---Ailurophobia---
“So…?” I start, hesitantly.
“I’m not a Terran?” Tuun asks, matter of factly.
“Well…” uncertainly, drumming my talons against my perch, I decide to err on the side of caution. “...are you?”
She gives a mirthful puff of air through her nostrils before taking a moment to think.
“It’s true, I’m not a Human, nor have I ever set foot on Terra… Nor, for that matter, have I ever been within 50 light years of the Sol System… Despite that…” she breaks off here.
I prompt “Despite that?”
She seems to pluck confidence from the aether, in a very Terran fashion “I would consider myself Terran, by upbringing, Ma’am. I also completed a full certification at New Tromsø University, on Nova Fennoscandia, making me a fully qualified Auxiliary Security Officer.”
I immediately have half a dozen questions but manage to decide on one to start with. “What is your species and homeworld, Ms. Tuun?”
With decidedly deathworld confidence, she answers “I am a Don, of the planet DonOlu; it’s a tidally locked, Class 9 roughworld, in proximity to the Crab Nebula. It also has a highly isolationist culture, hence your unfamiliarity with it and with the Don.”
“Roughworld?”
Taylor answers “They’re planets that straddle the line between gardenworld and deathworld. Threats to life present but nothin’ so egregious as to make the planetary classification nerds shi… mess themselves. Sapient roughworlders ain’t as rare as sapient deathworlders but still pretty rare. Maybe a dozen in Known Space.” he glances at Tuun “That about the size of it?”
She nods at him and smiles with just a hint of purple in her cheeks. “Just so, Mr. Taylor.” Her tone makes it clear that she’s unused to others’ familiarity with the classification.
He mirrors her smile.
Breaking these two from their staring contest, I ask “So… if it’s not an overly personal question, how did you come to have a Terran upbringing?”
A pained expression flashes over her features for just a moment, before she collects herself. Taking great care with her words, she starts “I was born around five years after the Galactic Union’s Great Consignment Agreement; wherein, the Terrans were given settlement and development rights for all the Galaxy’s deathworlds which had, thus far, been considered unsettlable. A year after that, the Nova Fennoscandian colony was established, on a deathworld a scant few lightyears from DonOlu.” she pauses here to collect herself “Breaking with the policy of isolationism, my birthparents’ Clan decided to make diplomatic outreach to our new neighbours. My birthparents were sent as ambassadors. My elder siblings travelled with them. They became firm friends with their opposite numbers, Katrín Þorradóttir and Heidi Árnadóttir, such that they were named ‘godmothers’ when I was born. That’s a Terran custom, where a parent selects a friend to raise their children in the event that they are killed.”
Of course, Terrans would have a tradition of nominating seconds to complete the task of parenting in the event of their mortality, as if duelling to the death!
She continues “When I was six years old, my birthparents made what was supposed to be a brief trip back to DonOlu and left me and my siblings in the care of Katrín and Heidi. They never came back and DonOlu rejected all future attempts at diplomatic outreach. I learned, later, that it’s presumed there was a Clan coup and my birthparents were executed. Me and my siblings were left in the care of Katrín and Heidi who became our fosterparents. They loved us as if we were their own and I grew up as one of the few nondeathworlders on Nova Fennoscandia.”
I give a soft, sympathetic keen and whimper slightly, as I say “Ms. Tuun, I apologise for making you recount that. It was insensitive of me. Thank you for trusting us with what must be a painful memory.” she gives a reassuring smile.
Composing myself, I ask my next question “Forgive me my ignorance but what exactly is an ‘Auxiliary Security Officer’? I’ve not come across this designation before.”
“Ah, yes, that was actually the result of a compromise reached between the GU and the UTC. After the ceasefire of the United Terran Coalition’s First Contact War, Terran Security Officers immediately became the UTC’s most in demand export. GU law is very strict that ‘Terran’ refers to biological Homo sapiens, and Homo Resurrectee species neanderthalensis, denisova, longi and tshwane but doesn't include any other Terran uplift species or, deathworld raised, nonTerrans. However, Terrans have an extremely fierce packbonding instinct and objected, rather fervently, to being legally segregated from what they saw as kin. So, in compromise, the creation of the Auxiliary Security Officer qualification was authorised by the GU’s Office of Deathworld Relations, allowing assorted culturally deathworld individuals, like myself, to have a route to Security Officerhood. My course was adapted to my differing physiology and psychology, in so far as those adaptations wouldn’t compromise my competence for duty. ‘ASO’ effectively means I qualify as a full Terran SO, but only in the company of other Terran SOs. So, while I wouldn’t legally be able to safeguard a deathworld expedition alone, I could do so in the company of another SO.”
I think for a moment “You’re saying that if I sent you and Mr. Taylor, or any of the new hires, on a deathworld expedition I could increase the headcount of researchers from six to twelve? If I sent you and two Terran SOs, it could be eighteen, etc.?”
“Exactly!” she smiles.
I look at her requested rate. It’s only just over half that that ‘Brunhilda “Samus” Arran’, ‘François “Dog” Normand’ and ‘Guillaume “Conqueror” Normand’ are asking and easily a third of Taylor’s salary. It would be a fantastic deal… but that thought makes me uncomfortable, for some reason.
I put that thought to the back of my mind and say “For further questioning I’ll have to pass you over to our resident Terran, as my research lead appears to be somewhat indisposed.”
Sha’anza looks up from the notes she’s been furiously tapping out, no doubt hypothesising wildly about all the novel information on Human packbonding that we’ve just been inundated with. She gives a selfconscious curl of her trunk but then returns it to her holopad.
I gesture “Taylor?”
He leans forward “In what ways do your physiology and psychology differ from a standard Terran’s, Tuun? Aside from the obvious, o’course.”
She starts counting on her upper right hand “On the negative side, I will never be able to have quite the strength, stamina or durability that a bioTerran does. Growing up on a planet of 1.8 Galactic Standard G has made me stronger than any DonOlu raised Don…” bitterly she adds “…as well as stunting my growth to a mere 2.2 metres, but I am still relatively frail by your standards. I also have only, what I would call, a ‘well developed’ sense for danger, not quite the praeternatural sense for it that bioTerrans have. I’m also quite sensitive to bright light, being from the Twilight Zone of an eyeball world.”
She now shifts her count from her right hands to her left “On the positive side, I easily adjust to an upended sleep schedule, I can move faster than a bioTerran, as my inertia is lower for not being as dense. In a dead sprint, I can reach upwards of 60kph in Earth Standard Gravity, though I can only maintain that for around thirty seconds…”
I interrupt “Is that fast?” directing my question more at Taylor than Tuun.
He answers “Extremely!” clearly impressed “That’s nearly 20% higher than the record for an unaugmented Terran.” he gives an approving nod for her to continue.
Beaming in the praise she resumes “My graduate epithet was very nearly “Eel” instead of “Elf” as a result of my fighting style. My classmates called it ‘slippery’, this is as a result of the fact that, compared to a bioTerran, I have superior reflexes and higher perceptual temporal resolution…” *Pap*
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Faster than I can resolve… something happens… Taylor and Tuun have both moved and Tuun appears to be holding something she wasn’t before. She cocks an eyebrow at him and says “Satisfied?”
He nods “Oh, yeah!”
In utter bewilderment I ask “What just happened? Taylor, what did you do?!”
Tuun answers “He threw a stressball at me to test my claim about my reaction times… I appear to have passed!”
Mortified I turn to Taylor “Taylor! How could you have been so reckless!? What if it had hit her!?”
With a mollifying wave of the offending hand he says “Relax, Cap. It was a foam ball. That throw could have hit you and it wouldn’t have done more than knock you off your perch. She noticed as I was throwin’ it and snatched it out of the air, with no warning, from a distance of 4 metres, which is practically point blank. She then intuited reasonin’ behind that throw without missin’ a beat. Majorly impressive!”
I round on Taylor, wings and crown plumes raised. He shrinks and says “Sorry, Cap.”
Still in my stance of aggression I say “It’s not me you need to apologise to!”
A moment for it to ‘click’ “Sorry, Tuun.”
She waves a hand “Quite alright, Taylor, quite alright, Captain. No harm meant, no harm done! I appreciate the opportunity to prove my capabilities!”
Satisfied, I motion to move on.
Taylor asks “So what would be a comfortable frame rate for you?”
“Between, 200 and 350 frames a second. Lower than 200 and video starts to look choppy, to me. Higher than 350 and extra frames make no difference.”
Taylor whistles, clearly impressed “That’s what… five times a bioTerran? More? Old Terran movies must be hell for you!”
She nods “Yeah, like a slideshow. They’re a little nauseating in an unaltered state… but I do have a programme, on my holopad, to maximise frames. You just feed it the original footage and it brings it up to a comfortable frame rate by computer modelling and generating what the tweener frames would have looked like… it is somewhat computationally demanding though so I can’t run it without access to a more powerful computer.”
“Well…” Taylor says smiling “The ship has computation power to spare… Maybe we can have a movie night some time, I’m interested to see what ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’ looks like at 350fps.”
---later, after much deathworlder flirting and admiration of CQC and firearm videos from Tuun’s University---
“Well, there’s just one more thing before I tentatively accept you, Ms. Tuun…”
I gesture at the salary she’s asked for and her face drops “It’s too much! I told my brother but hewasalllike‘youneedtovalueyourselfTuniethey’llnevertakeyouseriouslyifyoudon’ttakeyourselfseriously’andIwent‘yesbutwhatiftheyfinditoffputtingandIdon’tgetthejob…’”
I hold up a claw to silence the unintelligible gibbering and she falls mercifully silent.
“Too much, dear girl? The custodian staff make more than this and all they do is sit on their behinds despatching cleaning droids all day! Your brother was right...or maybe he wasn’t, I couldn’t really follow at the speed you were talking… The point is it would shame me as your Captain if word got around that I paid so little for your services! So, could you accept… 90% again?”
Her jaw drops “That would be almost what you’d pay a standard SO, I couldn’t!”
I snap back “You can and you will, if you want the job!”
Speechless a few moments, she eventually answers “What would you say to 50% again?”
Cocking a browtuft, I respond “You’re haggling me down? That’s extremely unusual!”
Fixing her gaze on her feet she mumbles “I’m not worth… ’s too much…”
With a Terran sigh, I relent “80%, final offer, that’s 10% less than standard for the inconvenience of not being able to send you out alone… this is in spite of the fact that, now that I have more than one SO, it really makes no difference if you’re an SO or an ASO! What do you say…?” I extend my wingclaws.
Tentatively, she encloses them in her hand and says “OK, deal.”
“Excellent!” I crow “Now, if you would tell my mate…secretary… that you’ve been successful, we’ll be along to guide you and the others to the final suitability test, shortly. Sha’anza, you’re also free to go.”
“Yes, Ma’am! Thank you, Ma’am!” Tuun says giddily, practically sprinting from the room, shortly followed by my clearly relieved Research Lead.
I turn to Taylor who’s still gazing at the doorway, eyes fixed on the last point that he had line of sight to Tuun.
I chitter “Well… You certainly have a type!”
Snapping back to reality he, takes a few moments to compose himself.
“I’ve no idea whatchu might be referrin’ to, Cap!” he says, carefully.
Raising a leg, I start counting on my talons. “Big eyes, big, midnight blue body, six limbs, deathworlder (after a fashion), Twilight Zoner… I’m seeing some similarities to a certain other object of your affections!”
Scrunching his face in distaste, Taylor answers “To start, Fluffy’s Prussian blue with charcoal black stripes.”
How a species of trichromates have so many, subtle colour distinctions, I’ll never know. Who needs more than one word for ‘black’!?
“Next…” he continues “…to Humans, the suggestion that a person might be or desire to be romantically or sexually involved with a pet is extremely distasteful, even indirectly, even in jest.”
I interrupt “So you’re admitting that you would like to have sexual and/or romantic involvement with Ms. Tuun? Afterall, you did throw that ball at her like a fledgeling plucking the plume feathers of her favourite boy at school(!)” I point out, smugly.
“Finally…” he says through gritted teeth “…It’d be unprofessional of me to fraternise with a subordinate.”
I’m stunned “Do… you think I’m unprofessional, Taylor?” it takes a moment before it clicks and he realises what he’s just implied.
Stammering, he replies “N-n-no! Cap!... It ain’t like that! Your situation with Qorak… that’s like normal for R’qali, right? I got no standin’ to judge…”
I flap, sharply, once and he shuts up “I understand you didn’t make the connection, Taylor. It’s OK. Just, maybe keep an open mind. She’s clearly interested in you as well and the whole point of this exercise is to find you companionship, while filling out the positions we would have needed filled anyway.”
He pouts, clearly not convinced.
“Just some [food for thought]. I don’t expect you to be an ascetic, Taylor. It’s ironic that you deathworlders all too often forget that you’re mortal, too.”
He nods, ponderously.
“If nothin’ else it’d be nice to get to know the ships second honorary deathworlder.” he muses.
I cock my head, confused. “Second… who’s the first?”
He shoots me a wry smile “You’re kiddin’… right? You, ya big doof!”
I splutter “H-how!? In what way!? R’qali are frugivorous gardenworlders. You could pick me up and dash me against this desk before I knew what was happening! On what basis…?!”
Smirking, he says “You're shrewd, like a deathworlder, you’re fierce, like a deathworlder, you’re suspicious, like a deathworlder. You might have the body of a gardenworlder but your spirit is the spirit of a deathworlder!”
Dumbstruck, I eventually respond “Taylor, in all my Cycles, I have never been accorded such a dubious honour!” he laughs heartily at that.
Taking a moment to recompose myself, I say “Now, how about we go administer our final test? Hmmm? Your, insisted upon, surprise for them!”
He smiles mischievously.
---later---
For the second time in the last Subcycle, I sit by the hospital bed of an unconscious Terran. This time, thankfully, he isn’t injured.
“Huh!!!...whu!” he starts awake.
“Mr. Normand, good to have you back!” I greet.
“What happened? Where am I? What… what was that thing?”
“You fainted, the medical room of the Bright Plume and ‘Fluffy’.” I respond, coolly.
“Fluffy?!” he says, incredulous.
“Fluffy, the a’Teksian mirkbeast of Deck 5, terror of all nonTerrans, initiator of shipwide lockdowns and the reason that CSS Victor 'Cuddles' Taylor is currently on disciplinary probation!” I quip.
He glances over the other beds “Where’s everyone else?”
“They’re settling in to their new accommodations and probably giving Fluffy more pets and scritches than even she can handle in the Starboard Deck 5 Commonroom.”
He gawks, disbelieving “They stayed? With that thing? They didn’t faint? They weren’t scared?”
In answer I bring up my holopad and, bored, begin reading aloud from the transcript from the SD 5 hallcam footage, starting the moment he lost consciousness:
“MacLeod: OMG, MURDERFLOOF!
Arran: So fierce! All the scritches for you!
Taylor: She’s wonderful isn’t she!
Dhawan: She looks like the Cheshire cat going through a goth phase! I love it!
MacLeod: Or like the catbus from Totoro!... Gods, she’s so sleek!
Zunberi: I could cuddle her all day every day!
Arran: Right proper dangernoodle!
Dhawan: Nuh-uh! Dangernoodles are snakes! Look at those little legs! Jennie had it right!
MacLeod: Yeah, murderfloof!
Tuun: It’s as if someone put the eyes of an owl, onto the face of a baby kitten-puppy hybrid,
then stuck that onto a ferret-raccoon hybrid body and tie-dyed the whole thing with the
advice of an emo tiger! And then hit it with a growth ray and a cute ray for way longer than
advisable!
F. Normand: Guys, my brother is…erm… kinda ailurophobic he had a bad experience when
we were kids. He might not be copi… fuck! Guillaume? Guillaume!?”
“That was how long it took anyone to notice you’d lost consciousness. If it’s any consolation, I think you’re the sane one! However, unfortunately, through no fault of your own, you have demonstrated a lack of suitability for the Terran enclave aboard my vessel. I’ve explained the situation to your brother and agreed a very generous reimbursement for your lost time and stress, a token of goodwill. He’s already explained that the two of you are a ‘package deal’, as he put it so don’t worry about us whisking him away.”
He stares at me dumbstruck.
“Perhaps, you should check your account balance?”
Still mute, he turns his head away, pulls up his holopad and taps for a few moments before gasping.
“You weren’t kidding about it being generous! What on Earth for?!” he blurts.
“Deathworlders with a grudge are a nightmare scenario for any sane Captain… or sane person, for that matter. As I said, it’s a token of goodwill.”
“You do not have to worry, Ma’am! I’m going to do my best to never think of this ship or that monster again!”
I nod and begin walking away.
Before I leave I say “It’s a shame it didn’t work out, Mr. Normand. Good luck on your future travels... perhaps, try to avoid a'Teksia 3.”