It had been another week, making it three in total since he’d left Tella. They were currently heading to the Strida system and would reach it in another 10 days. There, they would offload some merchandise on Vrest, a moon Vas had never heard of, which he supposed made sense. He hadn't heard of much.

At present, Vas was with Mayilk, helping him as he tinkered with the ship’s grav device. Helping was a generous term. Mostly, he just handed him tools when asked, but it was a welcome reprieve from his time with Ram.

“Omniwrench.” The Arek muttered, clawed hand held out while his armored head was deep in the machinery.

Vas found the tool and handed it off, noting how small it was compared to Mayilk’s enormous hands. As the Arek began unfastening something within the machine, Vas continued the conversation where they had left it off. “I still think I should just hit him.”

Inside, Vas heard Mayilk grunt. “Do you want me to talk you out of it? If you want to do it. Do it. You’ll be punished, but it’s up to you whether that’s worth it.” Vas stared at his feet as Mayilk continued working. “Something’s wrong with the fasteners.” The Arek muttered. “Not connected properly to the core.”

“I thought you opposed violence.” Vas said, ignoring, as he usually did, the Arek’s mechanical musings.

Another grunt, but this time the noises from within the grav controller stopped. Out of it popped Mayilk’s reptilian head, covered in grease.

Vas shifted uncomfortably. He hoped he hadn’t offended his new friend. “It’s just… you know… you guys don’t fight.”

Mayilk nodded, thankfully unperturbed by the comment. “That’s correct, but I don’t care if others do. I’m on this ship, after all.”

Vas tilted his head, suddenly curious. “What do you mean?”

Mayilk looked up. “It is hard to explain. It is the story of the Arek. A story we are taught to share, and I am always willing to share again, but I don’t wish to bore you.”

“I’m always bored.” Vas shrugged. “Try me.”

The Arek contemplated for a second, seeming to consider. “It has been a long time since I've shared the Molreki." Vas blinked, confused. "It means our story, the tale of our people." Vas nodded, getting a little excited. "Do you want the full story?” Mayilk asked distantly, as if drawing the tale from deep within.

“Of course.” Every minute with Mayilk was a minute away from Ram. Besides, this might actually be interesting.

Mayilk smiled. "No, you don't. That tale takes eight days and nights. We have long memories."

"OK, then, the short one."

Gently, Mayilk placed the wrench on the floor. Vas sat against the wall, excited for a break in the monotony. “What do you know of our history?” The Arek began.

That caught him slightly off-guard. “Uh… I know you were…” He paused. He knew the answer, or at least he thought he did, but he didn’t want to offend. He breathed deep. “Well… slaves.” He hoped Mayilk might respond in some way to save him the potential embarrassment, but the Arek’s black eyes betrayed nothing. Vas continued. “The Likir created… or maybe modified your race to use for war and…” He looked back into his memory. “Ritualistic battles?”

He stopped again, hoping Mayilk would break in. Thankfully, this time he did. “Not bad.” He nodded. “Simple, but close.” He closed his eyes, as if looking into his memories, before reluctantly opening them again. “The Likir and us were native to the same planet- Veryk, the once beautiful. We hunted them, the scurrying bugs, for thousands of years, forced them underground, into their little burrows. We roamed the great grasslands then, under the light of the star and the watchful gaze of the sky. Until,” Vas leaned forward. Mayilk was speaking quietly. “The Likir, always clever, developed, over the course of those thousands of years, technologies beyond our comprehension. At first, harmless. In time…” He searched for a word. “Harmful.”

Great black eyes stared down at the floor, replaying a memory that was not his own. After a second, he continued. “Their revenge was… cruel. You said they modified us. That is a kind word. I say they mutilated us.”

He held up his hand and extended his great claws outward. “Our claws became as knives, cruel and clumsy. Our hide, always strong, became as metal, a cruel prison. Our eyes, once filled with colors your human ones could not hope to see, became as soulless voids of black.” He stared at Vas, those black eyes filled with sadness. “Many more things they did to us. Open a wound, it will heal in a minute. Cut off a limb, it will regrow in hours. We became like their machines, and they used us as such.”

Vas sat still, and Mayilk continued. “We fought for them. Sometimes against other beasts, sometimes against other Likir, but mostly against ourselves. They owned us. Our masters would have us fight for sport, or property, or breeding rights, or claims over technology. They considered themselves too civilized to do it themselves.”

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He closed his claw, gripping his hand into a shaking fist. It was a very human gesture. “One thousand two hundred and seventy two years. We counted every one.”

“And then the rebellion.” Vas broke in, quietly.

Mayilk nodded. “Yes, the rebellion. They thought us too stupid, too primitive to revolt. They were wrong. Their revenge brought our revenge, and our revenge was near total.”

“They fled Veryk, right?”

“Yes.” Mayilk muttered, reigning in the fury that had overtaken him. “Not before their machines destroyed it… but yes. They fled. Into the arms of the Imperium, their once great rivals.” He grunted. “I forget myself in the stories. It was all so long ago.” He fastened those soulless eyes on Vas. You asked why we don’t fight. Instead, I told you our history. So, now I ask you. Why don’t we fight?”

Vas paused, considering deeply. “To show you are more than what they made you.”

Mayilk smiled, toothy and kind. “Our thinkers say it in prettier words, but yes. They made us machines to kill. To refuse to do so is, I believe, our greatest act of rebellion.”

They let the words hang there, until Mayilk finally broke the silence. “I get carried away. It is nice to have a listener. Now perhaps you see why I don’t care what you do to Ram. Violence has a place. Just not with us. The only thing I’ll offer to perhaps dissuade you is some small wisdom I’ve learned." He leaned closer. "When you discard violence as a possibility altogether, it can be surprising what other pathways open up.”

Vas acknowledged the words, but he’d also already dismissed them. “Thank you, Mayilk. I’m honored you would share that with me, even though we’ve only met recently.”

Mayilk chuckled, raspy but undeniable. “Do not be too honored. It is a story we share with all who will listen. So it is taught.” Then, Mayilk paused, noting something in Vas’ mannerisms. “I don’t think you agree with our beliefs.” He smiled. "Or my wisdom."

Vas winced. He’d wanted to avoid this. “It's not that..." A sigh. "We don’t need to argue this.” He offered.

Mayilk tilted his head, further than a human could. “I am not so easily offended.”

“It’s just… I understand why you do it. I do. Your story was powerful, and the symbolism poignant. I just think of it a little differently.”

“How so?”

Vas was never one to back down from an opinion, but he was reluctant to offend his only friend. “I guess I just believe…” He searched carefully for the words. “If you refuse the possibility of violence altogether, sooner or later the world will push you back down… no matter how wise your beliefs. You need power to stand tall, and violence, or at least the threat of violence, is power.”

The words had come out harsher than he’d planned them. Before he could backtrack though, Mayilk just smiled. “Perhaps you are right. Or, perhaps you are wrong."

After that, there was silence. A second later, the Arek picked up the wrench again, clearly done with the conversation. Vas watched as he began to reenter the machine. He worried he’d ended it in a bad place, so he searched for something else. “Well, what about your story? How’d you end up here?”

Mayilk, head halfway into the machinery already, paused from entering further but did not exit.

“I give the story of my people freely. My story though, that is for me.” He pulled his head out of the machine. “You ask many questions, but provide little answers yourself. What of your story, Vas?”

Vas grinned. “I’m afraid that one is also just for me.” He thought for a second. “I can tell you humanities’ story, if you want. You know, to make it fair.”

Disinterested, the Arek was already reentering the machinery. “No.” He said. “That story I know.”

For an agonizing two minutes, at least to Vas, the only sound in the compact room was the crank of the wrench and the occasional grunt from Mayilk. Finally though, the Arek broke the boredom. “Found it.” He exclaimed simply.

“What is it?” Vas asked, eager to keep the silence at bay.

“I was right. I’m always right.” Mayilk said, voice muffled by the machinery. The Arek didn’t feel pride the same way humans do. It was simply a statement of fact. “The last mechanic was an idiot. Connection to the core is shoddy. I’m surprised it worked as long as it did.”

Vas didn’t know what he was talking about, but he assumed Mayilk did. “Can you fix it?”

“Of course.” He said, matter of factly, as he usually did. “There’s just one problem.”

Suddenly, his head re-emerged from the machine. He stood up, ignoring Vas, and strode over to a comm device on the opposite wall. There, he inputted a code.

From the device, Vas heard a familiar voice, Captain Dalur. “What is it? Did you fix it?”

“No.” Mayilk said. “I know what’s wrong though.”

Dalur sighed. “What is it?”

“It’s the core…”

On the other end, Vas heard a series of swears vulgar enough to shame a Caldu tongue twister.

Vas was quite scared, but Mayilk just croaked. “The core is fine.” The swears stopped. “It's the connections that are the problem.”

Dalur breathed deep. “Can you fix it?”

“Of course.”

“How long?”

“Two minutes.”

A pause. “Two minutes is a long time.”

“Anyone else doing the work and it would be longer.”

A second pause. “Can we wait until port?”

“I wouldn’t.”

A third pause. “Fine.” The comm switched off. A few seconds later, an alarm rang out across the metal corridors of the Junk Dog, amplifying as it bounced off metal. A calm female voice, not Dalur's, made the announcement. “The artificial gravity will be shutting down for…. two minutes. Please secure any loose belongings. Thank you.”

As the voice repeated the message and the crew scattered to get things in order, Mayilk turned to Vas, crooked smile as calm as could be. “There’s something I want to show you.”