7041 words update

Am closing in on finalising my own edits, having surpased this part of the story so I will give you guys some bigger word counts. 

Lambert and Carl were thoroughly debriefed by the Captain and his aids, recounting their tale of how they followed Mezul’s ship to the brawl several times over. Alice provided the recordings, and these were gone over extensively by the officers.

“Those are Confederate markings, no doubt about it,” Anders remarked, watching the recording of the skirmish between the Balokarids and the UEC. “And you eliminated three targets as well? Good work.”

“The presence of an attack group has serious implications,” one of the aids noted. They were on the bridge of the Gallipoli, the officers standing on one side of the command table, Lambert, Carl, and the aliens on the other. Keyboards clicked away from all sides, but it was muted, the novelty of having aliens on board not lost on the bridge staff, many heads turned in their direction to stare. Lambert was pretty sure if they’d gathered anywhere else, they’d be crowded instantly.

“A scout group couldn’t sustain themselves without a flagship,” the aid continued, adjusting his collar. “Not this far out from UEC lines.”

“They’re bound to be on the lookout, with their whole patrol wiped out,” Anders said, scratching his beard. “I’m glad you got these Balokarids moving when you did, Lieutenant. They wouldn’t have lasted long if a capital ship found them.”

“Should we return to the Hub?” another of the officers suggested, the woman glancing at Shaliyya’s armed guard. “This is big news. Senator Estera would want to hear it as soon as possible.”

“We haven’t accomplished our mission, for one thing,” Anders replied, shaking his head. “And we sure as hell can’t leave a UEC presence uncontested. This nebula is the Hub’s backyard, losing it isn’t an option.”

“Permission to speak, sir?” Lambert interrupted, the eyes of his superiors turning on him. Anders waved for him to proceed. “Did the other patrols find anything? The missing ship, or other aliens?”

Anders shook his head. “Nothing so far. Your route was the only one with any noteworthy discovery.” The Captain blinked as Shaliyya chittered something to her guard in her native tongue. “I’m more concerned with our new friends at this time, however. Is this their whole population? Why are they fighting the UEC, and not us? We must establish some way of communicating with them before we form a plan of action.”

“We’ve been trying our best,” Lambert said. “but we haven’t gotten far aside from a few basic words.”

“Perhaps Doctor Cairns can help,” Anders mused. “She’s been itching to get a look at these aliens ever since hearing the news, and she’s our most qualified medical staff. She’ll want to examine them.”

“The machine on my ship and has a few basic anatomy notes recorded,” Lambert said. “we can send them to her.”

“I’m sure she’ll appreciate the help. I want you two helping Cairns get us talking with these aliens fluently without delay. Since you’ve got more experience with these… Balokaridsthan anyone else, you’re best suited to the task.”

“We’ll keep them out of trouble sir,” Carl said.

“Lead them down to the medical bay then, I’ll send word that you’re coming. Wyatt,” Anders said, turning to one of the aids. “what do you make of their laser weaponry?”

Lambert took that as a sign they were dismissed, the Balokarids following the pair out from the bridge, a pair of the Captain’s guard escorting them out.

10

“This is simply fascinating!” Doctor Cairns said.

The woman was sitting across from Mezul, the alien sagging into the plush couch normally reserved for therapy patients. The doctor had poured over the data Alice had sent her way during their stay on the alien carrier, and was adding her own psyche tests to the list. Mezul didn’t look like she minded fulfilling her requests, solving memory and math puzzles the doctor wanted to quiz the alien over.

“I’ve always wanted to do this kind of research,” the woman continued. “Here I am on a warship surrounded by soldiers, and I’m doing math with another sentient being not from Earth.

Carl had taken the other aliens off to explore the rest of the medical bay, leaving just Mezul with the doctor, his friend promising he wouldn’t sneak them to the ship’s bar.

“Alice has recorded some very interesting observations.” The Doctor pulled up her tablet, Lambert peeking over to see Mezul’s body plan on the screen. “She’s been taking notes ever since you boarded their ship. They’ve got habits, personalities, little hints as to what their society is like.”

“Machines are always watching,” Lambert grumbled. “Can you believe they actually let it control my ship?”

“I heard they installed a personality onto an unlucky corvette,” Cairns said. “Shortage on pilots, yes? It has only helped you so far, is there something wrong with her?”

“Its kind was wiped out for a reason,” Lambert said. “So far all it’s done is watch and record.”

“A detail that has and will help us document this great time extensively,” Cairns replied. “Regardless of artificial intelligence, it seems as though we’re at the limits of our physical examinations of the Balokarids. Avian, dry feathers flexible enough to keep the body warm, wing span for potential flight. Unless Mezul wants to strip, speculation is about all we can do.”

“I don’t think she’d like getting nude in front of aliens,” Lambert said, glancing up at his strange companion.

“Tell me again how you found out it was a she?”

“We compared our body plans,” he explained.

“I hope you like being the base reference for all humanity, Lieutenant,” Cairns said. “Can you ask her if she would take her suit off? She seems much friendlier to you than anyone else.”

“I’ll give it a go. Been interested myself about what they look like underneath” He called Mezul’s name to get her attention, feeling butterflies in his stomach for some reason as he asked his question. “Mezul, would you mind taking off that suit?” He mimed unclipping his own flightsuit, which he was still wearing.

The alien shook its head. “No take off mind.” It pointed at its helmet, dangling from its belt.

“Sorry doc, looks like it’s a no.”

“Pity, though I can’t blame her for hesitating. At least she can communicate with us on a basic level, though it may take some time to develop completely.”

“Is there a faster way?” Lambert asked. “I can’t play translator all the time, not with the UEC out there. If they attack we need to be able to tell the Balokarids what’s happening, coordinate.”

“If we were on the Hub, and I had all my lab equipment, assistants… perhaps we would have more options, but as it stands there isn’t much more we can do than be patient. Building a dialogue takes time.”

“What about our translators?” Lambert asked, pointing at his neck. “people imprint other languages in their heads all the time, can’t we do that to Mezul?”

“You’re talking about implanting a foreign language into an alien brain,” Cairns replied, though she did scratch at her long hair thoughtfully. “Do you even know how that works? A scan is taken from the brain of someone who is fluent in a language, creates a synaptic map, and forcefully imprints the required patterns onto the subject so the skill is passed on. We would be rebuilding part of Mezul’s brain, do you have any idea what kind of ramifications that could have for us? People would call us exploitative, not to mention what these Balokarids would think of us being so invasive.”

“We should be more worried about the physical dangers rather than the verbal ones, doc,” Lambert said. “The UEC will find us if we don’t start moving, and to do that we need to get a dialogue going.”

“So the Captain says,” she sighed. “Look, for an implant to actually work, Mezul would need a strong grasp on English, she needs be compatible with our technology on a genetic level, and her brain must follow the same neural signals as ours do. That last one is the most improbable – we would need to completely overhaul our imprinting technology, and aside from me there’s only three other people on this ship with experience in this sort of work. We’re a warship, not a science vessel.”

“Say if that was all good, could you install one in her?” he asked.

“The surgery isn’t the problem, that’s all done by machine. The problem then is making sure the implant can find the right electrical currents that connect the vocal cords and the brain. If she has a sensorimotor cortex like we do, then perhaps it could work, but we’re giving a delicate surgery a lot of leeway. The next problem would be getting her to agree to undergo the whole procedure.”

“She’s not as reluctant as you’d think,” Lambert said, nodding at Mezul. “Do you want a translator, Mezul?”

“Translator? Mezul speak English yes!” she replied.

“Lieutenant, this is about more than just consent. Imagine the implications if something goes wrong, if the implant scrambles up her electrical currents, or worse. Our first action after first encounter shouldn’t be about conducting surgery onto another sentient creature.”

“I don’t see much of a choice, doc,” Lambert said. “A hundred things could have gone wrong when I chose to follow the aliens onto their carrier, but look where I am. Taking chances is what the Hub does best.”

“Risks seem to be the foundation our new society…” Cairns mused. “I’ll explore all options as the Captain ordered, but don’t get your hopes up, Lieutenant, surgery will be my last resort. If Mezul’s people have scientists of their own, perhaps they’d be willing to help me come up with alternative solutions. Of course, that would mean asking the Captain for permission to allow more aliens on board.”

“I think he’ll be a lot more lenient than you might think, doc,” Lambert said. “I’ll give him a call.”

11

Lambert was glad to be back aboard a human ship, though that wasn’t to say he didn’t appreciate touring the alien carrier. He was constantly asked what he’d seen out there by the crew, and he was all too eager to recount his tale, enrapturing the entire mess hall with the help of Carl to add some extra flare.

Just like the Balokarids had been curious with the two men, the Gallipoli’s crew was all too eager to engage with the aliens, their capacity to mimic anything a comical point nearly everyone took advantage of after their initial wariness wore off, the medbay becoming an attraction since the aliens were confined there.

Lambert spent most of his spare time explaining to Mezul the details of the surgery, Doctor Cairns’ earlier words tempering his excitement. It was a big decision the Captain wasn’t taking lightly, warships sent on long voyages like this one, where communications with superiors were either impossible, or took too long to send and receive orders to be practical, had to act independently, and the blame would fall squarely on the Gallipoli’s crew if a member of an alien race died on their ship.

The Gallipoli already had a stark reputation before its turnover, and Lambert certainly didn’t want Mezul’s death on his conscience. Killing humans was one thing, he’d been indifferent to killing for a long time, but something about an alien was different, unnatural. He wondered how the UEC felt about attacking the Balokarids. Lambert knew they were warmongering scum, but what reason did they have to fight an alien race? The Balokarids had to have the answer.

Lambert spent most of the next couple days with doctor Cairns and Mezul in the medical bay. Carl had a phobia of hospitals, so he didn’t join him. The bay had been the gathering place for the few other scientists and medical staff who could fill the role of linguists best (Lambert’s presence a necessity because of his sheer exposure to the Balokarids), but they got a helping hand later on by the aliens themselves, when a whole team of them turned up to the bay, dressed in white, form-fitting suits that covered them from toes to neck in synthetic-looking thread. On the sleeves of their suits was a strange symbol Lambert had no basis to describe, other than it looked like someone had tried to combine the letter k and o together. Did that signify what roles they served in their culture, perhaps?

There were seven of them in total, and according to Mezul when he asked, these were: “Translator scientists.” She must have called for them when he wasn’t looking, or maybe Shaliyya had. Lambert guessed Carin’s team wouldn’t get far on developing communications unless both sides put some effort in.

Lambert was sidelined out of most of the technicalities, but so was Mezul, and Cairn’s encouraged him to immerse her into English to see if he could make any progress on his own front. It was interesting to see the doctors team engage with the alien scientists, it was a little like watching a documentary about parrots, the way the conversations went back and forth, until slowly it almost looked like the team of scientists were working as one cohesive unit.

Lambert noticed that all the aliens had helmets like Mezul, secured to their hips and never once setting them down. Perhaps they were afraid of decompression, maybe that was a common occurrence on their ships. Their feathers were so dynamic and colourful, from white to black, green and even a purple one, no two alike as their shimmering feather tips sparkled in the rooms light.

“We’ve been able to develop our dialogue with the Balokarids considerably,” Cairn’s said when Lambert asked how she was going a day later. “By mutually reciprocating our words back to each other and going from there, our efforts have snowballed to a level where we can convey both the context and meaning of almost three hundred words. Unfortunately this is not nearly enough to satisfy the level of communication necessary for tactical movements and coordination between our fleets. We have to resort to more unconventional methods.”

“Like what?”

“The Captain shares your sentiment in installing a translator implant, as do the Balokarid. I’ve gone over Mezul’s brain patterns with the help of Caleesi, that’s their head scientist, and believe with some adjustments to our translator template, we can install such a device inside her. It should act as an accelerant in laymen’s terms, but this seems the only path left open to us.”

“So you’ve changed your mind about the whole implant thing?”

The doctor sighed. “It seems I am alone in my reservations. The Balokarids, nor even Mezul seem the slightest bit concerned – and it is as you said, we are in a warzone and time is of the essence.”

Lambert could hardly believe it, Mezul was about to become fluent. They weren’t just going to have vague, mostly one-sided conversations anymore. After hearing the news, Mezul deliberated with Shaliyya, the two perhaps arguing over who should undergo the procedure first, and then Mezul nodded for Cairn’s to lead the way – she’d be the first guinea pig.

It was many hours later when everything was ready, the medical personnel pouring over images of an implant that looked strange to Lambert. Cybernetic technology usually looked rigid, visually analogous to computer motherboards shrunken down so they could fit in the palm of your hand, but this one looked like a metal tumour, with snaking wires branching out of a bulbous mass that was neither symmetrical or orderly.

“We’re as ready as we’ll ever be,” the doctor said, adjusting one of the several arms sprouting out of the operating table. To Lambert it looked like a torturing device, the medical bed sitting beneath needles and saws sticking out of the robotic arms in the ceiling, the sight making his skin crawl. It was state of the art medical equipment, but that didn’t mean it looked nice. “We are confident we know where to place the translator implant. Hopefully Mezul is ready.”

“If there’s anyone on this ship who’ll have the best chance for success, it’s you doctor,” Captain Anders said. He had gone over the details with the doctor in person, and it seemed he wasn’t even slightly hesitant in going through with the procedure.

“Lieutenant?” Cairns asked. “If you wouldn’t mind ushering her over…”

Shaliyya had a hand on Mezul’s shoulder, giving her a few last reassuring words in her native tongue, the alien scientists standing off to one side. Lambert supposed he should say something, coming up behind her and tapping her on the arm. “Doctor’s waiting Mezul,” he said. “You sure you want to go through with this? Time’s not on our side, but if you’re not sure…”

She didn’t answer, looking over at the operating table then back to him, giving him a smile she’d picked up from her time spent with all the humans. “You’ll be in good hands,” Lambert added. “and I’ll be right outside.”

Whether she understood him or not didn’t matter, she heard the reassurance in his tone, her headdress rolling as she leaned down to squeeze his shoulder. The gesture was oddly intimate, especially since she kept her blazing gold eyes fixed on his...

She made her way over to the table, standing a little taller than before as she passed the doctor, her long legs clicking against the tiles.

Everyone except the doctor stayed outside in the foyer. There was no theatre from which to watch, and Lambert wasn’t sure he wanted to see Mezul’s head open up. He took a seat in one of the waiting area chairs, rubbing his temple as he leaned back.

“The doctor said the procedure will take several hours,” Captain Anders noted. “You should get some rest, Lieutenant.”

“I’d rather wait here sir,” Lambert replied, the Captain quick to note his hesitation.

“You said so yourself, Mezul is in good hands. Catch your forty winks before I return, that’s an order.”

“Yes, sir.”

With the mess of a situation right now, Lambert wasn’t surprised the Captain didn’t stick around. Every alien stuck around to wait it out with him, trying their best to get comfortable in the undersized chairs.

Lambert wasn’t the sort to worry over something beyond his control, he did that all the time when he piloted a ship through the void of space where any errant micrometeor could kill you, but that wasn’t to say he wasn’t completely cool with the situation. Either Mezul would walk out of the medical bay, or she wouldn’t, and all he could do was hope his friend would be alright.

12

Lambert was drawn out of his dreams by a scuffle, the man rubbing his itchy eyes as he sat up. The theatre door slowly opened as he sat up, Doctor Cairns coming through with her notepad under one arm.

“How is she?” Lambert asked groggily. He wasn’t sure how long he was out. “Did it work?”

“She’s fine, and I’m not sure,” Cairns answered. “She’s a little woozy, she’ll need a minute to recover.”

He was about to rush in and check on her, but he followed the Doctors orders, waiting with bated breath until at last the operating door opened again, Mezul walking out on visibly shaking legs. She leaned against one side of the frame, her golden eyes blinking as she took in her surroundings. It looked like she’d just gone on a bender and didn’t know where she was.

“Mezul?” he asked, his voice attracting her attention, her eyes falling on his. “Are you alright?”

“I’m… I am fine,” she replied, rubbing at her face with a palm. “My… head feels like I’ve taken one too many Fentula hits, though…”

Unlike before, her voice was not stilted, the words not forced, her tone consistent through each syllable. It took the Balokarid a moment to notice this, the aliens face contorting in a few different states of surprise. “Did I just… did I just speak human?”

“It worked!” Doctor Cairns sighed. “I feared the worst, but it worked.”

“I can understand you?” Mezul asked. “I can understand you! Lambert? Does it work both ways?”

“Sounds like it,” he said, grinning up at her. “How’s the implant feel?”

“Itchy,” she replied, scratching at her neck. He could see a pink scar running between the tufts of her blue-black feathers there, about as long as his finger.

“Do not irritate the skin, please,” the Doctor chided. “The feeling should pass within one to two days.”

Shaliyya stepped around the humans, talking in her native tongue as she addressed Mezul. “It’s fine, Kith,” Mezul replied in English, frowning as she heard herself. She switched back to her own language, the humans waiting until they were finished.

“My Kith wishes to go next,” Mezul explained. “She wishes to discuss integration with your Captain.”

“Hold on a moment,” Cairns replied, raising a hand. “We must first make sure there are no harmful side-effects. A few cognitive tests should suffice for now…”

“Very well, test away,” Mezul replied. It seemed the surgery hadn’t done anything outwardly harmful, although she seemed a little slower than usual when she had to explain to Shaliyya what exactly the humans were doing with her.

“My legs feel a little numb,” Mezul explained when Cairns asked her if she felt any different. “My people do not spend so much time off their feet,” she added. “We must keep our legs routinely working to stay healthy.”

Lambert wasn’t surprised, they were so thick around the thighs and waist, narrowing into slimmer shins. He’d thought the broadness was because of their suits, but they were packed with muscle down there.

“If you feel like you’re able, then a walk should be fine,” Cairns said. “Lieutenant, if you wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on her? Bring her back if she experiences any dizziness, fatigue.”

“Aye aye, ma’am.” He led Mezul out of the medical bay and into the hall outside, picking a random direction and moving off, glancing back at his alien companion who walked after him.

“Well then,” he started. “your legs, huh? They’re not in pain, are they?”

“Oh no, they’re fine. I just wanted to get out of there. And finally have a proper conversation with you, Lambert.”

“Ah,” he chuckled. “Well, it’ll be good to test out your translator. Anything in particular you want to talk about?”

“I’m not sure where to start,” she laughed, shortening her long strides so he could keep pace. “Why did that doctor call you, ‘Leftent?’”

“Lieutenant,” he corrected. “And that’s my rank. It’s around the middle in terms of experience, to put it in context.”

“You’ve been fighting for a long time, then?” she noted.

“Three years, including this one.”

“Is that a long time?”

He shrugged, as if to say I guess so. Strange, Mezul understood the words now, but not their meaning. “What about you Mezul? What’s your rank?”

“I do not have one,” she explained. “I am referred to as pilot, nothing more.”

“Balokarids don’t have an officer system? What about Shaliyya? You called her Kith.”

“She is the leader of our clan, so that is her honorific,” Mezul explained. “She can distribute more ‘ranks’ to others if she deems necessary, but I do not own such a rank.”

“So you all follow her orders?”

“She is responsible for all decisions concerning our clan, though it is unusual to have less than three Kith presiding over our people. It is a heavy burden, but Shaliyya has not led us astray.”

“Suppose having just one notable rank makes things a bit simpler,” Lambert noted. “we’ve got dozens of different titles and ranks.”

“Dozens?” Mezul asked, as if this was shocking to her. “How does this not get confusing?”

“It was when I first enlisted,” he chuckled. “You see this bar on my sleeve? That’s a Lieutenants badge. You just have to memorise what each symbol means. If you get them wrong, you get yelled at. Simple as that.”

“Our Kith have something similar,” Mezul said, leaning down and touching his patch with a claw. “The Kith wear the insignia of our clan’s house symbol on their armour – they are the only one’s allowed.”

“The red paint on Shaliyya’s suit?” he asked, the alien nodding. It would certainly make a Kith stand out in a crowd. They rounded a corner, then another, the artificial walls probably looking all the same to Mezul.

“How’s the translator feel?” he asked, stepping to one side as a pair of mechanics walked past. They gave Lambert a look, oblivious to Mezul’s newfound language skills. “As in, how’s it feel speaking human?”

She paused to consider. “Like my words are not my own,” she explained. “I am pulling them up from a memory I have not experienced. Your responses tell me I am making sense to you, but my mind isn’t quite convinced why. Does that make sense?”

“At least you didn’t turn into a vegetable,” he said.

“Vegetable?” Mezul asked, testing the word.

“You don’t know what that is?”

“It is in my vocabulary. At least, the vocabulary of the one I now have, but how would I turn into a food?”

“It’s a figure of speech,” he said with a wave of his hand. “I was just worried something would go wrong, you’d be paralysed or… or worse.”

“Ruvaara did say you were waiting back there the whole time I was undergoing the procedure,” Mezul remarked, flashing him a coy smile. “Your concern for me is endearing, but I feel quite fine, if a little drowsy.”

Her headdress roiled in that strange way again, waving like stalks of hay in a strong breeze. She must use it convey her emotions, but what was its meaning? He didn’t want to sound rude so he didn’t ask.

“We should be heading back,” he said. “Cairns will have me reported if we go wandering around for too long.”

“I do wish to see more of your ship,” Mezul said, following him as Lambert turned them around. “It is so spacious compared to our own, yet on the outside its half the size of our carriers.”

“Soon as we get the all clear from the Doctor, we’ll go explore. Deal?”

“Deal.” She grinned.

13

“Body functions appear nominal,” Doctor Cairns noted. “And you’re sure you feel no adverse effects? Dizziness, nausea?”

“I feel as normal as a Kashi in the sand,” Mezul said, the humans looking at her quizzically. “Sorry. It’s an animal from my homeworld. Means I’m fine.”

“Can we proceed with Shaliyya’s operation?” Captain Anders asked. He’d returned as soon as Cairn’s informed him of Mezul’s fluent English, and the two had spoken at length about the Kith going next.

“Captain, I wish I could share your enthusiasm,” Cairns began. “but what if there are long-term effects we are not yet aware of? Machine and alien flesh could have disastrous results we won’t be aware of until years from now. If we broaden our tests to more than one individual, we’d be putting another life at risk.”

“I understand your hesitance doctor, but Mezul tells me Shaliyya is their leader, their Kith. As Captain it is my duty to speak with her.”

“Perhaps Mezul could play the intermediate?” Cairns suggested. “Translate for the Captain?”

“My Kith wishes to be as direct as possible with your leader,” Mezul replied, her hands clasped over her stomach. “She is worried I may mistranslate, and would rather appeal to your Captain through her own words.”

Lambert perked up at the word appeal, wondering why simply acting as the translator was such a big deal to the aliens.

“I concur,” Anders replied. “if there’s even a chance we can avoid mistranslation, we should take it. I’d rather things didn’t end up the same way it did with us and the Suvelians.”

Doctor Cairns sighed, clearly not convinced but knowing she couldn’t persuade them. “Very well Captain, I’ll prepare the lab.”

She and the Kith moved into the surgery theatre, followed by the guard who shouldered their strange rifle as they followed. Lambert guessed they didn’t want the Kith left unguarded at any time.

“I’ll leave the Balokarids in your hands while Cairn’s is away, Lieutenant,” Captain Anders said. “Since you brought them here in the first place, you’re as responsible for their safety as I am.”

Lambert asked if he could show them around, and after considering the Captain nodded. “As long as you accompany them at all times, and keep them on this deck. If anything happens I’ll hold you accountable, Lieutenant.”

“Understood sir.”

“Excellent. Return them here once Shaliyya is up and about.”

Lambert nodded, the Captain turning away, the medical bay door sliding shut automatically behind him. That left just Ruvaara, Mezul and Lambert together. The scientists seemed comfortable staying with all the medical equipment, so Lambert left them alone, grinning at the two aliens.

“Well ladies, who’s hungry?”

He led them through the synthetic halls of the ship, groups of engineers and soldiers walking back and forth, giving the aliens friendly, if curious glances as they moved through the ship.

“Ship inside no,” the alien called Ruvaara said, Lambert giving her a questioning glance.

“She means your ship interiors are curiously designed,” Mezul explained, the contrast between her smooth voice and Ruvaara’s broken one a striking difference.

“How so?” Lambert asked, leading them down the left branch at an intersection.

“Everything is so… level,” Mezul replied. “Sharp turns everywhere, no difference in height at any point, everything looks the same. We would be quite lost without you guiding us.”

“Your ships were the confusing ones. All those slopes and turns, nothing was even or symmetrical, I couldn’t make much sense of anything.”

“I suppose it wouldn’t to an alien,” Mezul wondered. “Designing vehicles not built for the ground is a new and vexing problem for my people. We’ve only been spacefaring for a few dozen orbits.”

He didn’t know how long an orbit was, but he guessed as much that the Balokarids were new to space exploration, relative to humanity, that was.

There were coloured lines painted along the walls, each one labelled as to where they led and branching off the many different side passages. Lambert followed the green line, ushering the aliens to the side as a pair of guards marched past, their heavy armour clunking loudly. The aliens watched their black, combat-armoured forms stomp by, even the disciplined soldiers unable to stop themselves from gawking.

“Lambert boots no,” Ruvaara said as they got going. “Human boots no.”

“I haven’t turned my mag-boots on, no,” he said.

“Lambert stand how?” she asked. “Ruvaara stand how?”

That’s right, she was probably wondering how they were all walking around without magnetic boots on. “That’s cause our gravity drives are on. See, the inside of the ship is built kind of like a skyscraper. Do you know what that is?”

“A tall building?” Mezul wondered.

“Right. So the inside of the Gallipoli is built like that, just flipped onto its side. The reactors gently spin the whole thing round and round and create centrifugal force. You remember that big rumble when we first boarded? That was the drives turning back on. We leave them off when a ship docks so it’s easier for us to line up. We’ve got lockers full of boots and emergency straps in every room so we won’t be caught without our boots on if the drives have to switch off.”

With the help of Mezul to translate, Ruvaara got the idea, and to say the aliens were amazed would be an understatement. “How can a rotating radius create gravity?” Mezul asked. “How did you discover this?”

“Well I didn’t, someone else did hundreds and hundreds of years ago. Our own little way of creating artificial gravity, until at least someone figures out how to do that.”

“Humans are so advanced,” Mezul muttered. “Your ships, so compact and efficient, your technology... your worlds must look amazing.”

They arrived at the mess hall before very long, the square-shaped interior packed with a hundred tables and an equal amount of people, easily the biggest space on the whole ship except for the repair hangar, the rumble of conversation overwhelming as they entered. The kitchen was built along one side, Lambert leading the aliens over to the counter.

“Hey Mack,” Lambert greeted, leaning on the glass display case and giving the chef a nod. “what’s the special?”

“Bacon and eggs, same old same old,” the man replied. He did a double take when the Balokarids walked up on Lambert’s flanks, the gentle sizzling of meat catching their combined attention. “Oh shit, these are the aliens?” Mack asked. “I mean, obviously they are but… still. Woah.”

“That’s Mezul, and this is Ruvaara.” Lambert pointed a thumb at each one in turn. “Mack’s in charge of rationing out our meals,” he explained to them.

“It is nice to meet you, cook,” Mezul said, nodding politely.

The man clearly hadn’t been expecting Mezul to talk, his jaw almost hitting the floor in astonishment. “I-I-It’s… nice to meet you, too. Mezul? Huh. Well, uh… what’ll it be?” He directed his question to Lambert.

Chastising himself for just realising he had no idea whether they could eat human food, Lambert turned to his alien companions. “Do Balokarids eat meat? I don’t know if our food might be dangerous to you.”

“We are omnivores,” Mezul explained. “and we have a way of telling if something is safe to consume.”

“Oh, good. I’ll, uhm, get you a sample then,” Mack said, hurrying over to one of the other cooks tending to a stove. He returned with a cut of meat, placing it on a plate and sliding it over the counter, Lambert offering it to Mezul. “It’s pork,” Lambert explained. “comes from a pink animal native to Earth. Do you have a scanner or something you can-”

After taking a curious sniff, Mezul devoured the whole thing in two bites. She snapped her beak like one would smack their lips after a tasty dish, a noticeable bulge sliding down her throat. “Tastes… funky, if that is the right word. You should try some, Ruvaara.”

“I hope your way of testing food for poisons isn’t just to eat it,” Lambert grumbled.

“We have a keen sense of smell, and your pork does not smell foul. My body will regurgitate it if I cannot digest it safely, so it’s quite safe.”

“Take your word for it…” She seemed not in the least bit worried, so Lambert trusted her judgement. “Mack, another cut for my friends and myself?”

“Don’t go throwing up on my floor, please,” the chef said under his breath, overhearing them.

Lambert had to wait around for Ruvaara and Mezul to fill up their own plates. The bigger aliens no doubt had to consume at least twice as much as a human did, but Lambert, and especially Mack, couldn’t believe their appetites when they asked for fifths, claiming one ration was not even worthy of the word snack. They had nearly a dozen pieces of meat each, along with a mountain of mashed potatoes with a healthy handful of vegetables on the side. Between them they could have fed a squad for a day.

“I’ll have to start rationing at this point,” Mack muttered, his frown turning to a smile when Mezul thanked him. Lambert led them to an empty table in the far corner. He doubted they would get much privacy before long as they were already drawing the attention of the engineers and staff on break, but at least everyone was keeping from staring for too long.

“Do humans have an animal pen on their ships?” Mezul asked, sitting down and taking a bite out of her steaks, taking two into one hand like they were pieces of bread on a sandwich.

“The meat isn’t actuallymeat,” Lambert explained. “keeping a farm up and running on a warship is impractical, so we freeze what meat we brought with us and combine it with the proteins grown in the hydroponics bay.”

“Grown?” Mezul looked at her food. “So this is a… plant?”

“Technically half and half,” Lambert nodded. “that’s probably why it tastes funky to you.”

“We supplement our diets on farms as well,” Mezul said. “we have fruit and vegetable vats running along the bottom of our carriers, as you saw. Those roots never spoil even in the harshest of days, and can sate the most malnourished Balokarid with just a few bites.”

Judging by how Mezul and Ruvaara were wolfing down their meals, this root had to be filling indeed. “Maybe a trip back is in order,” he said.

“Did you not find our ways appealing?” Mezul asked, pausing her chewing to look at him.

“It’s not that, I just think it would be fun.”

“Oh.” She opened her mouth but then shut it, as if she was stopping herself from asking something. “Then that is good. You would have been impressed, I am certain of it.”

Lambert got the feeling he wasn’t getting the whole picture, the way Mezul’s expression seemed almost worried for a moment there. He dug into his own meal, making conversation with Mezul as he turned to other topics, asking her if she felt any pain from the surgery.

“Your doctor Cairns is a remarkable healer,” Mezul explained. “I felt nothing after he put me to sleep, though I was a little nervous right before I passed out.” She chuckled.

“He?” Lambert asked. “Cairns is a woman.”

“She is?” Mezul blinked. “but… she’s almost as tall as you, and slimmer.”

“Are your males like that?”

“They are skinnier, with smaller, more colourful plumage on their heads.”

“More colourful? Then yours? That seems hard to imagine.”

“You just haven’t seen a male yet,” Mezul replied, the corner of her lip curling back as she met his eyes. Like a woman batting her lashes, she blinked at him, her feathery head fluttering in an expression unknown to him. “Their colours are more vibrant. Their beaks are shorter, with a more prominent curve. And they lack wings of course.”

“Your genders are a lot more dimorphic compared to ours,” Lambert said. “We must look all about the same to you.”

“Remember how confused we were when we found out you were male?” she asked. “Compared to the doctor, you are bigger, more muscular, and you fly ships which is a female pursuit in my culture.”

“So I look like a lady to you?” he asked, grinning.

“Well, yes, but no. I suppose it just gives you a certain… exotic quality,” she said, blinking down at him. Lambert wasn’t sure her smile was one of simple intrigue, or something more.

“I’ve got to ask,” Lambert began, feeling distinctly flustered the more she stared at him, so he switched topics. “Been meaning to know since the start. Can you actually fly?”

“You followed us back to my clan’s fleet, you know I can.”

“No I mean with your wings,” he said, nodding at her arms. “What do you use them for?”

“Checking out my sheathes, are you?” Mezul asked, grinning as if making a joke. “My wings are for more than just drawing the eyes of others, they do have practical uses, the females in our prehistory would scale the tall peaks of our homeworld in search of prey, while the males tended the nests.”

“Your ancient gender roles are flipped from ours,” Lambert noted. “So, was is a yes?”

“The uses are a little scaled back in modern times, but when vehicles are impractical a female would be called upon to scout a position from above and afar.”

“That’s amazing,” he said. “How long can you fly for?”

“It varies from individual and if the winds are in our favour, but personally my record flight time is six hours. I crossed the homeworld sea during one of our marathons a few orbits ago.”

He didn’t know if six hours was good in Balokarid standards, but imagining someone as large as her staying airborne for that long was impressive to say the least. “You’ve only got one sea on your home planet?” he asked, noticing the lack of a plural.

“It’s the only oasis on Balokar,” Mezul confirmed. “A few clan cities settle on its borders, but most prefer the sands and peaks. Is this unusual for humans?”

“We’ve got plenty of water on Earth,” Lambert said. “More than half of the globe is covered in oceans, and most cities are settled on the coasts.”

“Over half a planet covered in water?” Mezul replied, staring in disbelief. “Such an amount is… unimaginable. It would be a sight to see, wouldn’t it Ruv’?”

The other alien nodded her agreement, Lambert’s smile faltering as he had to tell them the truth. “Hate to be the joy killer, but Earth is under the UEC’s grip, and I don’t think any of us will be seeing her anytime soon.”

“You have not seen your homeworld for some time then?” Mezul asked.

“I was born on the Hub, the Outer Reaches are my homeworld. It’s… weird, fighting a world that’s my species’ home planet, I just hope all the people there understand what we’ve gone through to get to this state.”

“I’ve not seen my homeworld in many orbits either,” Mezul said. “but it must be difficult not visiting it entirely. I’m sure your cause is just, and those outside the UEC clan know this too.”

He appreciated the comfort, Mezul understood at least some of his conflicted feelings. “How do you know we’re just?” he asked. “We just met the other day.”

“And that very other day, you saved our carriers from certain death,” Mezul countered. “Is that not a sign of a just warrior?”

“Warrior, huh? I like the sound of that.” The two shared a brief smile before Lambert picked at his meal again. “Tell me about this sea of yours, how any k’s across is it?”

“K’s?”

Lambert chastised himself, beginning to lay out the foundations of distance with the Balokarid as they ate.