Pet-Pet Voyage to the Outer Rim
The voyage to the Outer Rim was shaping up to be long and boring. Unlike the Federation's neatly charted star maps, this stretch was uncharted wilderness except for the scraps brave explorers had mapped out. Outside the viewport stretched endless pitch-black void, with only fleeting starlight reminding us we were moving at all.
But inside the ship, things were noisier than ever.
"Alright, again. What's this?" I shook the plastic cup filled with water.
Eve, crouched in the copilot seat next to the cockpit, blinked her eyes wide and mouthed the word. "Wa… ter?"
"Close. Water."
"Water!"
"Yeah, good job. The stuff you drink is water."
Eve snatched the cup excitedly and slurped it down. Then she let out a satisfied kyaa, plopped the empty cup on her head, and giggled.
Eve's learning speed was astonishing. She'd started out growling like a beast or babbling nonsense, but in just days, she was soaking up words and objects like a sponge.
Of course, it wasn't all smooth sailing.
This time, I pulled out a shriveled pack of emergency dried veggies. "Okay, this is veggies. Food you eat. Food."
Eve's face scrunched up instantly, like she'd seen the world's grossest thing. She shook her head furiously. "Eugh! No!"
"Not 'no,' 'I don't like it.' That's how you say personal feelings."
"Don't like it! Veggies don't like!"
Eve smacked the veggie pack away with her hand. Her refusal instincts were spot-on, even without me teaching them.
But seriously, if she only eats meat, she'll end up malnourished. These nutrient packs are engineered with every vitamin under the sun—tasteless as hell, sure—but Eve had scarfed down more than most and still looked half-starved. Guess she needs something different from regular humans. Still, can't let her get picky...
Maybe sneak veggie bits into her rice next time.
"Hah. Such a picky eater. Alright, what about this?" I pulled out a chunk of meat.
Eve's eyes lit up like distant stars. Her furrowed brow smoothed, saliva pooling at the corners of her mouth. She bounced on her seat, arms outstretched. "Meat! Meat!"
"Right, meat. How's this?"
"Like! Meat good!"
Without prompting, she clapped and cheered. Her clear likes and dislikes were so puppy-like—waiting for treats—that I couldn't help chuckling as I handed it over.
Eve gaped wide as the meat approached. Maybe all my nagging paid off; this time, she caught it with her face mouth and chomped away happily.
Rewarding. Watching her cheeks bulge like a hamster's, pure bliss on her face, made me glad I'd stocked up on meat back at Scarab Station.
I'd thought she was a dangerous monster at first... Well. Right now, she was just a simpleminded kid losing her shit over a scrap of meat.
Word lesson over, a brief silence fell. I checked the nav, while Eve fidgeted beside me. She seemed like she wanted to say something but couldn't find the words, grunting in frustration.
"Nngh… ungh…"
She poked my arm.
"What? Hungry? Bathroom? Wait, have you even used the bathroom once…?"
Eve shook her head. Then she suddenly shoved her head toward me.
"…?"
I stared blankly, clueless about the gesture. Growing impatient, she stomped. "Eeeeng!" and rammed her head forward again, crown nearly smacking my gut.
"Head hurt? Did you bump it?"
"No! No!"
Eve spun in circles, pouting. Then she grabbed my right hand. Her small, warm palm guided my rough one to the top of her head. She looked up with sparkling expectation.
Oh. That's when I got it. She remembered the absentminded head pat I'd given her last time after meat and praise.
"Ah… you want this?" I gently stroked her soft hair. "This is called 'pet-pet.' You do it to praise someone."
Her grumpy face melted away at my touch. Eyes half-closed, she rubbed against my palm, humming contentedly.
"Pet… pet…"
"Yeah. Pet-pet."
"Pet-pet!"
Eve beamed and yelled it out. She wouldn't let go of my hand, guiding it nonstop. What was so great about my callused, battle-worn paw? She clung giggling anyway.
This was the hand that slit monster throats on the battlefield, pulled triggers. Filthy, bloodstained.
Yet this little monster treated it like the warmest thing in the universe, sharing her glow.
A heavy ache twinged in my chest. I petted that tiny head until she was satisfied.
"Alright, let's walk off the food. Check out the hold."
Sitting too long had me stiff. I took Eve out of the cockpit.
The Night Raven Ship looked beat-up outside, but I'd poured sweat into modding her. Scavenged battlefield parts made the interior a mismatched mess, but specs were beastly. Looks don't matter when performance rules.
Eve, though? Everything was a wonder to her. Flickering corridor lights, hissing pipes, wall-mounted fire extinguisher—she poked around bouncily, pointing and asking.
"What's this?"
"Fire extinguisher. Puts out fires."
"This?"
"This is…"
She barely understood my answers, but curiosity endless.
We were passing the engine corridor when I spotted it in a dim corner, between pipes: a jelly-like, translucent, squishy blob wriggling.
"Oh, there you are."
I stopped, pleased. "Meow-meow."
"Me… ow?"
Eve peeked from behind me.
It was a pale-white, translucent slime blob, slowly dissolving and absorbing wall grime and rust.
"They call it the universe's janitor. Official name's M.E.O-3 organic waste disposal organism. Shortened to meow-meow."
Federation eggheads cooked it up to tackle space junk headaches. Ships used to dump trash into the void, clogging hyperspace lanes or luring xenoforms. This guy dissolves metal, plastic, organics—everything. Crawls into nooks, eats mold and rust too. Essential for ship upkeep.
"Say hi. It's family now. Real docile, no need to sca—"
I turned to Eve mid-explanation and blanched.
Her eyes had changed. No more curiosity—just dead-serious stare-down at the slime. Drool already beading at her lips.
That translucent, wobbly white blob in her eyes? Identical to the nutrient packs she'd been chowing from aboard.
"Food!!!"
Eve whooped. "Food! Big one! Food!"
"W-Wait! Hey! Hold on!"
No time to stop her. She lunged like a starving predator. Her shirt parted, chest mouth gaping wide.
"Food gonna eat!"
"No! Spit it out! That's not food!"
I dove, snagging her neck mid-air just before she gulped the meow-meow whole.
Eve flailed, dangling helplessly. "Let go! Food! That's food, right?! Food there!"
"Crazy! It's acidic slime! It'll melt your guts!"
"Eve eat food! Food meow!"
"Meow not food! Janitor!"
The bewildered meow-meow, stuck to the wall, jiggled in panic and slinked behind pipes.
"Janitor what? Big food janitor? Kal! Let go! It's running! My food!"
"Janitor means, uh—calm down first, you little glutton."
Eve wailed at her vanished supersized nutrient meal, face like the world ended.
I wiped cold sweat, sighing in relief. Nearly fed our ship's only cleaner to her as a snack.
Tucking the wriggling Eve under my arm, we headed back to the cockpit. She still smacked her lips, gazing longingly at the corner.
Somehow, I had a ominous-yet-amusing hunch: the road ahead would be anything but quiet, food budget aside.