“Now, that sort of thing is usually more of a production assistant’s duty than a technician’s. But I think you’ll benefit from some general responsibilities while you get accustomed to your role. Now this next set has a few quirks given the—Hello Angela! Have you met Rasvai? She’s our new broadcast technician. Yes, she’ll be with us while—”
The speaker was an underfed-looking male who seemed well past his prime. He had welcomed Rasvai as she arrived and introduced himself as Mr. Granger. As a member of the Executive Production Board for the broadcasting network, he was an authority figure with broad influence across the entire facility.
Rasvai had felt a minuscule twinge of pride that someone so high in the chain of command had seen fit to attend her. Mr. Granger had explained he would personally see to her tour of the premises. He had escorted the arxur inside and spoken about their day-to-day operations. Helped her retrieve her ID badge. Explained the catalog of “shows” that were produced and distributed here.
In fact, he had barely stopped speaking since he met her…two and a half hours ago.
Like most human males in positions of civilian authority, Mr Granger wore a colorful, patterned flap of fabric around his neck. The urge to wordlessly reach out, grab the makeshift noose, and use it to choke his constant rambling off at its source entered the arxur’s mind for what had to be the hundredth time. He probably wouldn’t even stop while unconscious.
His endless chattering and the interactions it demanded of her pounded across her like a barrage of fists. Only it was her patience leaking away instead of blood.
Mostly she nodded, grunted, or replied with one or three-word answers if she had to. Whenever her superior laughed, it reminded her to release a hissing exhale of hollow mirth too. At least the noise seemed to unsettle most of the humans she met—useful to discourage too much prattle.
But even silence had a cost. Human conversations demanded unnatural gestures instead of speech. It took constant constant effort to maintain favor.
She stood more upright than felt natural in an attempt not to look overly predatory. She inclined her head when introduced to others, baring the back of her neck in a way that went against every instinct she had. She bobbed her head or shook it to acknowledge things said to her. Ratcheted up her shoulders to “shrug” when unsure.
She allowed humans to clasp her hand and jostle it if they wished (most were too intimidated by her to touch her). She was expected to meet their eyes while speaking—but not for too long—and to slot each face and position into the increasingly jumbled hierarchy of roles and titles introduced to her in a contextless slurry.
Now she struggled to keep her tail from developing the same erratic twitch that had settled in her eye. Not that it would matter. So few humans understood tail language—let alone what the Arxur used—they probably wouldn’t even notice. It was basically dead weight.
Maybe you should cut it off? You’re no True Arxur, after all. Might help trick the humans into believing you’ll be loyal. Pathetic traitor.
Rasvai’s gaze flicked back down to her lanyard. The ID card against her scaled chest featured the broadcasting station’s logo. Her portrait, name, and role were displayed, proving she wasn’t some random intruder who’d wandered in.
Based on the security officers' reactions when she’d arrived to claim it, she wouldn’t have been challenged with or without such documentation. How did such pathetic excuses for guards expect to maintain their territory, anyway? Cowering like…
Such stupid, arrogant thoughts quickly expired. She was underestimating the humans. She knew firsthand all it took was one bullet to the skull to kill even the most desperate, vicious, and enraged arxur.
The humans had admitted to tearing Chief Hunter Shaza to pieces, after all. Revenge for their treatment during that scuffle over Sillis. But no one liked Shaza…so no one cared.
Pathetic sentiment. You stupid defect. It's no worse than she’d get from any challenger. Even the humans are truer Arxur than you.
The arxur’s lanyard held an additional laminated card alongside her ID. Another demand from the exchange she resigned herself to. It was annoyingly bright green; the color of fresh cattle feed. She couldn’t decide which side of the damning leaf was worse.
Hello! My name is Rasvai. I’m from the Human-Arxur exchange program. Please direct any questions or concerns about my exchange-sponsored integration on Earth to the North American branch of the Human-Arxur Advocacy group. My emergency contact is Callie Strobel, who can be reached at—
The translators could shift the words all they wanted. She knew what the human text meant.
“I’m a worthless waste of scales that deserved to be culled. But I’m such a spineless coward that I fled to throw myself at humanity’s feet instead. Ask my handlers, I’ll take whatever abuse you give me in exchange for your scraps!”
On the opposite side was a list of those sneaky little tests the exchange obsessed over.
Things like: Confused? Ask someone for help; translators aren’t perfect! And: Feeling a little overwhelmed? Take a break—a few deep breaths never hurt! And finally: Don’t be a stranger! Your partner or liaison is only a call away.
Any arxur who succumbed to such feeble tricks might as well be begging to be thrown back where they came from. False mercies were nothing new. They could fool the weak-willed and desperate, but not her. As if she’d ever be stupid enough to volunteer her defectiveness or failure.
That was one mistake she would never, ever repeat.
They came to a stop again and Mr. Granger’s babbling continued. It had been reduced to an indistinct thrum in her ears as if she were underwater.
Another human was being presented for introduction, hand hesitantly outstretched. No noose-flap, showing obvious signs of nerves, stinking of sweat. He must be some peon relegated to hard labor. Mr. Granger commanded a vast number, comparable to the [Virtuous Merit Holder of Civilian Authority] of Broadcasting Rasvai had occasionally reported to in her old life.
“Hey uh…I’m Mike. Glad to meet you, Miss Rasvai. Oh er, sorry. It's just Rasvai, huh? Haha.”
“Yes.” The arxur stoically took his hand, carefully squeezed her six clawed digits around it, and gave a halfhearted shake that rattled his whole arm. Rasvai turned to follow a shockingly silent Mr. Granger down the hall again. Both humans paused and stared at her.
“Um…Rasvai?” Mike asked, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “Headed this way, actually. Gonna check out the equipment room before lunch. That right, Andy?” He directed the question toward Mr. Granger.
“I…of course,” the arxur said, reorienting herself. She took care not to whip the humans with her tail as she turned. Mr. Granger patted her on the arm and she tensed. She knew the feeble strikes were some human gesture, not a challenge. She still had to clamp down the urge to whirl and snarl at him in retaliation.
Mr. Granger chuckled, “So sorry, Rasvai. You’ve been very patient with me. I wanted everyone to get a chance to meet our company’s first arxur employee with me right beside to field any questions.”
“This industry can be fast-paced, and it’s always a bit of a juggling act. Only fair you see the equipment you’ll be working on under Mike without any of that pressure. Especially given your nonstandard training. But the exchange feels confident you’ll adapt quickly, and I certainly share the same outlook!”
A few key words snapped the arxur out of the mire of banal sociability dulling her thoughts.
Working under—this peon was her superior? She fought back a frustrated grumble. Why did humans bother wearing all these pelts and distracting baubles if they didn’t properly convey one’s status?
Rasvai dipped her head and shoulders, back twinging from the effort of mirroring the humans’ gestures again and again. She kept her tail especially still to appear meek and civil. “Of course, sir. I understand your time is valuable. I will perform my tasks as…M-Mike directs,” she said, nearly slipping back into using habitual titles. No doubt these humans would react as poorly as her screening interviewers to explanations of the arxur broadcasting hierarchy.
Mr. Granger snarled thinly. “If you have any concerns related to your position regarding the exchange, drop by my office or give me a call. We can conference with your Advocate or liaison and chat about any issues that crop up. However, no need to be shy about your duties; Mike is an expert technician. He’s been at the network nearly as long as I have!”
Mike shrugged. “Yeah well, helps that all the good telecom folks got snapped up by the UN for something or other during the war. I just keep getting raises to stick around.” He snarled. “What can I say; I know where all the bodies are buried.”
The two humans parted after a shared laugh. Rasvai followed behind Mike as ordered, working through the translated intent of what he’d said. She wondered why the humans casually used the phrase [I am an invaluable asset] to imply murderous blackmail…yet seemed to react so poorly when the actual practice was brought up. She dragged her attention back onto Mike as he began speaking.
“So, we have 2 main equipment rooms—most of the stuff not in those is left secure on sets or in transit to remote studios. Once it's out of your hands, it's not your responsibility. The room’s locked for a reason, so don’t prop the door while you’re moving stuff out. Your badge will let you in and we use an RFID program to maintain the equipment logs. Keeps any random thief from running off with a van load of equipment.”
He pulled a face at the arxur. “Which uh, that did happen a few years back. Some people, huh?” He pressed his ID to the panel and opened the door after a heavy click.
Rasvai tensed. Despite everything, she still half-expected to see the familiar bloodstained concrete. The harsh lighting and the cable runs to keep blood from fouling her equipment. The shackles bolted into the wall and floor.
She ducked inside after Mike and silently exhaled, flicking her tail. It really was only a storage room.
The climate-controlled space was stacked with cases. A loose, frayed carpet covered the floor. Thick cables were neatly arranged in bins, and pieces of equipment adorned spots labeled with tape. Large shrouds of dark cloth and odd, reflective panels were stacked against one wall, sharing space with tripods and stepladders. A long table and workspace featured a computer display, bits of electronics, and small tools scattered nearby.
“It’ll be nice to have someone else to help lug around equipment,” Mike said as he strode around the table and sank into a chair. He indicated the seat across from him. “There was a bit of turnover for the position. Lotta graduates having trouble after the…bombings.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, you got the grand tour from the head honcho. That drum up any questions so far?”
“No, Mentor Mike,” the arxur hissed. She settled awkwardly onto a chair, feeling it creaking under her weight, her thick tail pressed uncomfortably tight against the back.
“Oh uh, just Mike is fine. I’m the Senior Broadcasting Tech, but that’s only for pounding my chest around pushy producers.” He waved his hand as if swatting away some irritating insect. He checked the time on a small device on his wrist. “It’s about lunch. You uh…bring in any food?”
The arxur indicated a negative with her tail. She scanned the large shelves and counters of stacked equipment. Being away from the bustle, the stares, and the constant talking allowed her to collect herself slightly. If her duties meant time alone in this room, perhaps she would survive after all.
“Rasvai?”
She realized she’d reverted to Arxur mannerisms out of exhaustion. She shook her head slowly. “No. I did not bring any rations.”
“Oh uh…sweet! I was kinda hoping to pick up something to welcome you but I uh…didn’t really know what you’d like. Dietary restrictions and all. The usual pizza order is probably out.” He chuckled.
Why did all the humans constantly ask her about food? The UN had accused the Dominion of being ration-obsessed, but humans were just as guilty. All around her people were constantly eating and drinking. Snacking, slurping, chewing. It was a wild feeding frenzy with no discipline whatsoever.
“No need,” she grunted. “I am not hungry.” Her stomach roared in protest, but that was something every arxur learned to ignore.
“O-oh? Okay. We’ll take a rain check, then.” Mike cleared his throat, and the pair stewed in the awkward silence that followed.
To the arxur, it was a blissful relief. A return to some fraction of solitude after hours of being bombarded with words, looks, questions, and alien ideas. At least Callie had the sense to leave alone for more than—
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
“So do you um…have any kids?” Mike asked.
Rasvai hissed out a quiet sigh. She tackled the instinct to roar at the pathetic human to shut up. To mind his own fucking business and leave her in peace for a single, solitary breath unless he wanted her to end his for good.
Once she had the urges clasped in her mental claws, she twisted them into a writhing ball…and swallowed them.
“I do not have any offspring,” she said, red eyes opening again. Placid. Calm. Highly social. Not betraying the blazing spark of ire that few arxur—and even fewer humans—could detect.
Because it didn’t matter how she felt about anything.
This was the only chance she had left to survive.
----------------------------------------
Rasvai stormed through the apartment door, practically trembling with barely contained fury. After that single moment of refuge in the equipment room, her day had only worsened.
It was one thing to be annoyed by some incompetent fool who she—in any sensible world—would have knocked into line. To understand she was superior, but bound by the dictates of humanity not to prove it. She could be content enough as a mere servant.
But it was another situation entirely to be utterly shamed by her supposed strengths.
What kind of human who “knew where the bodies were buried” took abuse from countless demanding, impatient challengers? He was a peon with the talents of a Prophet. It was clear that Mike was essential to nearly every broadcast, but he made no effort to claim any rightful ascendance!
He became a different person. Confident. Commanding. His orders made her think her translator had shorted out, taking a chunk of her brain with it. He bewildered her with jargon and piece after piece of specialized technology, explaining concepts she could barely conceive of in rapid-fire bursts.
Submenus, tweaks, attachments, adaptors, cables, settings, and data were all deployed at his whim. His contributions resulted in a constant flow of solutions to problems and the rapid completion of whatever task he pursued. Cameras, drones, and the footage within were laid bare before him like a butcher skinning a prime piece of prey for a banquet.
She hated him, hated how completely inferior he made her feel. How he’d pulled the camera she’d struggled with all day from her hands and ruined everything she’d done, claiming to have fixed some kind of error. Pushing her back during each crisis she attempted to fix, flooding her with terms and requests she didn’t understand as he tried to teach her. Asking her to relay things from others, to talk and ask questions, make requests, and send demands on his behalf like she was some kind of glorified signal relay.
And worst of all was the [research-based work tasks continued after returning home] he had assigned her. A binder of thick technical manuals for everything from camera equipment to explanations of data formats. Printed out with some stinging implication that she was probably too stupid to access the same information digitally.
He thinks you’re a mindless savage. A defective slave. It's all for appearance. You’re nothing but a hunting trophy. The humans are showing off their primitive predator pets. Regressed like animals to worshiping their claws and teeth. Your culture is a pathetic husk, your technology nothing but stolen scraps from the prey. You’re nothing to them. Nothing to the Dominion. A pawn. Labor. Breeding sto—
The arxur’s head snapped up in response to motion in her periphery, pupils constricting with violent focus.
They landed on Callie and seemed to pin her in place.
“H-heeeya there, roomie.” The human waved meekly from her seat. “Welcome home,” she said through a mouthful of something from a crinkly bag at her side.
The human was curled up on the large seat in the common area, startled into silence by the arxur’s sudden entrance and fuming. Rasvai rose from a combative hunch. She released a slow hiss and forced herself to recapture some sliver of the outward stoicism she had maintained all day.
Waves of furious tension continued to roll off her body, her lashing tail clearly expressing her lack of interest in conversing. So of course, Callie asked, “How was your first day?”
“It was…acceptable,” Rasvai growled, half-tearing the lanyard off her neck and dropping it with distaste onto the counter. She walked past the broad seat holding Callie and headed for her room.
“H-hey, wait. Wanna…hang out? Maybe eat something and chat a little?” The human patted the couch, indicating the cushion beside her.
The arxur hesitated. There’d been a message from Callie on her exchange-provided device when she’d woken, but the disruption to her sleep cycles from traveling had left her too exhausted to care much. Not that she usually bothered to check anyway. No matter when she looked, there was always some unread message from the human.
But this morning, she’d done nothing but splash some water on her face and claws, drape one of the stupid modesty wraps around her waist, and summon exchange-provided transportation to attend her infuriating vocational training.
Ironically, her driver was the only human today who hadn’t tried to speak with her. Why couldn’t she have been paired up with them for this exchange?
“Callie. I have spent all day…talking. Struggling to learn…so many things. I…I don’t…” she hissed out a sigh and clicked her jaws in frustration. “Speak with me tomorrow.”
“Oh. Alright. You’re probably still pretty jet-lagged too, huh? Well…at least have something to eat. I’m a little worried you’re starving yourself. My exchange partner before you had…trouble with that.”
The arxur scoffed. “Two days is hardly long to go unfed. But fine. Did the exchange deliver rations?”
“Yeah, they…” Callie blinked. “You haven’t eaten in two days? Well no wonder you’re cranky, Rasvai. What about the pancetta in the fridge? You didn’t see my message this morning?”
“The what? Pork? As I said, whatever meat they provide is acceptable.”
Callie sighed as she stood up. Something about her demeanor had suddenly shifted. “Okay. I was willing to suck up getting blown off about your welcome dinner. But lying about having eaten at all is different.”
Rasvai paused, eyes snapping to the human as she realized her mistake.
“You said you ate last night. Now you say you haven’t eaten in days? Why not? Are you…embarrassed about getting food? If the exchange refused to feed you while you were traveling, that’s not okay. We need to tell someone about that. And your workplace legally has to let you have a meal break, so if they’re not…”
“Yes, they offered. Mike was—I am not some glutton!” Rasvai said, anger creeping into her voice. She said she didn’t want to talk. Why couldn’t the humans just leave her alone? “I do not need humans shoveling meat down my throat. I will eat when I decide to. Understand?”
“W-what? Are you skipping meals on purpose? I don’t…please tell me what’s going on, Rasvai. I’m your exchange partner. I just want to understand. You can—”
The arxur growled. Her patience was drawing dangerously thin. She couldn’t explain. Not without dredging up…everything. And she absolutely couldn’t allow that.
Rasvai snorted. “I…would like to invoke your offer. Shut up. Or was that a lie?” She managed to choke back some degree of her hissing malice.
Callie pursed her lips and folded her arms. She opened her mouth with a glare, eyes scouring across the arxur’s face. Then the human paused, unfolded her arms, and moved them in a strange, sinuous gesture that accompanied a deep breath in and out.
“Okay.”
Callie stepped past the glowering arxur, opened the fridge, and retrieved the untouched container within. She held it out to Rasvai. “Please eat. This is exchange-approved. Pancetta is fatty pork belly. Nothing sapient. It won’t be as good cold, but I respect that you’re not in a ‘learning about the microwave’ mood.”
The arxur accepted the bundle only after a staredown with the stubborn human. Her eyes flicked away from Callie’s intense gaze to the flimsy package in her claws. Her nostrils flared as a rush of rich scents invaded them, muted by the chill. She swallowed the instinctual rush of saliva it triggered.
Callie took another deep breath. “I’m sorry that I’m annoying you. I’m sorry you had a tough first day. Please let me know when you feel up to talking again.” She moved back to her prior seat without another word and turned the large screen on again.
Pride prickling at being ordered around by the human but all too willing to accept Callie’s terms, the arxur grunted in response. She entered her chambers, shut the door behind her, and locked it. She closed her eyes, finally able to drink in the soothing darkness and silence.
Alone.
She seized each troublesome thought that threatened to spill from her defective mind. Her burdens. Her disappointments. Her regrets. Her misery. Her anger. Her guilt. As always, she balled them up, stuffed them into her mouth, and swallowed them, no matter how extreme the effort.
Unfortunately, the bleak, black, pit she tossed such thoughts down seemed fuller than ever.
Reopening her eyes, she discovered a piece of furniture in the room that hadn’t been there before.
Her bedding. Not only had Callie assembled it, but she had also neatly arranged a set of coverings across it. Every bit of fabric was tucked so tightly into place that it felt mildly treacherous to disturb.
At the foot of the bed was a large box with colorful adornments. It wasn’t clear if this was something from Callie or the exchange.
“Perfect. Even more trials and tests to sort through,” the arxur spat. She took a seat on the edge of the bed…and then suddenly found herself eagerly reclined. A soft sigh of pleasure escaped her jaws as she sank gently into the surface. It firmly supported her back, easing much of the tension she’d built up through the day.
The arxur let out a quiet groan of amazement, stretching out her dangling legs, splaying her toes. Her back popped gently, tail shuddering as she worked her ridges deeper into the cradling cushion.
The interchangeable, foam-lined bunks aboard the processing station had served adequately for sleep. For some, they were even an upgrade from the thin comforts offered by the Dominion. But this…
The sensation against her scales was unreal. How did the humans make bedding so soft? Newborn venlil wool? This was the kind of fabric reserved for ceremonial garb on Wriss. The Prophet-Descendant or members of his inner circle might enjoy such a luxury.
Only her ravenous appetite and the fact she was holding a set of rations in her claws kept her from crawling up and drifting off completely. Not wanting to taint the bedding with blood or lingering scents, she rose again, eyes already sagging. She slid downward onto her haunches, back pressed against the bed frame. She fiddled with the flimsy container’s flaps, before simply jabbing her way inside.
It was a sizable portion. Enough to banish much of her appetite.
She lifted one of the plump medallions of fatty meat. It had been lightly charred, and time sitting in the refrigerator had dried some of the moisture from it. She sniffed it, swallowing the deluge of strange scents from the reddish coating and the cold flesh. It made her stomach churn eagerly. She tossed it in her mouth and chewed.
And every ounce of her self-control abandoned her.
The arxur buried her snout in the container and bolted pieces down in a desperate frenzy of gnashing and swallowing. Her tongue was bathed in flavors she’d never imagined—something beyond the rich meat itself had almost been injected into it. It was something more, fuller and better than simple rations meant to stave off hunger or drum up loyalty. This was…she didn’t even know if she wanted to taint something so wonderful with Arxur words.
Thirty seconds later, she was licking the interior of the empty package and gathering whatever morsels remained, lapping tiny remnants and smears of sauce off her claws and face. Swallowing. Panting.
Gentle tingles of satisfaction and relief rolled down her spine, trickling to the very tip of her tail.
The same tail that was jerking and lurching in a way she had forgotten it even could. It expressed something that only ever invited punishment, jealousy, anger, or dangerous questions—but she found she couldn’t stop herself.
The arxur’s sweeping tail struck the box atop the bed and knocked it to the ground with a dull thud.
As she went to shove it under her bedding and deal with it later, she paused. An envelope with her name was attached to the exterior. Given it was the same name scrawled on the ration container’s flaps, it seemed to be Callie’s handwriting.
They already had so many ways to communicate. So…why would Callie write her a physical message and hide it in her chambers without mentioning it?
Delaying such a message had already caused trouble. Before her rational mind could protest with worries about some trap or trick, she flicked the envelope from its moorings and sliced it open with a claw.
Inside was a flimsy fold of paper that displayed an illustration.
It featured a predatory reptilian animal in a wavy, blue body of water. A familiar creature. One Arxur were compared to insultingly often.
The animal wore an ill-fitted pair of dark eyeshields that hid its gaze, an odd human garment atop its head, held a colorful drinking vessel in one paw, and appeared to be draped awkwardly atop some kind of floating cushion.
Its mouth was open, displaying a crude depiction of sharp teeth. A branching line of color extended from its jaws to imply utterance, leading inside the folded section.
Rasvai opened the paper flap.
Within, a mass of the toothy creatures were in countless positions of leisure and relaxation, occupying a vast territory alongside and within the water. Their serrated jaws were universally curved into gleeful snarls.
“Welcome! Come on in, we don’t bite!”
Below the printed words were less tidy ones, handwritten in dark ink.
Welcome to the party, Rasvai!
Unfortunately, there aren’t many beaches around here and we get more snow than we know what to do with.
But I’ll take any excuse I get to snuggle up with a good book!
So come rain or shine, here’s something from me to you.
Kick back, relax, and enjoy yourself.
I promise we humans don’t bite much, either.
~Callie
The arxur stared at the illustration, then set it silently aside. She began clawing strips of the flimsy paper away from the box. Splitting and severing the tape sealing it shut, she revealed a thick, soft bundle of fabric inside. A blanket. The blue material was a deep shade the color of dusk. Rasvai lifted it from the box and held it loosely in her claws.
What a pathetic tribute. What sane arxur would accept this garbage? You’re not some weak, shivering cattle mewling for warmth. It’s worthless.
You’re a predator. A monster. You don’t deserve this. You have claws, teeth, and scales. By the time you’re gone from here, it’ll be nothing but tatters.
Yes. This was surely another nefarious human manipulation tactic. An insult. A test. A trick. A…a…
Rasvai closed her eyes and squeezed the bundle of worthless, defective softness against her chest. The arxur’s tail resumed the same motion from moments before.
A wordless expression of simple, shameless joy.