A Simple Gesture

When she moved in, I knew nothing about her; even her species and sex was a question to me. Sure, there are a few non-humans on this back-washed mining planet — mostly running away from the law on their home worlds — but she wasn’t even one of the recognized member species of the Combine.

News of the war was always slow to arrive out here, but we all knew that it was going well for the Combine, not so well for the invaders. We knew them as the Skags, their proper name replaced even in serious news with the pejorative-sounding pronunciation.

The last news we had was that one of their colony worlds, home of one of their “client species” — known in the rest of the galaxy as slaves — had been liberated by Combine forces led by the Terran Union Navy and TU Marines.

She was small compared to most species of the Combine. Humans are short and compact, sure, as we come from a relatively high-gravity planet, but she was as short as me, at 150 centimeters. Despite that, she moved as though the gravity was in the perfect range for her.

I mean, I got used to it after a few months, but I don’t know how many times I banged my head on the ceiling trying to run. Moving gracefully in one-third gravity is something that takes practice for a human from Earth.

She was bipedal, with a long, slender, prehensile tail, and four long arms with four-fingered hands. Her legs and arms had one too many joints, but she moved as though she was made of water.

Her head was positioned somewhere between a straight-ahead gaze and an upturned gaze as a quadruped would have. She was covered in a rust-orange fur with a pale ridge of bristle running from between the dark spots above her eyes — which I would later learn were heat pits — to the back of her head, like a mohawk that was longest at the crest; about ten centimeters. Her eyes were bright yellow and round, with no sclera that I could discern.

Of course, having heard nothing of her species, I looked it up on the ’net. She was a klimarti from what the Combine knows as Haverun-Beta two. So far, little was known about their native language, but they also spoke a broken form of Skag due to being unable to voice many of the complex vowels of the language.

They were known to be primarily herbivorous but opportunistic omnivores, the males all displaying complex patterns of black and orange and the females being a solid color. When they had just begun to build cities, the Skag moved in and made them a “client species,” putting them to work in massive agriculture projects.

As the Combine had freed their planet and driven the Skags out, it was odd that she’d be here. There must be more to the story, but as there were no translations yet built for her kind, there would be no way to ask her.

Regardless, I thought she might feel isolated in a sea of aliens. That wouldn’t do. I would have to do something to let her know she wasn’t alone, and that she was welcome here, a simple gesture.

Sneak rubbed against my legs and let out a plaintive meow. I looked over and saw that his bowl was still half-full, but the bottom was visible in the middle. I picked up the bowl, put it on the counter and smoothed the food out with a spoon so the entire bottom was covered.

That seemed to placate him and gave me an idea as well. “Sneak, that’s a wonderful idea,” I said. With the information I had on their diet — at least as far as we knew — I had the perfect plan.

After a short trip to the market, I set about making a mess of my cramped kitchen. It wasn’t often I got to do things like this, even though it always put me in a good mood.

So it was, later that afternoon, that I knocked on her door, a fresh apple pie in hand. I could hear movement on the other side of the door, then nothing.

I wondered if she could see me through the door with her heat pits. Just in case, I raised a hand and waved. “Just wanted to say welcome to town…and, um…the planet.”

The door opened a crack and a bright yellow eye peeked out. She said something that sounded like music played on an oboe, soft and sweet and plaintive.

I offered the pie and she looked at it with what I took to be confusion. I mimed eating it and offered it again.

The door opened a bit more and one of her hands came out and touched the pie where the filling had bubbled through the cutouts in the crust. Seeing the sticky bit on her finger, I mimed tasting my own finger.

Her hand disappeared behind the door and a moment later her eye opened wide, her pupil dilated to an uncanny size, and the door opened the rest of the way. She eyed the pie and spoke in her musical language again.

I took it to be a question and held the pie for her to take. “Yes, for you.”

She took it carefully in her upper hands while her lower hands reached out as if to steady my arm at the elbow. Her touch was gentle, but I could feel the rough callouses of hard work.

Once she had hold of the pie, her lower hands moved to cradle the tin from the base, and she carried it into her flat carrying it as though it were a precious, fragile thing.

I stood at the open door, unsure of what to do until she set the pie on the table and motioned me in. At least I understood that.

Once I was in the flat, she rushed to shut the door after ensuring the hallway was clear. I didn’t know what she’d experienced, but it must’ve been traumatic.

She offered to help me into a chair. Her every action was subservient. This won’t do, I thought. I moved past her, pulled out a chair for her and motioned for her to sit. She looked confused but sat anyway.

Knowing how these flats were kitted out, I went to her kitchen and pulled out two forks, two plates, and a knife. I set out the plates and forks, and cut two slices from the pie, placing hers on her plate first.

After I sat, she was still looking at the fork and slice of pie unsure of what to do. I picked up my fork and showed her by example. In just a couple tries she got the hang of it.

With every bite, she savored it, making a high-pitched tweeting sound I took to be giggling. I shared small talk with her, and she responded in her own language. Neither of us understood what the other was saying, but we got the context: just two friendly neighbors enjoying a chat.

She’d finished her slice of pie and looked at the remaining pie in the tin. I winked at her. “Help yourself,” I said.

I guess she understood, because she forked another bite out, directly from the tin. I chuckled and followed suit and she made her musical giggling noise again.

Continuing that way, we demolished half the pie between the two of us before I pointed at myself and said, “Kara.”

She caught on right away and after some practice could sing my name in the most beautiful version I’d ever heard. She pointed at herself and sang, “Zille-e.”

The pitch changes were pretty close to the singsong I use when I’m looking for Sneak, singing “Here, kitty kitty.” I sang her voice that way and she patted my shoulders with her upper hands, making the melodic giggle sounds.

I managed to teach her “yes” and “no” with much miming and example. She taught me how to sing a greeting. I’m not sure whether it’s just “hello” or “good morning” or what, but I learned it.

We spent a while longer just enjoying each other’s company. I think I’m starting to get a read on her expressions. She sang something and looked at me as if waiting for an answer.

I said, “Uh, yes?”

She squinted and let out the giggle sound again before patting my shoulder. I think she made a joke at my expense. Felt good. I joined in the laughter.

As the afternoon wore on, I could see she was starting to fade; sugar crash, I guessed. I excused myself after exchanging an at first awkward, then quite warm and friendly hug as she caught on to what I was doing.

I think I found a new friend.