Memory Transcription Subject: Ensign Sifal, Arxur Dominion Fleet

Date [standardized human time]: October 18, 2136

“So if you’d initiated the attack instead of me, what would have happened differently?” I asked. My tail was swishing excitedly as I spoke. I was probably having a little too much fun with the thought exercise of fighting my new friends. Was that just how play behavior worked among pack predators?

David continued to lounge against the bar, contemplating his beverage. “Well, I’ve been going into the kitchen and back. You probably wouldn’t expect it if I came out with a ladle full of hot fryer oil instead of the next dish.”

“Hmm,” I said, chewing on that new angle of attack. “Another ranged attack, and more fire and heat. What if we kept it sporting? Hand-to-hand only?”

David laughed. “I fail to see how fighting above my weight class is keeping it sporting.” I tilted my head in confusion for a moment, which he picked up on. “Sorry. Humans occasionally do unarmed sparring matches--boxing, martial arts, etc.--but we tend to only pair people of similar size. Otherwise, it favors the bigger fighter too heavily. It’s no fun if it’s lopsided.”

“You and the Arxur have different ideas of fun,” I said wryly. I shook my head, as I remembered my Captain roughing up new recruits just because he could. “I like your idea better. What kind of advantage would you need?”

William was starting to look visibly worried. “This is still a hypothetical, right?

David grinned. “These are both fantastic questions.” He rubbed his bare chin. “Well, I think the initial premise was that I get to launch a sneak attack, so that’s one. No ranged attacks, per your request. Harder for me to pull a punch that way anyway. We’ll say that the two Peacekeepers don’t help either way this time. And, uh… let’s not actually draw blood or anything, if that’s alright.” His hand was drifting towards his knife. “Presenting the hit counts as connecting; we don’t actually have to slash at each other. Sound good?”

I grinned back at David. “I accept your terms. Whenever you’re ready.”

William looked pale and shook his head. “Please, God, no. What are you two even doing?”

David nodded, and took a deep breath. He stood upright, and the way he balanced his weight on his feet changed. It didn’t quite map one-to-one, but it reminded me a lot of an Arxur preparing to pounce. “Computer, code gray.”

Abruptly, the lights went out, and music began to play. The game begins! I dove out of the chair away from where David had been standing, rolled and twisted, and stood back up, keeping my back safely pressed to the wall. I carefully stepped sideways, away from the kitchen and towards where Charmaine had been sitting. If I put the table between us, it would buy me more time. I couldn’t see a damn thing--we Arxur loved the darkness, but it would be a few more precious seconds before my eyes adjusted. None of my other senses were useful, either! The music was loud enough to cover the sound of David’s footsteps--was that why humans wore those soft-looking combat boots at all times?--and while I could smell him just fine, we were in his lair. The whole building had his scent to it! All I smelled was humans, cooked meat, and solvents, both for cleaning and (apparently) for recreation.

Slowly, I kept shifting sideways, as the time he had left to attack slipped away. My pupils relaxed, my eyes adjusted. There it was, to my left! A faint white glow: all the way from the kitchen, the device heating up the rack of lamb reflected off the metal of the knife. I grabbed a hand’s width further away, and connected with David’s wrist. Victory! I yanked him close into a firm restraining hold, holding his weapon hand out steady. I nodded, which had the effect of tapping him on top of his head with my maw.

“That might have worked on anyone else,” I purred.

This close, I could start to make him out. David was shocked, but in good spirits. “That’s your win,” he said. “Computer, cancel code.”

The music went silent, and the lights came back on. I flinched harder than when I’d spotted the knife. “Ow! Fuck that’s bright!”

“Sorry,” said David, chuckling. “How did you see me?”

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I let go of him, and rubbed the spots out of my eyes. “Arxur can see in the dark,” I said. When we could see at all, at least.

“Yeah, makes sense,” said David. “I could see the eyeshine. It’s like a cat.”

It was becoming imperative for me to acquire a cat. “And I noticed humans don’t have any,” I pointed out. “How did you see me?”

David tapped the lenses he was wearing. “Got you on thermal.”

Charmaine balked. “Wait, why does a chef have thermal imaging lenses?”

David stared at her, then at the kitchen, then back at her. “I mean… because it’s a meat thermometer,” he said slowly. “Why do you think I keep staring at the rack of lamb?”

Charmaine’s mouth opened, like she was about to say something, but nothing came out, so she closed it again. William, by contrast, was still just clutching his chest and trying to breathe more slowly.

I grabbed David one more time, returning his “hug” from earlier, and then reclaimed my seat. “That was fun!” I said, taking one last big swig of my broth. “What’s next?”

David blinked, lightly dazed. I hope I did the hug thing right. “Well, the rack of lamb’s ready if you’re still up for it.”

“Could be fun,” I said. That was the one from the creature that looked a bit like a Venlil from the outside. “I’m getting this weird tension in my stomach. Is that normal?”

“Um, depends,” said David. “Any other symptoms? Cramps, bloating? Nerves?”

I tried to self-assess. “Nope. Just a diminished appetite, maybe?”

Now it was David who opened his mouth and closed it before saying anything. He tried again. “Are you… full?”

My maw dropped open slightly, as I examined the thought. I’d never actually been full before in my life. “Is that what this is?” I nodded to myself slowly. “It’s a nice feeling.” The very idea that there could be an amount of food I might deem “enough” must have felt like an alien concept even a scant few hours ago, but the past few hours had been an endless parade of alien concepts, and I’d enjoyed most of them.

“I’ll divvy it up, then,” said David. He placed the rib rack on a large flat board, and worked his knife between the bones. The meat, which had looked dark brown like ash from the outside, split open to reveal a light pink interior. Even from across the room, I could see the meat’s tenderness from the way it gently gave into the pressure from the knife and sprang back up after its passage. One note among many in the aroma stood out to me: the lamb had a single particular musky scent to it that reminded me of Venlil, but most of the bouquet was its own fragrance entirely, to my slight relief. It had an earthier scent overall that I’d come to associate with creatures with more iron-forward blood, and the lack of any yellow hues to the pinkish red flesh made it clearly not from a Venlil.

And so, with a mix of eagerness and trepidation, I watched as David fanned the meat out in bone-in slices, and set them on the table. He stood his chair back up and joined us. “Here we are at last,” he said. “Rack of lamb. I’ve frenched them, which is to say that I’ve scraped the meat a bit back from the end of the rib bones. You should be able to pick it up by that end without dirtying your fingertips and/or claws. Again, we don’t typically eat the bones, so I can’t vouch for them, but I’m not gonna stop you or anything.”

I plucked up the tiny lamb chop by the thin white bone, and twirled it in place. I was just savoring the sight and scent of it. More than that, I was savoring the sense of tranquility that had come over me. Everyone on the ship knew me as good old level-headed Sifal. That was the reputation I’d worked to cultivate. It felt so liberating to finally be free of the pull of hunger, the one instinct that no Arxur was ever fed enough to escape. For the first time in my life, I could stare at a juicy piece of meat and just… appreciate it. The little red specks of myoglobin seeping out of the muscle tissue, the sharp yet sweet crust of burnt flesh coating the exterior, even the tiny flecks of leaves caked onto the outside. “What’s this little evergreen needle called?” I asked, idly.

“Rosemary,” said David. “It’s an uncommon girl’s name as well.”

“Hm,” I said, noting that. The little chop was such a tiny morsel. How strange that Earth’s bounty and abundance made you able to appreciate the little things.

Hunger isn't making us stronger, said the little voice of treason, growing louder.

I ripped off the whole little round of meat in a fraction of one bite, and savored it as I chewed. The human propensity for constantly burning their meat was starting to make sense to me. They kept the interior barely cooked and tender, while the charred exterior added new loud flavors of its own. The mix of salt, spices, and leaves added even more toasty notes, bringing the whole dish’s symphony into harmony.

“I like it,” I said. “It’s nothing like Venlil--it’s not even the right color--but it’s quite nice.” I smiled a bit wistfully. “I wish I could eat like this every day,” I said, meaning both this well, and this… kindly, I supposed.

David ate one himself, and the scouts, their consciences a bit clearer, reluctantly partook with us as well. It was nice, eating together as a group. I didn’t know when I was going to get that kind of opportunity again. There was something primeval and pure about the sense of community forged by a ring of hunters huddled around a slab of roasted meat.

“So David,” I said at last, “you were saying about there being two types of empathy?”