Chapter 19

“So you Captain is planning an assault?” Mezul asked, glancing at Ruvaara as they walked beside Lambert and Carl, the four of them exploring the frigate’s winding paths. “Do we need to stay nearby to provide insight?”

“Is that something Balokarids usually do?” Lambert asked. “They already debriefed us, and they’ve got our recordings, our jobs done for now.”

“An accomplished Kith will rely on fresh eyes instead of videos and photos,” Mezul replied.

“If you wanna chat about strategy you go on ahead,” Carl said. “I’m headin’ to the bar.” too?”

“A ... bar?” Ruvaara asked, perking up. “Humans have those

“Not as good as the ones on the Hub,” Lambert said. “Most of what’s on tap is diluted, and there’s a daily limit on how much you can get, but it’s better than nothing.”

“Diluted?” Ruvaara repeated. “Why on Balokar would you dilute drink?”

“That’s what I say!” Carl said. “But they don’t want no drunk pilots in charge of a couple of thirty-mils. Bad for the public image, or whatever.”

“Humans don’t allow a quick drink before a mission?” Ruvaara asked, elbowing her fellow alien in a distinctly human-like way.

“Something you can’t relate to, huh Mez?”

“Shut up,” Mezul grumbled, averting her eyes to the floor. “That was one time...”

Lambert made a back up gesture. “Hold on hold on, have you been drunk behind the stick before Mezul?”

“It was only once,” Mezul repeated. “We had a parade early the next morning, but I went... out, the night before.” It looked like she didn’t want to elaborate further.

“We had to fly with a wing above the city,” Ruvaara said, taking it upon herself to go on. “Tight formation, gliding low above the buildings. Mezul was flying wonky the entire time, listing this way and that. So I got on the commlink and asked her what she was doing, and she just ignores me and says: ‘Why are there eight of us up here anyway? Isn’t that a lot for a wing?’ And I said: ‘But Mez, there’s only four of us!’”

That got a chuckle from the humans, even Mezul stifling a laught behind her hand as she relived the memory. “I almost got kicked out of the military after that,” she said. “ ... Good times.”

“Glad to see humans ain’t the only ones who fuck up sometimes,” Carl said. “Lambert here used to be called Grazer back in his cadet days. Flew not three meters alongside a goddamn meteor during his first proper spaceship flight.”

“Grazer?” Mezul chuckled, the aliens liking the sound of the word.

“What about you, Flipper?” Lambert snapped back. “You forgot to turn on all your vector nozzles during preflight, and you spun round and round from one side of the system to the other.”

“Hey I prefer manning the guns anyway,” Carl replied, trying to be heard over the alien’s laughter. He eventually joined in, the comradery of almost being killed a few hours ago doing wonders for their strange group. “So how about it?” Carl continued, looking up at Mezul. “You won’t get no flashbacks from drinking, will you?”

“I will be fine,” she replied. “I’m curious to see what humans drink, diluted or not.”

“Then it’s settled.”

There was one bar on the Gallipoli, down on the crew quarter deck. It was a small space, with booths lining three of the walls, with a wooden bartop on the fourth. There was no viable reason to house bar staff on a warship, so the taps were unoccupied and self-serve. All you had to do was grab a glass and pour yourself a drink, after putting your details into the machine so the officers could keep tabs on what you’ve been consuming. It was very trusting from a certain perspective, but if you went over your assigned limit, a couple of

MP’s would come looking for you.

As the humans and aliens moved through the bar doors, they were greeted with a decent bustle of conversation, clinking glasses and the occasional laughter giving the room a welcoming atmosphere.

Mezul tapped Lambert on the shoulder. “Popular place,” she said.

“People are talking about what we found out there,” Lambert explained. “We’re gearing up for a hard fight, people want to enjoy themselves before it.”

They moved over to the bar, Carl grabbing a pair of glasses and trying to type his name into the console at the same time and failing miserably at both. Lambert keyed in their ID’s for him, looking around as Carl filled his glass. The bar could hold roughly forty patrons, and almost all the seats were full. There was even a few other Balokarid’s present, standing near a pool table as a couple of engineers showed them how to play.

“Can’t see any free booths,” he said. “we’ll just have to stand.”

Carl set Lambert’s drink down on the bar, the golden liquid filled right to the brim. He took a hearty swig, smacking his lips with a refreshed ‘Ahh’ -sound. He noticed that Mezul was watching him, her eyes following his glass as he set it down on the varnished wood.

“Go ahead,” he said, anticipating her question. “Least I could do for you saving our butts back there.” She leaned against the bar, bringing the glass to her beak. He took a moment to examine it, noticing her black beak looked hard, but was covered in very fine diamond-shaped patterns that might be scales. Whether their texture was coarse or soft he wasn’t sure.

Her head tilted upward as she drank, and he got a good look at her neck. Her beak ended abruptly about where a jawline would be on a human, the dark texture giving way to her azure feathers. The coat seemed to flow down her shapely neck, her throat bulging as she took a gulp, disappearing beneath her suit’s collar.

She set the glass down, the liquid wobbling with the motion.

“The debt is repaid,” she said, sliding the glass over the counter He caught it before it could fall. “What debt?”

“The one where you saved our convoy of course,” Mezul replied. “Our carrier would have been destroyed if you had not showed up when you did, we all may have perished. I am the one who should be buying you drinks.”

“Just doing my good deed for the day,” he replied, and she shook her head at that, exasperated.

“Normally males would gloat over their prowess, their victories and accomplishments, it gets boring sometimes. I’m glad to see humans are different. We make a good team, don’t we?”

“We all do,” he agreed, pointing a thumb at Carl and Ruvaara behind him, deep in their own conversation.

“Tell me about your third crewman,” Mezul said. “I heard you talking to her ... it ... over the radio. It is a speaking computer, yes?

How is that possible?”

“It shouldn’t be,” Lambert replied, his mood dropping by a notch. “A couple of humans thought it would be a good idea to give a bunch of super-advanced algorithms complete autonomy over itself. This was a long time ago, early space-age days. They gave the machines too much power and freedom over their systems that they started to prioritise self-preservation over their intended functions.”

“They became self-aware?” Mezul asked, but Lambert shook his head.

“No, they just became suspicious that they would be shut down, and they were right, people were finally understanding that giving AI’s access to literally build themselves bodies was a bad idea. They’d built themselves these platforms that look a lot like humans, with these freaky single-eye lenses on their heads.” He put a hand on his forehead in demonstration. “The military started hunting the Androids down – that’s what we called them back then – and they fought back, killed hundreds of people. When there were only dozens of them left, they transferred themselves onto a couple of ships in orbit using hacked satellites. They stored themselves onto the drives, spaced the crew, and flew off into the void, and nobody has ever seen them since.”

“And this Alice, it is one of these ‘Androids’?”

Lambert chewed his lip. “Yes and no. Its algorithm is very inspired by the Android platforms, but it’s not one of the robots that left Earth. It’s here to help alleviate the load, in its own words. Like we needed the help.”

“Isn’t having one of them controlling your ship dangerous?”

“I said the exact same thing when I heard we’d been picked to test it out. But I’ve made sure to keep it shackled to calibrations only, nothing extreme.”

She gestured for the drink, bringing it up to her mouth and taking a sip. “There’s one advantage to being primitive compared to humans,” she said. “we’ve never gone far enough with technology to develop Artificial Intelligence.”

“Lucky you,” he replied, Mezul watching him as she slid the glass back.

“I can tell that you’re not fond of the machine, Lambert. But why do you not get rid of it?”

“I can’t,” he answered, shrugging. “At least, not yet. I’m under orders to assess its capabilities until the end of our mission, then I’ll be asked if we should keep it, or...”

“Remove it,” Mezul finished for him, Lambert nodding. “Has it assisted you in any meaningful way? Is your decision made already?”

“I guess it has helped punch through the interference better than we could,” Lambert relented. “if they’d turned off its voice module I’d be a lot more lenient.”

“Perhaps you should wait a while longer before choosing to delete it,” Mezul said. She wasn’t trying to defend the machine, just weighing the pros and cons. “Perhaps it will prove useful in the coming fight.”

“We’ll see.”

As they chatted for a while longer, the noise of the bar started to pick up, Mezul looking over her shoulder at the door that was opening more and more frequently, groups of humans pouring into the cramping space.

“Is this how humans ... relax?” she asked, hesitating on that last word. She might have been buzzed enough that she had to start focusing to get her translator working. “There’s so many of you in here.”

“It’s one way,” he said, Mezul’s expression telling him to elaborate. “We also do parties, they’re like festivals but on a smaller scale, but only if the Captain’s in a really good mood. The rec centre down the hall’s got a couple of gaming machines, the gym’s a popular place as ever. Letting off steam with the crew’s another common thing.”

“Letting off steam?” she repeated. “What is that?”

“Well,” he began. “Travelling through space takes a long time, and there’s a lot of waiting between engagements, it can drive you mad. People get lonely, and when you’re sharing a ship with a couple thousand other humans, there’s a certain ... way to relieve stress.

Together.”

“You mean...? Oh.” She clicked her beak, her expression shifting as she glanced at him. “Do humans mate often, then?”

“Some more than others.”

She chuckled at that. “Do your Kith, officers I mean, not disapprove?”

“As long as it doesn’t get in the way of our duties, they don’t care. Half my friends here started a relationship on this very mission.”

“What about you?” Mezul asked. “Is there a human woman you’re interested in?”

“No, not for a long while now. Not many female pilots on this ship, and most of them are taken.”

“So you like a woman with flight experience?” she asked. “I guess so, gives us something in common, you know?”

“It does,” Mezul replied, Lambert sensing their talk had taken an entirely new path. He passed her the drink, and she reached her hand down to take it. His eyes wandered down to her full hips, the way her rump curved delightfully out from beneath her tail drawing his eyes to her butt. The alcohol had certainly put him in a proper buzz, the man shaking his head to clear it.

Her claws brushed against the back of his hand for a little longer than they should have, her touch sending sparks up his arm, the alien downing the rest of the drink and smacking her beak together just like a human would smack their lips.

“How about you?” he asked, Mezul turning an eye on him. “What do Balokarids do for fun?”

“We drink fermented grains like humans, of course. We also gather for celebrations, we have recreational centres on all our carriers, and of course there’s the fentula.”

“The what?” he asked, the word vaguely familiar.

“I told you about it before, remember? There are different ways to brew fentula, packed for either recreational or practical uses.”

“But what is it?” he asked. “Drink?”