any other of your kind think of doing it? Unless that’s too forward a question.”
“No, no,” they said. “It’s not too forward a question at all. Peace forbid! We encourage lesser species to learn of our ways, as we hope it will usher them toward prime intelligence. The answer to your question is simple. There were no other diones in the test because my kind have carefully cultivated souls, ones purged completely of aggression or violence. To come and then train for killing, why, it would be unthinkable!”
“But aren’t some of the drone pilots diones?” I asked.
“Some have been, but never for long. The drone pilots are almost always tenasi,” Morriumur explained, using the name of one of the leader races of the Superiority that I hadn’t met. “They have a special ability to fight but not become emotional as they do so. The rest of us are very peaceful.”
“And yet,” I said, “your dione leaders have no problem sending drones to murder a group of unprepared pilots?”
“This . . .” Morriumur looked down at their feet as they descended another step. “This was unexpected. I’m certain the officials know what they’re doing. And they’re right—it wouldn’t do to send people into battle who will simply flee. So some kind of extreme test was required, right?”
“Seems to me they’re a bunch of hypocr—” I started.
“Spensa,” M-Bot said in my ear. “I am not the best at anticipating proper social reactions for organics, but could you maybe not insult the first dione friend you’ve made? We might need to learn something from them.”
I bit off my words with difficulty. M-Bot was probably right. “Why did you come to this test, then?” I asked Morriumur instead. “Your soul isn’t . . . what did you say? Purged of aggression?”
“I am . . . a special case,” they replied. “I was born with an aggressive personality, and so must prove myself. I came here in an attempt to do that.”
We eventually reached the bottom of the steps and entered a large room with a low ceiling. Bright white lights illuminated cafeteria-style counters and tables; it reminded me of the mess hall back at Alta Base, though the scents . . . well, they were unusual. I caught some familiar ones—fried food, baking bread, something that was like cinnamon. But those scents mixed with a whole host of strange ones. Muddy water. Burning hair. Engine grease? It made for an overpowering, confusing wall of sensation that stopped me as soon as I passed through the doorway.
“What do you eat?” Morriumur asked, pointing at some signs hanging over various serving stations. “Carbon-based vegetation, I assume? There are mineral cocktails, though I doubt you can metabolize that. And over on the far side, there’s a line for lab-grown meat.” That seemed to bother them, judging by the way they drew their lips back into a frowning scowl that showed teeth.
“Uh . . .” I tried to think of how Alanik would respond.
“Your species,” M-Bot said in my ear, “has a diet roughly similar to a human one—though with more nuts and less meat. Also, no milk.”
“Seriously?” I whispered, moving with Morriumur toward the vegetable line. I waved at my chest. “Alanik has breasts. What are they for? Decoration?”
“No milk from other creatures, I should say,” M-Bot said. “Your species finds it extremely gross. As do I, by the way. Do you even stop to think how many strange liquids you organics squirt from your orifices?”
“No stranger than the ideas that squirt from your orifice sometimes, M-Bot.”
I followed Morriumur through the line and got a salad of something that seemed similar to algae strips. M-Bot assured me that it fit both my physiology and that of Alanik. As we collected our food, I couldn’t help noticing how much space the other pilots gave us.
When I went to grab some water, I had to crowd between two large gorilla-alien burl who barely gave me a glance, so it wasn’t me that everyone was staying away from. It was Morriumur. Yeah, I thought, sipping my cup of water and hitting another pocket of open space as I walked back toward them. They’re scared of Morriumur. Members of other species kept shooting glances toward them, as if suspicious or worried about the presence of a dione in this space reserved for “lesser” species.
I walked with my tray toward an empty table near the corner of the room. The cinnamon scent was strong here, but as I moved to sit down,