Rook Winters - Weight of Ashes

Kantarka-Ta was the governor’s second-in-command and gatekeeper to the most powerful being on Earth so it had a dedicated voice. And when that voice said to wait, you waited. As far as human affairs went, Kantarka-Ta was in charge. All humans reported to it, excluding Kane and his small team.

He stayed standing for a long time. One could never know when they were watching, evaluating, judging. He didn’t want to enter the meeting tired, though, so when the first wave of fatigue hit, Kane sat. Eventually, he let his helmet tip back and rest against the wall.

Kane was starting to doze off when Kantarka-Ta’s voice returned. “Kane, your entrance is permitted now.”

A new virtual button began pulsing on the wall panel: OPEN. He shook his head in an attempt to clear the fog of sleep that had started to encroach and entered the governor’s meeting hall.

“Governor Torkanuux, it is an honor to once again be in your presence.”

Humans weren’t physically capable of emulating the Qyntarak gesture of respectful greeting so Kane knelt on one knee, something diplomats had agreed upon a couple decades earlier after the balance of global power had clearly shifted to the Qyntarak. Kane didn’t care for it himself but he had few reasons to complain. Compared to most humans, his life was very good. Kneeling occasionally was a small price to pay for that.

“The Akarrak assembly vote will happen in eighteen days. Failure of yours to reveal more evidence of human interference creates in us large quantity of doubt that your group has any usefulness left.”

“Honorable one of many, with the death of Clint Donovan we have closed the door to any possible interference. He didn’t have a following, only a relationship with two voting members of the Akarrak.”

Kane’s heart throbbed in his chest. The suit, which was capable of translating his human physiological responses into temperatures that the Qyntarak could comprehend, was muting his reactions. He didn’t see any value in letting the Qyntarak ruler know how panicked he felt.

There was almost no light in Torkanuux’s chamber. With the assistance of his helmet, Kane was able to see the creature as it shifted forward and curled its upper body, a move meant to communicate authority and dominance. Kane didn’t have any instinctual response to the inhuman movement but he’d spent enough time around Qyntarak that he reacted anyway. He took a small step back, which would be barely perceptible to the alien with the suit controlling his body temperature, but it was enough to signal his deference.

“Donovan was a friend,” Governor Torkanuux said. “A friendship unequalled between our species. Friendship to be forever unequalled with the vote successful in eighteen days. Such alliances between Qyntarak and human will no longer be expedient. My staff report that their statistical models predict discontent with the acceptance of the new laws. Violence from humans is predicted. Passive resistance from human rights advocates among Qyntarak is predicted. Prosperity must be protected.”

“The Reclamationists are fragmented and scattered. We have no evidence of any coordination that would support making a meaningful statement, let alone precipitate widespread unrest.”

The Qyntarak twisted its upper body, which meant confusion. Kane realized his message was getting garbled in translation.

“The Reclamationists—the traitors—are few and not well organized. They are not able to disrupt prosperity.”

The Qyntarak wiggled its frond-like antennae in understanding. “For fifteen days, your group is to act on data from my staff and follow up on all risks from their predictive systems.”

Kane hated when the translator said staff, as if anyone, human or Qyntarak, had a choice about their work.

“Kantarka-Ta will instruct you on the relationships for work assignment.”

“Thank you, Governor, honorable one of many.” Kane knelt and retreated from the room. He was taking a few calming breaths in the changing closet when another door opened and he was pulled in. The feeling was like falling but he moved horizontally. He ripped off his helmet just in time for his vomit to splatter on the floor.

“Kane.” The first time Kane heard the gurgling hiss of Qyntarak speech, he thought it sounded like a cat coughing up a hairball. With more exposure over the years, he now heard the nuance and subtle variety in timbre between speakers. But even with all his experience, the sound of a Qyntarak barking out English was grating. To hear it a few feet away coming from Kantarka-Ta’s vocal slot while bile still sat on Kane’s tongue was unsettling. “St-stable miniaturized directional gravity control fr-from our fr-friends at Aldeb-a-aran.” The words came out in stutters as it strained to produce each syllable. The training and practice required for a Qyntarak to achieve the level of physical control needed to speak English went deep into obsessive territory.

“You could have just asked to see me.”

“Wh-wh-where is the amusement in s-such?”

“You mean where’s the fun in that?”

Kantarka-Ta tilted backward and lowered its fronds. The Qyntarak gesture for mild irritation.

“Inso-so-solent h-human.”

“Insolent? I don’t work for you, Kantarka-Ta.”

“Not y-yet. I heard Torkanuux. Y-y-y-your time is drawing to an end. S-soon you w-will work f-for me.”

“Then it’s off to the gulags, is it?”

The Qyntarak twisted in confusion.

“Never mind,” Kane said. “Did you actually want something or were you just seeing if your new toy would make me throw up?”

“Th-that w-was an unexpected bonus f-for me.” It waggled its frond antennae in circles. Humor. Delight. Joy.

What an asshole.

“Then you’ll excuse me.” Kane turned to leave but Kantarka-Ta reactivated the gravity device for a fraction of a second, pulling him back just far enough for his foot to slip in the puddle of his own vomit and he fell to the floor. He was back on his feet at once.

Stay in control, Kane. Stay. In. Control.

Kantarka-Ta was small for a Qyntarak. Kane figured just over 400 pounds and seven feet when its upper body was folded over, the normal standing position for an adult Qyntarak. Unfortunately for Kane, it was still twice his mass and incredibly fast so he was at the alien’s mercy when its clutching appendages grabbed him. One took hold of his right arm, the other his neck. Kane winced at both the pain and the unnatural feeling of the alien’s leathery scales over braids of its muscle and fat equivalents.

Its longer stabbing appendages poked at Kane’s torso, a move that the Qyntarak knew to be intimidating to humans. It was not wrong about that.

“You are th-th-the most arrogant human I know. When the governor is done w-with you, you w-will learn your place. The fascination with humans that Torkanuux carries w-will pass and yo-yo-your kind will f-f-f-fade.”

Glaring at a Qyntarak was pointless since they couldn’t see it but Kane did so anyway.

“Will that be all?”

The blunt pincer around his neck tightened and he wheezed. The antennae waggled in circles again. “You come to me pe-personally for work for yo-your crew. And to review progress.”

Kantarka-Ta released its grip and Kane’s hand went to his neck involuntarily, the instinctive self-defense reflex trumping his ego’s desire to appear strong.

The alien croaked a command in its own language and the door reopened.

Once through the doorway, Kane said, “Your Fs are getting sloppy and you still slur S sounds, which is weird given that you don’t have a tongue.” The closing door obstructed his view of the alien swaying with rage.

“Thank goodness killing me would be bad for business,” he muttered at the closed door.