Baskylla Jardzen Dzor watches the human female Captain let herself into his cell. Once more, she is carrying the chess set she insists on playing. She mocks him with it. Every game they play ends differently. Sometimes they draw, sometimes she wins, and other times he wins.
Clearly, she is controlling the outcome. She knows the game’s every possible pattern and just toys with him. That’s all it is. A game meant for children is nothing in comparison to true combat. Dzor has conquered worlds. He’s faced off against dangerous odds. He’s lead ground battles. This game is not strategy. It is a puzzle. A simple puzzle with a finite number of solutions which can be memorized. One day, he will smash it to bits before her eyes.
The comparatively tiny human greets him, “Good afternoon, Yarjen. Did you miss me?”
The grodrrn grunts, “No.”
She smiles though, accusing, “Liar.”
Dzor growls as angrily as he can, but this only amuses her more. Wretched human. As if he could feel anything but contempt for his captor. If he were to miss her, it would only be because he is ready to kill her, and she is not present.
Then again, why DOESN’T he feel the urge to kill her now? She is insolent and arrogant to think she is his equal. The primitives may have defeated him and captured him, but they are NOT his equals.
Perhaps this is part of her strategy, though. She extends friendship to attempt to erode Dzor’s guard. He’s certainly learned a lot about the humans and one of their highest leaders of her own choice.
He is not ready to free himself, though. He grows even closer, but his secret techniques take time.
Long sets the chess board up, placing the pieces. He watches closely. Every now and then, she attempts to cheat by swapping piece positions.
Today is one such day. Dzor growls, and she looks up at him. She asks with her quaint smile, “Oh? What is it, now?”
Dzor grunts, “Beeshop and rock.”
The human looks directly at the two pieces in question without scanning. It was CLEARLY deliberate. She cannot fool him.
Long corrects their positions, saying brightly, “Silly me. My mistake.”
Dzor accuses, “Eet wozz deleeborate. {It was deliberate.}”
This only makes her smile more, and she teases, “I thought you didn’t care about this game.”
Dzor glares at her. She dares assume he cares about this pathetic game? Never. He retorts, “Ai do not. Boot, eef we arr tuu ply, Ai weel NOT be cheat. {I do not. But, if we are to play, I will NOT be cheat(ed).}”
She replies simply, “Very well.” She then adds, “You’re first today.”
Dzor studies the board. Surely, if she has memorized the strategies, then there must be those that are harder to remember. Perhaps he can attempt a game of attrition, to draw out as many moves as possible. He starts by moving his king’s pawn one space forward.
Long thinks for a moment. She remarks as she does, “We discovered a new sentient race. Or rather, the last member of a sentient race.”
Dzor grunts out as she too moves a pawn, but her king’s rook’s pawn one space, “Lost mimbor eez rarlih lost. {Last member is rarely last.}” There are always hold outs on a world. Many Grodrrns have fallen for that line from nearly-extinct worlds or newly colonized ones. With colonies comes a retaliatory force.
But, Long remarks as Dzor moves another pawn, “We’re pretty sure she is. At least, until some of her eggs hatch. We can’t find ANY other life on the world.”
The humans are at least smart enough to verify. That’s acceptable. He asks, “Did yuu conckor? {Did you conquer?}”
Long giggles, “I mean, I suppose you could say we did. She tried to kidnap one of our marines, but wasn’t outright hostile, so we negotiated. She chose to join our fleet.”
Dzor scoffs, grunting, “Minny rasses ‘chooz’ to join Fievegal. Lock oov oothor choses. {Many races ‘choose’ to join Fievegal. Lack of other choices.}”
Long replies gently, “Her world was already dead, but we by no means forced her. She had no idea. She could have self-sustained where we found her, but she’d have been alone.”
“Whih keednop moreen? {Why kidnap marine?}”
“She wanted a host for her eggs.”
“Nnn… Poraseet. Donjeroos. Poraseets rarlih regord haust seeftih. {Nnn… Parasite. Dangerous. Parasites rarely regard host safety.}” Dzor makes a move, adding, “Seefer to mock ixteenct. {Safer to make extinct.}”
Long has moved a bishop out into play, and she replies, “You’re probably right. But, we’re operating under the assumption NO other sentient race has any regard for our safety. However, we also refuse to be conquerors and exterminators. So, we’ll extend a hand of peace first, if we can.”
Dzor snorts. He retorts, “Grodurns reegord seeftih. HOOMINS mod ivireetheeng panful. {Grodrrns regard safety. HUMANS made everything painful.}”
Long frowns, retorting, “Your troops attacked on landing. You spared SOME children that you were trying to kidnap, but everyone else was being wiped out.”
They’ve argued this before. While the Grodrrn strategy has a high success rate, it can’t account for the race being conquered obliterating themselves. True, the first settlement is always attacked heavily, but it tends to pacify races much quicker when the Grodrrns relax the attack to begin negotiation. And, given the circumstances around the Saurmynnyka’s death, MANY in the Fievegal wanted retaliation.
Unlike the humans, though, Grodrrns still have a homeworld and a sizeable population. The humans are clinging to survival like a rikczy clinging to a rock in a stormy sea. Their tenacity truly is to be admired as well.
Dzor says gently, “Ai know.”
Long sighs. She still harbors bitterness to the situation, but she has done her best to forgive, and even try to understand. The humans certainly didn’t have to save the Grodrrns that are captive now.
Long says gently, “Let’s change subjects. I was told today the lab for testing Craw and the others and working on the infertility is finally set up. Sorry it took so long.”
Dzor scoffs, “Yuu arr onn teem leemeet, not me, hoomin. Ai told yuu, nixt chonce ai git, ai leev. {You are on time limit, not me, human. I told you, next chance I get, I leave.}”
Long smirks. “I remember. But, until then, I intend to torture you every day with chess. You’re good, but you lack creativity.”
Dzor growls, “Theess eez poozul geem. Notheeng morr. Yuu mimoreez solooshuns. {This is puzzle game. Nothing more. You memorize solutions.}”
The human giggles, “Nope. Besides, there are millions of combinations of moves. How could someone memorize them all?”
Dzor grumbles nothing in particular. That is an admittedly fair argument, but he won’t admit it to HER. He’d rather lose a thousand times.
Long asks suddenly, “Would you like to meet my sister, Jor?”
The Grodrrn Jardzen is taken back. It’s a rather surprising question, but he replies casually, “No.”
The human seems to ignore him, saying calmly, “You probably wouldn’t like her much. She’s WAY more compassionate than I am. But, she’s adventurous. AND, she’s dedicated. No matter how many times she falls, she tries again until she succeeds. She’d try to get to where she can hug you.”
“Sonds oggreevotteeng, {Sounds aggravating,}” grunts Dzor bluntly.
Long giggles, “To you, maybe. I can’t not adore her. It’s scary though. She’s growing up so fast. I feel like I’m missing so much.”
Dzor is quiet for a moment as he thinks. He says after a short while, “Hulm’hins sah thot even oftor hundred yars. {Chulm’chns say that even after hundred years.}”
The human smiles gently, “I can understand that. It’s easy to long for the days when they’re adorable little ones again.”
Dzor scoffs, grunting, “Hoomins con ipparintlih joost hov inothor. {Humans can apparently just have another.}”
Long smiles gently. She replies, “In some cases, I suppose so. But, it’s not about replacing that feeling. It’s about moments you can adore forever.”
Dzor grunts noncommittally, making another move.
The human keeps going though, asking cautiously, “Does… it never cross your mind… how all Grodrrns are…” She pauses for a long while.
Dzor grunts impatiently, “Whut, hoomin?”
She finishes, somewhat seemingly disappointed, “Related?”
Dzor snorts. He would think such an obvious fact would go without saying, but he retorts, “We arr oon spissies. Ov course rilatted. {We are one species. Of course related.}”
“No! I mean… ugh… that you all share… a mother, basically.”
Dzor is admittedly confused for amoment. But, he realizes who the Captain is calling his mother. He asks, “Yuu minn Saurmynnyka?”
Long nods. Dzor scratches his chin, thinking. She’s right, but it never really crossed his mind. It doesn’t really EVER get talked about. The Saurmynnyka is the Saurmynnyka, and a Grodrrn is raised by their Chulm’chn and their Chulm’chn’s bondmate. Personal ties are only to the individuals present when the hatchling lays eyes on them the moment they hatch. This is almost always the Chulm’chn, and sometimes the bondmate. The Saurmynnyka is a social loyalty. She is the supreme Grodrrn. Only those loyal to her make it on Grodurra. But, it’s not like the humans and their mothers.
The Baskylla Jardzen replies, “No. How eets alwihs been, thow. It list, long teem now. {No. How it’s always been, though. At least, long time now.}”
Long nods thoughtfully. She replies cautiously, “If you had a choice, would you want it to stay that way, or your hatchlings come from the person you choose?”
Dzor growls, startling her a little. He accuses, “Yuu darr trih trizzonis tropp? Ai omm loyill tuu Fievegal. The Saurmynnyka… {You dare try treasonous trap? I am loyal to Fievegal. The Saurmynnyka…}”
“I’m not trying to entrap you, Jor. You act like your people would believe any evidence I send them of your treason. I’m just talking hypothetically. One friend to another. What you tell me won’t leave this room.”
Dzor stares at the female human for a long time. She’s honest, sincere, and compassionate to a fault. It will undoubtedly get her killed one day.
Dzor finally says distantly, “Ai now Grodurns –not me- hoo bileevv the Fievegal’s mindatt tuu stirileez feemahls een agg eez oonfarr ond crool, ond thee seesteem fohr ippliheeng fohr agg reets eez beeissed ond eenvissive. {I know Grodrrns –not me- who believe the Fievegal’s mandate to sterilize females in egg is unfair and cruel, and the system for applying for egg rights is biased and invasive.}” He adds sternly, “AI duu NOT bileevv theess.”
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The human smirks, replying, “You don’t believe such things. Got it. But, biased? How so?”
Dzor pauses, wondering how much he should say. Jardzen Khla may be the only one who thinks he might’ve survived, thanks only to Helmdraavv Khla’s message. And though, Khla took full blame for the aid the humans have gotten, Dzor knows no review panel in any sect of the Fievegal would give that claim any credibility. Not from an impressionable youngling like Khla. Not to mention, Dzor isn’t even certain anymore that he could ALLOW Khla to take all of the blame. Not only could he have killed her in order to stop her, but the human supersoldier even admitted that SHE alone is the only reason any of the Grodrrns were saved, including and especially the boarding party, whom she revealed a non-lethal way to incapacitate them. Dzor didn’t think about it at the time, but the humans KNEW how to kill Grodrrns already, and the boarding party was only a handful. They probably weren’t actually supposed to board, but did so out of seeming opportunity.
In any case, Khla has served Grodrrns before anything else, even if she helps the humans. And, for that, Dzor is uncertain if he could let her stand alone.
The Jardzen replies calmly, “Deesseedints, oovv coorss. Ovirlih oggreeseevv Grodurns. Ribil sympeetheezors. Non-complance weeth new pawlissihs. Eendeeveejools weeth hurns. Blue scawls. Consporeessih clammers. Dool jindors. Tox eevidors. Ond, hovveeng convorseeshin leek theess. {Dissidents, of course. Overly aggressive Grodrrns. Rebel sympathizers. Non-compliance with new policies. Individuals with horns. Blue scales. Conspiracy claimers. Dual genders. Tax evaders. And having conversation like this.}” Dzor looks at Long, adding, “Theess offinssis, eef not sivir enoof tuu be pooneeshed bih deeth, arr autimotteek exclusions to agg reets. {These offenses, if not severe enough to be punished by death, are automatic exclusions to egg rights.}”
Confused, Long asks, “How is it a ‘right’ then? It sounds more like a priviledge.”
“Eet eez, {It is,}” replies Dzor.
“Then it’s not a right. A RIGHT means you can’t be simply excluded from it.”
Dzor thinks about it a moment. The human did say the humans as a whole don’t have to have permission to have offspring, and they can do so with a partner of their choosing. Is that what it means for it to be a right?
Long asks, “What did you mean ‘horns’ and ‘blue scales’?”
Dzor replies, “Mootahshins. Eef born weeth hurns on hid or blue scawls, not allow to poss tratts on. {Mutations. If born with horns on head or blue scales, not allow(ed) to pass traits on.}”
“What!? Why?”
Dzor grunts, “Ai don’t know. Thot’s how eet eez. {I don’t know. That’s how it is.}”
Long sighs. She asks, “What about ‘dual genders’? You have individuals who transition?”
“Tronseeshin? Soom, ai soopozz. Boot, REAL dool jindor. {Transition? Some, I suppose. But, REAL dual gender.}” He thinsk a moment. He adds, “Borr weeth bawth mahl ond feemahl orgins. Oozshuallih storileezed ozz eef feemahl, boot EEF steel forteel ozz mahl, not allod tuu poss tratt. {Born with both male and female organs. Usually sterilized as if female, but IF still fertile as male, not allowed to pass trait.}”
“That makes me sad for your people, Jor. We thought that might be the case, but I was kinda hoping that was wrong.”
Dzor says nothing this time. He’s not sure what to say. He watches Long move a piece, and he begins to wonder if she’s making intentionally reserved moves to drag the game out as well.
A few silent moves go by, and Dzor asks, “Whih osk? {Why ask?}”
Long’s expression softens, and she replies, “For Craw, honestly. I don’t necessarily want her to get sucked into being the permanent brood mother to all Grodurns for the rest of her life. I can’t imagine what that would do to her or her father, how it would radically change their lives. I just wanted to know if maybe the Grodurns were more open to the idea of everyone having their own families. Sounds like, maybe they are.”
Dzor snorts, replying amusedly, “Insissant Yukonja.”
This causes her to smile, and she teases, “Someday, in addition to how old you are, you WILL tell me what that means.”
“I weel injoh feest on your b-…” He pauses, remembering how she teased him. He attempts to pronounce it carefully, “B-Bah-B…” The Jardzen growls, silencing.
Long simply giggles, replying, “It must be some form of respectful. You don’t say it when others are around.”
Dzor growls, “Free mih honds oggin, and we see rispickt ai show. {Free my hands again, and we see respect I show.}”
She states bluntly, “I respect you, Dzor. You’ve had many chances to kill me and haven’t. You see reason, you use logic, and, though many of the captives dislike you, Craw speaks very highly of your reputation as a Baskylla Yarjen. And, knowing how far I’ve had to come as a ship captain, I can only imagine the road you’ve travelled to reach Yarjen. You’ve seen things I may never see. You are full of wisdom, which I expect you’ll continue to keep. You’re fearless and strong. Honestly, if you were human, I would have a hard time not being at least a little smitten with you. I don’t care if you disrespect me or look down on us humans. One positive word will always outweigh a thousand negatives.”
Once more, Dzor is silent, for lack of what to say. As usual, her sincerity isn’t in question. He simply doesn’t understand it. This human primitive, after having taken a ruthless conqueror captive, still talks and treats him like an equal. She doesn’t denigrate him or insult him. She comes, they talk, some of it is banter and harmless teasing, and then she comes back the next day. Dzor’s own bondmate, still on Grodurra, talked to him less than this strange human does. And, Dzor has confirmed that Long has spared meals for the Grodrrns. Some of hers gets given to Craw, and other times he smells it in passing to the other cells. And, once or twice, his meals have her distinctive scent.
Dzor wants to escape. He’s still certain of that. But, he’s not sure what he’d do after. He SHOULD be able to say that he would capture as many humans as possible, even the whole fleet if he could, and kill ANYONE who stands in his way. But, for some reason, he can’t envision it the way he used to.
Dzor says quietly. “Tuu hoondrid, forrtih three.”
The curious human looks up at him, slightly confused. He looks up and away, stating, “Een your teem. Tuu hoondrid, forrtih three.”
Surprised, Long confirms, “You’re two hundred and forty three Earth years old?”
Dzor nods, and she adds warmly, “You don’t look a day over one-fifty.”
The Jardzen snarls, “Ai steel young, hoomin! {I still young, human!}”
This only causes her to giggle, though, and she replies warmly, “I know. Thank you. I’m thirty two years old. I’m semi-young.”
Dzor snorts noncommittally. Humans apparently mature VERY quickly, though. Long is older than Helmdraavv Khla, but carries the emotional weight of a Grodrrn Dzor’s age. Not himself, of course, but Grodrrn’s he’s known.
Dzor asks more gently, “Yukonja…?”
“Yes?” She replies as if it’s her name, flattered even though she has no idea what it means.
Dzor asks, “Whih no offspreeng?”
Surprised, her grin disappears. Her gaze goes more distant. She says softly, “I dunno. I guess I focused on my career the most. Guys I work with are intimidated by me or not attracted to me. Most others just wanted to leech off of my paycheck. Not to mention, every day, our politicians were starting race riots or pandemics for political moves. I kinda didn’t see much hope for the future my kids would inherit. Nobody but the politicians would really enjoy life under the government they wanted. They’d have just been alive as long as they can work.”
Dzor ponders that statement. Thinking about it, that doesn’t sound very different than the Fievegal. He asks, “Whih not bee pawleeteeshin, thin? {Why not be politician, then?}”
The human chuckles, though less emphatically than usual. She replies, “It’s usually not that simple. You have to know somebody.” She scoffs, “There was a time. I could have, though, if I did everything my parents wanted. They were pretty high up the political food chain. And, they were on the ‘right’ side.” She turns a little more grim, though, saying softly, “Not high enough, ironically, to end up here.”
Dzor is quiet for a minute as Long stares distantly at the chess board. He asks, trying to drift away from that, “Eef mahls eeteemeedott, whih not ordor to geevv offspreeng? {If males intimidate(d), why not order to give offspring?}”
Long smirks. She replies softly, “That’s not how it works for us. Why? Could you?”
Dzor chuckles for once, replying, “Whut wood bee pont? {What would be point?}”
Long giggles, and the Jardzen adds, “Boot, Saurmynnyka cood ordor matt eef dezarred. {But, Saurmynnyka could order mate if desired.}”
“Really? For what purpose? Desireable traits? What would those be?”
Dzor replies, “No porpiss. Onny rizzon Saurmynnyka chooz. Ottrockshin, he around whin Saurmynnyka arozzed, she dizzarr one dah for fontossy ond chooz moss lijindarrih hurro aleev. {No purpose. Any reason Saurmynnyka choose. Attraction, he around when Saurmynnyka aroused, she desire one day for fantasy and choose most legendary hero alive.}”
Long remarks, “Sounds to me like the Saurmynnyka can do just about anything she wants at all.”
Dzor nods. “She eez hee-ist Grodurn. She creott pawlissih, declarr war, lah aggs, deseed deeth for onnyoon. {She is highest Grodrrn. She create(s) policy, declare war, lay eggs, decide death for anyone.}”
“She could name people for death? Like anyone, for no reason?”
The Jardzen nods, “Eef dezarred, yuss.”
“How many Grodurns are there?” asks the human with surprise.
Dzor glares lightly at her, and she defensively adds, “What!? Oh, come on! I just mean, you have to pay AND be allowed to have children. NOT TO MENTION, the ‘clients’ visit her. And, even then, even WITH your extended longevity, how do you maintain your population?”
Dzor stares at her this time with a blank expression. Why must the human’s mind puzzle around such specific questions? After all, he never had the chance to even receive an egg. And, here she is trying to correlate meeting time, laying time, and population change.
What troubles him most, though, is that, like most things recently, she has a point. There are MANY Grodurns, and there always have been. And, there were always many hatchlings. Now that Dzor is thinking about it specifically, he does recall at least three Chulm’chns receiving their eggs on the same day, just that he personally knows. And, Khla was one of them. If Dzor’s mind is following the same logic he suspects Long’s is, then he’s beginning to wonder the unthinkable: is a Chulm’chn’s egg even their own?
Once granted an egg, a chulm’chn’s entire focus in life becomes the egg. Many forget to eat for the first few weeks, so preoccupied are they with the delicate casing housing a fragile life. The priviledge to carry an egg is among the highest any Grodrrn can achieve, normally. It is more precious than solar stones, cobalt, or even makynn combined. No Grodrrn, even the most skeptical of those loyal to the Fievegal, dares question anything about the nature of the process around the egg. They gratefully accept the priviledge. After all, hatchlings imprint on the first beings they see upon hatching. Virtually nothing else factors in, and certainly not biological relation.
Dzor KNOWS he shouldn’t want the answers. These questions, this line of thought, they’re beyond treacherous. They prod at a secret deeply rooted in the heart of the Fievegal.
Baskylla Jardzen Nor’ulluch Et Dzor’chn is a good soldier and a good Jardzen. He is loyal to the Fievegal, and he would die to protect it. But, his higher duty is to Grodurra and all other Grodrrns. There is no Fievegal without Grodrrns.
In just a few visits, this tiny human female has twisted and opened everything Dzor thought he never needed to know. She has awakened something dangerous in the Baskylla Jardzen.
She has awakened his curiousity.
Dzor sighs, grunting, “Eensissont Yukonja.” He smirks at her, replying, “Ai ixpeect onsorrs tuu booth arr kwissions weel be onsorr eef work weeth Craw eez froofull. {I expect answers to both our questions will be answer(ed) if work with Khla is fruitful.}”
Long smiles, nodding in agreement. She then asks, as this game gets closer to an end, “So… how many worlds have you conquered? YOU specifically. And, how do you declare a world ‘conquered’?”
Dzor answers simply, “How ilse? Whin popoolahshin oksipt Grodurn Zshon’huln. {How else? When population accept Grodrrn Zhon’chlln.}” He pauses, clarifying, “Goovornor. Istobleesh resorrss tockses. Deesmontle onny spasscroft. {Governor. Establish resource taxes. Dismantle any spacecraft.}” He scratches his chin, asking as he thinks, “How minny?” He’s been at various ranks for at least a couple dozen. He replies, fairly confident, “Fohr, mobby feeve ozz preemarry Yarjen. Thrih ozz sicondarry. Morr thon tin ozz othor ronks ond rolls. {Four, maybe five as primary Jardzen. Three as secondary. More than ten as other ranks and roles.}”
“Wow! That many? We always assumed there would NEVER be so many sentient races, if any at all.”
“Not oll deeforint rass. Oonss word lost, rass trih tuu bolster deefinss oof oothor words. Ooshilih tuu lott eef we begeen conquist. We preparred for compann. {Not all different race(s). Once world lost, race try to bolster defense(s) of other worlds. Usually too late if we begin conquest. We prepared for campaign.}” Dzor pauses, smirking at the human commandant who bested him, adding, “Ooshilih. {Usually.}”
Long smiles in return. She remarks dryly, “Well, I guess, if the hysterians taking over our world had a silver lining, it was that ‘crisis response’ is what we do every couple years. Usually, it was a wild goose chase or chasing our tails before ‘it kills us all’, but we managed something when it actually mattered for once.”
Dzor nods. Long moves her bishop and declares, “Checkmate, Jor. Sorry, but I win today.”
The Baskylla Jardzen studies the board for a time. True enough, despite his best efforts to protect his king and drag the match out, she managed to box him in. He is less convinced that she memorized the moves, though. He displayed no outward tactic but moving forward. And, he was only a couple moves from victory himself. But, humans seem to take everything on in the moment. Yes, she plans ahead, but she also adapts.
Dzor isn’t angry. A temper tantrum is just a waste of energy. But, he isn’t sure how to describe what he’s feeling right now. It’s a strange form of peace, contentment, even.
He displays indifference though, crossing his arms and grunting, “Offspreeng geem.”
Long giggles as she cleans up. She teases, “You’ll have to teach yours when the time comes.” She smiles up at him.
The Jardzen scoffs, grunting, “Yukonja…”
“That’s me.”
Dzor looks away. How can she so readily accept the name when she has no idea what it means? It could be a horrible insult. It could be derogatory. Does she truly have faith that it’s affectionate?
Once more, she steps across the ‘safe’ line and touches his arm. He could crush her with any movement he chooses. He could even bite her head clean off. He should. He senses much of the humans’ organization flows through her. It would cripple their ability to fight.
She says warmly, “Jinntarick mrulk, Jor.”
Dzor doesn’t respond. She eventually walks away from him. Just as she’s about to exit though, an out of control impulse compels him to blurt out, “Yukonja!” Long stops and turns. What was he, a once powerful military conqueror, going to tell this primitive? She smiles expectantly, replying, “Yes?”
The Baskylla Jardzen looks down, caught on the spot. What was he thinking? What should he say now that he got himself into this?
Dzor finally says hesitantly, “Y-Yorr pronoonseeahshin eemproovs.”
She smiles, replying, “Thank you. Same to you. Have a good day.”
He looks away, saying nothing further. He needs to escape soon. His captivity is having an affect on who he was –IS. On who he IS.-
He must NOT forget who and what he is.
***