makes her shoulder bump my elbow. “I wasn’t sure if this was a species-wide thing, or just a Hotahn thing.”
I consider her question. “You couldn’t pay me to eat a human. But I suppose I am frequently hungry.” I shake my head at the notion of a Rakhii requiring frequent alien feedings, as if we’re some sort of beast-pets that need human care. “But we are Rakhii. Renown for our honor, our strength, our protective instincts. We couldn’t possibly manage all we’re meant to do if we were constantly eating, no matter how hungry we get. We’re bred sturdy so we can guard, fight, build. Beat things.”
“You guys sound great,” Isla mutters—but she does it while still smiling. She hasn’t stopped smiling. It’s becoming unnerving.
I release her arm. “We are,” I confirm, taking pride in my people. My stomach growls, and in light of our discussion I feel as if I now must ignore it. “We can get half a day’s work in without so much as a nip at a meal, and we won’t perish.”
“Ahhh, hang on,” Isla says, so I dutifully take ahold of her arm again. She pauses at this, then grins up at me. “If withholding from food is what you’ve been doing, maybe you’ve been getting hangry.”
I squint down at her. “Your translator needs calibrating.” I flick her at the back of the ear, where translators are implanted.
Behind us, again the collected humans and hobs and even a few Rakhii make a ruckus. I feel as if I’m in a pottery and fine china shop full of steely-eyed proprietors who just witnessed me hurling a teacup across the floor.
It’s offensive. This female is clearly made of something more like porcelain. Still fine; delicate, even—but unmistakably more durable than china.
I twist enough to drop a warning from my mouth, and not one made of words. Fire erupts from my jaws, the flames making superficial scorch marks on the stone top under everyone’s feet. My way of cautioning the lot of them to stop creeping closer, to stop them from treating me as if I need to be monitored with one of the aliens I oversee in this quarry—my quarry.
When I turn back to Isla, she’s cradling the spot behind her ear, her expression one of blatant disbelief. At least that odd smile has disappeared. “Did you just flick me?” she asks, her shock evident because she closes her mouth after she asks the question.
“Your translator—” I start.
She points a finger at my snout. “You owe me one.”
That silence didn’t last long. I take up my mallet again, hooking it over my shoulder as I pass her, approaching the canyon wall and anchoring my chisel point to a sedimentary line. “‘Owe you one of what?’” I say, before I swing my mallet.
Rock splits with a thundering crack.
I swing again, and the cracks turn to fissures. Another swing and rock shards explode from the wall, crashing to the quarry ground and pinging around with dusty cracks and clatters.
I turn back to Isla.
Her eyes hop from the broken rocks everywhere around us to my mallet then to me.
I nod. “If I owe you anything, it’ll be a slap with the broad side of my tail for being idle. Get your tail-less rump to work.”
CHAPTER 4
ISLA
The day is pretty darn interesting. And it mostly goes like this:
Big scary alien grumbles to me while he performs great feats of strength breaking chunks off of the earth, which he then lifts and carries to carts waiting to haul it wherever our collected rocks go, while meanwhile I’m hanging out with him and filling the same carts with what looks like cute little pet rocks, compared to what he can bring to the table.
The entire time we do this, I keep a steady commentary wherein I pepper him with questions, and he answers me in monosyllabic growls. Although it doesn’t seem like he’s very wordy to me, from longer-employed quarry worker’s wide-eyed reactions, I gather this is a big deal.
It makes me feel kinda special.
I find out that if I ask Bash work-related questions, he gets a little more verbose. He’s still terse and aggressive but the grumpiness is so extreme he’s actually hilarious.
Of course, he’s being completely serious, but I can’t help it that the more crabby he gets, the harder I’m silently laughing. I have to keep my back to him and hope he doesn’t see me shaking as I try to suppress any wayward happy sounds. I must do a