Sorry to call you out on the floor like that, haha. I only knew for sure of one person reading Centennial Hills, and the time has come for the last few installments. Enjoy!
Content Warnings: Misogyny, Violence, PTSD, Slavery, Bullying, Injury, Surgery, Dehumanization, Violations of Personal Space, Inequitable Class Systems, Sci-fi Racism, Mortal Danger.
CENTENNIAL HILLS 22
by Bébé Mélange
“Slippery freak was a real dirty fighter, messed up the guys. Look.”
High Jdibitong watched his computer as the man on the other end moved his camera over the hall, where the defeated were pulling themselves together, getting ready for another round. “And where are they now?,” he asked, eyestalk rotating in exasperation.
“I don’t know. A couple of guys were chasing them upstairs.”
Jdibitong hung up, cast his rear eye at Googhi to express his incredulity at the situation, and glared at Snar with the front eye. “Doctor, why is there an Ainavian tearing up my building? What do they want?”
Snar twitched in fear and glanced from their boss to his children and back. “I imagine that’s Captain Tmai, wanting the humans back. I did not know they were so violent, or I would have let you know of the risk, surely.”
“Jdinghris, Chtonoming, shoo.” The children complied and he switched the largest screen to the building surveillance system. “If you want something done right…”
The bgrudjh switched to a multi-camera view surveilling an entire floor, and seeing no movement there, switched to another floor. The highest, the place where the Earthlings had been left, where few Vinudians would be privileged to reside. Immediately, problems jumped out at them.
“The Earthlings damaged my cage. Where do they think they’re going?” He could see the empty cage, but also see the escapees, trying to sneak through the labyrinth of drapery – to find an unguarded escape route. He could also see the Ainavian losing their pursuit in the maze, his incompetent men stumbling around. Not unusual for them to be intoxicated at that late hour, but annoying nonetheless.
He noticed Snar looking at the screen, making some inscrutable, nonverbal hand gestures. He asked, “And what do you think you’re going to do, Doctor?”
Snar startled to attention. “Nothing. No one. I’m just… I should probably…”
“I’ll need you to translate so we don’t have to play with our computers. Come.” He stood and Googhi began to rise, but he gestured for her to remain. “You know the children may try to sneak out. Keep this from happening. We don’t know what the Earthlings are capable of. They’re uncontacted, and might be savage enough to kill.”
Googhi flexed her thorax pensively and said, “Yes, my bgrudjh.”
Jdibitong dipped his rear eye respectfully at her. He was glad she responded with appropriate seriousness; she could be quite impertinent at times. Then he took the doctor by the princess sleeve and stormed out of the room.
In the hall, Snar sorted theirself out. “I can walk for myself, sir!”
Jdibitong let them go. “Then keep up.” He didn’t have to turn around to scowl at them as he kept walking. It would be a short trip.
Thanks to the cameras, he knew exactly where the Earthlings were, and soon was upon them. Without a moment’s thought, he grabbed the cords of the drapery, and brought it down on the three. They hadn’t even seen the big-eyed aliens in the dark, using one of their personal computers to light their steps. Snar yelped.
Jdibitong kept a deft, powerful grip on the cords, moving them just so, to keep the Earthlings tangled. They called out in confusion, fear, anger – all muffled by the thick cloth. “To your bgrudjh!,” he yelled, and more men hustled into the opening. “Catch them when they get out.”
Scuzz and the others didn’t take long to escape; the drapery hadn’t been designed to serve as a net. Burly Vinudian men were waiting, and physically restrained them until they could be bullied into standing still. Jdibitong barked at them, words they’d never know. “Be still!”
“Shtob!,” Snar tried to translate.
Before the humans had been rather easy to intimidate, but they seemed to be feeling more confident, each standing ready to fight. Scuzz had a practiced battle stance of some kind, which amused the bgrudjh.
Tmai slipped in under a drape, rising to their full height like a snake, and held a palm up to each side – hopefully communicating to the Vinudians they both did not want to fight, and did not want to be touched.
A Vinudian lunged, but pulled up short as Jdibitong bellowed, “Not now! You had your chance, Gdeemosh.” He tugged Snar more fully into the fore.
Lights began to turn on, dimly illuminating the scene from beyond layers of cloth, but at least the humans could finally understand who was present, and – roughly – what was going on. Eliza flexed her arthritic fists and stared daggers at Jdibitong’s big wet eye.
“Can we go now?,” Shammy asked.
The bgrudjh silenced him with a furious gesture, then began to address Tmai, with Snar frantically translating into Ainavian sign language. “This is trespass and destruction of property. You will be arrested, fool. Was it worthwhile to you?”
“I left these creatures with Dr. Snar, with the understanding I could retrieve them later. You chose to withhold them from me.”
“Wild animals do not belong to anyone. Surely you’re familiar with the Codex.”
“Then they don’t belong to you. What do you gain by keeping them?”
“It’s what I lose by letting you get away with this. This insult is unforgivable.”
“They are intelligent creatures and it’s my fault they’ve been taken from their home world. I cannot allow them to become pets to a petty tyrant.”
“This isn’t an impasse, little Ainavian,” Jdibitong said, flexing his fists, “Because I can pass through you anytime I please.” Snar’s fingers fumbled; their head sagged in dread. Jdibitong gripped their arm again and said, “Every word!”
Snar signed to Tmai, “You can’t.”
Everyone hung in the dim light, tense but exhausted, angry, fraught with heavy feelings that hadn’t been a problem for them when they woke up that very morning.
Tmai said, “I know a little about your kind. Would you let them go if I beat you in a physical contest?”
The Vinudian scoffed. “Going to propose a wiggling competition, little worm?”
“Hand-to-hand combat, of course. I’ll need a weapon to make up for my lack of bones.”
The bgrudjh’s men looked at each other in amazement at the words Snar translated, and more gathered, parting the drapes, making the room seem larger and larger.
Scuzz asked, “What is even going on?,” quiet enough to not draw the big man’s ire.
Eliza said, “They’re arguing over us.”
Jdibitong said, “Very well. Gdeemosh! Message everyone to come for the fight. We will go to the ring.”
Vinudians bellowed and clicked in excitement, shaking their fists in the air. They roughly escorted the humans and Ainavians to the sparring mat beneath the milky skylight, more opaque now with no daylight above. Bright lights were turned on and angled toward the show, again reminding Snar of a terrible time on Earth. Regarding Tmai, was this what Snar had looked like from the sidelines, to those wretched Earthlings?
Jdibitong conferred with his highest ranked men, staying for the moment in his corner. Snar and the Earthlings were kept at ringside, one strong man on each, pinning them with only an implied threat. Tmai looked at them with tired eyes, availing theirself of large water bottles in preparation. They were recovering their structural integrity well, but would have less energy for this fight than they had in the halls below. The snakeskin pants were aggravating, but they did not know how severe the Vinudian reaction would be if they removed them.
At last, Jdibitong’s family were allowed to crowd in at ringside, and it was time. He spoke with a booming voice punctuated by snapping noises. “This little vandal has come to claim the Earthlings as their property. We like our little songbird, do we not?” There were shouts of agreement. “But, you know, they did have the Earthlings first. Who can say what’s right or wrong?”
“Fists! Fists! Fists!”
“Give the Ainavian some bones.”
Someone at ringside gave Tmai a pair of metal objects. Fingerholes fit for a Vinudian, joined in a bar – to increase the weight of a punch. Tmai could fit their own fingers in the wrong holes and make it work. They tested the weight with air punches. Difficult.
Scuzz muttered, “it should be me,” then louder, “It should be me! I know martial arts! Leave Captain Tmai alone!” More quietly again, to herself, “Pep… Where are you?”
Eliza tried to console her, but a brute slapped her hand down.
Shammy watched Snar intently. He sensed something in the doctor’s pathetic state, something larger than the present circumstance, that was making things worse. But they had a close connection to the boss, seemed to work for the bgrudjh. He wished the boneless creature wasn’t so lost, so weak in the face of this stress.
Jdibitong took no weapon for himself, stepping into the ring with bare hands. “Ainavian. I would not even take this fight as a joke, if you hadn’t beaten so many of my men. Nice trick. Do you think it will work on me?”
Tmai flicked their eyes at Snar, who was no longer bothering to translate. They just looked up at the boss and shrugged. Who could guess how the alien would interpret the gesture? It was time to fight.
Jdunazh leaned in from the side, holding up three digits. She folded one in and slapped it on the mat, then another for a second slap, and at the third,
Jdibitong shot a straight fast punch directly into Tmai’s center, fist sinking into them, compressing their torso at the site of impact to a few fingers depth. Tmai’s elastic tissues violently decompressed, shoving their body off of the unmoving fist, down to the mat.
The bgrudjh stood there, arm soaked in ejected fluids, wondering if he’d just invited his whole enclave to witness him committing murder. Scuzz shrieked, “You killed him! Nooo!”
The crowd shrank back, buzzing and chattering, not knowing what to do. Jdibitong collared Snar and dragged them onto the mat. “Fix them, now! Fix the Ainavian.”
Snar looked up, head swimming, not remembering a word of Vinudian.
“What is wrong with you? Don’t you care about your fellows? Fix them!” He shoved Snar toward Tmai, and they just collapsed to the mat, bouncing once, laying nearly as immobile as the vanquished pilot. Their body curled uselessly.
Shammy said, “Snar’s messed up, man! That’s PTSD. Got to give them some space!”
Eliza added, “Please! Let them go! Let us go!” By then she was holding Scuzz close, with no rude interruptions.
Jdibitong’s lieutenants tried to keep the rabble in line, but some were already leaving, or taking video with their computers. The big man knelt over the Ainavians, in an uncharacteristically gentle pose. “Dr. Snar, please! Are you on some kind of drugs? Is there a quick cure? This one could die! Wake up, please!” He offered gentle prods with his brutal hands.
Shammy knelt on the mat close by and whistled for the boss’s attention. The Vinudian looked up in rage, but saw that the Earthling was offering advice, gesturing for him to step back from the Ainavians – particularly the doctor.
As much as it was maddening to lose even a second that could save the foolish creature’s life, he was at the mercy of circumstances beyond his control, and took the suggestion. He stepped away, pacing in his corner of the mat, straining to control his rage and fear.
All of the movement, all of the chaos, it was still affecting Snar. They lolled, mind reeling.
Shammy gently took the Ainavian’s head into his hands, cradling it, looking straight into their eyes. “Listen to me, doc. Just nothin’ but me. Forget about all this hooey, OK? Nothin’ but me.” He couldn’t help but have his eyes dart to the captain, as still as dead, but reeled them in, to try and focus the ailing doctor. “Tmai needs you.” He let a hand free to sign, “Snar help Tmai?”
Snar rolled their head to look at Tmai, to make an effort to understand the situation, when all understanding had fled them. In that strange moment, they suddenly became convinced that the Ainavian beside theirself was theirself, and was dead or dying.
“Oh me,” they signed.
Shammy scooted back, but kept himself large and in between the ringside crowd and the pathetic creature. “What can you do, doc?”
Snar rolled onto their hands and knees and pawed at Tmai, feeling them all over the torso, the neck, the arms. It looked like more flailing from a useless junkie, but resolved into firmer palpations, assaying the damage, and what life might be salvaged from apparent death.
The crowd began to close in again, barely held back by Shammy, now helped by Jdibitong and Jdunazh.
“Give the doctor room,” Jdibitong said, still able to intimidate his lessers.
Eliza and Scuzz were in the part of the rubberneck mob held back by a Shammy cordon, both gripping his outstretched arms with tired hands. Eliza was much more concerned for Shamar than the aliens, always putting himself in front of trouble.
Snar put a hop in their shoulders to come down on Tmai’s chest with both palms, popping it back into a more proper shape. Blood and milkier substances bloomed and swelled under skin, all over the chest and sides, and there was a barely perceptible cough from Tmai’s throat.
“I need to get to the clinic,” Snar said. “I’ll die if I don’t get a proper balance of transfused fluids immediately.” Even if I do, they thought, I still might die.
The crowd obediently moved this way and that, allowing the bgrudjh and his personal assistant to bear the Ainavians to the medical facility. They didn’t stop the Earthlings following behind, but Jdibitong’s lieutenants followed closely, to make sure they didn’t try any wild moves. Googhi held herself, in the drifting wake of their departure, and wondered if that would be the end of her family’s power.
Buttermilk lights hummed to life and Snar let the Vinudians ease Tmai onto a table, while they worked the biosynthesizer. More sophisticated chemicals would be needed than the drugs they’d mixed up before, and they’d need to be injected or transfused in just the right places, or they could cause more harm than good. Their medical mind had woken up, but they still, through it all, were imagining that it was their own body on the slab.
Scuzz was starting to come out of her own daze, starting to realize Tmai returning without Pep was a bad sign. She whimpered her concern to Eliza, who could only offer a shoulder to lean on. Shammy took advantage of the focus being on Tmai, to relax onto a stool. His back felt a great sense of relief, but was still a hair’s breadth from collapsing into spasms – just now in a less disc-grinding position.
Snar watched theirself laid out, mostly dead. Enough tissues would still be alive that circulation might be restarted, but four types of fluids would need to be administered, just so. They coldly maneuvered the transfusion heads into place, piercing their skin. They felt no pain – a bad sign.
Jdibitong and Jdunazh watched their work closely. What did it all mean? The transfusion heads looked more ready for an embalming than a resurrection, chewing into the Ainavian’s cold flesh with lamprey teeth.
Snar returned to the biosynthesizer, activated the pumps, and carefully worked the knobs. A little of this, a little of that… They felt their body growing colder, so quickly. They saw theirself, a corpse. Pumping the stuff of life into an unreceptive vessel. Watering a dead plant.
How had the barrage of gunfire done so much less damage than a single punch from their brutal boss? The piercing injuries provoked an instantaneous clotting response, with openings in the skin allowing a potentially harmful by-product to escape as gas. The unbroken skin, the internal bleeding now… Unlike Vinudians, who have one predominant circulated fluid and local reservoirs for small amounts of other humors, Ainavians have parallel major circulatory systems carrying a variety of important fluids that are best kept unmixed. Snar had to work against some biochemical processes while promoting others, while all of them were interacting with each other chaotically in the same region of the thorax.
What did I do to myself?, they thought. This is what I get for sticking my neck out, for trying to help people. I was a fool, and now I am going to die! They thought about the strange poisons they consumed on Earth, the filthy creatures shoving those in their face, again and again. They wondered if it was worth the effort to save theirself.
Who am I that I even matter? I never enjoyed life as fully as others. So much effort just to keep up an endless season of melancholy. They touched their head and face, felt their lips rudely, pushed on their eyeballs.
“The hell are they doing?,” asked Shammy.
“Trying to wake Tmai up?,” Eliza offered.
Snar rested their head on their own, moaned with grief. Just because I didn’t want life doesn’t mean I should have to die. It’s not fair. I hate it. They propped theirself up and got back to work, running multi-spectrum body scans. Live, you fool.
The scans showed a terrible cloud of trisemic cords forming between the volar and vular atria. Moturic acid was the obvious solution, but if it got into the pismal process, they could be paralyzed for life, or killed. The only solution was manually injecting drops of moturic acid into the densest clumps and hoping it had catalyzed into less dangerous compounds by the time it escaped. Without opening the chest, causing trauma to a body barely alive, the work would have to be performed blind.
Snar had no assistance that would understand the relevant terms, and was clearly feeling the lack, as they crashed around the lab for tools and devices. They came back to Tmai’s body with a brace of sharp probes, and began stabbing them into their chest at irregular intervals. Corresponding to areas revealed as problematic on the scan? It was very hard for a bystander to tell. Snar worked the buttons on the handles, leaving the probes standing in place, like a vampire hunter fussing over wooden stakes.
Everyone stood as close as they dared, hoping not to be in the doctor’s way if they had sudden need of yet another instrument, and soon were rewarded with a sign of life. Tmai’s lips seemed to tremble, just for a moment. Then an eyelid flicked.
Snar couldn’t see that, so focused on metrics and readings, adjustments and implements. The excitement of the bystanders was an irritation, like the audience at their own boxing debut, and far from a good sign. Suddenly, both eyes snapped open, and Snar stumbled away in shock. Those aren’t my eyes!
What was more horrible? That their identity had been usurped? That their mind was so broken they’d imagined theirself into another body? That another person’s life had been in their hands while they had been in such a state? They fled wildly, flopping and crashing into every tray and table in the way.
Jdibitong grabbed them by the princess-sleeved arms again, and tried to speak with calm gravitas. “Dr. Snar, please. We don’t understand this behavior, but your Ainavian friend needs help only you can provide. Please, please, snap out of it.” Jdunazh blocked their way, but also made her best Vinudian gestures of supplication and pleading.
Back at the table, the humans leaned close – Scuzz closest of all. “Tmai..?”
“Scuzz,” Tmai said, barely a whisper.
“Where is Pep?”
Tmai closed their eyes grimly. “No Beb. No, no Beb.”
Somehow, the message was conveyed. Scuzz began to squall in sorrow, reminding Tmai so much of Olivia, and the larger Earthlings comforted her. At last, Snar returned, seemingly in better wits, while physically more pathetic than ever.
Through it all, Eliza stared at Tmai in amazement. Not at the captain’s survival or travails, but at the idea Pep was gone forever. All of her imagining of the ways they could die did not prepare her for the reality of it, and she was completely stuck on the mystery.
How the hell had it happened? Could they ever know? Would they want to?
—
I think there will only be one more after this! I think! One of my regrets in the story is that there are no opportunities left for Scuzz to use her krav maga.
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