---Exhaustion---
Alighting before the entrance, I march into the Canteen, irritated.
[65] [fucking] [hours]!? How does that lunatic expect to be any help to anyone, pushing himself so recklessly!?
I spot the object of my ire and make toward him.
As I approach, I notice the woman he’s talking to.
She’s not a Terran… and neither is she a member of my crew… I recognise her species… she’s a Spelvuk… a troglodytic roughworlder… at least… I think she is… they’re usually entirely bald, aren’t they? This woman has a full head of black hair… it has the effect of making her look much more like a Terran. Is that its purpose?
She wears a single red sash, across her chest, marking her as one of the disaster relief volunteers.
She seems to have Victor’s undivided attention as his haggard face bobs up and down in acknowledgment.
Rather than interrupting, I decide to eavesdrop.
“…it’s an admirable thing, to want to help so much, but you can’t help anyone else if you collapse from exhaustion in the effort, can you?” opines the woman.
“You’re… right…” he answers, defeatedly “…I just… I feel like… I wouldn’t be able to sleep, knowin’ there’s stuff I could be doin’ but ain’t… More’an 99% of the people aboard have lost their homes… ‘I’m tired’ just don’t seem… sufficient, as an excuse for why I ain’t pitchin’ in.”
“So… what it sounds like… is that you’re framing rest as something selfish? Is that fair?” she queries.
He nods, contemplatively, then answers “I… I guess so…”
Sympathetically, she proffers “I know it’s not easy to decide to shift a belief like this… but perhaps you could try thinking of it as something you’re doing for others’ sake? If you keep going until you collapse… well, not only will you not be able to help anyone at that point but you’ll also need help yourself, right? Help you’d be taking away from someone else?”
He gives a weary chuckle “Put that way, takin’ a nap sounds positively noble(!)”
She smiles “There’s nothing selfish about selfcare, in my view. You just need to think of it as ‘maintenance’… your body and mind have requirements, the way any machine would; feeding yourself, watering yourself, resting yourself etc. are not indulgences, they are necessities.”
He stands “You’re right, Alchyinad. I’m gonna go catch some sleep… sorry that you needed to have this talk with me.”
“There’s nothing to apologise for… go and rest.” she answers, kindly.
He starts walking away, then notices me “Oh… Cap… did you…?”
“I did, Victor…” I interrupt “…but it sounds as though what I wanted you for is now taken care of… go and sleep.”
He gives an embarrassed chuckle before walking off.
I turn my attention to the near [3m] tall woman with snow white skin and obsidian eyes.
“You have some experience with handling Terrans, I see.” I observe, wryly.
She laughs “I do. Nine times out of ten what they need is a firm voice, nudging them toward what they already know, in my experience(!)”
“Thank you for having the conversation I was about to have, with Mr Tailor, for me.” I dip my head, respectfully.
She returns the gesture “Thank you for allowing me onto your ship, Captain.”
I motion to the empty seat, vacated by Victor “May I sit with you?”
She smiles “This is your ship, I wouldn’t presume to tell you where you can and can’t sit(!)”
I take the seat “So… Alchyinad, is it?”
She gives a Terran nod “Indeed, Alchyinad ‘Dimitrescu’ Fischer… and you would be Captain Tcakqaal?”
I return her nod “Indeed… If you don’t mind my asking, what brings you to this planet?”
“My husband, Marc, and I were on our [honeymoon].” she grins, baring her terrifyingly sharp teeth.
The term sounds… familiar “[Honeymoon]?”
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
“A Terran custom, wherein a newly married couple take a luxurious holiday, usually somewhere they consider ‘exotic’… In my and my husband’s case, it’s also serving as a post-graduation break, before we start looking for work.” she explains.
“So… your husband is…?”
“Terran, yes.” she smiles “We got married around a month ago and settled on a [honeymoon] on Neonesia. We actually missed our transport back to Earth to volunteer, here.”
“Very admirable! I hope it wasn’t too costly for you…?”
She chuckles “An upside of being [centuries] old is that I’ve had plenty of time to build my personal wealth… missing a flight won’t be ruinous, to us(!)”
She leans forward, places four of the digits of her left arm on the table (the other three folded backwards up her sleeve), turns her black orb-eyes on me and asks “I’m actually curious, Captain… about your motive for helping out… I don’t wish to be rude but… I’m told you didn’t even try to negotiate remuneration before agreeing to undertake the rescue… that you turned down all reward above the costs incurred like food spent and nanoresin expended etc. Is that true?”
I bristle slightly “Yes, it’s true… why do you ask?”
“I’m sorry… I meant no offence… just… do you know what ‘roughworlders’ are?”
I chuff “I know that Spelvuk are roughworlders… I have two roughworlders, aboard my ship, whom I consider friends… are you going to say that, being a nongardenworlder, you’re surprised that I, a gardenworlder, would act with any honour? That you’d have expected me to waste time haggling when tens of thousands of lives were on the line?”
Surprised, she throws up the eight manipulator digits of both hands, in a gesture of concession “I’m sorry… I don’t know you, I can see I let prejudice…”
“You’re right…” I interrupt “…that is what most gardenworlders would have done. It’s what I would have done, earlier in my life… it wouldn’t have been that I only wanted to profit, it wouldn’t have been that I was happy to let anyone die… I suppose… I would have framed it as not wanting to be taken advantage of… now, though, the idea of haggling while lives hang in the balance… well, it no longer reads as acceptable to me.”
“Why do you think that is?” she asks, as if she truly doesn’t know… or as if she’s truly more interested in my perspective than telling me hers.
I think for a moment before answering “That man you were just talking to… he and I have known eachother for [nearly 14 years]… the first time we met, he saved my life before I ever heard him speak a word… In all the time I’ve known him, I don’t believe I’ve ever once seen him hesitate in undertaking an action that would have helped someone. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen him stop and ask ‘But what’s in it for me, though?’… At some point, I suppose, I became… embarrassed… The notion of stopping to perform a cost benefit analysis before undertaking life saving action began to read as… selfish, I suppose… childish, ignoble… revolting… It’s not as if I want to be a Terran but, in this regard, I have to say, they outdo the gardenworlder galaxy…”
She bobs her head, ponderously “I know, from personal experience, how easy it is to feel inadequate when stood next to a Terran(!) How it can feel like they are just everything you are but more… then I have moments where I have to talk one into sleeping(!)… No other species would put up with three straight [allnighters], [hell], no other species would be capable of three straight [allnighters]. Their exceptionality is a [double-edged sword]… As amazing as they might seem, it isn’t all upsides, for them.”
“An interesting perspective… On a different note, what exactly was in Victor’s behaviour that alerted you to his lack of sleep? I’m sure he didn’t announce it!” I query.
She puffs through her [loveheart] shaped nose “He didn’t announce it in words… everything else about him, though, was screaming it(!)… I came aboard, mere hours after you left Moku Pua and it was easy enough to infer that he had already had a full day of activity before then. Since then, every time I’ve seen him, his eyebags have been darker, his smell has been stronger, his speech has been more chaotic and slurred (yet absent any scent of alcohol that might have explained that), I’ve not yet seen him out of the first set of clothing I saw him in(!)… I’m meant to be counselling the survivors but, while my husband’s services are in high demand, most Terrans find my appearance quite offputting so mine aren’t… I found myself in the position of being [at a loose end] and, thus, having the time to talk to your CSS… How did you find out, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“The… erm… the computer alerted me…” I say, awkwardly.
She smiles and cocks her modded browhair “The nonsentient computer alerted you to a dereliction of selfcare by a crewman?”
I cock my own browtuft and consider the woman “Yes… well, a sapient computer is more than capable of working out that a person aboard has exceeded their species’ recommended waking period…”
She chuckles “I’m sure(!)… Don’t worry, I’m not about to report you. You’ve likely inferred that I, myself, am something of a Terraphile(!)… I’m sure that, if your Terran crew have no objection to the ‘sapient and not sentient’ computer, then it must be safe!”
“…You’re quite perceptive, Mrs Fischer!”
She shudders in delight.
Confused, I ask “I’m… sorry… are you…?”
“Don’t mind me, I’m still getting used to my husband’s name… I’ve been married before… but this is the first time I’ve had a new name to go along with it.” she giggles, slightly abashed.
I appraise the woman “I’m… sure that, being as old as you say you are, it must be quite a culture shock to be suddenly ingratiated with Terran culture and married to a Terran?”
She nods “Yes, well, for the first 90% of my life, I was among the most fearsome half a trillion beings alive… just by dint of being a roughworlder… then, in very short order, I went from being a soldier in a war against the survival of beings more fearsome than I, to peace being declared, to being so fascinated with their culture that I decided I had to study them… to having a Terran husband and two new names!… I do feel like things have moved a little fast(!)… I’m certainly not unhappy about it though…”
I consider the woman “Mrs Fischer… you and your husband… you say that the two of you are here to provide counselling to the survivors… What exactly was the profession that you and he were hoping to undertake, after your [honeymoon]?”
Seeming surprised by the sudden turn, she answers “Oh… well we met at the Cincinnati School of Psychotherapy… we were hoping to gain employment as therapists, somewhere…”
Dumbfounded, I stare at the woman.
I’ve never considered myself a particularly religious woman (even having married an [agnostic]) but, right now, it’s difficult for me not to see this as the Father’s compassion at work(!)
“Mrs Fischer… how would you and your husband… like a job… and a long voyage?”