Memory Transcription Subject: Rosi, Yotul Housewife

Date [standardized human time]: November 19, 2136

I took a much-needed moment to regather my senses. Ground myself, breathe… Chiri, the brown-furred Gojid woman was looking at me, trying to make sure I was alright, while her… I gagged a little, trying to muster the strength to even contemplate what he was. Chiri’s human lover, the peculiarly hairless creature with monstrous eyes augmented further with some strange contraption of metal and glass, stared at me hungrily… which, in context, might just be curiosity. He’d made food for me, and was waiting to hear if I had praise for its quality.

“It was alright,” I said, begrudgingly, “but surely an herbivore could have done better.”

The human snorted, amused, while Chiri shook her head. “Well, I liked it,” she said. “Good bread, good spread, and a fairly decadent bit of funky and herbaceous toppings. The colors were a beautiful touch, too. I’ve never seen you get up to that level of detail with presentation before.”

The human shrugged. “Elegant plating is a signature part of haute cuisine,” he explained. “It takes a steady hand and a lot of practice to get the hang of it, and even then, I need a couple tools for it. Squeeze bottle to drizzle the sauces on, set of tweezers to place the garnishes and microgreens perfectly. All to make it look, visually, like a perfect bite.”

My lip curled up derisively. “Still, no match for a simple vegetable croquette like we used to serve back at home.”

The human smiled. Again, with his teeth kept hidden, his smiles had an air of mystery that seemed atypical of humanity. “How fortuitous, then, that our next course is a trio of crispy croquettes.” He turned his back to me as he trotted back to the kitchen, humming to himself.

“Playful like a stalking hensa,” I muttered.

“What’s a hensa?” asked Chiri, conversationally.

“Small tamed predators we used to keep around back on Leirn,” I explained. “Pest control, essentially. Kept our grain stores clear of rodents and lizards and the like.” I sighed. “This was all pre-contact, of course. We hadn’t realized yet that predators themselves spread disease.”

“We don’t,” the human called out dryly from the kitchen, not even looking up from his prep work. “That’s bullshit, and the Federation once again doesn’t know what they’re talking about.”

Chiri shushed him again, and the human sighed loudly before going back to cooking in silence. “Too blunt!” she called back. “Just let me do the talking this time, Mister ‘Welcome to the slaughterhouse’.”

“I’m telling you, my voice doesn’t sound that growly!” he fired back, with a long-suffering sigh.

“Yes it does!” Chiri and I called back in unison. That little moment of camaraderie got a chuckle out of us both.

Chiri poured herself a little something brown and fizzy from the bar as she continued. “So, you guys were a pet-keeper species as well,” she said. “I don’t actually know if Gojids ever did that. It would have been ages ago, back before our own uplift, so the records have likely been lost by now. I suspect we probably didn’t, though. David gets all affectionate whenever he sees a dog, but they don’t do much for me.”

My ears flattened in distress. “What, the giant beasts the human warbands bring with them on raids? No, not particularly a fan, either.”

“U.N. Peacekeepers, not ‘human warbands’,” Chiri corrected, and I snorted dismissively. “And dogs come in different sizes and temperaments. David has a smallish one that’s mostly for companionship. I’d bring him down, but it’s pretty late, and he’s diurnal.” She fiddled with her holopad for a moment--not a Federation model, curiously--and showed me a video of the little creature romping around on the beach. It was shaped like the U.N.’s guard dogs, at least in the face, but it was fat and stubby in a way that made it look less scary or dangerous. The human, David, threw a flat disc with enough force to send it flying dozens of meters, and the little dog dashed off after it to catch and retrieve it for the next throw. That expression of joy on the dog’s face, of juvenile playful hunger for a toy…

“Middlingly cute,” I muttered, not wanting to concede more than an inch to humanity. “Does the creature have a name?” Humans probably didn’t care enough about animals to give them names beyond Emergency Food Source.

“Toki,” said Chiri, surprising me. I turned back to the video, and let my thoughts drift. It was easier to stare at the human when it was just a video of him--it was less scary by far when he couldn’t stare back--but I couldn’t make sense of the peculiar expression of joy and affection the human seemed to wear on his face as he played with his dog. Predators weren’t supposed to have positive emotions like that… not about comparatively ‘lesser’ creatures like dogs and Gojids. How were humans managing such an adept bout of mimicry, acting like they cared about their pets?

Chiri took a sip of something fizzy that was about the same color as her fur, and my attention was drawn to that. From just across the bar, she was close enough that I could smell it. It had the peculiar funk of a fermented beverage, and a subtly sweet and toasty scent that reminded me of the bread we’d just tasted together. “What is that, some kind of imported Gojid beer?” I asked.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Chiri’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. “No, my people aren’t really exporting much right now. With our homeworld gone, most of our economic output is going towards reintegrating our displaced citizens onto the colonies.” She held the drink aloft for me to inspect the color. “This is a domestic beer. Pretty basic brown ale. I think they brew it a few states to the south. Used to be a couple breweries nearby in Brooklyn, from what I’ve heard, but they were turned to ash before I got a chance to try them.” She took another sip, and held it out to me. “It’s safe, if you want to try it.”

I shook my head vigorously, and glared at the human. “The beverage might be safe, but being intoxicated around a predator isn’t,” I muttered.

Chiri sighed, and put her paw on mine again. “Rosi… I asked you what you’re even doing on Earth if you’re not willing to give humanity a shot, and you just brought it back around to your husband. What about you? What do you want?” She shook her head. “You have to find a reason to be on this planet that isn’t just your husband. You’re going to be miserable otherwise.”

“There’s nothing worthwhile on this planet!” I shouted, squinting my eyes closed in blind rage until I remembered to keep them open, in case the human tried something.

“There’s astonishingly good beer,” said Chiri, sliding the half-empty glass closer to me. The color looked lovely. It was effervescent, and left frothy streaks down the side of the glass as it sloshed around. It smelled like the bread I’d tasted, dark and malty…

I shook my head furiously.

Chiri sighed. “Look, if you’re not even willing to entertain the possibility that the Federation was wrong, I don’t know how to help you.”

“I don’t want to entertain that possibility!” I snapped.

The Gojid’s head tilted. “Why not?”

Because then it was all for nothing.

I winced that thought away, and tried to explain without losing my temper further. “Look, Chiri, you’re a Gojid. Your people have been in the Federation for centuries. It’s second-nature to you. Their ideology isn’t counter-culture for you, it’s just culture.” I shook my head, wiping the tiniest drops of tears away. “Like… you’re proud of what your people have done, aren’t you? The Gojidi Union, defenders of the sector, right?”

Chiri nodded, but tried to politely hide a smile. “I've never served, but it’s a little hard not to want to cheer on the fleet.” Her smile faded, and her eyes flicked over towards the human. “Especially when the people they’re fighting literally eat children!”

“I didn’t say a word,” he called back, just loudly enough to be heard over the sizzle of croquettes in hot oil.

Chiri shook her head. “Honestly, humans are just too freaking forgiving, sometimes,” she muttered. “But you were saying about pride?”

An overabundance of forgiveness was not the first trait I’d think to associate with a predator species, even if it, perhaps, explained the mercy they'd shown towards those they'd defeated, the Gojids themselves included. I made a noise in my throat, and continued. “Look, the point is, you didn’t spend over a decade of schooling being told you were some worthless primitive who was just a burden on other, better races in the Federation,” I said. “You didn’t learn some new lesson about predators and prey in class, and then head home to parents who were supportive but clueless, through a crowd of protestors furious that the Federation demolished a theater.” I took a long, long draw of the tea Chiri had served me. “Did you know the Exterminators saved my life once? Not even from a predator, no, from a fffflipping angry mob. They started by pelting schoolchildren with rotten fruit, calling us collaborators, and traitors to Leirn. Then a couple of them switched to bricks.” I reached for the tea again, but the mug was empty. I slammed it back down on the wooden bar. “We were fucking children!” I shouted, and grabbed the nearest non-empty cup by reflex and downed it. The bitter, nutty taste of a surprisingly well-brewed beer flowed down my throat before I realized what I'd done.

“Pretty good, right?” Chiri asked, as I started to hyperventilate. Her expression turned from glee to concern, and she held my paws in hers. “Hey, hey, hey. Calm. It's okay. You're safe here. You're alright.”

Fuck it, I thought to myself. If I die, I die. “Another, please,” I mumbled, sinking my head down onto the surface of the bar. Chiri obliged me in short order. I took another sip and sighed. “I had to put in the work, you know? Really tried to be a good little herbivore. Thought I'd finally prove to the Federation that we Yotuls aren't a charity case. That we're good enough to be a part of it in full.” I shook my head, my ears pinned back in barely-constrained rage. “So no,” I said icily, “I'm not exactly thrilled that I've spent most of my life trying to be a part of your little spacefarer’s club, only to be told that ‘oh, sorry, the Federation’s so last season, everyone cool is joining up with humanity now’. Time to throw away everything I worked so hard to learn, then. Yeah. Great. Thanks. I’ll get right on that,” I finished in an angry mutter.

Before I heard so much as a word out of Chiri in response, my ears detected the sound of those little boot-like things the human wore tapping away towards me. I shifted my head slightly to keep one eye pinned on him, but I was too upset and drained to properly flinch at his approach. Heavy ceramic plates hit the wooden bartop with a dull clunk, topped with three little crispy bites apiece. Splendid. Why not. Probably full of PD contaminants, but whatever. It wasn’t like I was ever going to get away with living on Earth completely unscathed.

Why is everyone acting like these people are normal? Like any of this is normal?

“This city used to be famous for its live theater,” the human said. I turned my head towards him, confused. “Over on Broadway. New York City was practically synonymous with theater.”

I sighed. “And then what? You grew up as a species, and gave up such frivolous little primitive habits?”

“No,” said the human. “We loved our theaters, right up until the very day the Federation blew them up.”

My eyes widened in shock. That… was the last thing I’d expected him to say.

“Maybe it’s not so bad, siding with the pet-keepers and theater-lovers,” David said, smiling warmly, “over the guys who want to burn all the pets and theaters to the ground.”