Humans are strange. They continue their celebration so far into the night that it threatens to become day again. I am not entirely comfortable with staying out so late. But I know that my driver is getting a good night’s rest with the copter and we will be safe to fly whenever it is deemed the proper time. I take the opportunity of my disguise to speak with more of them, but none captivate me so wholly as the beautiful July.

It would be impolite for us to leave before Trooaris, as he is the highest in caste of any of us Troo who are present. When he is not present, that usually falls on me to be the one who sets the standard. Alas, I must defer to my better or be considered the height of improper. It is tempting to use leaving early as a tiny act of rebellion, but I conclude that this would not serve my current goals.

An uneventful day passes after we return to the estate. I have few duties at the moment other than the repair and recharging of my flock of drones, and I studiously attend to those while waiting for the most appropriate chance to strike.

Mother expects my report of the events of the party in writing, and that is how she receives it. I leave nothing out at all, for I know she will not share this information with anyone higher in status as it would concede an advantage. I do not attempt to speak with her in person before she has had time to digest the contents of the report.

She finds me at work on my little bench in the room I’ve claimed as my own. With the magnifiying lenses over my eyes, I strongly resemble a large blue beetle. With tweezers as my mandibles I dissect the little mechanical drone, seeking to replace a damaged servo with one cannibalized from a more dramatically injured specimen.

Mother does not knock on doors, but she does not move quietly. I am not startled to see her.

“If you have questions about my report, please give me one moment to complete this task and I will attend to you fully,” I pop the small magnetic piece into the housing for it.

She waits, and I finish the delicate part of the repair. I swivel the stool to face her before flipping the lenses out of the way. Mother is again dressed formally, and this time her claws have been covered in a gold foil, with beads of amber in a thick coil around her thin blue neck. The black feathers along her spine contrast sharply with the precious stones.

“You kissed the human?” she asks, with unadorned language. It sounds like an accusation as much as a question.

“I- yes?” I remember July’s warm lips against the taught skin of my mouth. Supple flesh against the unyielding scales. It took some research into their literature to understand that this activity is what was meant by a kiss. This is not the part of the report I expected Mother to wish to speak with me the most.

“And you allowed this human to touch you?”

“I touched her.”

“You-” Mother cuts herself off and stops to close her eyes and rub their ridges. Her feathers lay firmly flat as she exhibits extreme self control. “It’s worse than I thought. You enjoyed that? You engaged in the activity yourself? What perversions are you entertaining?”

“I-” I stop myself and recognize that it is most definitely not the norm to have any consideration of the idea of physical relations with a human. It is perverse. If they were not, in fact, people, it would absolutely be wrong. “I think we can end the war if we can stop and treat them like people.”

“My child, that is the most foolish thing you have ever said. And when you were a hatchling you insisted that you could raise the dead if you only had enough electric current.” She shakes her head sadly and glares at me from heavy-lidded eyes. “It is most inappropriate for you to be reporting such physical contacts when you are yet to be well placed with a partner.”

I don’t know why this angers me so much more than the normal amount of parental needling. I bite back the urge to hiss and flick my tail against the legs of the stool to prevent my feathers from fanning in fury.

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“Is my potential use for you contingent on securing a productive partner?” If my words are more clipped than they ought to be that is not something within my current emotional state’s realm of control. “Does my own happiness or my own contributions to securing safety for us all mean less than the position of a potential mate?”

At the last word my voice slips and a croak escapes my control. I am far too worked up for this conversation. I need to leave.

Mother’s tail sweeps behind her and I know that she is likely also keeping it in motion to prevent the feathers from separating to show emotion. Her eyes narrow and she folds her hands in front of her very carefully.

“If you must be this crude, then I will take my leave.” She turns and approaches the door. “This conversation is not finished, Tromeo. I will not let you throw your life away for animals.”

When the door closes behind her I launch myself at it and only the carpet on the floor that aids in traction prevents me from colliding bodily with the hollow laminate wood door. I release the hiss that had been building behind clenched teeth and drop into a more bestial, impolite posture. An animal - that’s what she thinks of the humans - all any of us are is but an animal. Nothing separates us.

I struggle with myself and the desire to rip and shred and mutilate the innocent furniture in my abode. After much frustration I realize that there is a solution.

There are multiple solutions, but one is much closer at hand than the others.

I change into clothes unsoiled by the various oils and solvents of the workbench, strapping on the boots that protect my feet on terrain that is too difficult to traverse on claw alone. And then I leave.

I know my mother will expect me to head directly to Mercutioodon, and I do not feel any desire to prove her wrong in this. He is still my oldest friend and I know that he does not see humans as mere animals. He spends far more time with the collaborators than anyone else I know of.

The layout of the compound is such that it is not difficult to close one part of the buildings off from the others. It is a security measure that holds over from the previous usage of the facility as a prison. And there are guards today stationed at the crossing points where I would have to traverse.

I choose to ignore them, sweeping past the gray-feathered individuals there with my most upright and strict posture leaving no room nor time for disagreement. It would be socially difficult for any of them to stop me now. And it feels good to use my mother’s weaknesses against her. If she is going to give me such a hard time for even just seeking attention outside of the structures of our delinated caste then I will use those structures to win at her foolish games.

Mercutioodon is in his room as usual, but the human is nowhere to be seen. That makes this easier, I estimate.

“Friend, I have a need of advice.”

He looks up from a tablet he was reading and blinks at me in surprise. I do not wait for a response.

“I believe that I desire to seek a human’s companionship. What do I need to know about them so that I do not make any terrible mistakes?”

He blinks at me and then laughs. It is a freeing sound that cracks against the layers of defenses currently surrounding my poor heart. He stands and quickly hops across the room to close the door behind me as I begin to keen most tragically.

My closest friend that I have ever had takes me in his arms and guides me onto one of his soft sofas. He places a soft blanket over my shoulders and coos gentle comforts into my feathers. I cannot help but to give in to the emotional disturbance and cry like I am still a child and he is still the braver one in the creche.

“Humans are complicated,” he tells me gently. “But they’re also so much simpler than they seem. They don’t see your caste or your position. They just see you.”

“You-” I realize how blind I have been. “You and the human man?”

He nods, turning his head away shyly.

“For how long?”

“It’s been several years,” he admits. “It started not long after I lost the leg.” He flexes his stump and I can imagine toes wriggling at the end of it. “So many of our own people overlooked me completely after the injury. I could hardly leave the building. So I started talking to the humans, and they didn’t treat me so differently once we became familiar. Dirk - he and I met in town. I was glad to meet someone who wasn’t trying to use my caste to better their position or refused to consider me for my deficiency.”

I stop to think about how the injury occurred.

“But you lost it in a firefight with the humans?”

“That I did.” He laughs again, a throaty sound which nearly mimics the sound of a human’s laughter with perfect pitch. “And there’s a chance it was him that shot me. But my own people couldn’t handle seeing me like that, and he did.”

“But what are you asking about human relationships for?”

I explain. And he understands. And he agrees to help.