Memory Transcription Subject: Chiri Garnet, Gojid Bartender

Date [standardized human time]: November 20, 2136

Heugh. Nobody was doing their jobs today except for me. The humans were all bickering in the back, and Rosi was… charitably, probably going to be useless until early next week. Maybe longer, if she kept stopping to inquire about carnivorous nonsense. I was counting down the hours until she asked me what was really in a Bloody Mary.

Probably about seven seconds after she first hears the phrase, agreed Shadow.

Couple of my regulars were shuffling in, which was good. If anybody wanted a table, they were gonna have to stand around awkwardly until Rosi or Sylvie got back to work.

Goffi, a Yotul, came in maybe once or twice a week, ordered a cup of soup with extra bread and some sparkling tap water, both complimentary--second-cheapest thing on the menu, essentially, with a bit more variety than a sweet potato--and he'd spend the whole meal worriedly looking at a banking app on his holopad. He might have been getting underpaid, but he was also definitely splitting the difference between trying to enjoy life in the big city and trying to save up money to send home to his family.

Bylek, our lone Venlil customer so far, was here on business--I'd narrowed it down to either import/export or real estate speculation, but he always pretended to be taking a call, like an asshole, when I tried to ask him which--but he still spent half his time complaining about Terran beer tasting weak. I tried to get him to try Scotch or Bourbon a few times, but I think he honestly just enjoyed complaining.

Oh, and tucked into the corner, there was a human in medical scrubs with her Zurulian exchange partner. I had no idea what their names were yet--I hadn't asked, and their stupid hospital-issued name tags were in English, eugh--but they were pretty visibly in love, though I suspected they hadn't gotten around to admitting it yet.

Relationships are so much better once they get to the fucking point, agreed Luna. And/or the point of fucking.

"Hey," said Charmaine, not aggressively loudly, but audible from a good portion of the way across the room. "Can I get a, uhh… that third thing? With the bubbles?" The human espionage agent downed the last of her two variant Tequila Sunrises. "The other one you mentioned. Pa… Palomino?"

"Paloma," I corrected, and quickly looked something up on my holopad. "I think a Palomino is a type of horse?" To my knowledge, we did not sell horse meat, and David found the idea of it moderately distasteful for reasons that escaped me.

He thinks Fissans are weird-looking, Luna pointed out. Maybe it's related to that?

I started throwing together a few drinks in quick succession. "Hey Goffi," I said, recalling what Rosi had said earlier about Yotuls from cold countries liking soup, bread, and hot toddies. He liked his soup and his bread, so… "I'm trying to make a King's Cup. Can you taste-test this for me?"

I slid a mug over towards him, and Goffi's eyes lit up at my act of (admittedly self-interested) charity. He clutched it in both paws and breathed in the wafting aromas before tasting it. "Gods, it's only been a couple weeks, and I already feel like I haven't had one of these in forever." He took a delicate sip, savoring it. "It's perfect, Chiri. First try."

Despite myself, my tail wagged a little bit in smug glee. It felt good, being good at something. But what Grace giveth not, practice may yet provide. Rosi trotted out from the kitchen, making a solid effort to learn. I set out a tray with a fresh King's Cup now that I knew how to make it, plus a coke, two Garnets-In-Exile, and Charmaine's Paloma.

Rosi stared at the platter in confusion. Specifically, especially, at the Paloma.

"It's another fruity-fizzy tequila cocktail," I explained. "Grapefruit-flavored, so sweet, tart, and citrussy."

"Third already, though?" she asked, incredulously.

I shrugged again. "I don't really have a good reason to cut her off."

Rosi's brow furrowed in concern, but she got back to work. It's all we could really do.

"What do you have that isn't so weak and watery?" Bylek asked, dismissively, making a face at his beer.

"Whisky," I repeated, for the umpteenth time.

"Hrmmm," he grumbled, and went back to drinking his beer. He had a salad in a bread bowl today. "Bread's not as good as at home, either."

"I'll take it, if you don't want it," offered Goffi with an optimistic perk to his ears. Bylek ignored him.

I quickly went through my mental checklist. Nobody new at the door just yet. Nobody needed a drink. Nothing particularly needed cleaning. David was in the kitchen arguing heatedly with the other humans, which I continued to willfully ignore. Rosi was… getting hugged by a somewhat sloppy-looking Charmaine, and flailing her tail in a very specific pattern of distress.

I barely used tail language myself due to my stubby limbs, but like all current and former members of the Federation, I understood it perfectly.

The beacons are lit! Luna called out. A Yotul calls for aid!

Shadow had a brief moment of stunned silence. We very pointedly haven't seen that movie yet.

That meme had a whole movie made of it? Luna asked.

The upcoming long weekend was a major holiday in this part of Earth, so I made a mental note to take David up on his promise to watch it with me.

Well, Charmaine's grappling our coworker, said Luna. Surely now we have the proper justification to fight her.

Gods above, stop trying to fight people! chided Shadow. It's called de-escalation, and we read about it in some of those psych textbooks.

"Hey," I said, in a tone of friendly warning, "put her down." I wasn't waving my claws or anything, but my eyes were narrowed, and my quills were clenched. Beyond my control.

"Sorry," said Charmaine, sniffling a little. She let Rosi go. The Yotul dropped to the ground in a crouch and tried to catch her breath without hyperventilating. "Sorry. It's just been really rough for me, lately," Charmaine continued. "I dunno what I'm doing."

"Hey," said David, strolling out of the kitchen from behind me. I jumped a little, because I wasn't expecting it, but I pivoted my stance to keep them both in view. Rosi, on the flipside, scurried away while the humans weren't looking to recover, and then maybe get back to work. "I just wanted to say, I'm sorry."

Charmaine shook her head, and tried her best to stabilize, rubbing moisture away from her eyes. "It's not your fault. We were all just there when it happened."

David froze up and blinked. "I mean… of course, I'm sorry about the career stuff. That's… yeah, that was out of both our control, and it was bullshit. Nobody should have to get forced into work they don't want to do. If you need any help with that, I'll give you whatever advice I can. How to get good at it, how to get out of it, whatever you need. I've always been sorry about that." David took a breath. "But I came over here to apologize about the shit I said about your culture and faith. That was unnecessary. I could have made all the points I needed to without aggressively lecturing you about your own heritage."

"Oh." Charmaine squinted, in confusion. "I mean… yeah, alright, I'm not gonna lie, that stuff hurt more than I was expecting. Mostly because of the detail work, frankly. I mean fuck, dude, I'm a queer woman of color who served in the U.S. Marine Corps. I've certainly heard worse, but I've never heard it with citations before. It's normally just slurs and shit. I never had to head home and look up how badly I'd been insulted before. You gave me a teardown with pretention and fucking homework."

David ducked his head and sighed. "I know. I apologize. I'll make it up to you. Again, if nothing else, I give pretty good advice, if you're having career troubles."

"That's it?" Eddie called out from the kitchen. "I thought you'd have a few more points about her breaking and entering."

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

David made an exasperated noise in his throat. "Shooting an intruder in self-defense is one thing. Shooting them repeatedly and exclusively in the junk is just sadism."

"New York isn't a Castle Doctrine state," Sylvie chided.

David rubbed his eyes. "Seeing as I don't actually own a gun, this is a metaphor, Sylvie."

"Can I buy a gun?" I asked, a bit gleefully.

"Not a good idea," said David, "but not technically off the table. Talk to Erin, there's… regulations and shit. I really recommend you start with some unarmed self-defense classes, if you're worried."

Overall, how worried are we? asked Shadow.

We are nature red in tooth and claw! Luna reassured us.

No. Absolutely not. We're doing Adam Smith by way of Johnnie Walker, said Shadow. Quit quoting Hobbes.

"I accept your terms," I said, ominously.

"I can give you some pointers around the gun range, if you like," Charmaine offered, bleakly. "I mean… I gotta find something to do that feels like I'm helping. Not like there are any bad guys to fight, not on the home front."

"There are definitely bad guys on the home front," said David pointedly. "I mean, somebody just assassinated the Secretary-General of the U.N., and half the internet's not sure it was a bad idea."

Charmaine winced. "What, those Humanity First guys? I mean, I guess. Kind of an open notice at the agency, looking for any evidence of them plotting another attack. Near as anybody can tell, though, it's an ideology, not a centrally-planned organization. Where the hell am I even supposed to find them?"

"I dunno," said David, shrugging. "Dark corners of the internet? If you're looking for them in person, probably the same gathering spots as anyone else. Community centers, refugee shelters, bars and restaurants…"

"Hey, David," said Rosi, jumping back into the conversation. "I just sat a human. He says he wants steak fajitas, but those aren't on the menu, and I don't know what they are. Also, he keeps making faces at me?"

"Steak fajitas are just grilled meat in a wrap," said David, but his eyes were narrowing in suspicion. "We don't serve them because it's an extremely ostentatious meat dish. You bring the grilled meat out separately from the wrap, on a hot iron skillet that's actively still sizzling. It's loud, and the scent carries. It's actively rude to serve if there are vegans or herbivores nearby. I can happily do a burrito or something instead, but…" We all not-so-casually glanced over at the human, who had a smug look of disgust pointed at Rosi, and especially at me.

Do we know this guy? Luna pondered. I don't think we know this guy.

Room is mostly human, handful of Yotuls, one Venlil, one Zurulian, and one Gojid with a vivid imagination, Shadow counted off, searching for patterns. Of those species, only the Gojids attempted to exterminate all life on Earth, and the Yotuls pointedly didn't help defend Earth due to not having a fleet at the time. Balance of probability, this is one of those Humanity First guys who's really sore about the repeated alien invasions. And the anti-human racism. And the constant shaming for being born with forward-facing eyes and an appetite for meat.

Can we please get, like, one person that it's unambiguously okay to fight? Luna asked, her voice sounding uncharacteristically irritated. It feels like everybody's been a victim and an aggressor at the same time lately. Charmaine, Humanity First, even the fucking Arxur!

Shadow shrugged. The cycle of violence eternally perpetuates itself. You can only break it by finding a way out without fighting. Or, you know, arresting people. Crimes with a sympathetic motive are still crimes.

"You know," David said to Rosi, softly, "humans aren't actually heartless or bloodthirsty. We have a good capacity for violence, but we really have to train for it, or otherwise work ourselves up to it. Too much empathy, otherwise." He'd ducked down to Rosi's height, partly obscured behind me from the human customer's view, but David kept pointedly stealing glances at him. "You can usually tell when a human's conjuring up a bit of violence by the glare."

Charmaine stood up without preamble, and walked over to the glaring human's table, and helped herself to the nearest chair. "Heyyy," she said, pulling it closer to him. She had a sloppy smile on her face, and was getting weirdly close to the guy, who blinked at her in surprise, too derailed to glare any longer. "I like your style," Charmaine said.

There is nothing particularly noteworthy about that guy's style, said Shadow. Jeans and a tucked-in button-down, couple off-white paint stains, light dusting of powdered plaster and concrete…

He looks like a middle manager at a construction company, said Luna. Besides, didn't Charmaine say she was gay?

The human male was a bit suspicious, but he mostly looked flattered by Charmaine's attentions. "Uh, thanks?" he said. "I like yours, too. The power suit's kinda…" He swallowed. "You're here on business, I take it?"

"Yeah. I'm in and out of the city these days," said Charmaine. She leaned over towards the guy, gently petting his shoulder. "Always looking for interesting people, though. Mind if I put a little something of mine on your holopad?"

We were all watching, after a fashion, but David in particular had to excuse himself for a moment because he'd just choked on his own spit.

"Of course," said the guy, handing his holopad over.

Charmaine fiddled with it for a second, then handed it back. "Awesome! I've got so many meetings this week, so hit me up sometime early next?"

The guy was blushing. "Uhh… yeah. I will!"

"See you then!" said Charmaine, blowing him a kiss.

"What the fuck?" David asked, once he'd gotten his voice back in order and came back from the kitchen.

"Hey," said Charmaine, taking his hand and grinning. "You're right. You give great advice."

David squinted at the novice intelligence operative uncomprehendingly, but his hololenses caught his attention instead. "Hang on," said David, wandering off a short distance. It wasn't quite the same as tail language, but his hololenses had gesture controls, and I was starting to pick up on what they meant. He waved his hands around, accepting a call. "Cropsey Carnival, David Brenner speaking." There was a long pause that David interspersed, intermittently, with variations on human grunts of acknowledgement and acceptance, ending with… "Sorry, can you hold on a moment?" David made the gesture for 'mute call', and then took a quick breath.

"Are you FUCKING kidding me?!"

Goffi and Bylek at the bar flinched at the predatory tone, as David made the sign of 'unmute'.

"Yeah, sure, we'll make that happen!" David said, with falsely positive glee. "Given the short notice, I miiight need some extra funds, maybe the use of one of your social media marketers? …yeah, let's make this happen, then. Alright, take care. Bye." David ended the call and rubbed his eyes. "Well, Charmaine, your buddy over at the State Department thinks it'd be a great idea to showcase Thanksgiving for our allies."

The giant roasted bird festival? asked Shadow. That's not Federation-approved in the slightest!

"That sounds fun!" said Charmaine, sipping cheerfully at the tail end of her third cocktail.

David's eyes went wide with rage, and I immediately started plotting ways to intervene if necessary. "Charmaine… look at a calendar. Thanksgiving is in two fucking days! I was planning on being closed! This is a really tight turnaround!"

Charmaine blinked. "That was the normal diplomacy department, though. If it's too hard, why didn't you just say no?"

"Because it's a good opportunity!" David shouted. He was breathing heavily. "Look, you wanna know who the biggest chefs in history are? The movers, the shakers, the wealthy, the remembered? It's not the chefs who were the best at cooking. Nobody remembers Julia Child for her restaurant--she never owned one!--just that she was the woman who introduced French cuisine to America. Nobody remembers Gordon Ramsay because he had the full three Michelin Stars that a restaurant can be awarded. They remember him because he had seventeen Michelin Stars, divvied up across nearly a hundred restaurants, and multiple goddamn TV Shows besides! So yeah, if you tell me I've got two motherfucking days to make this place into the face of Thanksgiving for all posterity throughout the universe?" David's eyes narrowed. "Bet. Deal me in."

A pair of police officers popped into the front door. Not an uncommon occurrence--cops ate lunch, too, and we were one of the very few restaurants open in the city for lunch--but they walked straight past Rosi towards Fajita Guy. "Hi, Mr. Steven Jones?" one of the officers asked.

"Y…yeah?" said Steven, confused.

The cop nodded. "You're under arrest for conspiracy and terrorism."

Steven's eyes went wide. "Wait, what?!" he said, in shock. "What the fuck, how?!"

The second cop's eyebrow quirked. "Hm? How what?"

"How did you find out about…" Steven abruptly stopped talking as he realized what he'd been about to say. "I want a lawyer," he growed instead. "Goddammit, I had that shit secured."

"What shit did you have secured?" the second police officer asked, politely, but Steven knew better than to talk.

The two cops shuffled him out in handcuffs, rapidly, to the stunned gazes of onlookers. Sylvie had to doubletime it to reassure our guests that everything was alright.

Charmaine, on the other hand, was preening like a cat who'd successfully stolen a fish. "Hey, you all saw him verbally consent to me putting something on his holopad," she said, smiling. "The something was spyware. Secure chatlogs are only as secure as the devices that can access them. You wanna plan some violence, unplug, and don't leave a record at all."

David's eyes went wide. "Wait, violence? I just had him pegged for racist social media posts. Was he literally…?"

"A pretty bad guy," said Charmaine, happily. She glanced at her holopad--some kind of AI summary of his chatlogs, given the speed involved?--and winced. "Yeesh. Yup, says he was with one of the demolition companies clearing rubble. He was pocketing explosives from work for 'political' use. Woof. Shouldn't have been doing that." She grinned. "I feel better now, though. Thanks!"

David blanched as he grappled with the reality of what he'd just unleashed on the world…

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