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The leader of the humans approaches me with a broad grin which implies he imagines himself to be my friend. Of course he is anything but. If it was up to me, I would strip him of all weaponry and send him back to where he came from, albeit a more remote location than the city from which they originated, a place they help control with violence and fear. Most of the trouble with humans — and the reason we decided they needed help and rescuing in the first place, is their chaotic, warlike tendencies.
“Yes, human?”
“The boys were thinking, it might be nice if we could…”
My mind tunes out the rest of his odious request. This creature should not have the nerve to address me. He should be on his knees, wearing a war collar. I made one shortly after their collective arrival. It is a more vicious version of the collar Stella is wearing. It would not give spankings. It would give one warning pulse and then drop a grown man like a sack of potatoes.
I’ve suggested we fit the soldiers with my invention, but Arkan disagrees with that plan too. He has become convinced that people can be allies rather than owned creatures. I blame his pet for that.
“So anyway, we were thinking…”
The human is still talking about some adjustments or something or other his engineers want to make to their quarters. He should be afraid to address me, let alone speak to me with such insolent, casual tones. My hands flex inadvertently as I do my best to restrain myself from kicking him to the ground and putting my boot on his neck.
Yet again, I reflect on the fact that this is our family vessel, and my brother has seen fit to let humans have the run of it. This is what happens when a Euphorian gives into desire for humans. This perversion of all that is good and proper is the result. Humans run in our private places like vermin.
I put my hands behind my back to hide the clenching and make a show of listening to the soldier. He wishes to be able to play some sort of game in the cargo bay. I give my permission with a swift nod. There is little point in denying them anything. Arkan will only say yes if I say no.
Having been accosted by the human, I return to my quarters. I have spent many hours and days here working on various plans, trying to come up with some method of returning to Euphoria without setting off a civil war — not to mention trying to ensure that the importation of human pets from Earth is ceased forthwith. We are meddling with forces we do not understand, and it is causing suffering and pain.
* * *
The human, Stella, is asleep in my bed when I return. I hear the soft, slow rhythm of her breathing. It is pleasant, even though I am officially still irritated by all things human. Sitting down at my desk, I return to my labors. There is much to be done.
I lose track of time, immersed in my work. I have drafted many letters, one to each of the council and several to the older and more powerful members of the Wrathelder clan. I am hoping that diplomacy might yet lead to a peaceful outcome, but I know the likelihood is low.
“What are you doing?” The question emanates from somewhere near my elbow.
I startle, albeit without actually moving or making a sound as Stella breaks my attention. I had almost forgotten she was there. I get so immersed in my work that I often forget to eat or to drink, but I suppose having a pet around means forgetting is no longer an option.
She looks rested and happy for the moment, however, and more interested in the contents of my desk than the contents of her stomach.
“Working,” I answer her question.
“What are you working on?”
“It’s complicated.”
“I have time.”
She looks at me with curious dark eyes, and though I know there is little point in talking to a freshly captive human about matters of state, I suppose it cannot hurt either. It will be, at the very minimum, at least as satisfying as talking to a wall.
“Matters of politics on our world,” I say. “My brother and I are returning to our world with blood on our hands.”
“Really? Wow. Very cool.”
“Not very cool,” I correct her.
“Sorry, I’m used to people saying they have blood on their hands like it is a good thing. I think the meaning of the phrase has changed over the years. It seems like it should be bad, but nowadays, with war being constant and the city being such a fucking mess, having blood on your hands is kind of just like, a Tuesday, I guess?”
“Well, it is not like a Tuesday on our world. We are an orderly and largely peaceful species.”
“Why do you have such big fangs and tusks, then? They kind of make you look like oversized staple removers from a certain angle. Is that what you evolved as? Staple removers?”
“No,” I laugh. “We evolved as apex predators on our world, just as humans did on yours. The fangs and tusks are largely vestigial now.”
I never thought talking to a human would be satisfying. Usually conversations with them are like having conversations with a self-involved, barely sentient little beast. But Stella seems genuinely interested in me, and in the matters I am referring to, even if she does not have an understanding of any of the wider issues.
She leans on the desk and looks up at me. “Are you important then, you and your brother? Politically? Are you powerful?”
