thing a good handspan into the soil. “Humans, your task is as simple as I can make it: gather rock. Place rock on carts. Do not slow down. Do not stop. Do not get in my way.” It’s a speech I’ve given to each new batch of aliens as they’ve arrived. It’s a waste of time; it’s almost a guarantee that the majority won’t listen to what I’ve just said.
When no one moves, I drag a sigh up from all six of my toes and turn a patient glower on the whole sea of apprehensive faces. “Don’t tell me you've already grown confused about what you’re to do here.” I point a curved black claw down at the largest pile of rocks and bark, “TOIL!”
They scatter. They hunt for pebbles not much bigger than two of their hands. Which is fine. I’ve been forced to watch humans enough to know that they really can’t lift much more than what can fit in their hands. If they try to brave more, they tend to drop their rock and hurt themselves, and then there are tears.
Curse the tears.
This day, there had better be not one more cog-damned tear.
Blessedly, I finish the cart’s wheel patch with no further interruption. Then I move myself to rock collection. I’m reaching down for a boulder, doing my best to ignore the existence of all humankind, when a small, feminine hand crosses under mine for a pebble. Then, as if the hand realizes what Rakhii she’s reaching past, the limb draws back in a hurry.
I glance over, ready to crisp whatever hapless female set herself so close to me—but she backs away so quickly, not even I can find fault with her.
Incongruously, her retreat gets under my scales. It shouldn’t, yet as I load three more boulders I’m still thinking about her. A human.
I return to her area and surreptitiously observe her. She is ever-moving, and if she only selects small rocks, she makes up for this in the sheer amount she collects. In the time it takes her fellow humans to add a rock or two to their counts, this human’s stone accumulation is triple theirs.
With a pleased grunt, I return to my own tasks.
At midday, when the others begin squalling about taking their necessary breaks, the hardworking human I’m still vaguely curious about does not stop when her sisters do. Perspiration sheens on her, but she doesn’t even seem to slow. Her diligent ethic astounds me. Impresses me, even.
Surprising myself, I make my way to the watering station. I take two sleeves of hydration gel and interrupt the moiling human. “Here,” I grunt. It’s customary to rest during the extreme heat of the day, but the season is coming to a close and the temperatures are warm but tolerable. Still, I wouldn’t begrudge this one for sitting in the shade for a spell. She’s actually earned the privilege.
Darting a look at me from the corner of her eye, she doesn’t cross over herself to grab for the gel packet with her free hand. Instead, she sets down the rock she’d been holding, and as if I came to her with teeth bared, she very carefully draws my offer from my clawtips.
She brings it to her mouth, applies her set of alien teeth to the tab, and tears the pack open. All the while, she watches me.
With a nod, I leave her and take up my pickaxe. Out of this quarry we glean slabs and great boulders, and in order to collect these sections of rock, we have to chip and scrape and crack them from the canyon walls and floor. Breaking up the boulders for easier transport is done mainly by hand tools and hard work—as any of the made-brawny-by-rock-hewing hobs and Rakhii who are under my hand can attest.
Eventually, the heat of the day abates, and the humans return to the main shard and pebble piles without complaint. The chattering though. It’s unending, a soft gabbling noise in my ears all the day long. If they put half the effort into moving their hands as they do ratcheting their jaws, we’d clear this alien-infested pit of rocks.
But today, I don’t yell. I don’t yank any hobs off their feet and shake them until their wings snap wildly and the humans get frightened into silence. I don’t make any humans cry.
I restrain myself.
It hurts.
But there is so much smiling. Like this is some sort of visiting session, Rakhii, hobs, and humans alike twaddle on, seemingly