“I want to be home, but the satisfaction of watching our enemy die at the hands of these ugly people is worth the time away.”
Content Warning: Language, Violence, mild sexual themes.
First personal letter: Undisclosed time and date. Servarmar, the humans are sometimes sympathetic. On every level. The males are separated by categories, not like we. We are simple. You are or you are not. Does one have special abilities beyond assignments on Blagon? No. Are there any that are strange? No. Here they are the same but male and female. Sometimes they are interchangeable and do not remain in societal standards. For them, that is fine. At least here. Ten years here assigned to watch of the dreaded Uru. And it satisfies me to say their treatment is appropriate. The humans are easily scared by anything different. Here my name is Mike. Sometimes they say,
“What’s up, Mike? Have a good weekend?”
I will get away with a lift of my arm or a nod of my head. Sometimes they ask, “Are you ok?”
With my voice, I go deep, “Hey, yes buddy. Doing great, fantastic! Super beans!”
It allows me a temporary pass. They pay me what I am owed as a bonus for the work here. Please do not tell Blates this, they may take payment from me there on Blagon too. Taxes, as you know. I want to be home, but the satisfaction of watching our enemy die at the hands of these ugly people is worth the time away. There is a secret I have to tell. I think there may be more than us here. I have suspected a person named Carol. She is constantly bothered by the man humans for copulation purposes, and she turns them down. Some get frustrated and grab her. One time she raised her voice, and it reminded me of the Plecas. Tonal pitch and sound. It sounded Plecas-like. I know some of their language and may approach her. However, I am worried she may think I seek relations with her as “Mike.”
You asked me how in our last communication they found the Uru. Since that was a business response I believe you know they are dumb and cannot help themselves and run to trouble like a long-lost ex-love. They come here willingly. Humans know that the universe is too large for only them to inhabit alone and they are right. Many different people are here, some I have not seen, some we believed were real and are. I picked up a little of their language. There were a few that cracked, believing someone was coming to take them home or destroy the human planet. Nonsense. The other day I was tempted to talk to the Uru and tell them:
“mmooona sec Uru- oft eneo, Bla.”
Funny, right?! Imagine them knowing I was here. They will never return to Uruanos or Urus whatever they call it as long as I am “Mike.” I appreciate the Gorp you sent me. Delicious. The few great items that humans eat are scarce. If not for the sick days, they may have fired me and the mission over. Disgrace! Return home so defeated because I could not eat one of their foodstuffs. Imagine my shame. My stomach has become accustomed to these graham crackers and Listerine. You would love it. Someday, Blates willing, you should come. If I return, I will go to one of their supply huts and bring this to you. Also, they make a food like our regot. They call it tea. I have asked for a solid version but I do not think they make them. So, on my time off, I have come close to making it for myself without it being too warm to keep it together. It is the closest thing I have to remember home. I will continue later when I have time.
Second transmission: A new batch of others came in yesterday. I say this because I don’t know where they come from and neither do the humans. They are resourceful beings. Some that go and hunt anything at night or find another visiting their home, do not always come back. There are some other beings they call “beasts” that have removed one of the human’s limbs and waited outside our encampment to watch them die; bleeding his fluids out onto the ground. I watched from inside. I had to hold my laughing. It would have been a suspicious tell. They caught one beast and encased him in an impenetrable home. How it still lives, I do not know but I can still hear it cry while I am near its cell. I want to let it out, but the humans will die, my cover discovered, you understand dishonor.
I will commune with you soon-Minsil.
Third transmission: Another day. But a fellow operative reported me to their ‘HR.’ They do not sound like the other humans. Lots of teeth and their voices contrived. I have never met them before but have seen them in their commercials trying to get me to depart from my human money. Carol later came to me and told me it was she who reported me because I used the Plecas language on her. I was right, she is a Plecanbian. She had to tell the ‘HR’ that I “harassed her” to make her concern authentic and had a plan. She was right. I find her unattractive as a human and a Plecas. A win-win. Her crying to HR kept the eyes off of us. It irritated them. I thank my school for teaching me Plecas. Carol is delightful, but now everyone hates me here. I just want to see these Urus suffer. Tell Blates I am still watching them though I made a friend. The man humans hate me. Carol laughs with me and we eat together, they get upset and have also reported me to the ‘HR.’ They dropped the examination of my work because I am friends with Carol and can see I never harassed her. The men believe I am intercoursing with Carol. Gross. We can’t. Sometimes they are so stupid. They may very well produce more stupidity than any race I have come across.
Also, one of the man humans confronted me on my way home. Carol was off that day. He called me names that I did not recognize. I nodded and tried to get into my vehicle and drive home. He said:
“Hey, you big wuss. I am talking to you. Didn’t you know I liked Carol before you? What the hell?”
He pushed my back to my vehicle where I almost hit it. You know I could have hurt him until he expired but I did not. I would have also lost my job and had to come home. You understand dishonor. One of the other members of my team stopped him. I had no comforting words for his actions. If he loved Carol so much, he needed to speak with her. But I did tell the Plecanbian what happened. This man has grabbed Carol on her human shell. Carol did not care because it was not her, but she did not want him to pull anything off or displace it. Understandable. If they only knew. Which brings me to this point. Why was Carol here, far from Plecas? The Urus are dreadful. Carol came to kill as many as she could and told me there were others here doing the same but not Plecanbians. Then who is really human? It did make me wonder. I missed a night of sleep because of her words.
She waited for the right time to kill the Urus but I told her I was there to make sure they never returned to Uruanos. There is where we argued. Should the Urus die, they do not return home. Mission complete. Should she not, my mission remains, with honor. Should she kill the Urus, mission complete with honor since it would not be from my hand that they die. I told her that I could not help her, but she knew our laws. However, it would sadden me to go this long and have it end because she wanted to kill the Urus and said that her time would end faster if she had help. I was her only friend there. But to do so was dishonorable. It was a trouble for me. She waited for several years to get the chance at the Urus and did not have the right moment. There were three of them there. I want to relent and help. How much is dishonor? You know it means everything to me or I would have killed them on my own or tried.
Carol stopped talking to me. I can tell that she wants to go home. In her human voice, she cried the other day while eating lunch. It was away from me. I left her alone. The other men believed I did something to her and threatened me as a group. Some of them tried to console Carol, but I told you she wanted nothing to do with them. One of the men sat down at the table with me.
“What’s up, Mike?”
I kept eating my graham crackers. I started to disguise my Listerine in a bottle because I later discovered humans spit it out.
“Poor lady is heartbroken.”
I nodded and broke off another cracker.
“That’s it, man? That’s ok with you? Plenty of great guys here and you get one chance at the station hot ass and blow it by treating her like shit?”
It sounded like mumbling to me.
“It’s pathetic. I thought you were a good guy.”
I tried to use any human response I could, but I chuckled because he didn’t know any better. More transmissions soon.
Han Jan Trotter's contribution as a writer stems from decades of writing short stories, screenplays, unpublished science fiction novels, formal essays, and historical papers on 3rd-century martyrs. With his short stories at Forbidden Panel, his goal is to provide a momentary escape from everyday life.