The Autumn War Vol. 03: Defiance

"You should spend some time with Miqi and her flock while you have the opportunity," Xipa added. "I'm sure she feels bad about the way she treated you when you first met. I can't stress enough how central the concept of the flock is to our kind. You saved her family and her best friends all in one. I know how I would feel if you'd done the same for me."

"It's not like I can talk to them," he chuckled dryly.

"Maybe you don't need to," Xipa replied with a shrug. "Sometimes, just being with someone is enough."

"Kinda surreal, isn't it?" he continued as he watched the juveniles toss their toy around. "Here we are, two totally different species on an alien moon, and we're communicating in English - a language developed thousands of years ago on a tiny island on a planet neither of us has even visited. It's not their only language, you know," he added. "There are dozens. Russian, French, German, Hindi, Arabic, Spanish, Bengali, Japanese. I must have heard all of them spoken in the settlement at one time or another. Yet, they all collectively chose to speak one - a lingua franca. Hell, even the term itself refers to another language entirely," he chuckled. "My father once told me that language isn't just a means of communicating - it helps shape how we perceive the world. The tools that we use to describe our surroundings and share our feelings can help shape them in ways we don't even realize. Maybe it helps bring us together in more ways than one."

"My people also have more than one language," Xipa added. "Due to the way our memory works, we never really developed one dominant language for global trade and politics, we just learned those of the regions we visited. There are even flocks with members who speak different languages natively. They don't switch from one to another abruptly as the Earth'nay do, they just let them flow and blend."

"Interesting," he mused. "How many languages do you speak?"

"Only six," she replied. "My job as an Ensi didn't allow me to travel all that much."

"Only," he scoffed. "I guess I speak two - English and pheromone. If you can even call that a language."

The thought was interrupted as the ball that the children had been playing with rolled in their direction. It bounced off Bluejay's three-toed foot, and he looked down at it in surprise. He began to reach for it with his lower arm, then seemed to remember that it was missing at the elbow, switching to the opposite limb as he plucked it off the ground.

The cackling children came running, but they slowed when they caught sight of him, their demeanor changing from one of carefree fun to wariness. Xipa watched Bluejay sag and knew immediately that their reaction had hurt him. She remembered with perfect clarity how he had told her that he enjoyed interacting with children back on his colony because they hadn't yet been taught to fear him. That wasn't the case here, clearly. These children would have been told frightening stories of the monsters that roamed the city above their heads, the fear that was instilled in them necessary to help keep them alive.

He tossed the ball back in their direction, and one of the children pounced on it, the group retreating back to safety as they resumed their play. All save for one. A little male who couldn't have been more than a couple of rotations out of the incubator was frozen in place, staring back at Bluejay. There was no fear in his feathers, no yellows or purples, only cautious curiosity.

"It's okay," Xipa cooed, the child cocking his head at her. "He won't hurt you. He's friendly."

Bluejay straightened suddenly, then reached for one of the pouches on his chest rig. He peeled back the zipper, Xipa's feathers flashing in surprise as he produced the ragdoll that he had picked up in the residential band. The doll was handmade, sewn together from strips of cloth, a traditional toy made by fathers for their children. It was hard for her to reconcile the way that she had treated him back then, how she had interpreted his sentimental gesture as one of disrespect.

Bluejay extended an uncertain hand, the child cocking his head again. He bobbed closer, glancing to Xipa for reassurance, then reached out to take it. After examining the doll for a few moments, he hopped up onto the bench, settling in between Xipa and Bluejay as he tugged at the colorful strips of fabric that served as its feathers. He was so small, barely tall enough to reach Xipa's shoulder, his wide eyes almost too large for his head.

"I think he wants you to have it," Xipa whispered, the boy glancing between her and Bluejay.

"He's brave, this one," Bluejay chuckled as he watched the child play with his new toy. His antennae were no longer drooping, and his face plates had shifted into a tentative smile. All of the weight that had settled on his shoulders seemed to have been momentarily lifted.

"I suppose there's no reason for them to fear strangers in such a small community," Xipa replied. "There's something...poetic about you carrying that thing all this way, only to give it to another child. I expect the scouts rarely make excursions looking for toys."

"It should be played with," he replied. "What better way to honor the memory of its original owner?"

"For someone with such a hard exoskeleton, you're very soft on the inside," Xipa said with a smirk. "You're making the rest of us look cynical."

"You've all been through a lot," he replied. "You, Fletcher, Ruza. Maybe Gustave, but who knows with that guy. I'm kind of the odd one out."

"It's refreshing," she added. "I think your boundless optimism is what has kept the rest of us from driving each other crazy. You're good at killing," she added, remembering his outstanding performance in the factory. "But, you remember why you're killing. I think even I forget that sometimes," she continued as she watched the little boy chirp at his doll contentedly. "When you have the enemy in your sights, it can be hard to remember the people standing behind you."

The boy was old enough to speak but was perhaps too shy, the mellow green of his feathers letting Xipa know that he was happy all the same. He shuffled a little further up the bench, enjoying the texture of the toy as he turned it over in his tiny hands. After a few minutes, his playmates called to him, and he slunk down off the bench. As he made his way over to them, he turned to look back at Bluejay, waving goodbye with a feather sheath. Bluejay returned the wave, and the boy hurried off, his friends crowding around to admire his prize.

"Feeling better?" Xipa asked, giving Bluejay a nudge.

"Yeah," he replied, puffing out his chest. "Feeling hungry, too. I have some honey in my pouch, but I'll wait until we get to the mess hall."

"I think Miqi is done proselytizing," she chuckled as she rose to her feet. "Let's go."

***

They escaped the crowds and made their way to the mess hall, Miqi pulling two of the tables together so that they could all sit around them. Gustave was the exception, as usual, while Ruza simply sat cross-legged on the floor.

Word spread quickly in their small community, and Tika and her flock were already preparing a celebratory feast to welcome the weary warriors home. She brought them a procession of dishes piled high with steaming cuts of meat, roasted vegetables, and some of the few delicacies that the survivors had access to. Even she seemed less apprehensive now, not even batting an eye at Gustave's massive frame as she stepped nimbly over his paddle-like tail with a pair of dishes balanced in her hands.

"Damn, I haven't eaten this good since I left the last colony I was stationed on," Fletcher said. He rubbed his mechanical hands together, eyeing the spread of food that had been laid out before them.

"Are you sure you can spare all this?" Xipa asked, Tika giving her the Valbara'nay equivalent of a shrug as she fluttered her feathers.

"The Ensis have ordered us to evacuate the base, so most of this stuff would have gone bad anyway. Might as well enjoy it rather than toss it into the composters."

"I dunno what this is, but it smells great," Fletcher said as he reached for a slice of meat. It glistened under the light as he shoveled it onto his plate with a fork, glazed with some kind of sauce, flecks of red from the seasoning glued to its marbled surface. "Wild game has a totally different taste from the synthetic stuff. I can't stand that protein paste bullshit they serve us on long voyages when the fresh meat has run out. So you formed it into the shape of a patty - good for you. Doesn't make it taste any better."

Xipa went straight for the roasted root vegetables. They had been sliced into neat little disks, covered in a golden-brown crust that cracked beneath her fork when she speared one. She drizzled them in the white sauce that she had so enjoyed the first time they had eaten here. This time, she went for the fish instead of the red meat, selecting a white fillet that had dark indents burned into it by the grill. It still had the silvery scales on one side, the skin rendered crispy, peeling away from the flesh with only a little coaxing.

Ruza was going all-in on the meat, piling the different cuts high on his plate. It was the size of a saucer to him, so one of Tika's flockmates fetched him a large cooking tray that would serve him better, and he soon filled it. He picked up a steak with his claws - probably sourced from the large animals they had seen the Bugs herding - taking wet bites. His carnivore teeth tore through fat and muscle with alarming ease, the red juices and oils leaking down to stain his furry hands. Far from being irritated, he seemed to enjoy it, pausing to use a tongue that was as long as Xipa's forearm to rake his fur clean. It was prehensile, covered in tiny barbs that slid through his coat like the teeth of a comb. He produced a small vial from one of the pockets of his suit, uncorking it and sprinkling the next cut with some kind of condiment.

Bluejay was content to sip at the little packet of honey that he'd brought with him. Some of Miqi's flockmates seemed momentarily alarmed by the way that his face split open to reveal his proboscis, but that soon subsided as they ate together. After his encounter with the little boy, he seemed more at ease, even when surrounded by strangers. Miqi was trying to communicate with him as best she could, the two laughing together as they exchanged simple words and phrases, the Valbara'nay repeating them in an imitation of his voice.

"Hey, Gustave!" Fletcher yelled over the chorus of conversation. "You want anything to eat? You must have burned some calories fighting off an entire Bug army on your own."

The reptile opened one yellow eye lazily, then lifted his massive head, his translator interpreting his subsonic rumbling.

"If there is enough to satisfy, I will partake..."

"Well," Tika began after Xipa had translated his request. "We do have a couple of animals that one of our hunting parties brought in yesterday. With all that's been happening, we haven't had time to butcher them yet. They're just sitting in one of the walk-in fridges in the back, waiting to be processed. The way things are going, we'd have to toss them out anyway. Does he want them cooked, or just...how does he eat?"

"Gustave?" Xipa asked. "How do you like your food prepared?"

"Raw," he rumbled, the hanging skin beneath his jaw vibrating.

"Can you eat something that's been chilled for a day?"

He nodded, Xipa relaying his choice of meal to Tika. She seemed a little displeased but rallied her flock all the same, the women heading out of the mess hall. When they returned a few minutes later, they were carrying two frozen animals between them. It was the same creature that Xipa had seen darting into the undergrowth during their first foray into the city, a native ungulate. It had three-toed hooves and a pair of stubby horns that sprouted from its skull. Its thin coat was patterned with splotches of reds, oranges, and browns that matched its environment. The animals had been gutted and cleaned, but besides that, they were completely intact.

They pushed a couple of tables aside and lay the first one down on the floor, its body still limp. It was a fairly large animal, five or six feet long and maybe two hundred pounds. They then stepped back as though anticipating some kind of carnage, Gustave sliding across the floor on his belly as he eyed the meal. Xipa could hear his leathery hide scraping against the planks, the reptile pushing himself along. He paused to sniff at the carcass, then opened his massive jaws, putting his rows of interlocking teeth on display. Xipa was always surprised to see the blue hue of his tongue and palate, remembering what Ruza had told her about the hemocyanin his kind used as blood.

He bit down, but more tentatively than Xipa had expected, mouthing at his meal as though trying to properly gauge its size. When he was satisfied, he gripped it more tightly, sliding about half of the animal's length into his mouth. Everyone present watched in a blend of fascination and horror as he raised his head, lifting an animal that had taken three Valbara'nay to carry as though it was weightless. Xipa realized that he had no ability to chew. His jaws opened and shut like a trap with no lateral motion, and the only way he could bite off pieces of a larger prey item would probably be by tearing it apart through brute strength. He began to swallow, his snout pointing at the ceiling as he used gravity to help him along, each gulp making the loose skin beneath his jaw wobble. The animal lurched its way inside, and in mere moments, only its rear hooves were visible as they jutted from his throat. Xipa could hear his interlocking teeth clatter together as he snapped his mouth shut again, lowering his enormous head back to the ground. It was gone - bones, fur, and all.

"God damn," Fletcher chuckled, the only one at the table who was still eating as he watched the show. "No wonder you only have to eat once a month."

Gustave made for the next ungulate, slithering along the floor again, his eighteen-foot body stretched out across the room. He was perfectly capable of standing upright, but it seemed to be too much effort for him right now. The same tentative biting was performed on the next unfortunate animal, then he gripped it in his powerful jaws, throwing back his head as he gulped it down whole.

Xipa glanced at Tika's wide-eyed flock, suppressing a flutter of amused feathers. While she might know that there were few creatures in the Galaxy kinder or gentler than a Krell'nay, they had no idea just how placid he was. Watching him consume an animal larger than they were whole was probably an unnerving experience. When he was done, he went right back to lying on the floor, the slow rise and fall of his scaly flanks suggesting that he was sleeping.

As they ate, Fletcher got to talking with Bluejay about his injury.

"Looks like you and me have something in common now," he began, raising one of his prosthetic hands. "I gotta say, you're taking it unusually well. I've seen hardened Marines break down when they realize that their life has changed forever. If you need someone to talk to about it, I'll be around. The surgeries, the fitting, the physical therapy - it can be a lot to deal with."

"I appreciate it," Bluejay replied. "Though, I don't think that will be necessary in my case."

"Huh?" Fletcher replied, raising an eyebrow. "Why not? Don't tell me it's gonna fucking grow back?"

"They can clone a new limb back on my ship and transplant it," Bluejay explained.

Fletcher sat there looking dumbstruck for a moment, his fork hovering near his mouth as though he had forgotten what he was doing with it.

"Wait, wait, wait," he said with a wave of his hand. "You're telling me that you guys can just clone a limb and reattach it like it's no biggie?"

"Don't humans have that technology?" Bluejay asked.

"I mean, technically we do," Fletcher scoffed as he shoveled another piece of meat into his mouth. "We also have private yachts and self-cleaning toilets, but that doesn't mean I fucking own one. Do you have any idea how much it costs to grow a cell culture into a brand new organ and then hire a surgeon to transplant it? That's like...the cutting edge of medical technology. Maybe if you're a CEO or the fucking President of Mars, you might be able to afford that, but the average person sure can't. Even prosthetics aren't cheap," he added as he flexed his polymer fingers to demonstrate. "SWAR paid for mine after I was injured, and the UNN will generally cover the costs to rehabilitate wounded Marines, but they won't pay for cloning."

"For us, it's the standard procedure for dealing with an injury," he replied. "Well, for Jarilans. Before the war, they would probably just...recycle wounded Drones."

"How do you afford it?" Fletcher pressed.

"We don't use currency," Bluejay replied with a shrug. "Not within the hive, anyway."

"It is not too surprising," Ruza added. "The Jarilans inherited a knowledge of biotechnology and genetic manipulation from their Betelgeusian ancestors that far surpasses anything we have. That heritage could extend thousands or even millions of years for all we know."

"You think you could sew an arm back on, Ruza?" Fletcher asked.

"That kind of microsurgery is beyond my expertise," he replied. "I am a field medic - my job is not to reconnect severed nerves and capillaries. That is the domain of expert surgeons with machine assistance. Or Jarilan doctors," he added with a nod to Bluejay.

"I could ask, if you want one," Bluejay continued. "I don't think they've ever cloned a human limb before, but I don't see any reason they couldn't try."

"I appreciate the offer," Fletcher replied. "Seriously, I don't think you understand how big of a deal that would be to a lot of people. As for me, I'm kind of locked into the whole weapons for arms thing. What I need is a mechanic, not a surgeon," he chuckled.

***

The conversations began to wind down as the night dragged on, fatigue starting to catch up with them. Everyone had a full stomach, and the day's events had left them tired.

"We should rest," Ruza said, rising to his feet to tower over the low tables. "There is much to do tomorrow."

Gustave slowly climbed off the floor, shaking his long body, making the chubby fat deposits on his belly and tail wobble. Bluejay got up too, and Miqi offered to walk him back to the storeroom, her flock tagging along behind her.

"Hey Xipa, you want to get a smoke?" Fletcher asked as he set down his cutlery. "Assuming you're not too tired, obviously. Unlike you guys, I've been sitting on my arse doing nothing all day."

"I'd like that," she replied. The pair bade farewell to their companions as they left the mess hall, the group heading out to the main tunnel while Fletcher and Xipa turned to the lounge. They made their way inside the converted water tank, the familiar scents of tobacco and the dim lighting immediately setting Xipa more at ease. Most of the booths were unoccupied tonight, as the survivors were probably packing their gear and preparing for the exodus, but there were a few flocks relaxing in the padded cushions. They glanced up at Fletcher as he walked by, exhaling clouds of grey smoke to join the haze that hung in the air at the apex of the curved ceiling.

Chatli was waiting for them, leaning on the counter as they approached.

"Welcome back," she began, her feathers fluttering in a lazy greeting. "You two want some herb?"

"And drinks, if you have them," Xipa replied.

"No reason to hold back now," Chatli grumbled as she leaned down to grab something from beneath the counter. "It's not like I can bring any of this shit with me."