Lunch with Trahzi

After morning classes, which were completed with a substitute after Ms. Stubbs was taken away to see a psychiatrist, Gerald snuck out of the building as inconspicuously as he could. Taking a peek across the quad, he snuck through a row of crystalline bushes, then took cover behind the marble statue of Emperor Qetimong. A crack appeared on the statue where Gerald's shoulder brushed up against it. Pulling out a small glass mirror, Gerald used it to peek around the corner of the statue to view the fenced rooftop.

Relieved to see no one looking down from there, he straightened his robes and made to sprint across the quad and out into the parking lot. That was when fire erupted all around him, and when it disappeared, he was standing on the rooftop next to Trahzi, who was kneeling comfortably on a blanket she had laid out.

"Ah, right," Gerald said.

"Please sit with us," Trahzi said, motioning to the open spot before her on the blanket.

Unable to think of any alternative, Gerald sat down and really looked her over for the first time. She was amazonian, about seven feet tall from what he could guess, with bright red skin like a fire engine. Her figure was far more hourglassed than that of a human female. Her enormous breasts strained against the fabric of her uniform. Her waist was so small he could probably have reached all the way around it with both hands if he cared to. Her hips flared out beautifully into long, toned legs. Her long hair and large eyes were completely black, and it looked like she painted her nails and lips to match, although he couldn't really be sure. For all he knew, that could be her natural coloration as well.

If he ignored the pigmentation, which was surprisingly hard to do, she looked like a hyper-sexualized version of a human female. It was no wonder her people were called demons, they looked like something out of a friar's nightmare from the Middle Ages. Some kind of infernal succubus sent from hell to tempt pious men. Well, pious men with a weird fetish for red skin, anyway.

Give her a pitchfork and some bat wings and she could pass as Satan's concubine... or a Marvel superhero.

"Thank you for coming out to us so willingly," she said. For the first time he caught a hint of her quiet language during the delay between when she spoke and when his translator kicked in. A series of low whispers and hisses, sultry, but menacing. For some reason, just hearing the sounds made him feel like he was about to be stabbed from behind.

"Actually, I was trying to sneak away," he confessed. "It didn't work."

"We know," she said as she took out a small silver flask. "That was sarcasm."

"Ah, so you have that too. Seems we have another thing in common."

The low hiss of irritation she gave off informed him that his comment had the opposite effect of what he had intended. She popped the seal and pulled out of the flask a clear vial containing a floating ball of energy. It pulsed like a little heartbeat, and folded in on itself as it rolled about in the air. Colors rolled about over it like ripples in a disturbed pond.

The black fingernails on her thumb and forefinger extended out into long, sharp claws. They glowed with a strange black light as she used them to reach in and fish out the floating soul. Hungrily she threw her head back and popped the thing in her mouth, savoring it slowly. Despite his impending doom, Gerald could not help but marvel at the oddity of this situation. For hundreds of years scientists and philosophers on earth had debated endlessly about the existence of the soul. And now, here it was right in front of him, and she was munching on it like it was nothing more than a Twinkie.

"Did you... um... take those souls yourself?" he asked cautiously, unsure of what to say.

"Of course not," she clarified, shaking her head. "These souls are supplied by the Alliance government as part of the exchange program. Death row inmates, child molesters, animal rights activists, those sorts of people."

"Oh good, so these aren't human souls," he said, relieved.

"No," she said, smacking her lips distastefully. Human souls are quite bitter."

Gerald's face went blank. "You're kidding, right?"

She looked at him oddly with her black eyes. "My translator can't find that word, what is 'kidding?'"

Gerald swallowed hard. "Yikes. So... may I ask what they taste like?"

She looked at him inquisitively. "Why, do you want to try one?"

He held up his hands. "Oh no, just curious."

This answer seemed to satisfy her. "That is one thing we actually do have in common."

She thought for a moment as she chewed. "Most races do not have a strong flavor. Humans are quite pungent, but the rest are rather mild. We would not say that souls have a distinct flavor as much as a texture."

"Can you describe it?"

She thought hard on this. "It depends on the soul. We would describe this one right now as... feathery."

She got a little unsure of herself and shook her head. "We are sorry; this is something we are unaccustomed to."

"What is?"

"Describing sensations to another. Since we all share the same mind, it is not something we normally have to do."

Gerald smiled at her. For a moment, she didn't seem all that threatening. She seemed just like a normal person.

"That is why we called you up here. We require your assistance."

"You want me to help you?"

"Yes. Our mission is to learn and observe and interact with the others to understand them better, and we can hardly do that effectively when they are all terrified of us."

"But why me?"

"Three reasons. Firstly, because you have only been here a few weeks and already you have made friends with some of your classmates."

"I wouldn't say friends. They just hate me slightly less than the others."

"But they will at least speak to you, whereas we have been here for months, and no one will speak to us, so you are obviously more successful, albeit only slightly."

"So, you want me to... teach you how to make friends?"

"Yes."

Gerald swayed back, as if he might pass out. "Wow, what a head-trip! And here I thought you were calling me up here to eat my soul. Just wait till the neighbors back home hear about this. A demon wants me to teach her how to make friends."

"A what?"

"Nothing. It's just... surely there must be someone better suited."

"Yes, a great many. In truth, you are not our ideal choice for this."

"Thanks."

"However you are currently the only student who will talk to us, which is the second reason."

"Lucky me. So, what is the third?"

Trahzi looked away. "That reason we will keep to ourselves for now."

* * *

From the mezzanine of the Eligiya building, Cha'Rolette and Jonarl squared off with one another, while Thuquan looked on through a powerful viewfinder, watching Gerald and Trahzi as they spoke on the roof.

Jonarl stepped forward and punched with all his strength, his arm stretching out to three times its normal length, but Cha'Rolette ducked under it, then struck up with an invisible wall, deflecting the shot up into the ceiling. At the same time an invisible foot swept Jonarl's lead leg out from under him, sending him spinning to the ground. Using the momentum to his advantage, Jonarl landed on one hand and spun like a Frisbee, stretching and lashing out with his other three limbs as he spun. Cha'Rolette blocked both feet and his fist with a barrier, then summoned a blast of invisible energy which crashed down from above, threatening to crush him. Jonarl rolled out of the way, the force cracking the marble floor where he had been. He somersaulted to his feet, but he was too late. Cha'Rolette was already behind him, and struck him with a blast that threw him into the wall. The sensor on his training suit flickered red, registering the hit.

"What are they doing now?" she asked, dropping into a protective stance, ready for the next attack.

"They're just talking," Thuquan reported.

"If anything changes, you let me know."

Jonarl pulled himself out of the crater in the wall and stretched his arm, resetting the broken bones. It only took seconds for them to mend completely. "You know, I got to hand it to you, Duchess. By holding your training here it lets you keep an eye on Dyson without breaking your father's commands."

She smiled confidently. "The women of the Ssykes family are known for their ability to multitask."

Jonarl threw out his arms and his twelve fingers stretched out long, then arced back in, coming at her from all directions. She blocked two with a barrier while cartwheeling forward, dodging four more.

"How about now?" she asked as she leapt up, allowing two more to pass harmlessly beneath her.

"They're still just talking," Thuquan reported.

Cha'Rolette blocked two more from behind with a barrier, then slammed two invisible hands together, catching the remaining four in the air, then twisted them over and slamming them into the ground, yanking Jonarl off his feet and cracking him down onto his side.

"Wait, I think he just made her smile."

Cha'Rolette turned her head in panic. "Wait, what?"

Jonarl stretched his leg out, catching her with a wicked kick to the stomach. Her eyes bulged with pain as she fell to her knees, clutching her midsection.

The sensor on her training suit flickered red, registering the hit.

It took her a few moments to catch her breath again. She coughed painfully a couple of times, then forced herself to stand up again on wobbly knees. "Wow, Jonarl," she said at last. "I think that's the first time you've ever landed a hit on me."

"I can hold back in the future if you'd prefer."

She frowned and dusted herself off. "If you did that, I'd have you fired on the spot. I don't want worthless yes-men. I want a staff filled with skilled and capable people who can take initiative and make good decisions when they need to. The Ssykes family didn't get to where it is by filling its ranks with simpering idiots capable of only swallowing orders. If you want to keep your job you hit me with everything you have every time, you understand?"

"Yes, Duchess."

"Now stand aside Thuquan, I want to see what's happening for myself."

An invisible hand shoved the bodyguard out of the way while she looked into the viewfinder anxiously.