Part 3

Straight Into the Lion's Den
          

           There was too much pain. For the better part of eternity all I could feel was agonizing, white-hot stabs at my chest and legs. After a while I regained my hearing and vision, dully realizing I was still alive - small miracle - and had been moved off the planet to a starship, or at least a building.
           Definitely a starship, I corrected myself. There was an audible hum in the background. It was what we used to call 'spacer's white noise': the sounds of space dust rubbing against a hull, of computers managing power levels, of environmental filters maintaining a perfect earth-norm gas balance in the air. A reassuring sound to a spacer, and one of the few reasons that we spacers don't like planets not involving the people who live there.
           Blue lights glowed down softly from where I lay. I was on a bed or examination table in a room full of cabinets and shelves, each covered with metal tools or bottles of liquids. Medical bay, I hoped. I had been stripped down to my shorts, but someone had had the decency to cover me with a blanket, or something warm; I couldn't move my head to look and see for myself.
           I raised my good arm to draw the blanket closer up, yearning for some warmth. Instead of cloth, however, I felt fur, and there was a groggy, questioning sound when I touched it. My 'blanket' shifted above me, flexing its muscled torso over mine and pulling up to my viewpoint. Amara's face appeared from below, exhausted and upset.
           "How do you [feel?]?" She asked, and I grimaced.
           "Like hell. Cold." She wrapped her lean, muscled arms around my back and squeezed closer to me, trying to cover my larger surface area with her smaller self. I was only too happy to have the extra warmth.
           "I'm sorry," She murmured, "I really [tried?] to [ ] [as fast?] as I could, but they wouldn't listen to me. They wanted to shoot you or [at least?] capture you for [interrogation?]. I [came in on? / first saw?] you being [torn apart?] by that [soldier?], and I [had to?] fight him off you. I'm sorry I [failed you?], khos Ahrn. Please don't [hold it against?] me." I shook my head wearily, a draining effort for me.
           "I'm just glad you didn't leave me. Where are we now?"
           "This is the [ ] room of our [rescue?] ship. We've already [left?] orbit; our [destination?] is on the system's [edge?], near the [conversion point?]. Remember that [dust cloud?] we used to [ambush?] you?" I nodded.
           "That was just a small one. There's a really big one only a [light?] minute [out? / away?] from the [conversion point?], and that's where we keep our [home? / main?] ship.
           "We've been [staking out?] this [region? / area?] for weeks, but always [passively?]: never any [scanning?]. That's how we stayed [undetected?]. My [shift?] was one of the very last before we pulled out of the system, so I [expect?] that we'll leave as soon as the rescue ship gets back." I took this in with controlled silence.
           "So we're going back to your fighter-carrier?" I asked, using the Hrasi word for 'bowl-shaped container' in place of the proper term. She twitched in mirth for a moment, resting her head under my chin and shuddering.
           "If you mean we're going back to the [carrier], then yes." She rubbed up against my neck soothingly. I took the opportunity to bend down my head ever so slightly and kiss the back of her head.
           "And then what happens?" I gently prompted her. Her ears played along my throat, batting around and tickling me in good-natured torment.
           "I don't understand. Then we're [back?] to normal. You had a different [idea?]?" I sighed.
           "Do I look like a Hrasi? You are forgetting that we are in the middle of a very long, drawn-out war. I have a feeling that it could be hard to just 'go back to normal'. If this was a human operation you'd be going to the brig, and I'd probably join you for treason. Aid and succor to the enemy, hear?" I spoke mostly in English, so when Amara was silent for a moment I assumed I'd outstretched her vocabulary. She had only been stilled in debate, though: she spoke slowly and deliberately.
           "I [meant?] what I said. There is a war going on, but it's not [enough?] to stop you and I. We'll go home and [ ] will be back to normal. I promise." She brought her face up to look at me again, and there was no hint of doubt in her eyes. Damned naïve, she was, but naïve in an unarguable way.
           Amara raised off me and rolled from the bed to stand on the floor, but not before giving my neck a few light nips - nothing painful. "I'm going to [go and see?] how we're [doing?] with the flight time," she yawned, stretching out her lean body. I protested that.
           "Hey, you're my blanket!" Amara gave me a withering stare, but rummaged around some cabinets that I couldn't see until she produced a stack of white sheets that she spread out over me.
           "These will have to do. People who [refer?] to me as 'blanket' don't really need as many [coverings?] anyway." She obliged me a few more licks on the face, then was gone.
          

           ---v---

          
           Being bedridden in an alien medical bay when you know that the majority of the onboard crew wants you dead is not exactly an inspiring feeling. I lay there quietly, hoping no one would come in and disturb me; I really didn't want to be near any Hrasi besides Amara, especially when I was in the state I was in. They were just too damned predatory for me to feel safe around them, even with Amara's promises. These were people that'd kill me first and apologize later.
           It was just my luck, as it turned out. Amara couldn't have left for more than five minutes, but in that time someone managed to find a reason to go to medbay. The doors hissed open and there were the sounds of someone who had been marching down at a fairly brisk pace stop dead in their tracks. For a moment there was a calculating silence, and then the footsteps returned more slowly and stealthier, like a cat stalking its prey. Or maybe I was just imagining things…
           The presence neared and neared until I could physically feel it just out of my field of vision.
           "Who's there?" I demanded, "What are you doing in here?" For a moment there was silence, then a big, familiar Hrasi stepped into view. A Hrasi with a bandaged hand: a bandaged hand that had two separate rings of dried blood around it. I had a sinking feeling. Hell, I thought, this guy's going to kill me, Amara or no!
           "My name's Kjistha. I'm a [security?] officer. I'm here to [redress?] the wounds you were so kind as to give me. [Unless?] you have a better idea - maybe something I can do for you? Or to you?" He hinted unsubtlely, flexing the claws in his bandaged right hand. I shook my head as much as I could, which was still only a gentle rocking.
           "No," I choked out, "Nothing. Sorry. Never mind." He persisted.
           "But I really would like to [repay?] you. It's not [every?] day that [someone?] shoots at me, and even less [often?] they [manage?] to [cripple] me. If I just walked away - well, that would [hardly?] be showing you [proper gratitude?]." He bared ad sheathed his claws back and forth in a sort of mesmerizing rhythm, casting a threatening aura around him. "Not [proper?] at all…" He splayed his claws right in front of my face.
           For a moment I could feel the fear in the air, palpable as it was. Kjistha growled lowly, bringing his clawtips down onto my face. He tapped them lightly, bordering on the pressure needed to break my skin. "Scared?" He taunted. I was deathly frightened by his candor.
           "This is how you pass your time," I gasped, "toying with helpless cripples? You're not much of an officer." Kjistha's ears went flat, and he hissed at me.
           "You [presume? / talk?] too much. You're not worth [spending?] the [effort?] of killing on, much less the [effort?] of [keeping?] you alive. I'd just as soon have left you on that desert [hole? / planet?], and I certainly wouldn't have wasted any [medicine?] on you. I only [toy?] with other people; you don't rate that much." He dug in his claws for effect. They hurt too much for words. "Animal," he growled.
           At that point helplessness had not yet become something I was accustomed to, and I shivered in fear-borne paralysis at my situation.
           "Don't touch me," I stammered, "Let me alone, dammit!" That just made him dig his claws in deeper.
           "You don't order me [ ]," he snarled, leaning to down to bare his fangs at my face. His saliva actually dripped onto my throat.
           "You're not going to hurt me," I told him. He grinned.
           "Already have. But that, I'll agree, was just something to get your [attention?]. Seeing as how you managed to ruin my shooting arm, and [therefore?] my [career?] as a security officer, I thought it was only fair that I return the [favor?]. Not that you have much of a [future?] in front of you; hard [labor?] on some [agricultural?] world might keep you alive, but not much else will. Certainly that [ ] Amara won't."
           "Let me alone," I ordered, surprised by the force in my voice, "or I'll have Amara kill you." That gave him pause, momentarily breaking his sadistic routine. It did not last long.
           "Kill me?" He asked, quickly regaining his confidence. "That's a [lot to ask?] from someone like her. I [doubt?] she'd do it for you. Besides, you wouldn't [ruin?] her life like that; you aren't [capable?] of being that [callous?]. No human is. You're all too weak. What your kind needs is a [stronger-willed?] race like ours to [direct?] you."
           He was about to drift into a political rant. Good: it'd give Amara that much more time to get back and rescue me. Yes, however humiliating it might have felt, I was in need of rescuing. Such was the result of fighting with people several times as strong as I was.
           "What…directing?" I coughed, trying to play into what I hoped would buy me precious time. Kjistha was only too happy to elaborate.
           "Just that. Your people are [wild?] and [disorganized?], like children. You haven't even [managed?] to capture one of us alive yet. In fact, the only humans that have ever [seen?] a Hrasi are our prisoners and [slaves (a different word than Amara's)?]. You should [surrender?] to us; you'll never beat us. You're too [ineffectual?] as fighters. We might even be [lenient?] with you. [Cheap?] slave labor is needed everywhere, and your kind has been shown to be easily [trainable?]."
           "We're winning the war, you know," I pointed out, "And we've captured a Hrasi before. I captured Amara, didn't I?" His eyes narrowed.
           "You're talking shades. So you captured a Hrasi, where are you now? [Lying?] in bed like an [invalid?] and arguing politics with a guard about to rip your [throat? / did I really want to know?] out.
           "We've captured [entire shiploads of?] your race, and not a [single?] one of you has ever made it back. There are even selective [breeding?] programs back home to [mass-produce?] your people for [hazardous? / dangerous?] work. Can you say that?" He wrinkled his face at me, challenging a response. I had none. "No, of course you can't," he continued, "Because you're not warriors. You're [helpless?]." I tensed up, shuddering from having my muscles contract around his claws. It was hard to focus, but I did my best.
           "We're winning," I repeated, "You know it just as I do. We'll survive, and so will I."
           "Really? You seem so sure… What if I don't want you to live?" I braced my will against his.
           "It doesn't matter. You aren't going to kill me: you're too smart. I think Amara would avenge my death were something to happen to me." I simply stared at him, then risked a plain threat.
           "Not that it really matters at this point," I told him, "She'll probably be out for blood when she finds me. Lucky for you I'm such a nice guy… if you get out now I won't tell her who to take revenge on. She'll kill you if you choose anything else." I gave him the coldest, most serious look I could muster.
           His resolve was wavering; I could see it in his face. "I'm dead serious," I warned. For a moment we just stared at eachother, daring one another to give in. Kjistha glared at me, grating his teeth and trying to break my will. I remained stoic. Eventually the fire died in his eyes.
           "You're a fool if you think that threat will keep you alive for very long," he snarled, "You'd better hurry up and find something a little more intimadating." He pulled away from me, turned around, and stalked out of the room, his wound's redressing apparently forgotten.
           I sighed and relaxed all my muscles. That could've ended a lot worse, I thought to myself. Amara was apparently my ace-in-the-hole, then. Perhaps she would grace me with her presence before I bled to death.
          

           ---v---

          
           It was only a few minutes before she returned. Her footfalls were soft and laid-back as she entered, but quickly changed to a sprint when she bounded to me.
           "God," I heard her hiss.
           "It's nothing," I coughed, "Just find me some bandages."
           "Pretty [sharp?] for a nothing," She muttered, but was already moving for the medicine cabinets. Amara returned to my face with a bottle of plasm and some sterile bandages. Her angle to my face must have been odd, because she clambered up on the table and straddled my head between her legs so that I was staring right up at her. She spoke as she began to tend to me, her voice brimming with anger.
           "Who [the hell?] did this to you, Ahrn?" She demanded.
           "It doesn't matter," I mumbled, "It could have been anyone. I had it coming."
           "The hell you did! I [swore?] I'd kill anyone who [laid hands on? / hurt?] you. Tell me!"
           "I don't know."
           "How can you not know!?" she raged. "This is my [reputation?] [on the line?], not to [mention?] your safety! Why protect someone who tried to kill you?" I shook my head.
           "Look, I promised not to tell you in exchange for my life. I tell you, I forfeit my life. You really want to ask that of me?" Amara looked at me flat-eared.
           "I don't like it," she growled. I shrugged, or at least tried to.
           "You don't have to. Just drop it because I'm telling you to. Please," I hastily added. Amara spent a minute just staring at me, brooding, before she answered.
           "Yes, khos Ahrn," she hissed, bowing her head down at me. Subdued but not satisfied seemed to be the impression she was trying to make. "You're not an easy master, Ahrn. I don't [pretend?] to understand why you're doing what you're doing. You're hurting our [honor?] when you don't [have to?]. Trust me in these [matters?]; just [leave? / trust?] them all to me." I cocked an eyebrow at her.
           "You said yourself you don't have to stay around me. I'm not holding you back. If you don't like the way I do things, find someone better." That caught her completely off guard, and she turned nervous on me, ears plastering themselves down to her skull.
           "No, that's not what I [meant?]! I enjoy being your slave; I like you. There's nothing wrong with the way you do things, I [swear?]! Don't throw me out, please! I wasn't [complaining?]!" She was anxious and pleading, her animosity having suddenly bled away.
           Where the hell did she think we were? Cast her out? On a ship full of Hrasi who want me dead, on my way deeper inside Hrasi territory, she thought I'd 'disown' her? Perhaps she was more neurotic than I'd originally perceived. Amara seemed to take the moment of silence as indication that I was seriously considering 'abandoning' her, so she sat uncomfortably atop me for a moment, squirming.
           "Anyway," I said, trying my best to sound flippant, "Did you find anything out? Are we there yet?" If she had been capable of it, her jaw would've hit the floor. "You really thought I was going kick you out, didn't you?" I asked. Her response was wary.
           "I was…concerned. I'm sorry I [spoke against? / argued with?] you, khos Ahrn. Please forgive me…"
           "Nothing to forgive," I countered, "And don't tell me there is. You should be allowed to think. Even if I don't agree with you, I'm glad to have you questioning me." Amara's blush was deep enough for me to notice through her fur. "There is one thing, though," I added slyly. Amara looked up worriedly. "Ignoring questions is bad form, especially from a slave." She relaxed, twitching her ears in what probably translated as a weak smile.
           "I'm sorry, khos Ahrn. We're supposed to [dock?] with the carrier in about five minutes. I have to get you ready to go. It's going to be a [long trip?]. Can you stand?" she slid off the examination table to stand behind my head and wait patiently.
           "Stand? I can barely move my head, much less my arms and legs," I griped. This gave her pause for a moment.
           "Oh. Alright, I hadn't [considered?] that. I had to [sedate?] you before the crew would let you [onboard?]; it probably hasn't [worn off?] yet. No problem, I'll just have to [help? / carry?] you. That is, if you'll let me," she said sheepishly.
           "Lead on," I commanded her. When she simply stood there I sighed and had to elaborate. "Lead on means let's go." My array of euphemisms and sayings: another casualty of war.
           "Sorry, khos Ahrn," Amara automatically replied.
           "You know, my name is just Ahrn - err, Aaron."
           "Sorry, khos Ahrn." I wasn't sure we were talking about the same thing.
           She threw off the sheets and wrapped one off her furred-steel arms around my chest, pulling me to my feet and holding me there.
           "I feel like a damn piece of meat," I grumbled, "I can't even walk." Amara looked at me sympathetically.
           "It's alright," she consoled, "You're safe in my [hands?]…"
           "And now I have a big cat trying to be my mother." Amara chuffed softly, then looked at me suspicously.
           "What's a cat?"
           "Never mind. Let's go." She looked at me oddly, but didn't inquire further. Instead, she took one of my arms and draped it around her neck, instructing me to hold on to her by the mane. We hobbled together to the exit.
          

           ---v---

          
           My first real glimpse of the inside of a Hrasi ship was a bit of a let down. The medical bay opened up into a cramped, short corridor that had grey walls with peeling paint. It was far from either the spotless decks of my last carrier assignment (on a ship straight out of the construction yards of Delta Pavonis), or the blood-washed hell pits of Hrasi ships in popular drama. Truth be told, it reminded me of the worn decks of the various aging human carriers I'd come to call home.
           I was struck by how much our alien enemy's ships reminded me of the countless human ships I'd had the privilege or misfortune to serve on. Same color scheme, same grease/dust/dirt mixture in the corners, same beaten-up feel. Amara and I walked down the corridors unsteadily and slowly, so I had plenty of time to reflect on the similarity in our species' architectures.
           Surprisingly, we were the only ones out in the halls. Maybe the entire crew is all on duty, I thought. Our journey had a lot of twists and turns in it; I knew from observation that the rescue ship wasn't really all that sizable, but it seemed that way. It was several minutes before Amara managed to haul the two of us to the airlock.
           My new friend Kjistha just happened to be waiting there with a smug look on his face.
           "[ ] Amara, I'm [afraid?] you're not going [anywhere?] with him," he drawled. Amara narrowed her eyes at the officer.
           "Oh? And why is that?"
           "Well, for one, there isn't anything on the other side of that airlock yet, unless you plan on sending that thing out to [oblivion? / hades?] early in its life. Oh, and for another, he's been [confined?] to the medical bay until we dock, [whereupon?] he'll be taken down to the [brig?]."
           "But, he hasn't done anything! You have no [justification?]," she snapped. In response Kjistha simply raised his bandaged right arm.
           "He's shot at our rescue party. He's [resisted?] capture. He was - until a few days ago - a fighter pilot that shot down [the better part?] of your wing. I think he's made it [more than clear?] that he's hostile."
           "[ ]," Amara argued, "He was being attacked by you and your partner, a so-called rescue team! Don't tell me my master is a [threat?] to us. He can [barely?] move!" Kjistha shrugged Hrasi style: a short nod of the head off to the side.
           "He killed your entire [wing?], Amara. Don't tell me he's my friend. No, he's too dangerous. He goes in the [brig?]."
           "But-"
           "I'm the [highest?] security officer onboard. I've decided. You can't [argue? / dispute?] it, Amara. You're just a pilot, you don't have the [authority?]." She bristled at that, but I stopped her from acting with a tug on her mane.
           Kjistha glanced past her to give me a smug stare, then patted his pants pocket. There was a fist-sized lump clearly visible there. Just so I'd know that he was armed this time around. He slid his gaze to a silently smouldering Amara and back again. Oh, and she's not going to be coming to your rescue.
           "He's not dangerous to anyone with me," Amara explained. "I'm not asking too much. I can make it up to you." Kjistha stood there, looking thoughtful. Were they a bartering race? He considered for about a minute, and then a devious smile slowly spread across his face, which he stifled to a respectful expression after a moment.
           "And how do you [propose?] to do that? I don't want much, and my honor usually prevents me from taking [bribes?]. How could you possibly [make it up to?] me?" What honor? I thought about asking him, but I wouldn't say that to his face, or at least not at that moment. He was too powerful for me to be attacking.
           "I'll give you anything that's mine. Anything: you ask and it's yours," Amara offered quietly. Kjistha stared at her intensely.
           "Anything?"
           "Anything." He walked straight up to Amara and bent over to brush her ears with his muzzle. I could hear him inhaling deeply, obviously relishing in her scent and closeness. Amara stood there adamantly, refusing to as much as the flick of an ear.
           "I think you know what I want," he rumbled in his deep basso.
           "I have an idea of what you want," Amara whispered. "You let knos Ahrn through, it's yours."
           "Until we next go to [ ]. Any time you're [off shift?]. Good [terms?]?" Amara nodded dully.
           "But you let Ahrn onboard."
           "Of course." Alarm bells went off in my head. Hey, you realize what she's promising to do with that freak, they called out, and she's doing it for you. Aren't you supposed to be taking care of yourself? How can you let her take that deal? I was ashamed at them; voices in one's mind rarely have the decency and mercy of other people.
           I pushed against Amara, struggling to get on my feet, but she yanked me closer.
           "Amara, don't -" I began to protest.
           "Shut up, khos Ahrn." Amara spoke softly and intensely.
           "Amar-"
           "Shut up." Kjistha turned to gaze at me cooly.
           "I think you have a [jealous?] master, Amara. Perhaps he'll [order?] you to stay away from me. That would be a [pity?]; then I'd have to [ ] the two of you. Then again, that'd leave you [alone?], and I could be the only guard there if I wanted to…" He looked at me smugly. Arrogant bastard, I mentally swore at him, I'll kill you one day. Which would probably result in my immediate execution. He switched attention back to Amara, and placed a single furred paw on her hip. "Well, in that case, seeing as you're off-"
           "As long as you leave me [something I probably didn't want to translate]," Amara interrupted, "There is knos Ahrn." Kjistha signed 'no'.
           "I'll risk my career to do this, and I'll be [ ]."
           "Then give me a week," Amara asked softly. Careful, I mentally urged her, don't plead in front of this man! Kjistha considered it.
           "A week," he agreed, "but after that…" Amara stared him contemptuously, but bowed her head.
           "Alright. You have your deal," she growled, "so get out." Kjistha actually bowed to her in mock respect, then casually strolled back the way we'd came. Once behind us, he laid a finger on Amara's shoulder.
           "Blue deck, area two. The room's 214. Tonight at [ ]. If you're good, I'll [send?] you back by [ ]." Then he was gone.
           Amara stood there trembling for a minute, then tottered back to one of the walls and collapsed, sagging floorward. I quietly unwrapped myself from around her as she curled into a ball, head hunched between her knees.
           "Amara." It was all that I could say.
           "I don't want to talk about it, Ahrn. Please, just leave me be." Her voice was quavering. I expended most of the energy I'd spent the last fifteen minutes conserving in a struggle to raise my hands to her face. Then I let them drag her head down into my lap. She went all too willingly, burying her face in my stomach.
           "I'm sorry, Amara," I murmured down into her ear. If anything, that made her worse. She was trembling, almost shivering, in my arms. 'Sort of like a purr' was my first reaction, but I knew she wasn't happy. "It's alright," I soothed her, "I love you. Trust me; I'm here. It's okay, we'll figure something out."
           It was a minute before I realized I'd said that, but I wasn't about to take it back. I guess I do sort of love her, I thought absent-mindedly. After what? Two, maybe three days? War speeds everything up, I guess: spend too much time doing something and you're dead before you finish. She'd shuffled her entire body onto my lap when I'd said that. Her head had burrowed in my chest, hiding from the world.
           Amara just started shuddering hard, crying. A few mewls escaped her, and I strained my muscles to pull her closer, bending over to kiss her head. There were no tears, though. That would've been too human.
          

           ---v---

          
           I spent the remaining few minutes before we docked with the carrier comforting Amara. For a while she was reduced to a quivering furball, but recovered to something resembling sapiency after being held. Hrasi are lucky that their eyes don't get teary; once she had clambered out of my lap and reverted back to her ball position I was able to brush her mane and body fur back down so that she looked almost normal.
           "It doesn't matter," she'd said, "everyone will still smell the fear on me. I've never been able to control my scents like most people. They'll all know. I'm such a damned fool…"
           Truthfully, I could smell her fear, though I'd never let her know that. Amara was radiating a sickly sweet scent, something like citrus. I knew it was she because when I'd bent my head lower to nuzzle her neck she'd reeked of it. If I could smell her scent then the other Hrasi would be overpowered by it.
           "You're no fool," I corrected her, "You'll be alright. I'll protect you." I forced myself to move to a kneeling position, an excrutiatingly painful act. "See? The drugs are almost gone. Give me another hour and I'll be strong again." She looked up at me, looking miserable.
           "Khos Ahrn…" She trailed off, then sighed. "If you could fight for me I'd let you, but you'd get hurt. I don't want you to be hurt, khos Ahrn. Kjistha is really, really strong. You won't be able to protect me. I know it's not what you want [to hear?]…"
           "I never said I was going to fight Kjistha. I said I'd protect you. I can, too; I'm stronger than you know. Trust, Amara. Trust me. You're safe with me." She gazed at me with her large, deep eyes and nodded.
           "I know I'm safe with you, but you aren't. That's [even worse?], Ahrn. Just…I don't know. I can't think of a [solution?]. Why did I have to take his [offer?]? What a fool I am…" I gave her a hard look.
           "I'm starting to get tired of hearing that. It's bullshit, too, and you know it. Even if you don't, I do, so shut it down." She flinched and drew up in a tighter ball.
           "I'm sorry, khos Ahrn." I was getting tired of that, too, but prefered to let it lie.
           "You could always go back and tell him the deal's off," I pointed out, "What's the worst thing that would happen?" Her reply was cynical.
           "Well, we could be [thrown?] in different [cells], Kjistha could have an [accident?] with you during an [interrogation?], and that would leave me alone with him. We have it better right now."
           "You mean I have it better right now."
           "It's the same thing, khos Ahrn." I had my doubts, but then I was far from Hrasi. "I don't think there is a fix for this one. I got myself into it, I'll have to wait it out."
           "You can't be serious. I won't let you! Do you actually understand what he's asking of you? Look, just talk with your captain or your-"
           "It doesn't work like that, Ahrn. I've heard stories about your military; ours is different. Pilots like you and me, we're [lower?] than dirt. Our jobs are not for [long?]; we lose somebody every week. We're [expendable?]. We don't [live?] long enough to [justify?] being given any respect.
           "We don't have any [rights?] outside of our pilot's [deck? / area?]. In there and in the fighter bays we're safe; we watch each other. The crew [leaves us alone?] there. But anywhere else… anyone can do anything to us, as if we weren't people. The only thing that is [keeping?] me [safe?] is that you're my master, and so I'm someone's [property?] instead of being [open?]. The captain won't listen; he won't [care?]."
           "What's keeping me alive, then?" I argued. "The crew's fear of cripples? My good looks?" Amara smiled and chuffed quietly in spite of herself.
           "More like fear of being attacked by me. [Berserker? / Suicidal] rage: they know I'd do it. At least, that's my [guess?]." Damn, she was a good guesser. "Either that or your good looks." I grinned encouragingly because she needed to lighten up something fierce, but the idea of Kjistha letting me live because he was swooning over Amara was making me sick.
           A good fifteen minutes passed without anything happening, then a thunderous boom rang through the ship, shaking the floor below me and rattling the bulkheads. I hit the deck out of pure trained reflex.
           "We under attack?" I had to shout over the din of screeching metal. Amara had flattened her ears against her skull.
           "No, we're docking,"she shouted back. The screeches continued for another five seconds, then abrubtly cut off with a resounding thump that threw me from the floor against the wall. God help anyone who was standing up, I thought. Amara was picking herself up from the floor on the other side of the room.
           "Was that supposed to happen?" She smiled weakly at me.
           "Coupling with a Hrasi can hurt." I smiled back. Good, I thought, she's going to pull back together before we get to wherever we're going. When I turned my head away from her, though, I could see her expression wilt to distress. So. Perhaps not.
           Amara walked to the airlock and waited, staring at the ceiling expectantly. Nothing happened for a second, then for a minute. "Open up!" She yelled irritatedly. The airlock didn't budge. "Please," she added more sullenly, then started to pace in front of the 'lock. For another minute it was shut, then it grudgingly slid open. We wasted no time jumping though, and then through the other 'lock to put our feet firmly on the carrier. "Damned games," Amara spat, "Kjistha at the [controls?] for sure."
           "I wouldn't say that. He might be listening." She was horrified. "Don't worry though. Just stay close to me." Amara nodded, frightened. Damn, I shouldn't have mentioned that to her. "So where's the pilot's place?" She looked at me oddly, but then lit up with comprehension.
           "Oh, yes, that. I'm sorry, khos Ahrn. We should wait here; I have a friend [who'll?] come and get us."
           "Did you call ahead and ask her to pick you up?" Amara eyed me uncertainly.
           "Pick me up? Lift me? I don't understand."
           "I mean, did you ask her to be here to take you back?" She shook her head slowly. "Well then," I asked patiently, "How does she know to get us?" Amara made the equivalent of a silently mouthed 'ohhhh…' gesture.
           "Don't worry. She'll know. She's probably the one that [convinced?] the rescue party to come find us. We're best friends; [ ] Maura's like my [sister?]; we work on the same ship, eat [together?], sleep [together?], live [together?]. She'll come get me, I'm sure." I gave her a sideward glance.
           "How do you know she hasn't died in action? Besides, you just said it wasn't safe out here. Maybe she'll stay home, this Maura."
           "No, she's not a pilot. She [could never?] fly like I could, so she [settled?] for being my gunner and a [ ] the rest of the time."
           "What's a [ ]?"
           "She fixes ships. Makes them better. She's a [mechanic]."
           Damn, I thought. I wished I could've bedded down with one of those grease monkeys, or at least have one as a best friend. Probably would've saved my ass from Amara if I'd had one of those fighters a mechanic lavished her care and special attention on. All of my pilot buddies back home, male AND female, that had grease monkey lovers seemed to always get the birds with the best shielding and the hottest engines.
           "So," I asked, changing the line of questioning, "Who is this Maura? Where'd you meet?"
           "Met? We never really met. I guess when her mother was [ ] the two of us off the day we were born, we were [wrapped?] in the same sheet. Does that [count? / work? / suffice?]."
           "So you're sisters?" Amara leaned up against a wall and her ears immediately perked up. Let me just say that, regardless of species, it's easy to tell when a woman is about to go into 'story mode'. I wondered if it was equally easy for all women to recognize a universal 'feigned-interest mode' in men.
           "No, we were born at the same time. Her mother was my mother's [midwife?]; she helped mother [give birth?] to me. She was also [pregnant?] with Maura at the same time though, and [gave birth?] about a minute before my mother did. She wasn't much help, I guess, but she had a great gift for mother to [congratulate?] my birth: Maura.
           "Maura's family and ours [owe? / like?] one another a lot, and every [generation?] one family is [subserviant?] to the other. For the last 3 generations Maura's family have been the [direct?] servants of mine, so Maura's mother was also my [nurse]; she [cared?] for both of us so my mother would be able to [recover?] and not go through the [physical?] effects of [ ]. In return, Maura's mother [gave?] me my first thoughts and [impressions?]: [basically], that Maura was my sister. It worked pretty well; I grew up with a sister instead of a servant.
           "Still, wherever I go she follows, and I know my mother told her to take good care of me. She's [less than?] a minute older than I am, but she still [treats?] me like a child, a child that has to be [reminded?] of every danger and problem. So that's how I know she'll be here."
           Her story wasn't so bad, but it just went to show how much more I had to learn about Hrasi social structure. I wondered if their politics were as bad. For the sake of peace, I hoped not.
           Amara was gazing at me cooly, leaning far back against the carrier's walls. She looked much more relaxed; smoothed-out fur, perky ears, and round, undilated eyes. Telling me about being born with Maura put her at ease so well that I made a mental note of it for the next time she was on the verge of collapse. 'Just ask about family'.
           I took our moment alone to walk over to Amara - stiff-leggedly, because the sedative hadn't comepletely worked its way out - and brushed at her mane. She craned her head against my hand.
           "What a luxury," I murmured softly, stroking her odd hairs into place.
           "Luxury?," she questioned, "I thought you needed me." She flashed me a tight-lipped grin. "Not that I'm [complaining?]. As a personal [groomer?] I much prefer you to… well, just about anybody." I smiled.
           "I thought I was the master."
           "You get to be my groom, too."
           "What a luxury…"
           Clicks of nail on metal combined with footsteps echoed from down the hall. "I think someone's coming," I murmured. "I hope it's your friend." She slanted an ear down towards the hallway.
           "It's her. Nobody else is foolish enough to run down the corridors of a working starship." Then she gave me stern look. "No more half-Hrasi / half-human talking, alright? Not very many people can speak human as well as you've [taught?] me, and even fewer can speak it better. It gets [worse?] if you go onto a station or a planet. You need to learn to [speak?] only Hrasi, and speak it well. Please?" I agreed just as a furred blur burst from the hallway and rounded straight on the two of us.
           "Amara," it cried, "you're alive!" Amara brightened, and all but shoved me aside.
           "Hai, Maura," she called back, "I was beginning to get worried!" Then they were running at eachother, and connected with such force as to spin one another into the bulkhead. The two leaned there, nuzzling eachother's necks and ears affectionately. Amara was blocking my view of the newcomer, so my first glimpse of her was when Amara swung her over to face me.
           Twins was my first impression. Twins if Amara got all of the dominant genes and Maura the recessives. They had the exact same build, the same height, and roughly the same weight, but their similarities ended there. Where Amara had a rich, deep, honey-gold pelt with her long, silky guard hairs, Maura's coat was short and looked very coarse. Instead of being Amara's golden color all the way through, Maura's fur was a dirty and rusty auburn red-brown. She was wearing a short vest of the same material, shade, and style as the rest of the Hrasi uniforms I had seen, but it revealed enough of her chest to show that her fur changed shades down to a dark brown on her belly.
           There were other differences, too. Amber eyes graced my Hrasi companion, while Maura's were gray-green. Even their paw-pads were different; Amara's were the black I had seen on the other Hrasi before, while Maura's were a muted pink. Maura kinda looks like an alleycat, I thought to myself, and tried not to chuckle. A big fat alley cat: all she needed was a torn ear.
           There was one other small difference. Maura had a long, thin tail that flicked at Amara's legs. I knew for fact that Amara didn't, nor did she have a stub of a tail or a scar there. When I thought about it, the other Hrasi I'd seen had had suspicously tail-looking things as well. I didn't ask about it, but made sure to later. Amara herded Maura towards me.
           "This is my master, khos Ahrn," Amara said, pointing me out. Maura looked me up and down, then surprised me by turning to Amara.
           "Master," She repeated, as if she didn't quite believe Amara. "You have a master. You have a master? Him?" She looked incredulous when Amara nodded.
           "I have a master," Amara confirmed.
           "Don't nod your head, you're not a human. Now, why do you have a master?"
           "Ahrn was the one that [shot?] me down, and then saved me from my [cockpit?] before I [suffocated? / died?]. So, he's my master."
           "I thought you said you'd kill yourself before you [accepted?] a master," Maura growled.
           "But he's not like a normal master. He's kind; he doesn't hurt me. All the masters I knew hurt and [abused?] their slaves. But he really wants to be my friend, not my master."
           "Amara… Why? Don't do these things. What if he [decided?] to hurt you? Why [choose?] to make yourself [vulnerable?], to be forced to [serve?] someone else's [whims?]? And why did you have to choose a male, much less a human one? You know what they all ask, and if you chose to [accept?] them, you'd have no choice. Why do that?" Maura looked questionly at Amara. Her words were fairly harsh to spoken in front of me. Amara growled back at her.
           "[Gratitude?]. Maybe because I owe him. Or maybe because he beat me. Until now nobody could beat me. I should be dead, but he let me live. So yes, I want to be his slave. If I can't [learn from?] him, then I might as well just kill [myself?] and save the ship I'd be [flying?]." Maura stared at Amara hard.
           "What if he-"
           "He won't, Maura. Trust me. Trust him; I do."
           "I can tell," She drawled. Amara's ears folded in as she flinched away from Maura, who didn't apologize. "Look, just be [careful?]. Don't trust so [easily?]. Maybe, maybe you got a [decent?] person for a master. I'm not saying they don't [exist?], but if it's true you're damned [lucky]. Don't [count?] on being that [lucky] again. Just leave him. Let him live on his own. If you're so [worried?] about being [unbeatable?], kill him." Amara looked at her in shock.
           "Maura! He's my master! Besides, if he beat me, then other humans can too. No, it's [the other way around?]: I'm trying to keep from being [disowned?]… I'd rather die for him than kill him."
           "That's the problem. You have too much [loyalty?] and you give it out too freely."
           "Maybe you'd change your mind if you met him first. I'm not [free? / loose?] with trust or loyalty, he just [deserves?] both." Amara sighed and turned towards me. "Ahrn, this is Maura. She's the friend I was talking about. Convince her you're a good [ ] for me." I stepped forward, finally having been summoned, and offered Maura my hand.
           "Uh, I'm Aaron, and I'm a good [ ] for her, whatever that means." Not my best first impression; Amara looked like she wanted to strangle me. What can I say? Angry Hrasi make me nervous, and Maura had a knack for setting me on edge back then. I wilted under her scrutinizing eye.
           "Great, Amara, you've got a talking pet for a master. [Whole?] hell of a lot you can learn from this guy. What else did you teach him?" Amara's eyes went wide.
           "Maura, he knows Hrasi fairly well, I don't-"
           "Never mind, Amara," I interrupted, "It doesn't matter. I don't mind. I'm probably going to have get used to it." Maura seemed at a loss, and spent a few seconds gaping before she she found the words to answer.
           "It's only been three days! You talk after three days? What are you?"
           "A fast learner. A fast learner with four years in alien language theory and four years of being a pilot hearing Hrasi talk. I can already speak six ways, so what's one more?" Actually, it was more like nine if you counted programming languages and twelve if you counted dead languages; I'd been a linguistics major. Maura shook her head, amazed but undeterred.
           "Alright, so you're [impressive?]. I still don't think that you're [what's best?] for Amara. You can't help but be a [burden?] to her; you'll just [slow her down? / something else?]. Why not let her go?"
           "I completely agree, but she won't have any of it. I've told her she can leave me whenever she wants, but she still stays with me. I can't force her to do anything, and I wouldn't if I could. I'm glad, though; I need her."
           "So you're willing to have her receive the blows? Some kind and loving master you are. You should be protecting her."
           "I'm doing my best to protect her," I snapped. She shrugged.
           "Good. Keep it that way. If your best isn't good enough, though, I'll make you wish you'd never [known?] me, and even she couldn't stop me from doing that. You'd better keep her safe and be [gentle?] with her. If I hear that you've [done something?] to her, I'll-" I interrupted before she could embarrass Amara and I.
           "Are you done yet, or are there more threats? You're starting to sound like her mother. I'll protect her whether you promise to kill me or not. And one more thing: I don't force her to do anything with me, and I never will. Just because your people have no respect for other's wishes doesn't mean that I don't." She blinked at me, then abruptly turned to Amara.
           "You know, you're right. I do [ ] to make people want to fight with me." Amara broke her upset demeanor to smile appreciatively, but Maura had already turned back to put me in her verbal crosshairs again. I braced myself for another attack. When she spoke to me though, it was with grudging near-respect.
           "Hmphf. I like you; nobody ever meets my [challenges?]. I threaten for a reason: I want you to take care of Amara even if it kills you. If you'll do it even without the threats then I'll respect you even more, but I'll still kill you if you fail to protect her from her own [ ] of loyalty and [ ]."
           "That's almost praise," Amara chimed in. "From Maura, anything that's not an insult is a good [reaction?] the first time. She only threatened to kill you once, and she said she might be able to [stand?] you. You must have really nuzzled her in the [right places?]."
           "What the hell do you know, pilot," Maura growled, both ears slanted down in what I decided was Hrasi mock-anger. Or perhaps it was real anger: the line between the two was very thin for her. Amara cast out her palms in a Hrasi shug.
           "I know a little bit about you… I remember some about growing up with you, and living with you, and there are some things I could tell Ahrn about you that I'm sure he'd be interested to hear…" I coughed.
           "Ah, as pilots, aren't we fairly open out on the deck?" Maura nodded.
           "Good point. I'm a mechanic, so no one [dares?] touch me. You and Amara, though, need to get back to the pilot's deck before someone with [unseemly?] ideas finds you. I'll take you there myself."
          
           Out of the frying pan, into the fire. Aaron, I chided myself, how did you get into this? And how do you plan on getting out?
          
           End Part 3