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I don't know if I feel sorry for the captain, or the female. She sits on the stool, outside the window, and just stares at me, watching.
I close my eyes and pretend to sleep so I can listen to all their conversations as I normally do. If they won't let the female in the room with me, there's not much entertainment to be had.
3
BEE
This is definitely not going as planned.
I keep a cheery, positive smile on my face as I sit on my stool and watch Crulden from afar. They've set me up to fail, and I'm not entirely sure how to proceed just yet. I'm still digesting, and as I do, I watch the dynamics of the group from my spot outside Crulden's quarters (aka his cage).
The guards hate him. That much is blatantly obvious. They refuse to go into his quarters unless they're forced to. Crulden sits in his cage, cuffed and silent, and the guards mill about in the hall, behind me. When it comes time to feed Crulden, they elect one of them to go inside. The guardsman then takes a few steps in, slides a plate of dry-looking squares towards his cage, and retreats out once more. I frown at this.
I frown even more when I notice the dirty squalor of the floors. I can only imagine how bad it is near his cage. Crulden looks like a damn mess, his muzzle a darker shade than the rest of him. He remains in the same spot all day, his hands hooked to the front of the cage, and I can only imagine how uncomfortable it is. My ass hurts after sitting on this stool for a few hours, but Crulden never complains or says anything at all. When his eyes are open, he watches everyone. When they're closed…well, I get the impression he's still watching everyone, just a bit more furtively.
He reaches for one of the food bars and has to shove his face into his cuffed hands to eat. Crumbs spray everywhere, and one of the guards makes a disgusted sound. "Filthy keffing animal. I don't know why we're even trying."
This is what he considers “trying”? Good lord. I watch as Crulden hastily shoves the bars into his mouth, and then even more crumbs litter his skin and the floor around him. No one goes to clean them up, or even offers him a drink, and my throat feels dry just watching this. I lick my lips, glancing at the guards. "When does he drink?"
The guards completely ignore me, nudging each other and sharing something on a data pad.
I clear my throat, getting to my feet. "Excuse me, gentlemen." I make my voice super sweet and girly. "I'm so sorry to bother you but can I ask a question?"
This time, my saccharine tone gets a response. One of the men turns to me with that dismissive smile on his face. "What can I help you with, female?"
It took me a long time to get used to being called “female” by aliens. Here, it's a replacement for “ma'am” and isn't meant as insulting as it sounds. Still, it sets my teeth on edge. I continue to beam at the guard, gesturing at Crulden's rather filthy rooms. "When does he get a drink? His food looks very dry." I point at the unused sink and toilet attached to the wall. "Wouldn't it make sense to let him free so he can handle his business?"
The guard shakes his head. "That would be a very bad idea. You've seen how he reacts to the slightest hint of freedom." He puts a hand on my shoulder, his expression affectionate. "But if it'll make you feel better, when he starts to look parched, we hose him and his cage down."
"Oh, I see." It doesn't make me feel better, but I've also learned to pick my battles. I keep smiling as I sit down on the stool again to watch. My mind races despite my calm demeanor, and when they get out a hose and spray Crulden down like he's a zoo animal, I bite my tongue. When they finally hose his empty bowl down to give him something to drink, I say nothing. And when they laugh about all of it and act like typical, thoughtless fools, I remain silent.
It's not that they're evil. They're just young and don't view Crulden as a person. To them, he's little more than a rabid dog they're being forced to watch until he messes up enough for them to get rid of him. It's clear that they're not going to give him a fair shake. Heck, if I was treated like this, I'd probably react with teeth first, too.
When it grows late, I stifle my yawns, continuing to watch over Crulden as the guards change shifts. I don't know what I'm hoping for—for him to talk to someone? To speak? To ask for his cuffs to be removed? He acts as he always does—he pretends to be asleep and watches everyone.
