Dead Meat
kreska ido
terran allied station
kreska ido
terran allied station
Kreska Ido's first kidnapping was at the age of five, for political reasons.
«We are going to a memorial for your father,» Teraka Ido had explained.
«Jobari do not have fathers,» Kreska had said.
«You are not Jobari,» her mother had said, in a very matter-of-fact way. It was the same matter-of-fact way that she explained things like the composition of the stars, the vileness of killing things in order to use them as resources, and the inherent superiority of the Jobari.
Her mother had told her to wait in the hall while she spoke to someone. Kreska had spent most of her first trip off of Kotii waiting in featureless hallways. She wore a dress of white Jobari silk, boots of Jobari leather, her hair in braids and decorated with flowers as was traditional. It was the finest, and most alien, outfit her mother could have chosen for the trip.
She perked up immediately when the strangers entered the hallway. She'd spoken to no one so far who was not her mother, was not Jobari, none of the people who had organized this celebration of a person she'd never known. A chance to meet strangers was exciting, and she checked the door near where she was sitting to be sure her mother was still busy.
The strangers seemed as nervous as she was excited, though she wasn't quite able to read their expressions. Jobari didn't use their faces in quite the same way, not the way Kreska did. She slid down from the seat, made for someone much taller than a toddler from a species whose maximum height was 1.3 meters.
"╓╫╜┣┹┦╒╡╉┶┽╖╘╝?" she asked. "╒╪╬╤╛┍┛╟╫╖┎╀╢ ╚╡╞╬╪╛┣━┛║╠╪╡╠╬╪╪╡╒╩╕…" She trailed off as she realized they were staring at her, no comprehension whatsoever in their eyes. Teraka spoke differently when she spoke to aliens, a language she had never really bothered teaching Kreska. But she had, as children do, picked up a few things. "… are you… human?" she asked, her Kotii accent thick, her vowels wide and her consonants as crisp as if she were taking a bite out of an apple. "Men?" she added, because she didn't know what a man was, exactly, but she was excited to find out. Her father had been a man, or so she'd been told.
One of the strangers bent down to get closer to her level, and he tilted his head up and then down. "Yes," he said, and she frowned, because she couldn't understand why he was speaking so loudly all of a sudden. What if her mother heard? "We are hyoo-mans," he said, and the puzzled furrow of her brow grew deeper, because she couldn't understand either why he was pronouncing things so strangely.
"This isn't going to work," the other muttered irritably, arms crossed. "She doesn't even look like him."
"What did you think she was going to look like?" the other muttered back, as if she could not hear them perfectly well. "Did you think she was going to have his eyes?" He smiled at Kreska, a big wide thing with so many teeth it didn't feel like a smile at all. "Are you Captain Robinson's daughter?" he asked, and again he was speaking loudly, slowly, in a way that he hadn't when he was talking to the other stranger.
"┠╫╜╚╗," she said, slowly, giving him the benefit of the doubt that he didn't understand names unless they were spoken slowly and at great volume, as seemed to be his custom. "Captain Robinson was my father," she added. "Did you know him?"
"You could say that," the loud stranger said, which seemed like an utterly meaningless thing to say. She clearly had a much poorer grasp on this language than she'd thought. "Would you like to come with us?" he asked. "We have cookies in the other room, and toys."
Kreska hesitated. "I do not know those words," she said finally. "What are they?"
"You don't know–" He made a noise, unhappy sounding, and rubbed a hand over his face. She wondered why, and rubbed a hand over her nose experimentally, to see if it accomplished something. She was half-human, after all. "They're good things," he said, smiling too-wide again. "Nice things. You'll like them."
"Fuck's sake, Dave," the standing man hissed through his teeth, "we're running out of time. Just pick her up, let's go."
"This will be easier if she likes us," Dave hissed back, exasperated.
"She can like us after we get her on the ship."
Dave rolled his eyes, and Kreska looked toward the ceiling, trying to figure out what he'd been looking at. "║╟┈╨╜!" she said in some alarm as he suddenly lifted her off the ground, and she curled in on herself instinctively. He began carrying her away from the door that held her mother, and she began to feel the faintest stirrings of alarm. "I do not like this," she said, but Dave continued walking. She frowned, looked back to the shrinking door, and tried tapping him on the shoulder, as if perhaps he had not heard her. "I do not like this," she repeated, louder and slower.
"Shut her up," said the not-Dave stranger, and Kreska was beginning to decide that she did not like him.
"You have to be quiet, okay?" Dave said, sounding anxious. "It's like a game."
"I. Do. Not. Like. This," she repeated instead, louder, because they'd turned a corner and she wasn't sure if her mother would be able to tell where she'd gone. Dave's response was to shift the way he held her, and put a hand over her mouth.
That didn't seem right.
She protested again, loud although she was muffled, and tiny hands attempted to peel his away from her face. She got it loose enough that she was able to bite down, which wasn't a particularly Jobari thing to do, but she was starting to panic. Dave yelped and yanked his hand away. "I do not like this," she yelled into his face, and Dave and his friend were now beginning to run.
"I told you we should have brought a bag," the other man said.
"I am not putting Captain Robinson's daughter in a goddamn bag," Dave snapped back, and she didn't understand why they couldn't just call her Kreska. She tried to squirm out of his arms, but he responded by throwing her over his shoulder, so that her kicking wouldn't cause him to lose his grip.
This was the point at which Kreska realized that he was not going to be putting her down. Or listening to her at all, for that matter. She decided, for that reason, that she didn't want anything to do with Dave the Human.
Instead of trying to get down, she pulled herself up, higher onto his shoulders. "Hey!" he said, but by the she had already managed to get her foot onto his shoulder, and used it to jump upward. She grabbed something like a pipe on the wall, and climbed it like a vine, quickly enough that neither man was able to grab her before she'd climbed up to the ceiling. "Goddammit," Dave yelled, which seemed like a nonsense word.
"… you fucked up, Dave," said the still-nameless friend, and he did not sound angry.
"I can fix this," insisted Dave. "Christ, she's like a fucking lemur–"
A noise began, a hideous wailing coming from the ceiling that nearly startled Kreska into falling. "I do not like this," she said again, but the ceiling noises seemed to care about as much as Dave had.
"And now the alarms are going off," not-Dave said with a sigh. "You fucked up, Dave."
Dave, who had been trying to jump high enough to grab one of Kreska's ankles, turned now to face the other man. His eyes were wide, and he was holding up both his hands in a gesture Kreska did not recognize. "I swear to God," he said, "just help me out, just help me get her down and we can go, okay?"
"You knew the deal," he said, reaching into his coat. The not-Dave human looked up at Kreska, and she didn't understand the look on his face. "You did this," he said, which seemed rather unfair when they were the ones who'd tried to run away with her. He pointed at Dave, and a sound like thunder made her flinch, trying to cover her ears with her shoulders.
When Teraka Ido found her daughter, she was halfway to the cargo bay, prodding at a corpse.
«You,» Teraka said sternly, «have ruined your dress.» It had, indeed, been stained quite irrevocably. «Do not stand in his blood, that is extraordinarily unhygienic, get over here.»
«I don't think this human's body works anymore,» she said, continuing despite her mother's protests to stand in the widening pool of red.
«He is dead,» Teraka corrected shortly. Kreska looked up, wide-eyed and alarmed.
«He had no children?»
«He is human,» Teraka explained, coming near enough to take Kreska by the arm and yank her away from the body. «They are not their children.»
Kreska considered this as men in uniforms began to swarm over Dave, words like supremacists and frame-up and conspiracy. «How sad,» she said finally. She felt like she might have liked Dave, if he hadn't tried to carry her away from her mother.
«He was an inferior creature of little value,» Teraka corrected. «There is nothing for the rational mind to find sad in this.»
«His name was Dave,» Kreska said, though she didn't know why. Teraka looked at her sharply, her mouth a thin line. She took Kreska by the shoulders, and turned her to face the body again.
«You feel an irrational human sorrow,» Teraka said, «because this man has died a human death, permanent and pointless. Your father died a human death, no greater a death than this man. For a great man to die so – that is tragic. Your father is dead, and you are half-human, so the best you can do is learn from his mistakes. Do you know what killed him, Kreska?»
She didn't want to look at Dave any more, at the meat that used to hold a person, at meat like her father had been. "I do not like this," she said quietly, but the set to her jaw was stubborn.
«Your father died,» Teraka continued, «because he could not understand that some people are worthless. You are not Jobari. You may not outlive this body of yours. Do not make your father's mistake.»
«We are going to a memorial for your father,» Teraka Ido had explained.
«Jobari do not have fathers,» Kreska had said.
«You are not Jobari,» her mother had said, in a very matter-of-fact way. It was the same matter-of-fact way that she explained things like the composition of the stars, the vileness of killing things in order to use them as resources, and the inherent superiority of the Jobari.
Her mother had told her to wait in the hall while she spoke to someone. Kreska had spent most of her first trip off of Kotii waiting in featureless hallways. She wore a dress of white Jobari silk, boots of Jobari leather, her hair in braids and decorated with flowers as was traditional. It was the finest, and most alien, outfit her mother could have chosen for the trip.
She perked up immediately when the strangers entered the hallway. She'd spoken to no one so far who was not her mother, was not Jobari, none of the people who had organized this celebration of a person she'd never known. A chance to meet strangers was exciting, and she checked the door near where she was sitting to be sure her mother was still busy.
The strangers seemed as nervous as she was excited, though she wasn't quite able to read their expressions. Jobari didn't use their faces in quite the same way, not the way Kreska did. She slid down from the seat, made for someone much taller than a toddler from a species whose maximum height was 1.3 meters.
"╓╫╜┣┹┦╒╡╉┶┽╖╘╝?" she asked. "╒╪╬╤╛┍┛╟╫╖┎╀╢ ╚╡╞╬╪╛┣━┛║╠╪╡╠╬╪╪╡╒╩╕…" She trailed off as she realized they were staring at her, no comprehension whatsoever in their eyes. Teraka spoke differently when she spoke to aliens, a language she had never really bothered teaching Kreska. But she had, as children do, picked up a few things. "… are you… human?" she asked, her Kotii accent thick, her vowels wide and her consonants as crisp as if she were taking a bite out of an apple. "Men?" she added, because she didn't know what a man was, exactly, but she was excited to find out. Her father had been a man, or so she'd been told.
One of the strangers bent down to get closer to her level, and he tilted his head up and then down. "Yes," he said, and she frowned, because she couldn't understand why he was speaking so loudly all of a sudden. What if her mother heard? "We are hyoo-mans," he said, and the puzzled furrow of her brow grew deeper, because she couldn't understand either why he was pronouncing things so strangely.
"This isn't going to work," the other muttered irritably, arms crossed. "She doesn't even look like him."
"What did you think she was going to look like?" the other muttered back, as if she could not hear them perfectly well. "Did you think she was going to have his eyes?" He smiled at Kreska, a big wide thing with so many teeth it didn't feel like a smile at all. "Are you Captain Robinson's daughter?" he asked, and again he was speaking loudly, slowly, in a way that he hadn't when he was talking to the other stranger.
"┠╫╜╚╗," she said, slowly, giving him the benefit of the doubt that he didn't understand names unless they were spoken slowly and at great volume, as seemed to be his custom. "Captain Robinson was my father," she added. "Did you know him?"
"You could say that," the loud stranger said, which seemed like an utterly meaningless thing to say. She clearly had a much poorer grasp on this language than she'd thought. "Would you like to come with us?" he asked. "We have cookies in the other room, and toys."
Kreska hesitated. "I do not know those words," she said finally. "What are they?"
"You don't know–" He made a noise, unhappy sounding, and rubbed a hand over his face. She wondered why, and rubbed a hand over her nose experimentally, to see if it accomplished something. She was half-human, after all. "They're good things," he said, smiling too-wide again. "Nice things. You'll like them."
"Fuck's sake, Dave," the standing man hissed through his teeth, "we're running out of time. Just pick her up, let's go."
"This will be easier if she likes us," Dave hissed back, exasperated.
"She can like us after we get her on the ship."
Dave rolled his eyes, and Kreska looked toward the ceiling, trying to figure out what he'd been looking at. "║╟┈╨╜!" she said in some alarm as he suddenly lifted her off the ground, and she curled in on herself instinctively. He began carrying her away from the door that held her mother, and she began to feel the faintest stirrings of alarm. "I do not like this," she said, but Dave continued walking. She frowned, looked back to the shrinking door, and tried tapping him on the shoulder, as if perhaps he had not heard her. "I do not like this," she repeated, louder and slower.
"Shut her up," said the not-Dave stranger, and Kreska was beginning to decide that she did not like him.
"You have to be quiet, okay?" Dave said, sounding anxious. "It's like a game."
"I. Do. Not. Like. This," she repeated instead, louder, because they'd turned a corner and she wasn't sure if her mother would be able to tell where she'd gone. Dave's response was to shift the way he held her, and put a hand over her mouth.
That didn't seem right.
She protested again, loud although she was muffled, and tiny hands attempted to peel his away from her face. She got it loose enough that she was able to bite down, which wasn't a particularly Jobari thing to do, but she was starting to panic. Dave yelped and yanked his hand away. "I do not like this," she yelled into his face, and Dave and his friend were now beginning to run.
"I told you we should have brought a bag," the other man said.
"I am not putting Captain Robinson's daughter in a goddamn bag," Dave snapped back, and she didn't understand why they couldn't just call her Kreska. She tried to squirm out of his arms, but he responded by throwing her over his shoulder, so that her kicking wouldn't cause him to lose his grip.
This was the point at which Kreska realized that he was not going to be putting her down. Or listening to her at all, for that matter. She decided, for that reason, that she didn't want anything to do with Dave the Human.
Instead of trying to get down, she pulled herself up, higher onto his shoulders. "Hey!" he said, but by the she had already managed to get her foot onto his shoulder, and used it to jump upward. She grabbed something like a pipe on the wall, and climbed it like a vine, quickly enough that neither man was able to grab her before she'd climbed up to the ceiling. "Goddammit," Dave yelled, which seemed like a nonsense word.
"… you fucked up, Dave," said the still-nameless friend, and he did not sound angry.
"I can fix this," insisted Dave. "Christ, she's like a fucking lemur–"
A noise began, a hideous wailing coming from the ceiling that nearly startled Kreska into falling. "I do not like this," she said again, but the ceiling noises seemed to care about as much as Dave had.
"And now the alarms are going off," not-Dave said with a sigh. "You fucked up, Dave."
Dave, who had been trying to jump high enough to grab one of Kreska's ankles, turned now to face the other man. His eyes were wide, and he was holding up both his hands in a gesture Kreska did not recognize. "I swear to God," he said, "just help me out, just help me get her down and we can go, okay?"
"You knew the deal," he said, reaching into his coat. The not-Dave human looked up at Kreska, and she didn't understand the look on his face. "You did this," he said, which seemed rather unfair when they were the ones who'd tried to run away with her. He pointed at Dave, and a sound like thunder made her flinch, trying to cover her ears with her shoulders.
When Teraka Ido found her daughter, she was halfway to the cargo bay, prodding at a corpse.
«You,» Teraka said sternly, «have ruined your dress.» It had, indeed, been stained quite irrevocably. «Do not stand in his blood, that is extraordinarily unhygienic, get over here.»
«I don't think this human's body works anymore,» she said, continuing despite her mother's protests to stand in the widening pool of red.
«He is dead,» Teraka corrected shortly. Kreska looked up, wide-eyed and alarmed.
«He had no children?»
«He is human,» Teraka explained, coming near enough to take Kreska by the arm and yank her away from the body. «They are not their children.»
Kreska considered this as men in uniforms began to swarm over Dave, words like supremacists and frame-up and conspiracy. «How sad,» she said finally. She felt like she might have liked Dave, if he hadn't tried to carry her away from her mother.
«He was an inferior creature of little value,» Teraka corrected. «There is nothing for the rational mind to find sad in this.»
«His name was Dave,» Kreska said, though she didn't know why. Teraka looked at her sharply, her mouth a thin line. She took Kreska by the shoulders, and turned her to face the body again.
«You feel an irrational human sorrow,» Teraka said, «because this man has died a human death, permanent and pointless. Your father died a human death, no greater a death than this man. For a great man to die so – that is tragic. Your father is dead, and you are half-human, so the best you can do is learn from his mistakes. Do you know what killed him, Kreska?»
She didn't want to look at Dave any more, at the meat that used to hold a person, at meat like her father had been. "I do not like this," she said quietly, but the set to her jaw was stubborn.
«Your father died,» Teraka continued, «because he could not understand that some people are worthless. You are not Jobari. You may not outlive this body of yours. Do not make your father's mistake.»
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