---Acoustics---

I walk through the Hydroponics Hall, a hovertray floating at my shoulderlevel.

The air in here is extremely refreshing… there is also a tranquil glistening of bright light off the surface of the nutrient rich water which trickles past the roots of the ship’s crops.

It really is a shame I can’t spend prolonged periods in here… well, I could… if I were prepared to visit Dr Gato and receive a stern telling off for allowing myself to receive a toxic quantity of oxygen… best not(!) I have things to do anyway.

I still find it absurd that deathworld crops would grow so fast that they actually raise the oxygen to levels toxic to most gardenworlders!

I can’t help but be a little jealous of the Triple Ms… they can spend as long as they like in here! They describe it with words like ‘energising’, ‘invigorating’ and ‘restorative’!

I exit the pretty room and begin making my way bowward, along the wide corridor of the ship’s neck.

I take a moment to glance out of the Portside windows and then the Starboard. This is an enormous hangar… I never would have tolerated the docking fees to rent this space, preferring to conduct any business from orbit via shuttle. Ludicrous to think that the Terran military are just… giving the time in this hangar away… Lt. Loper essentially wrote us a [carte blanche]… the only qualifier was ‘within reason’!

We might have struggled to find an authority willing to even take surrendered pirates off us in gardenworlder space! The situation never really came up before Terrans crashed onto the scene! If pirates attempted to board you, you either got away, killed them all or, far more likely, were all killed by them. The scenario of pirates surrendering just… never happened! As a result, no planet’s legal system was equipped to handle it! We would likely have been told that there was nothing they could do as they only had the jurisdiction to enforce laws on their planet, in their local system and on their ships! An out of system ship engaging and surrendering pirates in open space was not processable…

That… might be less the case these days… Terran behaviours have a habit of inveigling themselves into those of other species…

In Terran space we com to tell them we’ve apprehended pirates and they waive our docking fees, offer us a bounty and finder’s fees and give us a hearty ‘thank you’!

…I still can’t work out what it is that rankles me about accepting that bounty…

Starting my career, if someone had offered me an enormous heap of money, for doing something I’d already done, I would likely have accepted without a second thought… Now… I feel… guilty? For what? Doing the right thing and being rewarded?

Did I do the right thing, though? I did the thing that I was told was most likely to keep me alive… it just so happened to have a just result… and… shouldn’t the right thing be its own reward? Is it right to accept a reward for just doing what anyone should?

Ah! There! I noticed it this time! That’s a Terran [mindworm] working its way into my brain! Ha!

Even my Terran crew are telling me to accept the bounty! Terran’s are the ones offering the bounty! There is such a thing as too noble!

I chuckle to myself as I climb the shallow angle stairway to my quarters, taking each stair with two to three steps.

My door opens to reveal the three most precious people in the galaxy to me; Qorak, asleep on our perch, Victor, sat in a Human adapted chair he’s brought in and smiling broadly, and, sat on the palm of his hand chirruping delightedly as she wrestles his gentle index finger (with seemingly all her might), my daughter.

I’m certain Victor has noticed me enter but he’s not given the slightest indication of it!

“Victor…?”

“Yeah, Cap?” he says, emerald eyes still fixed on the puffball as she rolls around the palm that could crush her like a [dandelion mane]. I knew he’d noticed!

I gesture at the hovertray “What are these?”

He looks up… and frowns in puzzlement… I was not expecting that…

“They look… like toys, Cap?” he asks more than tells.

“I can see that they’re toys, I’m not dense!” I chitter, wryly “What are they for?”

He shrugs “Beats me! They look really good though! That’s the Bright Plume? And is that a mirkbeast plushie?”

“You expect me to believe that these toys have… nothing to do with you? You know nothing about them?!”

Still shrugging, he answers “Wish I could take credit, Cap… but no. Nothin’ to do with me or anyone in Triple M, far as I know. Where’d you get ’em?”

“They were in the shipment of cleaning supplies that just caught up with us. Hamtonio and I were inspecting them, they were in one of the crates.”

Victor stands, keeping his Tcakak cradling hand as steady as a gimble, and walks over. One handed and with no visible effort, he picks up the Bright Plume miniature that it took both me and Hamtonio to lift onto the tray. He inspects it “The detail’s excellent! I almost feel like I could look through the Triple M Commonroom window and see us sittin’ in there!”

He puts it down and picks up the [plushie] (that was light enough for me to lift but too bulky to carry easily), Tcakak notices…

“It’s… gorgeous! I want one!” he says, admiringly.

“You have the real thing!” I say incredulously.

“Yeah… but… she’s at the uni right now… plus… this one’s… smol!”

“You just had eight ‘smol’ ones… for [weeks]! And she’ll be done weaning and back with you before you know it!”

He shakes his head, mirthfully. Apparently, this is a lesson in the art of cute-appreciation that I am not yet ready for(!)

Tcakak, extends her wingclaws and talons to the [plushie], fixing it with an expression of clear longing.

“I’m sorry, my child, I would give this to you if it were mine but it isn’t!” I say, distressed.

She keeps reaching for it as Victor places it down on the hovertray.

Clearly distraught, in the way that only one brand new to existence can be, she turns up her head and cries to be fed. My crop heaves… but is empty… [fuck]!

Victor, the one she’s crying at, strokes her tummy and says “Sorry, baby, if I did what you want me to do, my stomach acid’d melt you!”

“I’m up… I’ll… I’m… getting it…” says Qorak, blearily.

He hops from our perch and walks to Victor, who hands him Tcakak.

“Thank you, sweetfruit. Mine was empty…” I say, apologetically.

He waves his wing, in a gesture of ‘no problem’, his mouth being otherwise occupied.

Victor turns away and fixes his eyes on me. His tolerance for crop feeding is apparently not infinite(!)

“Cap…” he says, clearly attempting to distract himself “If you found ’em in cleanin’ supplies… they’re prob’ly Glark’s… maybe you should talk to him about ’em? Or they might be Toothless’s?... Glark and Bammy are so cute together! You hear he just popped the question?!”

Gardenworlder as he might be… these toys… definitely fit my Chief Custodial Officer’s personality(!)

“I’ll do that, Victor… this evening, I think… let’s send them away before Tcakak can get upset about the [plushie] again!”

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

I indicate to the hovertray that it is to return to the point where I activated it and it leaves the room.

“Alright, Victor, we have appointments to keep… Qorak? Will you be alright on your own?”

His mouth still at Tcakak’s, he raises a wingclaw in a Terran [thumbs up]. I burst out laughing… that was certainly unanticipated!

“Alright, we’ll be off then!” I smile at my lifemate and my daughter.

I feel… a little guilty about… abandoning him but… that is what paternity leave is for…?

---later---

Victor enters a wide [piazza] with a large case, containing the damaged plasma blades of him and his team, held effortlessly in his right hand and me perched atop his opposite shoulder, eating some fruit slices on a skewer.

“How’re Mouse’s new limiters workin’ out for you, Cap?”

I smirk “Well they’re engaged and I’m attempting to crush your shoulder right now, you tell me?”

A moments pause “Yeah, feels like someone behind me wants my attention and is trynna get it by squeezin’ my shoulder… but, like, they don’t wanna be too rude(!)”

I smirk “Do you want to try with the limiters off…? For thoroughness?”

“NO!” he answers, instantly, causing me some amusement.

A moment passes…

“Victor, why am I not allowed in Triple M at the moment…? It’s… hard not to be apprehensive…”

He smiles “No worries, Cap(!) We’re just… paintin’ another panel to the mural… want it to be a surprise! I think this one will give you some… pride(!)”

That does not assuage my apprehension! What could they possibly have to muralise? Us going to the university? Getting drinks? Victor confronting the soldiers off the boarding ramp? If the latter then there would surely be no reason for me to be barred…?

As we cross the [piazza] we hear the strumming of a musician’s instrument… followed by mournful words… mournful words that I do not understand. Is she not wearing a translator?

I look to the woman, sat by a fountain with an… acoustic [guitar]. She definitely has a translator equipped at her temple…

By the Father! Victor’s musical tastes run so highly to the… intense, that I had almost forgotten the seemingly infinite range of music that Terrans are capable of producing! Like with all things Terran, the variety of their music is such as to equal the rest of the nonTerran galaxy combined!

Though I don’t understand a word of it, the pain and longing pierces my hearts!

“Why can’t I understand her…?” I ask Victor, only noticing at that point that he’s also stopped to listen.

“She prob’ly can’t speak Japanese… just learned the song by rote… I mean, I assume she knows well enough that she’s not declarin’ war or shoutin’ out abuse but… the words themselves…”

“Humans can learn an entire…?” I stop myself. Of course they can! This is nothing to be surprised by!

“It’s a really sad song… I used to listen to it… when I felt lonely…” Victor states, simply.

“You understand it?” I ask.

“Yeah… Miyazaki gave me Japanese lessons while I was at uni… her dad was Japanese. Don’t know how many people there are as can say they’ve had Japanese lessons from the Jeanne ‘Blitz’ Miyazaki!”

I think about asking him to translate it for me but… I decide instead to simply ask “What is the song called, Victor?”

Without looking away from the musician he answers “It’s called ‘Kimi Dattara’, Cap… Translates to ‘If It Were You’…”

We watch the musician play the rest of the song in silence. Her playing is entirely enrapturing.

As neither she nor I speak Japanese, it is impossible to say whether she falters over the pronunciation or word order but, if she does, she certainly manages to avoid giving any indication of it!

When she is done with the song Victor takes out his holopad to flick a small digital donation to hers. He explains that, while she will almost certainly receive a salary from the local government, for her public playing, the custom is left over from a time when [buskers] relied on [tips] to live. If you stopped to listen, and enjoyed, tradition dictates that you donate.

I think for a moment before I unclip my holopad and replicate this Terran custom before Victor walks on.

The [busker] begins playing another sad song in yet another language that she apparently does not speak. This one is called 'Szomorú Vasárnap' and is also known as ‘the Hungarian suicide song’ according to Victor. I truly hope that that [busker] is alright!

“Here we are!” declares Victor, gesturing upward to the building “Zanzibar Mpya’s most reputable purveyor of firearms… accordin’ to Loper.”

I look up at the enormous building.

The fact that there could possibly be a private gunsmith this size, even on a planet with six and a half billion inhabitants, boggles my mind.

Victor walks inside.

---later---

“You’re sure I can’t talk you around? The manufacturer says that it’s almost as good as an analogue for resistance to interference…!” says the personable associate.

Victor smiles and shakes his head “You talked me round on the translator interfacin’ targetin’… you were right… I was bein’ paranoid and it was makin’ me throw the baby out with the bathwater but… anythin’ that might electronically stop a gun from goin’ click and boom when I need it to… it’s nonnegotiable. My pool of potential deputies are all gonna receive thorough firearms trainin’ from me (which I am fully licensed to give ’em) so whitelistin’ ain’t necessary and the firearms themselves are gonna be stored in my quarters and the quarters o’ my subordinates so there ain’t a need to worry about them bein’ nicked and turned against us. Just the ones that go click and boom, please!”

“Alright Sir, you want to try out your selections on our range?” queries the clerk.

Victor nods “Yeah, I would…” he turns to me “…you wanna stay here, Cap? You don’t need to come…”

I think for a moment, before answering “I’ll come… I want to see what I’m spending the ship’s budget on(!)” before closing the two of my eyes that are still natural (thus having, and having a need for, eyelids) to affect a Terran [wink].

Victor laughs “Alright, Cap... good to know what you’re payin’ for!”

The clerk shows us through to a long room, most of which is segregated from us by a barrier, with gaps at roughly Terran waist to head height… with wide margin of error, seemingly to account for the stunning variety present in Humans themselves, let alone other Terran species.

The clerk gives Victor a pair of earmuffs and me a soundproof field generator. He apologetically explains that they don’t have any headsets that would fit me, that the noise of firearms being fired repeatedly can be damaging even to the hearing of Terrans and that Victor is being given earmuffs, which only dampen rather than blocking the sound, intentionally… sound is apparently one data stream that will allow my CSS to assess these guns for quality.

I nod and activate the latest addition to the array of welfare devices on the sash strung across my chest.

Victor starts with the selection of shotguns he’s picked out for himself. He picks up the first, levels it at his shoulder and fires over the countertop. The explosion is silent to me but… I feel the vibration through my feet! The extent to which the recoil forces Victors solid frame to account for it is frightening!

Hand held firearms are an invention, nearly exclusive to Terrans. Every other species used explosively propelled weaponry for canons and other static placement weapons, if at all! Experiments with hand held, explosively propelled weapons, invariably met with the answer that they were nonviable! To have enough ‘kick’ to do damage to what you aim at they need to have enough for the recoil to shatter the bones of a gardenworlder! Handheld ranged weaponry needed to wait until we had developed kinetic pulse weaponry and laser weaponry (which Victor describes being shot by as ‘like being punched’ and ‘like havin’ a cigarette put out on me’ respectively!)

Terrans express general disappointment that ‘It’s the postContact space age and the most advanced weaponry is still boomsticks’… I’m not exactly sure why!

Terrans… do have a tendency to never consider anything finished. All their technology is just a placeholder until something better comes along!

“You’ve got a good CSS, Captain. He knows his stuff and clearly cares about keeping your ship safe… not just because that’s where the woman who cuts his cheques comes from(!)” comes the voice of the gunsmith, causing me to start. He’s stepped inside my field without me noticing!

I recover from being startled and consider his words “…Yes. I’m extremely proud of him… he’s my daughter’s godfather, you know!”

The man is clearly surprised.

“I know! I didn’t even know what a godparent was until earlier this cycle… your species’ customs are extremely viral!” I voice.

He laughs “I could say the same for gardenworlders. It’s getting rarer and rarer that people come in looking for anything other than firearms choked up with safety features! PreContact we had the ability to make guns that could lock out unauthorised users but we’d all sort of agreed that such features were gimmicky and too prone to being subverted. We just trusted in the licensing and training of users to keep people safe from accidents! Historically, there were countries where you didn’t need any training at all to buy a firearm and they would accept ‘home defence’ as a valid reason you needed one… I’m glad we eventually came to our senses about that sort of thing!”

I laugh “Yes, there was a brief discussion of the possibility of using a nanoforge to remove the safety features in our existing supply of firearms. Victor utterly shut that down! Citing that subverting a civilian nanoforge to be capable of making or modifying weaponry, was a crime! Your species can be sticklers, sometimes!”

He chortles.

We watch as Victor expertly fires off each of the guns he has picked out. I don’t think he misses a single shot, even without the aiming reticule being projected into his vision via his occipital lobe!

As he tests, he sorts them into two piles; a large pile which I infer to be the rejects, and a small pile which I infer to be those accepted.

Victor was quite disappointed by his subordinates’ declaration that they didn’t wish ‘to be the boyfriends waiting for their girlfriend to be done [shoe]shopping!’ and that they would trust him to pick out the best firearms that met with their specifications. That was a rather amusing exchange… even if it was fraught with cultural touchpoints that missed my beak!

Having made his selections, Victor turns to us and indicates to take down the soundproof field.

He converses with the clerk regarding his selections, the quantity of ammunition he wishes to take for them and the timeframe of the waiting period and repairs of the plasma blades.

At the end of this, the clerk tallies the total we owe and flicks it to my holopad.

It’s pricey… but… you really can’t put a price on a properly secured ship!

I pay it.

Victor heartily shakes hands with the clerk, followed by the clerk very gently shaking my wingclaw.

We smile and wave as Victor leaves, me back atop his left shoulder.

---later---

“Whew! I really did not expect gunshoppin’ to take all mornin’!” proclaims Victor.

“Well, don’t relax too much! We still have one more stop before we’re off duty for the day and I imagine that this one will be somewhat more mentally taxing!” I chide, gently.

He laughs “You got it, Cap. I’ll stay wired for what’s comin’(!)”

We keep walking for a while before our destination comes into view. We draw up to the building that looks like it was designed by a committee of utilitarian gardenworlders fighting with artistic Terrans.

“Zanzibar Mpya’s Office of Deathworlder Relations’ Consulate.” I state, looking up.

It takes me a moment to realise that we’ve ceased moving.

I look down at Victor, his face a mask of apprehension.

For all his flippancy, he’s clearly still worried about what might be to come.

I rest my wingclaws on his head, causing him to look up at me.

I smile “Let’s go in, shall we… Victor?”

He smiles back and nods before stepping forward.