Greg

Nobody Left Behind 8

Added 2025-03-24 13:00:13 +0000 UTC

The first half of this scene is new. The second half is from before.

Nobody Left Behind 1
Nobody Left Behind 2
Nobody Left Behind 3
Nobody Left Behind 4
Nobody Left Behind 5
Nobody Left Behind 6
Nobody Left Behind 7

———

The geroo returned after lunch, asking once again about the cleaning crew in the dorm.

Sarsuk rested his chin on the floor, avoiding her eyes. “Y’know?” he said after a pause. “I’ve had … difficulty with cleaning crews throughout my life. Maybe we should talk about something else?”

Siki sat in silence for a bit, then typed some notes on her tablet. “Okay, if you’d like,” she said when she finished, “but that sounds important. We’re coming back to it eventually.”

Sarsuk groaned. He didn’t want to talk about cleaning crews. Truthfully, he didn’t want to talk about anything, but the prospect of being left alone was somehow worse.

She waited for him to nod before asking, “You told me about a lover. How about a friend of yours? Will you do that?”

The krakun closed his eyes, and in his mind, he ran through every krakun he’d ever met but came up empty. “I don’t have any friends,” he grumped. “If I did, they’d have shown up at my execution.”

“Would they?” Siki asked in a sincere tone. “If my best friend in the galaxy were being executed, I wouldn’t have come. No way I’d want to remember them that way.”

“You wouldn’t?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think I could hate someone enough to want to see them die.”

“Huh.” He’d never thought of it like that. But then again, he’d been to lots of executions—at least, if you counted punishing slaves by putting them to death. He’d done that many times.

“Well, I’m not sure what I can share,” said Sarsuk. “I remember when I was young—like really, really, really young—and my mom would have a friend over who was also parenting. They’d get a break from us, and we’d get a chance to play together. It was wonderful.”

“Yeah?”

Sarsuk nodded. “It was. Maybe the happiest I’ve ever been. But we were so young. We didn’t know what the galaxy was like yet. We’d stack up blocks together, eat a snack together, cuddle, fall asleep together… But I didn’t even know their name. I don’t even know whether they were a he or a she. Gender meant nothing back then.”

“Well, that’s nice, but yeah, probably too far back,” she conceded. “Tell me about an adult friend. Tell me about someone you were friends with before your…”

“Execution?” he asked when she couldn’t manage the word.

Siki’s ears frowned low, and she tried to ask a question several times before saying, “I’ve never been on Krakuntec. I’m guessing they don’t execute people for minor crimes. They don’t chop your head off for jaywalking, right?”

“Nah,” he said with a wry smile and a wink, “they just run you over.”

“Great,” she sighed. “So, you were always in trouble with the law? Your execution was the end of a long life of crime?”

“No! I never did anything wrong … not really,” he said defensively. “I certainly wasn’t treasonous. In fact, I never would have gotten in any trouble if I’d…”

“If you’d…?” she asked, her ears raised.

The commissioner frowned, staring off into space a long while before he turned his attention back to the chocolate-brown geroo. “Have you ever asked anyone out on a date, Siki?”

She blinked in surprise, and it took her a moment to collect herself. “Uh, yeah, I guess, a couple times. Why?”

Sarsuk groaned. “How do you do that? It’s because you’re frightened of dying, right?”

“What?” she gasped.

“I’d never have gotten in trouble,” he whispered mostly to himself, “if I’d just been brave enough…”

# # #

Sarsuk spent ages searching for a job before he landed a ground-floor position at Planetary Acquisitions. But despite his competency, he made limited career progress. He complained about everything—most notably about his lack of promotions—and in a vicious circle, that complaining slowed his progress even more.

His personal life stagnated too. From time to time, he lusted over various krakun from afar—usually, those like Nokevti who’d been way out of his league—and he spent his life alone, stewing in disappointment.

“Welcome to Solar Bark!” the barista said, with as radiant a smile as any krakun had ever managed. “What can I do to help start your day?”

Don’t screw this up! Don’t screw this up! Don’t screw this up! chanted Sarsuk to himself. He’d been trying to get the nerve up to talk to the barista for ages, and today was going to be the day, one way or another.

“G-good morning, Ashiok,” Sarsuk blurted suddenly.

“Good morning, Sarsuk,” said the red-scaled krakun without hesitation. Tiny chips of white scales speckled his mail. To most, the effect might look vagrant and shabby, but Sarsuk found the effect as wholesome and unpretentious as the krakun’s pale blue eyes.

Sarsuk blinked, taken completely by surprise. “You … know my name?” he asked quietly. He wouldn’t have known Ashiok’s name if it weren’t for the nametag he wore every day.

Ashiok’s smile was warm and sly. “I’d hope so. I’ve been writing it on a paper cup every morning for hundreds of years.”

The yellow krakun squinted, not sure how to take that. “Well, yeah,” he said, “but most of the time you get it wrong.”

Ashiok threw his head back a few degrees and laughed. “Just a game I like to play,” he explained. “This job isn’t the most exciting, so you have to make your own fun. I like to think it helps the customers wake up a little. They have to pay a little extra attention when I call their ‘name’ or they’ll miss it.”

Sarsuk scowled. He hated it each time the smaller krakun had put down the wrong name. It made him feel unimportant, like Ashiok didn’t listen to him. He hated that feeling. “Hrm. You don’t think that upsets anyone?”

The other krakun shrugged. “They’ll have a laugh when they learn to play along.” His smile warmed, and he asked, “A triple shot, whipped, Mocha Sulfusion?”

Sarsuk opened his mouth in surprise once more. He always ordered the same thing, hoping that Ashiok might one day consider him a “regular”. Instead of answering, he nodded.

“See? I remembered.” Ashiok winked. He wrote “Sarsoook” on a paper cup and let the yellow krakun catch a glimpse of it before setting it on the conveyor.

Sarsuk chuckled. “Well, you’ve suckered me in,” he admitted. “And all this time I’d presumed you were some sort of space cadet, too distracted to do your job.”

“Ah, space cadet. That sounds fun,” sighed Ashiok. “I’ve never been to space. I went to Black Beach once. Not nearly so exotic.”

Sarsuk raised an eyebrow ridge. “I work in space.”

“You do, honey?” said Ashiok in surprise.

Honey? Had he already received his Sulfusion, he’d have choked on it. He cleared his throat to cover his surprise. “Uh, yeah. But it’s just a job. Not as glamorous as you might imagine.”

“Oh, everything’s glamorous compared to Solar Bark,” said Ashiok with a smile.

He turned slightly when one of the anup slaves on the conveyor line yarked. Though tiny to a krakun, the anup were one of the largest species enslaved by the krakun. The muscular canids all had thin black pelts over their powerful frames and wore only masks to protect them from the sulfuric atmosphere.

Ashiok waved at him. “Yes, three shots,” he confirmed, holding up three talons on one claw. He turned back and winked. “The anup are nice enough, but always so serious. You’d think they were loading fuel for a race car, not pumps of sugar-free caramel flavoring. They won’t ever chit-chat.”

Sarsuk smiled. “I have to work with geroo slaves. They’re…”

“Yes, honey?”

The older krakun shrugged. How did one describe the bouncy little marsupials? “They think they’ve very clever, like you couldn’t possibly notice that they’re trying to get away with something.”

“My folks got me a ringel cleaning crew as a home-warming gift. Well, only three. That’s not much of a crew, but it’s enough,” said Ashiok. With his thumbs and index claws, he formed a small diamond and looked at Sarsuk through the single square meter hole. “But my apartment is this big. If anything, I’ve got too many!”

Sarsuk leaned on the counter. “Well, you can never keep fewer than three ringel,” he said. “They can die of loneliness.”

“Oh, that’s so sad,” said the barista with a sigh. He touched Sarsuk’s arm and lightly traced the boundary between his biceps and triceps. “I just love them. They’re so full of life. Always happy.”

“I know what you mean,” said Sarsuk, thinking back on an unpleasant memory. “I had a ringel crew until recently, myself.”

“So, you finally got the nerve up to speak with me. I was starting to wonder.”

“You wanted me to, sugar?” Sarsuk’s cheeks flushed furiously, and he covered his mouth with a claw, unsure if he should apologize for using such an intimate nickname.

“I’d always hoped you would,” said Ashiok. “Perhaps, we should kiss?”

And with that, the two krakun touched their lips together, quietly whispering, “Mwah, mwah, mwah…”

Sarsuk looked up from what he was doing. On the other side of the dining area, a green krakun stared at him, her cup frozen half-way to her lips.

In abject horror, Sarsuk froze. Sweat damped his spine, and the heart in his throat felt like it could give out at any moment. Very slowly, he pulled the sugar and honey dispensers apart so they were no longer kissing. He set them down on his tiny table, then casually slid them to the far edge.

He wanted to look away, but the green krakun’s stare held him. He couldn’t blink. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think.

An eternity passed while embarrassment ate away Sarsuk’s soul.

Eventually, the green krakun set down her drink. Without ever breaking eye contact, she gestured to the barista at the front of the shop. Slowly and deliberately, she mouthed clear words at the yellow krakun, “Talk. To. Him.”

One more moment passed, and then Sarsuk’s heart started beating again, beating too fast, trying to make up for lost time. He got up and dashed for the exit without even waiting for Ashiok to call his name.

The door slammed shut behind him, and the shop fell to silence.

“Sursark?”