The translator bug flew back down to Mark's collar, the call over.

"Huh," he said, looking off into the distance. "Huh."

They were on the street in front of the Pick residence. The sun was bright, the air maybe a little humid, but Mark found himself enjoying it. He would have to spend the day out more often.

Mark was getting important things done, and even better, he was not present when problems arose. A better way to climb the ladder could hardly be imagined. How had he forgotten that? Oh, right, because the Zogreion was so difficult. Every trip outside felt being dragged through the jungle, so Mark had let himself fall into the habit of hiding in the embassy like everyone else.

Koen, though. Koen was a xenophile, and even he was having trouble coping with the stresses of dealing with nonhumans.

"Shouldn't we get back to the embassy?" Koen rubbed his hands together, looking back at the Pick residence. "Laura sounds like she needs us."

"Sure," Mark said. "Sure. But, how are you doing, Koen?"

"I'm fine."

"You're coming down off a big emotional high," Mark diagnosed. "You must have been furious at the way the Pick treat their pets."

Koen stared at him in a moment of naked vulnerability.

"Yes," he said.

An omnibus pulled up in front of them.

Mark pushed between the shoulder-high bollards that separated the slow-local traffic from the fast-distant, thinking hard.

Koen followed. He was angry at himself. He shouldn't have said anything to Mark. He'd been stupid. This was the UN embassy. They had bigger problems than feeling sorry for some nonhuman's pet.

"I know," Koen told Mark once they'd found padded tubes to wedge themselves between. "I know it's crazy. There's nothing we can do about Mr. Grumbles except feed him and maybe take him out for a walk now and then. General Graa is the most important nonhuman to ever express this much personal interest in us—"

"—by a long shot," murmured Mark. He was looking around at the other riders of the bus. Mostly Quotidians. What about surveillance? Surely there would be surveillance, and even now, Mark was thinking that he didn't want this conversation to be recorded. He glanced suspiciously down at his translator bug, then back to Koen.

"But it's just so sad. It's just I wish I could do something."

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

Mark nodded in sympathy. That familiar flame burned in his chest. He had built his career on the backs of people who wished they could do something.

Mark made a few quick calculations. How vague could he be? How overt? Had he brushed his teeth recently enough? He did not think too hard about what he would do with the lever he was about to install.

Mark leaned in close to Koen's face. "Yes," he said. "Me too."

Empathy, defined as one organism imagining the psychological state of another,1 has obvious evolutionary advantages. Those who are better at simulating the emotions of others might be pushed to act more altruistically,2 and thus form more cohesive groups. Especially if some leader takes advantage this instinct.

Mark knew it. He knew that empathy was one of the very best levers. Install it in someone, make them imagine someone else's suffering, and they would do almost anything to make the hurting stop. They'd thank you for it.

"So what—?"

Mark cut Koen off. "Not here. Outside."

Mark waited until they had exited the omnibus before he reflected Koen's feelings back at him: "You wish you could rescue Mr. Grumbles."

"It's crazy," Koen repeated, shaking his head as if to dislodge parasites. "I know. Never mind. Don't tell Laura, please. She'll think…" He sighed.

Mark listened with some annoyance. Koen's feelings had cooled on the bus, and now there would have to be the whole tedious business of fanning the righteous indignation back into something useful.

"I'll just get to work cooking something, I guess. Order some ingredients from the spider and what were they called? Furry Foods…"

Mark inhaled sharply and looked up, as if he had scented a wounded gazelle. "Food," he said, and grinned. "Cooking!" He clapped Mark on the shoulder, which made the other man jump and uncurl slightly. "Dinner!"

"What?" Koen blinked, trying to see past his self-referential gloom.

"How about dinner tomorrow night?" Mark calculated rapidly. They'd need Laura in on the conversation. And the conversation would need to be un-surveilled. "You and me and Laura and Severo."

"The security woman? Why?" Koen squinted. "Like a double date?"

Mark almost laughed at that, but caught and interpreted Koen's expression. Koen thought Mark was trying to distract him. "No. I was serious when I said I agree with you. We need a real problem-solving discussion. A brainstorming session." Mark saw he wasn't getting through and rolled the dice again. "The first meeting of the Human Help Club."

"Human help," repeated Koen. He was thinking of Mr. Grumbles and Mark knew it.

Mark put his hand on Koen's shoulder again. "You made a promise to him, didn't you? Well, here's my promise: we'll help him."

Now to go put himself in order. Mark had an appointment with a photographer.

1Coplan, Amy (September 2011). "Will the real empathy please stand up? A case for a narrow conceptualization". The Southern Journal of Philosophy.

2On altruism, more later.