didn't even have her armor on, but she was acting as invincible as always.

They looked at this intruder with confusion and bewilderment, but she must have mentioned she was a Union Defender because those expressions suddenly vanished into trepidation. If they had been preds, it would have been hostility instead, but Tona had no doubt that it could still slip into that as soon as she pushed too far.

When she pointed back toward the table she'd come from, Tona sunk down in his seat as if he could hide behind his mug. "Don't just go and volunteer us for your fights!"

He hadn't actually realized he'd said it out loud until Mator chuckled. "Is that what you think is going on, Tona?" He took a calm pull from his pint and exhaled a breath that smelled of brine. "You worry too much."

"I've been on three patrols with her in the last month," the little moleman protested in reply. "That's four more than I need to know this is what she does every time, and every time she ends up in a fight!"

"With preds," was the amphibian's calm counter, as if this were a perfectly normal conversation.

"There's a pred involved in every conversation she's in, Mator! Even if she's not talking to one!"

Mator turned his head toward him with scales that were a deep purple of disappointment. "Tona, such speciesism is unbecoming of a Union Defender."

The reprimand made him swallow tensely, but as with most everything else, the Merian moved on past it with a river's abandon, and Mator motioned back across the tavern.

"There, see? It concludes."

There had been a brief period of voices raised a little higher, but the human's had never been one of them, and that, too, had settled. The Peludian paid her tab and left as the human, with all the social clinginess of the Undpani she resembled, guided the Dekkin back to a stool with one arm slung heavily over his shoulder.

She had a brief exchange with the bartender, ran her chit over the counter, itself, and apparently picked his drink since she waited to see him down it. Tona recognized the appearance of the same stuff she'd been drinking when the bartender poured it.

Sure enough, under her goading, the Dekkin tossed it back, almost immediately shaking his entire body in response. She gave a laugh, slapped him on the back hard enough to nearly cause his rack to hit the bar, and gave him some parting words.

It was less than a minute after that before she returned to the table, the rest of that bottle in her hands, and her face pulled into a grin so wide that Tona nearly believed his own life to be in danger.

But all she said was, "Well, that was fun!" and flopped back into her chair before taking a pull on the bottle like it really was just a very sweet beer.

Mator, of course, gave her a calm, measured clap. "Well done, Miss Apex. And not an arrest to be made."

Ash shrugged the compliment off. "Hey, the work week's over, right? Didn't figure any of us wanted to go back to the precinct now just for some paperwork over a bit of handsy. In fact, when I told them as much, they got really eager to cooperate."

"And the Dekkin?"

"Cooling his hooves for another half-deci, give the girl plenty of time to get on her way to prevent another fateful encounter."

Tona wanted to ask so many things as he watched with bewilderment as the human tipped the whiskey back again - the whiskey that was, if her claim were true, less than a quarter as stout as she was accustomed. Maybe the chief could have handled human alcohol, but Tona, himself, would surely have been pickled from the fumes alone.

So many questions, in fact, that the one that finally came out felt almost moronic. Perhaps his fermented tea was getting to him. "You didn't tell that stupid joke, did you?"

The human blinked at him, confused. "Which one?"

Which one. Of course she had more than one of them. Perhaps humans used such horrible humor as a sort of social weapon, unleashing them like verbal bombs with gleeful abandon. In which case, the more one individual knew and could call upon at a timely moment, the better they might be perceived.

"The one about whatever an Oob Reets is."

That wide grin returned again, and though his translator told him it was an expression of glee/amusement, he backed up against his own seat at the sight. Her front grill of teeth were sharp like cleavers, book-ended by spear-like fangs. He had no doubt they could rip his flesh from his arm with a twist of her head. It was their purpose, after all.

She showed no reaction to his discomfort, though. "Nah, that one's saved for food delivery. I did get in a good one about carts and horses, though."

Before he could decide if he even wanted to ask, Mator cleared his throat instead. "I believe Tona's most prominent concern," he informed her, his scales returning to that shade of amusement, "was that you were going to treat them like preds and start a bar fight."

The human's face went slack at that, again confusion, combined with stun. She blinked a couple more times, his ever helpful translator relaying that it was a sign of processing conflicting sensory data, and then finally turned to him.

She thumbed back over her shoulder toward where the exchange had taken place. "You thought I was going to start a fight over that?" When he didn't answer, honestly trying not to soil himself, she instead just threw her head back in laughter.

"Oh, Tona," she said after she settled down, slapping the table for emphasis. "It was just a horny deer hitting on a panda way out of his weight class."

She leaned forward and gave him a crooked grin that his translator assured him was absolutely not an expression of predatory hunger, but rather the equivalent of the same expression Mator had given her over planetary names.

"Not every problem needs to be solved with violence, you know."