CHAPTER ELEVEN

Aiden

“Y ou want to enrol him in the military?” Henderson looked dubious as he regarded the form I’d sent him the following morning. We were back in his office, my mind simultaneously wired for action and completely exhausted. Which wasn’t a surprise, given that I’d been up until two o’clock in the morning, poring through every piece of information I could find on the dimari.

“Yes, sir. I spent a good part of last night reading about dimari psychology. There’s a surprisingly large amount of information on the grid, if you know where to look.” Admittedly, most of that information was in articles from extra-planetary journalists decrying dimari ownership, but reading between the lines, a lot of the articles had been surprisingly informative. “The way I see it is that Kade has spent a good portion of his life training to be a soldier, so that’s what he expects to be doing here. Not allowing him to do it would be like taking someone who’s completed an engineering degree and making them work in a coffee shop. He would be bored senseless, and I have a theory that that’s a good part of the reason why so many dimari get depressed. They’re bored and lacking in purpose.”

Henderson sighed. “But the difference,” he said, “is that Kade didn’t choose this. We would be putting him in life-threatening situations, and because he’s compelled to follow your orders, he would have no option to back out if he didn’t like it. People like you or I, on the other hand, signed up willingly, knowing exactly what we were getting into.”

“To be fair, there’s not a lot of evidence one way or the other whether I’m on the right track with this,” I said, knowing I couldn’t push the point too hard. “But if we only do what everyone else has done, then we know exactly what result we’re going to get. If we try something else, then at the very least, we might learn something along the way. And if I find more information that says we shouldn’t be doing this, or if he becomes noticeably unhappy, then we change course and try something else.” I waited, knowing this was a huge gamble – not just because I didn’t know if Henderson was going to go for it, but because I currently had no way of checking with Kade whether or not he was on board with the idea. I’d figured out so far that there were certain things he’d been trained not to say or not to ask for, but finding workarounds to tease his true opinions out of him was going to take time. If it could be done at all.

“Kade’s willingness to enlist isn’t the only problem,” Henderson said. “There’s also the security issues. He was trained by a non-Alliance species, and his bonding to you aside, we have no guarantee of his loyalties. We don’t understand the neuro-engineering processes the Eumadians use. They could have implanted any sort of command into his head, to do literally anything, and we’d never know about it. He could be a closet assassin. Or a spy.”

I thought about that for a moment. “So put him through the normal security and psychology checks that every other recruit goes through. I’ll order him to answer the questions honestly. That doesn’t mean he’s going to come right out and say he’s a spy, if he is one, but if there’s any kind of resistance or prevarication to answering the questions, we’ll know we need to probe deeper.” Kade had already hesitated when I’d asked him to do things that conflicted with his training – like calling me Aiden, for example. A repeat of that behaviour would flag that there was an issue.

Henderson didn’t look convinced, but in the end, he nodded. “All right. I’ll interview him today. I should be able to fit him in sometime after lunch. But if he doesn’t pass with a clear green light, I’m not taking this any further.”

I nodded. “Fair enough. Just one thing I will ask, though? Don’t tell him – or even imply, in the slightest way – that I wasn’t his intended owner. From the reading I’ve done, it seems that knowing they’ve bonded to someone they weren’t supposed to sends them over the edge.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Henderson promised. Occasional black moods aside, he was a fair and reasonable man, and I was confident that he was as concerned about Kade’s long term mental health as I was. But at the same time, he had a responsibility to the rest of the base to ensure we weren’t putting anyone else in danger.

I collected Kade from the canteen where I’d left him and took him to the administration section. There was a wide room with rows of desks that people used as temporary office space when they needed them, so I sat him at a terminal and got him reading through the latest terraforming reports on the area west of Hon, before turning my attention to catching up on my own reports and filtering through the various updates on military activity that I’d missed while I’d been on mission .

We stopped for lunch, and just as we were finishing up, Henderson pinged my comm. I led Kade back to his office, finding the door open and Henderson waiting at his desk.

“You’re going to have an interview with Colonel Henderson,” I told Kade, watching him closely for any kind of reaction, either positive or negative. “He’s working through the formal enrolment process to sign you up for the Alliance military. We haven’t had a dimari enlist before, so we’re largely going through the normal recruitment process, albeit that we’re cutting a few corners, given that you’ve already had extensive training. Henderson is going to ask you a series of questions on a range of topics; your training, your abilities, your loyalties, your understanding of Alliance politics. Don’t worry if you don’t know some of the answers. That’s to be expected. But I want you to answer him honestly at all times, and provide any information that you believe is relevant to the various questions. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Kade answered me promptly.

“Very good. I’ll be in the office. Come and find me when you’ve finished.”

“Yes, sir.”

I walked away, feeling unexpectedly anxious about leaving him there alone. Would he respect Henderson’s authority? Would he answer the questions appropriately? What if he got overwhelmed by the intense scrutiny? What if he actually turned out to be some kind of spy?

The likelihood of that was minimal. The ship he’d been on had been shot down and he’d landed in a random part of the jungle. The chances of him having been designed to spy on this base in particular, or even on this planet, were slim.

But not impossible.

I did my best to concentrate on my work, always keeping half an ear out for a ping on my comm; Colonel Henderson letting me know he was finished, or calling me to come and console a distraught dimari.

Neither happened, and about two hours later, Kade found me still at my computer, struggling to take in an incredibly boring report on the distribution of aquifers beneath the western desert.

I looked up as he sat down in the chair next to mine. “How did it go?” I asked him, bracing myself for all manner of answers. In all honesty, what I expected most was for Kade to just say ‘Fine’. So far, he hadn’t demonstrated much in the way of independent conversation capabilities.

“It was interesting,” he said. “Your hierarchy is more complex than the Eumadians’ military. But Henderson is dubious about my ability to follow anyone’s orders other than yours. I tried to assure him that so long as there was no obvious conflict between your orders and theirs, there wouldn’t be a problem, but I’m not sure he believed me. ”

That was the most I’d heard Kade say in one sitting since I’d met him. And his assessment of Henderson was unexpectedly insightful.

But he wasn’t finished. “He was also very concerned that I was sent here as a spy.”

“Were you?” I asked, not sure what sort of response I was expecting.

“No. My orders were to bond to you and to protect you. Everything else is just… whatever you tell me to do.”

That sounded like the perfectly ordinary purpose of every other dimari in the galaxy. “So the Eumadians don’t have any particular interest in Rendol 4? Or in the Alliance in general?”

“If they do, then I’m not aware of it.”

“Fair enough. Do you think you can tolerate more terraforming reports, or are you sick of those yet?”

Kade blinked, and the unusually carefree expression on his face vanished. “I am here to serve your needs. I will read whatever you feel should be my priority.”

So now we were back to rote answers. I really wasn’t sure whether that answer was a closeted declaration of boredom, or simply a statement of obedience. I decided to err on the side of caution. “Well, how about we mix it up a bit and you can read some info on the local wildlife. There’s not a whole lot of it around, but some of the lizards can give you a nasty bite if you’re not careful.”

With Kade suitably occupied, I got back to work, and by the time I’d finished my reports, it was five o’clock.

Henderson caught us as we were crossing the canteen on the way to the train station and pulled me aside, out of earshot of Kade.

“Sorry I couldn’t catch up with you earlier. I’ve been putting out fires all afternoon. But I don’t see any issues with security, so far as Kade is concerned,” he said, summing up the interview. “His loyalty is to you, but he’s aware that you’re part of a much larger organisation. He’s prepared to work within our rules and regulations, for as long as that doesn’t directly conflict with any order you give him. I’ll have to wrangle a few things with the higher-ups and put certain restrictions on his service. He’d have to be permanently assigned to your team, for example, and any infraction on his part would be considered your responsibility. If you’re willing to take that on, then I’ll see what I can do.”

I nodded. “I honestly think this is for the best,” I said. “If I find any new information that says otherwise, I’ll discuss it with you, but until then, I’d like to see where this goes.” Having meaningful work was certainly not the only piece of the dimari happiness puzzle, but if it kept him stable for long enough for me to figure out the rest, I’d take it.

“Fair enough,” Henderson said. “Enjoy your break. I’ll see you in a week.” Most of the planet-based military staff ran on a three week schedule; two weeks on, one week off. And thankfully, after nearly a full week stomping about in the jungle, I was due for some time off.

We collected Kade’s weapons from the security locker where we’d finally decided to store them and headed for the train station on the western side of the base. I had only a small backpack myself, since most of my equipment was stored here. My dirty uniforms would be laundered and sent back to my room, my weapons were kept in the armoury, and the camping supplies I’d taken into the jungle had been returned to the supply desk to be cleaned and replenished as needed.

The train ride home took about twenty minutes. Hon was a well-designed city, arranged in a spider-web-like design, with local hubs connecting residents to essential services, and fast transport networks linking to other hubs in a streamlined fashion.

We stopped at a small supermarket outside the train station to pick up some food for dinner, and then it took only five minutes to walk to my home; a small but comfortable villa in a neat complex. “This is mine,” I told Kade, leading him to the door. On the way home, I’d told him more about the city and my work rotations, along with the detail that we had a week off. He’d seemed oddly apprehensive about that, but I hadn’t been able to figure out why.

Inside, I showed him around. The largest bedroom was mine, and I had an office set up in the smallest one. “I used to have a housemate,” I told Kade, showing him the third bedroom. There was a single bed and a built in wardrobe in there, but not much else. “A guy called Max lived here for a year or so, but he got a girlfriend a while back, and he ended up moving in with her about two months ago.” I had no strong feelings about him moving out. It had been convenient having someone to help look after the place, particularly when I wasn’t here, but I also enjoyed the peace and quiet now that he was gone.

There was also a bathroom with built-in laundry, a small living room and a kitchen that had seen better days. Not that I did a whole lot of cooking. Left to my own devices, I tended to opt for pre-packaged meals. I just didn’t see the point in going to a whole lot of effort if I was the only one to enjoy it.

But now that Kade was here, I had a feeling that was going to change.

“Would you prefer to sleep in my bed with me, or in your own room?” I asked Kade. From the research I’d been doing, I’d learned that it was common for dimari to share a bed with their masters – in non-Alliance space, at least. And if they were being used as sex slaves, that made a certain amount of sense. But it said nothing about whether they would have chosen to do so or not, given the option .

Kade stared at me in mute surprise for a moment. Then he dropped his gaze to the floor and demurely said, “I am here to fulfil your desires. I will sleep wherever you would like me to sleep.”

I repressed a sigh. This, right here, was the problem. Every time I tried to elicit an opinion or a preference from Kade, he just reverted to the same rote statement about being here to serve me. Was it because he didn’t trust me? Or because he’d been taught that his opinion didn’t matter? Or had that brain-frying fuckery the Eumadians did actually destroyed his ability to have an opinion in the first place? I didn’t believe that last option. If the dimari didn’t care about their environments, they wouldn’t have bothered killing themselves.

“Okay,” I said, knowing I’d used the word about three million times today. “Let’s get some dinner going first, and then I’ll decide about that one later.” I didn’t know what the right answer was, with regards to the sleeping arrangements, and though it was stupid, I was hoping that something might happen during the evening that would give me some sort of epiphany about what Kade would actually prefer.

I’d done a lot of thinking about our potential sleeping arrangements, along with a number of other details about Kade’s role in my home. Plenty of people would have insisted that he should have his own room, for the sake of privacy and to avoid insinuations of sexual abuse. But since everyone else was also inadvertently contributing to their dimari’s demise, I had decided to take a mental step back and stop assuming I knew the right answers to all of these questions. Kade had to have a preference, or at the very least, an expectation about how things should be organised. I just had to find the right question to ask or the right subtleties of phrasing to get a hint from him, one way or the other.

I set the groceries on the counter and began unpacking them. Then, a moment later, I noticed Kade loitering beside the fridge, looking unusually anxious. His eyes were fixed on the groceries littering the counter, while his hands flexed repeatedly.

Ah. This one, I knew the answer to. “Come over here and I’ll show you where everything is kept,” I said, waving him closer to me. We went through the kitchen step by step; the pantry, where I put the food, the cupboards with the plates and cups, the larger, corner cupboard where I kept the cooking pans, then the cupboard under the sink where the detergent and sponges were stored. “There’s not much in the fridge at the moment,” I said, as I put the milk, eggs and cheese inside. “We can go shopping tomorrow to get some more supplies.” I tried not to leave much in the fridge while I was on rotation. Some nights, I got to come home and sleep in my own bed, but I never knew when I might be sent out on a mission and not be home again for a week or more. Coming home to spoiled milk and furry, green cheese was never pleasant .

“Do you know much about cooking?” I asked. I was working on the assumption that, whether I wanted him to or not, Kade was going to expect to do most of the cooking himself. And a large chunk of the housework as well, though thankfully, being a small place, there wasn’t all that much of it most of the time.

“Yes, sir,” he said eagerly. “I’ve been taught how to prepare food for a variety of different species…” He trailed off. “Although, not for humans,” he finished, sounding rather defeated about it.

“That’s okay,” I said, brushing right past his apprehension. “If you know the basic principles, it won’t be hard to teach you the details of what humans like to eat. Have you had chicken before?” Chickens, being the remarkable little birds that they were, had proven incredibly adaptable, and since humans had left earth, the humble creatures had spread to dozens of different planets and become a favourite of multiple species. They were one of the easiest meat animals to grow on Rendol 4.

“Yes, sir,” Kade replied.

“And did you like it?”

Kade hesitated, his eyes flitting from side to side, before he stated, “Yes, sir,” in a monotone.

Sooner or later, I was going to figure out what he actually meant with these flat statements and automatic answers.

“Have you ever tasted a lemon?” I asked next. The meal I was planning on preparing was a fairly simple one, both because I was too tired to make anything complicated, and because it would be easier to teach Kade to make something straightforward to begin with.

“No, sir,” he replied.

“Well, I wouldn’t recommend tasting one by itself. They’re very sour. But mixed with cream, they can add a beautiful little zing to a meal.” I filled the kettle and got it heating the water to cook the pasta, then showed Kade how to chop the chicken and zucchini. He paid close attention, asking a few questions about the garlic and how to know when the pasta was finished, but fifteen minutes later, we had a meal – chicken and zucchini in a creamy lemon garlic sauce, served over wholemeal fettuccini.

“There you go. Your first human meal,” I said with a smile, as I carried the plates to the table. I had asked Kade to set out cutlery and to get us each a glass of water, but he hesitated as I set the plate down at the empty space across from me. “Please sit down,” I said, indicating the chair. “I know some dimari are expected to eat after their masters, but since it’s just the two of us, I think that would be unnecessarily formal. I would prefer that we eat together.” Would laying everything out with the reasoning behind it make him more accepting of the entirely casual way I would be running this house? This was one of the places where his ‘I’m here to serve your desires’ attitude might actually come in handy. If my desire was clearly stated as wanting him to share the meal with me, would that bypass any of the strict rules he’d been taught? If I balanced that with clear expectations of which household duties were his, and provided him with meaningful work at the base, would that be enough to maintain his mental health? Or was there some other ingredient that I was missing? Well, I still hadn’t solved the puzzle of where he was supposed to sleep, so I wasn’t going to start congratulating myself too soon.

Kade ate without complaint or hesitation, and I watched him surreptitiously throughout the meal. He had no problem using a knife and fork, though I knew that not every species used similar utensils. The Derelians ate everything using spoons. The Wasops skewered their food on pointed sticks. The Basuba ate exclusively with their hands, eschewing utensils entirely.

By the time the meal was finished, I was yawning, a week long trek plus my lack of sleep last night catching up with me. I’d installed a dishwasher about a year after I’d moved in here, and I was thoroughly grateful for that now. I scooped the leftovers into a plastic container and put it in the fridge – with Kade carefully watching my every move – and then I showed him how to stack the dirty plates and pans in the dishwasher. I explained how to turn it on, but also said that we wouldn’t bother tonight, since it wasn’t full enough yet. No doubt he would rapidly take over the task of keeping the kitchen clean.

Once everything was put away, I turned to Kade, carefully considering my next question. “What did you think of the food?” I asked. I’d figured out by now that if I asked him if he’d liked it, he would just say ‘Yes, sir’. I was developing a theory that he had been trained to agree with almost everything his master said, and I needed to find a way to bypass that little quirk. Perhaps an open ended question would give me more insight into his true opinion?

“The chicken was cooked more thoroughly than the way the Rentrals like it prepared,” he said, after giving his answer some thought. “I enjoyed the way humans cook it.” I fought not to cringe at the implications of that statement, and his earlier bland reply to the question of whether he liked chicken suddenly made sense. If he’d been made to eat it raw, or only half-cooked, I could understand his dislike. And that, in itself, was informative. The flat ‘yes, sir’ in response to that question had, in fact, meant ‘no’.

“I have not had garlic before,” Kade said as well… but that seemed to be the end of anything he had to say about it.

“And what did you think of the garlic?” I asked.

He hesitated. “It is quite a strong flavour.”

He didn’t like garlic. Okay, noted. I wanted to ask more questions – Had he liked the lemon flavour? Did he like pasta, or was it too squishy for his tastes? – but I was tired, and I was concerned that pushing him too hard all at once would do more harm than good. I had a few answers and the beginnings of a method to tease more information out of him. That would do for tonight.

“We both need to have a shower, and then I need to get some sleep,” I told him. “I’ll get you a comm-screen as well. There are plenty of books in the military library that you can read, if you’re bored at any point.” Just because I wanted to go to sleep didn’t mean that he had to. “You can change the language of the text using voice activated prompts, so it should be able to display in Eumadian script.”

It took me a few minutes to find the spare comm-screen – I’d left it on the hall table beside the front door at some point, presumably distracted when I’d been in the middle of tidying up – and by the time I’d turned it on and checked that it had enough battery, Kade had disappeared.

What happened next, I was forever going to blame on the fact that I was more or less a zombie by that point. A shower was next on my mental list of things to do, so I wandered into the bathroom, not having registered the sound of the water running, or the fact that the light was already on. In my defence, the door had been left open, and I was accustomed to living alone. So there was nothing to jolt me out of autopilot. I stepped into the narrow space and came face to face with the last thing in the world I’d expected to see.