Memory Transcription Subject: Ensign Sifal, Arxur Dominion Fleet

Date [standardized human time]: October 18, 2136

My mind reeled as the U.N. Peacekeepers clapped politely.

“Surprisingly good acting,” said Charmaine.

David shrugged. “Yes, well, I’m only the chef/owner of a high-end restaurant until my Broadway career picks up,” he said dryly. He smirked to himself as he took another sip of his lumber-scented propellant. His eyes drifted back towards me, though.

“Yeah, I did a few stints of guard duty for diplomatic events?” said William. “That’s the exact face they train you to scan the crowd for. The average would-be assassin has a terrible poker face.”

David nodded. “Fun to know,” he said, his attention still focused on me. “Sifal? You good, buddy?”

I shook my head. “I’ve seen an Arxur make that face,” I said.

David perked up. “Oh! Um, alright. Sorry, you mentioned earlier that a human took a potshot at you. I thought you were making sense of that.” He paused. “Do… do Arxur not normally have to work themselves up before killing something?”

“No!” I snapped. I took a quick breath and tried to continue in a more controlled tone. “I mean, I don’t think so? It… it doesn’t seem common, at least.”

“Okay,” said David, “do you have to work yourself up to it?”

I leaned back in my chair and tried to consider it. “I mean, I think I used to, when I was younger? But eventually, I just kind of got used to it. Is that weird?”

David shrugged. “I didn’t much care for handling raw carcasses when I was starting out as a chef, but I got used to it.”

Charmaine made an annoyed noise in her throat. “That’s not quite the same. You’ve never killed anyone.”

David leaned back and thought about it, as the scouts slowly looked more horrified by his silence. “No, you’re right,” said David. “I’m pretty sure he lived.”

“What,” said William.

“Eh, it’s not that exciting of a story,” said David. “It was back at the Asian restaurant. Some drunk started getting belligerent while the bouncer was off taking a piss or something.” He shrugged. “I got the drunk to stop.”

Charmaine nodded along like this was a perfectly normal explanation; William still looked horrified. “And you’re only mostly sure he lived?” he asked for clarification.

“Well, yeah,” said David. “I mean, it was my night off. I was also pretty drunk.” William opened his mouth, but David just finished the tale. “Look, the NYPD took some statements, and that was the last I heard of it. I imagine there would have been a court summons involved if the drunk bastard hadn’t just slept it off.”

William looked like he wanted to keep talking, but Charmaine cut him off. “Either way,” she said, “it’s different when you’re pulling a trigger. They like to tell you when you enlist that it never gets any easier, but it does. It absolutely does.” She rolled her shoulders, and there was a bitter twist to her dark-eyed expression as she turned to me. “Now mind you, as a Peacekeeper, I’m usually deployed to try to stop a massacre, not perpetuate one, but I imagine I’d get used to those, too.” She shook her head. “I suppose I’m lucky that my government doesn’t make a habit of ordering them.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

David looked like he wanted to interject, but Charmaine cut him off as well. “Okay, first of all, shut the fuck up. I know your smart little white boy ass is about to start listing off all the juicy exceptions ‘cause it’s aaaaall just a bunch of fun history trivia to you--like, gee, I dunno, the batshit counter-revolutionary shit America got up to in the Philippines, or that giant shrug from Congress after a bunch of American businessmen overthrew the Queen of Hawaii--but the thing is? Neither the U.S. nor the U.N. has ever included ‘literally kill and eat all opposing combatants and civilians’ as part of our formal Rules of Engagement, and gosh, ya know, I really kinda like that about us.” Her voice dropped the dry scorn and turned bittersweet. “It doesn’t sound like Sifal’s had the same life experiences as us in that regard.”

I took a brief pause from not being fully psychologically present to nod slightly in agreement.

“And that’s been going on for a while, I take it,” said David, shaking his head angrily. “Your Betterment, I mean. Total control, no new ideas, and until recently, the only outsiders you could talk to aren’t legally people. Fuck!” he shouted, barely restraining himself from throwing his glass when he threw his hands up in the air. David’s lips curled back angrily. I’d never actually seen him show his teeth emotionally before. I’d read up on what little we knew about humans: David even smiled with his mouth closed. This was what set him off? A prison of ideas with no exits? When I wasn’t numb to it, I supposed the thought upset me too.

How many ranks up do I need to climb before I’m free? I thought. If my mark was right on the first officer, then it was more than two. How many more than that?

“Powerless,” I said softly, and everyone’s eyes whipped around towards me. David’s were wide with shock and betrayal, like I’d uncovered some deep secret of his. I suspected I had. “There are forces at work that are beyond our power to reckon with. Only to endure.”

“You don’t know what I’m capable of,” David said quietly, the murderous expression creeping back into his face.

William scoffed. “Come on, man, get off it. You want to make a difference, fucking enlist. What the fuck is a chef going to do to change the world?”

“That is an excellent question,” said David, his eyes and voice like charcoal embers.

But after a few moments, the holopad switch flipped, and the fury faded like I’d only imagined it. “But tomorrow,” said David calmly but sadly, “I’m going to wake up in my own bed, with a full pantry, with my rights and personhood protected by law, and the biggest immediate problem I’ll have is figuring out how the hell I’m going to get enough bars on my holopad to call my lawyer.” He shook his head. “So let’s focus on the people who won’t have those luxuries.”

“Most of the northeastern seaboard won’t have all of those,” said William, eyeing up the door. He seemed like he was painfully aware of how long we’d been shirking our duties.

“Jesus,” said David, shaking his head in disbelief. “What, did the Feds just strafe up I-95 or something?”

William shrugged. “The brass isn’t telling the grunts shit just yet, but that’d be the smart play. Straight shot from DC to Boston, and every city in between.”

David looked bemused. “Yeah, it’s what I’d do,” he said. Charmaine rubbed her eyes in exasperation. “But you’ve got a handle on picking up the pieces already. Still, my doors are open if you guys need a base of operations for a few days. Least I can do to help out with the war effort.” I flinched again as David’s hand reached out to hold mine. “I want to help you, too, though, Sifal.”

“How?” I asked, afraid to hope.

“You need to survive long enough to find an opening,” he said. “I don’t know what your big opportunity is going to look like, but with the amount of sheer chaos we humans are stirring up? If you keep your eyes open, you’ll find an opportunity.”

I laughed bitterly. “What am I even looking for? What’s my fucking goal here?”

“Oh, I thought it went without saying,” said David. He had his helpful but fake smile back on, and spoke as polite-but-neutral as he did when he was describing a dish he’d just cooked. “You’re looking for a way to not have to live under Betterment’s bootheel anymore. How to escape them, or how to destroy them.”