PART 3 - A BIG, HAPPY, INTERSTELLAR FAMILY CHAPTER 14

Pakos sat across from his probation officer, staring at his shoes. “I’m impressed with your progress, son,” he said. He was an older collie, the brown fur around his muzzle peppered with gray. “Your psychologist agrees. You’re far from the same man you were last year.”

It had been about nine months. Nine months since he’d been consumed by rage and lashed out, since he’d lost control. It still came back to him in flashes. Shoving his way into the apartment, swatting the other Moccan away, punching the girl, grabbing Niko...paws wrapped around his small body, squeezing, his vision turning red as he made the mouse hurt, made him feel just a fraction of the pain Pakos himself felt…

He shook his head, focusing back on the present, looking up. Learning from the past is good and healthy. Fixating on the past is harmful. Something his therapist liked to say. “As long as you can keep this up, you’ve got a good future waiting for you,” the officer said.

“That’s all I want. Keep doing what I’m doing, and move on with my life.” After a few more words, the meeting was over, and he left to catch a bus home.

He had served three months in prison on a longer sentence, convicted of assault and Moccan endangerment but allowed to serve the rest of his time on probation for being a model prisoner. There were several terms, including performing community service, avoiding drugs and alcohol, remaining in Doxen, and staying away from the victim—Niko—in person. He’d also been discouraged from contacting Niko otherwise, and had been informed that the mouse had a restraining order against him that covered direct telecommunications.

Being a model prisoner had been easy. Keep your head down, remain unnoticed, do whatever anyone with power over you said so they wouldn’t hurt you. A return to his childhood.

He boarded the bus and took a seat, staring out the window but seeing nothing. He really had been following the terms of his probation. Recently. Four months ago, two months after he’d gotten out of prison, he’d tried donating to Niko’s new fundraising campaign for the website, Size Doesn’t Matter. That had ended the same day, with the money being refunded and an anonymous email containing somewhat specific threats, probably sent by the fox. In retrospect, it was phenomenally stupid, but at the time he’d thought of it as additional restitution.

A thousand bucks to say ‘Sorry I almost killed you.’ As if that would work. He closed his eyes as the shame washed over him again. He’d been a complete asshole, for days on end, treating Niko like shit, and somehow been shocked when Niko stood up for himself. And he’d reacted so poorly Niko had called the police.

That was the worst part of it. Not being half strangled by the fox, not being rejected by Niko, not his months in prison. Being hunted by the cops. Knowing they were coming for him, knowing he’d become a criminal, knowing he’d become the person he’d sworn never to be.

He hadn’t gone to their apartment with the goal of attacking Niko. He’d been terrified, and knew the cops would go straight to his own apartment. In his emotional state, he’d convinced himself that if he made up with Niko, things would somehow be all right.

Instead, as soon as the door opened, the monster in him, that same beast that lived in his blood, rose up, and suddenly there was no hope, there was only revenge, only making everyone else suffer as much as he did.

No person is ever one thing. A person is the sum of their actions, and thankfully, we can choose to do something better tomorrow to balance out the mistakes we made yesterday.

The therapist was helping. But he still had plenty of bad days, like this one. He wouldn’t be done coming to terms with that he’d almost done—with what he had done—and managing to somehow atone for it and forgive himself, not for some time. Not to mention working through his shitty upbringing and his monstrous bastard of a father. His hatred for the man was only outdone by the self-hatred he felt at slowly turning into him. How many times had he said he’d never be like that piece of shit? And yet, here he was, treating people the same way his father treated them. The same way his father had treated his mother.

…

Hopping down the last step off the bus, Pakos jammed his paws into his pockets and trudged towards his apartment, slowly climbing the steps. They didn’t quite rattle, but the paint was fading and chipped. He’d learned the hard way that shoes were a must if you didn’t want splinters.

He glanced at his jacket pocket. When Niko had briefly come to stay with him, he’d gone out of his way to stomp up the steps, jostling the Moccan and making his footing impossibly unsteady. He’d done it on purpose. Not maliciously, but perhaps with a hint of spite. Niko had been so excited, so happy. And just like always, Pakos wanted to bring the mouse down to his level.

After a short fumble with his keys, he was inside and seated on his couch, scrolling news on his laptop. With a surge of guilt that failed to stop him, he checked on the SDM site.

The same announcement he’d seen earlier was still plastered over the front page, declaring that Niko and Kelsen would arrive on Tuesday. Tomorrow. They were coming to run a conference, a sort of meetup for both Latian and Moccan users of Size Doesn’t Matter. There were several events spaced out over the next few days and a party on Friday. Hundreds were attending. A modest number out of context, but keeping in mind how short a time SDM had been up and running and the short planning time, it was impressive.

He still found himself longing to be there, though he had no place without a ticket—and that was without factoring in all the vicious attack stuff. He had, months ago, thought about donating under a fake name and showing up in disguise, but that would’ve been beyond stupid; legal matters aside, that wouldn’t exactly endear him to the Size Doesn’t Matter team.

He shut the laptop with a sigh.

…

Ralia rose to answer the door, leaving the chain—a newish addition to her door that she still fought with her landlord over—in, cracking the door wide enough to check who it was. Installing a peephole would probably send the tyrant over the edge, from arguing to fines or a lawsuit. The chain would do for now.

And in any case, she had nothing to worry about, as she saw Fyche standing awkwardly outside. The red fox never seemed to know what to do with his hands. It was cute and endearing that such a formidable bruiser was still so soft-spoken and shy, though she knew that was, in part, due to unhappy circumstances.

Opening the door, she gave him a hug, which he returned somewhat hesitantly. He didn’t seem to actively dislike warmth from his friends. It was more like it was always a confusing surprise, an unexpected and alien gesture. It was a shared goal of hers and Niko’s to shower Fyche with affection until it was normal to him.

“Hey! You’re early. Good trip?”

He shrugged. “It was all right.” That was probably all she’d get out of him. And, come to think of it, he’d shown up early for everything, ever since...well. It was understandable. A few moments had made all the difference.

She shut and re-locked the door as he politely removed his shoes. The bags under his eyes were deep, she noticed, and his eyelids drooped. Had he walked the whole way? “Hey, did you want to borrow my bed tonight? It’s comfy. I’ll be fine taking the couch.”

He shook his head and barked a short laugh, not quite meeting her eye, per usual. In that, he was very like her lovely Kelsen. “The couch is fine. I’ve slept in far worse places.” He said it like a joke—like it was supposed to be funny. But the laugh wasn’t real, and she knew he meant what he said.

Taking a seat on the couch, she patted the space next to her, beckoning him to sit. “You know you don’t have to worry about that anymore, right? I wouldn’t let that happen, and neither would Niko.” He just shrugged, taking a seat carefully, giving her plenty of space. “I...wish I knew what you meant when you said stuff like that. I know you don’t like talking much about it. There’s so much about your childhood you make allusions to, then clam up about.”

He stiffened. “I don’t want to bother anyone else with it. It’s not your problem.”

Ralia felt a stab of sympathy, a needle in her heart. “It’s totally up to you. I won’t press you to talk about anything you don’t want to. But it’s not a bother for me to hear it. I want to get to know you better.”

Fyche shifted, and started wringing his hands. “I appreciate the sentiment, but...not now. Maybe another time.”

She nodded, reaching for her phone. “I understand, and I respect your boundaries. How about we give them a call? I know it’s tomorrow, but I can’t wait.”

“Sure.” He relaxed slightly, and the two of them leaned in closer so they’d both be in the video feed.

Niko’s face came into view as he answered on the eighth ring, an uncharacteristically long time for him to get to his phone. The cause was readily apparent—he was reclined in his seat, a blanket over him and a pillow behind his head, and he yawned widely while blinking sleep out of his eyes. “Hey, guys. Sorry, wasn’t expecting a call so late.” He spoke in hushed tones; the other passengers on the shuttle must have been asleep as well.

Kelsen’s form was barely visible at the edge of the screen, though his snoring was clear and loud. Niko nudged him a few times, and he woke with a start, blearily looking around. “What? Have we arrived?”

Ralia and Fyche both began apologizing profusely, but the Moccans wouldn’t hear it. “No, this is great,” said Niko. “Hold on. There are a bunch of people in here who—hey! Guys! Who wants an exclusive preview?”

He swept the phone around, showing several other passengers waking up around him, and introduced each of them. “We’ve had a fun trip so far. Meet Reorato, he’s the raccoon, and then the squirrel there, that’s Jess, wave to the camera Jess! Then we’ve got Fomir the deer, his antlers have been the absolute worst in these tiny confines—don’t fucking lie, you poked me in the eye yesterday and I still haven’t forgiven you—then the quiet lizard there is Mauv, then the cat, sorry, ocelot is Niri, and the bat over in the corner giving me the evil eye is Voci, they don’t like being woken up, I guess. That’s all the ones in our compartment. Everyone, say hi to Fyche and Ralia!”

The assembled Moccans cheered, only to have a shuttle employee slide the door open and shush them with a venomous look.

Lowering his voice, Niko grinned. “Oops. Guess we’re all just too psyched for the next few days. Latia again! I can’t fucking wait to see you guys.”

“Same,” said Kelsen drowsily. He seemed to be nodding off again already.

“Here, we should let you sleep,” said Ralia. “You have a big day tomorrow. You’ll all need to be rested.”

Niko and a few others protested, but were interrupted by a particularly loud snore from Kelsen, and sheepishly agreed to bid the Latians farewell.

…

Niko stared at the ceiling of the elevator, practically vibrating with excitement. He and Kelsen, as well as the SDM attendees from their shuttle compartment—Reorato, Jess, Fomir, Mauv, Niri, and Voci—had disembarked and made their way through the growing spaceport, and now had only one more hurdle to clear before they could see Fyche and Ralia again in person. Voice calls and VR games had been good these past few months, but they paled in comparison to the real thing.

“I can’t believe we’re finally here,” said Jess, jumping from foot to foot exuberantly. “I’m finally going to meet Samet face to face!”

Fomir nodded, grinning brazenly. “You said it! I’m looking to bag a Latian boyfriend myself.”

“They’re not trophy animals.”

“I mean, aren’t they though? What greater prize than a partner ten times your size?”

Niri rolled her eyes. “Oh, shut up, Fomir. Twenty bucks says you get friendzoned immediately.”

“I’ll take that bet!”

Mauv shared a long-suffering look with Voci, but said nothing. Niko grinned and shared his own look with Kelsen. This group had met and been friends long before they’d met Niko and Kelsen on the shuttle, and their affectionately vitriolic group dynamic had become apparent very quickly.

Reorato, ever the peacemaker, managed to calm Fomir and Niri just before the elevator doors opened. Niko rushed out, taking in the arrivals room, noting the crowd of Latians waiting for Moccan friends, much larger than it had been on their last visit, and picked out Fyche and Ralia among the crowd. He gave them a quick wave. They wouldn’t be approaching until the departing passengers finished a quick passport scan and computerized paperwork.

Behind Niko, Kelsen, Reorato, Niri, and Mauv were exiting the elevator at a much more relaxed pace. He noted that while Kelsen and Mauv were calm, Niri and Reorato were both awed and increasingly fearful as they took in a large, crowded Latian room for the first time. He understood, to an extent; no amount of reading about or watching videos of Latia could prepare you for a firsthand experience. Unfortunately, theirs was the better reaction. Jess, Fomir, and Voci had barely made it out the elevator doors before freezing up, breathing shallow, frantic breaths.

Well, he’d had a lifetime of practice helping friends through anxiety attacks. He hurried back to them, speaking soothingly, reassuring them that everything was fine, this was the plan, yes, everything was overwhelming, but that was all right, they’d adjust, and look, see the Latian hyena over there? That’s Alexei, we’ve met, he’s a good guy.

Kelsen joined him, less practiced with being on this side of things, but with a personal empathy Niko could never match. After a minute or so, everyone was breathing normally and laughing at themselves for reacting so strongly. Kelsen assured them it was fine, he’d been even worse on their first visit.

Before they moved toward Alexei’s desk—where he sat, computer and scanner at the ready, watching them with unconcealed amusement—Niko made sure everyone set their voice equipment up, pointing out the new sign reminding Moccans to wear it before approaching. Once they were all set up, Niko activated his own Earplugz 3, a much newer model of Latian to Moccan translator and sound dampener, as well as his MoccsVox, a different brand of voice booster and Moccan to Latian translator than he’d used on his previous visit, but one he found he much preferred, despite Kelsen’s dogged insistence on clinging to the Miicz, a successor to the Micz.

Together, the group made their way over to Alexei, who was still grinning insufferably. “Ah, I remember you two. Glad to see you remembered your voice equipment this time. Have your ears recovered since your last visit? I understand volume devices like yours can be tweaked to act as hearing aids...”

Niko cupped a paw to his ear. “What?”

The spaceport employee raised an eyebrow and spoke at a normal tone. “I said, I remember...” He caught on mid-sentence. “Oh, you’re incorrigible.”

“I’m sorry, I’m very hard of hearing, you see. On my last visit to this planet, a monstrous oaf struck me down with torrential waves of sonic force. The doctors say I might never hear normally again.” Niko sighed dramatically.

“Yes, you must be suffering dreadfully,” Alexei responded dryly. “Come on, get up here. I have to scan your passports and take a blood sample.”

“Blood sample?” Fomir said, paling.

Alexei nodded. “Yep. New requirement. I’ll need at least two Latian quarts from each of you...that’s not a problem, is it?”

Niko burst out laughing, the others following his example one by one as they realized the absurdity of Alexei’s demand. “I gotta admit, you had me going for a second,” he said. “Not on the amount, that was obviously bullshit. But I was trying to think how I’d keep all the newbies calm enough to give blood.” He offered his passport, and waited for the hyena to clear him. The others—minus Kelsen, mostly—were still hesitant, but they’d warmed up to Alexei and his friendly demeanor, just as Kelsen had on their first visit. Niko inwardly acknowledged his luck that Alexei had been the employee to greet them again.

Then again, it may not have been luck. As Kelsen led the way towards the pickup area, Niko hung back until he was reasonably sure none of them were listening. “Can’t wait to see you at the first event, MisterAlex147,” he said slyly.

Alexei started. “You knew?”

“I suspected.” Niko shrugged. “I wasn’t entirely sure until just now, though.”

“You really are an incorrigible little...person,” Alexei said. “And I’ll tell you what I really think when I’m off work.”

Niko saluted and turned to follow the others. “Can’t wait to see you there!”

Fyche and Ralia, clearly impatient at having to wait, rushed over to meet them. As they loomed—they didn’t mean to, of course, but Latians couldn’t help but loom even at their meekest moments—Fomir froze, body rigid, while Jess and Voci quaked, visibly terrified. Reorato and Niri put on casual faces, but they were clearly masking their own fear. Other than Niko, only Mauv seemed unfazed; even Kelsen was clearly focusing on controlling himself, though the moment he met Ralia’s eyes and saw her soft smile, he melted into a mushy puddle with a sloppy grin.

Knowing he needed to snap the others out of their fearful reverie, he motioned for Fyche to pick him up. The fox cradled him gently, hugging him to his chest. “I missed you,” he said softly.

“I missed you too, you adorable goof,” Niko replied. “This is way better than VR.” A glance to the side showed Kelsen getting similar treatment as Ralia clutched him to the side of her muzzle, eyes shut with contentment. The assembled Moccans below were still defensive, but at least a few seemed to be torn between fear and curiosity. “Hey!” he called. “Who wants to meet my big goof of a boyfriend? Don’t worry! He’s more afraid of you than you are of him!”

Fomir laughed, surprising even himself, and Jess began giggling. “N-no I’m not!” Fyche said, protesting Niko’s completely accurate accusations. “I-I’m not a-afraid. I just get t-tongue-tied sometimes...” He glanced down at Niko, and they shared a look. Good of him to lay it on thick and play along.

…

Fyche felt something. Something he’d rarely felt for years, but which he’d recognized the previous year, when he’d first met Niko. He wasn’t sure it was happiness, exactly. Contentment. That was it. But while it was not quite as flashy an emotion as joy, it was vast. Deep. Sturdy.

Okay, the metaphor was breaking down, but it was exactly what he needed. It was stability, the feeling that things were okay now, and they would be okay tomorrow, too. How badly he wanted to simply walk away now, to head back to Ralia’s and just be alone with Niko. But no, that would have to wait. For now, he had responsibilities.

And part of those was putting the Moccan attendees at ease. So he played up his awkwardness, his shyness in groups and with strangers. There was some truth to them, of course, but he’d been living independently for years. The character he was playing was a codependent pushover. But it put them at ease.

Or, it did, until a third Latian approached, a russet-colored squirrel with an oddly styled tail and a scaled vest that looked somewhat out of place in the spaceport. It was Samet, who had been a guest caller in their videos before. “Jess! You made it!” He reached straight for her, prompting her to whimper and flinch.

Supporting Niko with one paw, Fyche snatched the squirrel’s wrist with the other. “Not okay,” he said severely, glad to drop his bumbling persona.

“Definitely not cool, dude,” Niko agreed. He patted Fyche’s paw. “Set me down, babe. I’ll go calm her down while you explain manners to Samet here.”

With a pang of regret juxtaposed with a childish flutter of the heart at being called ‘babe’ by Niko, he did as Niko asked, then took Samet forcefully by the shoulder and steered him away. Ralia followed after setting Kelsen down as well. “That was not just rude, but extremely dangerous,” he hissed.

Samet blinked at him. The poor idiot was confused; he seemingly had no idea what he’d done. Forestalling Fyche with a raised paw, Ralia took over. “Samet, we understand that you’ve been looking forward to this for some time. I know exactly how exciting it can be to meet a long-term Moccan friend for the first time. But you have to remember, that’s no excuse for making them uncomfortable, and certainly not for endangering them, no matter how pure your intentions.”

“Endanger?” Samet asked blankly. “I wasn’t gonna hurt her! She’s my girlfriend! I was just gonna pick her up, like you did with Kelsen and Niko!” He looked between the two of them, as if offended by their hypocrisy.

Fyche shook him. Just a little, with one paw, to get his attention. “And how much practice do you have handling Moccans? How many classes have you taken? Do you have any certifications?” The classes had been around for years, though the certifications were new. They weren’t technically required just for friends meeting friends, but were a must for any Latians working with Moccans in any professional capacity; Alexei likely had his.

“Uhh...none...” Samet lowered his eyes, his voice turning petulant. “But certs? Those weren’t even around when you met them.”

Fyche kept a firm leash on his temper, but it was fiery even when contained when it came to Latians hurting Moccans. “No, they weren’t. But there were classes, and there were polite norms, like setting your hand down first unless it’s an emergency, especially when you’re new to handling them. One accidental squeeze, and you could break a rib! A little twist in the wrong place, and you snap their fucking neck! Is that what you want?”

Ralia put a hand on his arm and gently pulled him away. He let her, knowing he was close to losing it entirely, and stalked away to cool down. He could still hear her explaining the polite and safe ways to interact with smaller friends, and Samet did, at least, sound properly contrite now. To a point. In Fyche’s opinion, it sounded like he knew he’d fucked up, but had no clue exactly how.

He was reminded of another Latian SDM user who’d called in and tried to interrogate Fyche and Niko on their relationship. That one had fully understood a Latian and a Moccan being friends or even lovers, but had struggled to understand how two men could be in love. They’d been earnest in their desire to understand, but hurtful in the way they spoke about Fyche and Niko and their feelings for one another. Thinking about it made him feel sick. He couldn’t hate people like that, like Samet, and he knew they’d only improve through education by patient and compassionate individuals.

But he wasn’t one of them. For much of his life, he’d hidden or run from his problems. More recently, he tended to punch his way through them. Both styles had their place, but neither would work here. This was best left to eternal fonts of charity like Ralia and Niko.

...

Kelsen and Niko had just managed to assure the Moccan attendees that there was nothing to worry about, that Samet had made a faux pas but would be advised on what to do next time, when their transportation arrived. It came in the form of a stern brown shepherd wearing a stab vest over a business casual outfit.

“Hey! Donovan!” called Niko, waving him over. “Everyone, this is Donovan. He’s part of the security detail attached to our events, and we’ve been in personal contact for a while.” Donovan stopped in front of the platform, paws clasped behind his back, and nodded at Niko. “Oh, loosen up, will you? Don’t mind him. He’s ex-military. No better security around. Donovan, show us the goods!”

The Latian shepherd complied, setting a Moccan room-sized object on the platform next to them. The outside was mostly nondescript, though it had the words MOCCAN TRANSPORT emblazoned on it in several languages, including his own. Kelsen’s Earplugz 3 couldn’t translate text, of course, but he was familiar with the product; after all, he and Niko had ordered it.

Niko opened a door and peered inside. “Way fuckin’ better than the first models,” he said. “Those things were jail cells with plastic slabs for seats. Check it out.” With some coaxing, he and Kelsen gathered the others to look at the interior. The seats were plush, with plenty of handholds and seatbelts, as well as a table with a raised grip in the center, both for putting things on when stability allowed and for holding onto for added safety. It even had windows, with shades tinted to allow passengers to look out without being seen from the outside.

It had also been really expensive, as had the other five they’d rented for the occasion. Security porters like Donovan would be working in shifts to transport the Moccan attendees to the hotel they’d be staying at, a big one that had rooms for both Latian and Moccan guests near central Teromod.

Still, despite the vastly upgraded comfort of the Moccan transport, the clustered Moccans were filled with trepidation. Kelsen knew the feeling. He gestured up at Donovan, who had moved back to his former position. “You’re in very safe paws with Donovan here. He’s taken several safety classes, and he has every relevant certification there is. Also, he’s a huge nerd about Space Trek.”

“Considering the fact that Latians and Moccans have discovered they are not alone in the universe and are striving to cooperate with one another, it seems to me that media depicting a hopeful quest across the stars to find and form peaceful relationships with intelligent life could be nothing less than miraculous,” Donovan said, the gravelly tone of his voice causing even Niko’s smile to fade to contemplative reverence. He let his words hang in the air for a few moments, and then allowed the corner of his muzzle to curl slightly. “Also, lightswords are cool.”

They had a much easier time boarding the group after that, and before long, it was time to part ways; while Donovan—with Samet in tow, explicitly told not to touch anyone or anything until he had at least taken a class—was off to the hotel, the Size Doesn’t Matter team would be heading back to Ralia’s apartment for some much needed rest. Before Donovan picked up the transport, Fyche leaned over to whisper to him. From his place in Ralia’s pocket, Kelsen could just make out the words. “Keep an eye on the squirrel. I don’t trust him.” Ever the professional, Donovan nodded, then picked up the transport and bade them farewell.

The SDM team took another exit, and stood outside for a moment on the walkway, allowing the Moccans to adjust. Kelsen felt surprisingly okay, though that might have been because he knew the stressful part was almost over for now. It was Niko who seemed agitated, fidgeting in Fyche’s grasp and staring off into space.

“You okay?” Fyche asked, concerned.

“I thought I saw...nevermind, it’s nothing. Let’s get back to Ralia’s place.”

…

Pakos slipped around the corner, cursing himself for being an idiot. Against his better judgment, he’d come to the spaceport, hoping to get a glimpse at arriving Moccans. Instead, he’d nearly run into Niko himself. He was currently violating his parole, as well as being an absolute shitheel.

It would be okay. It was an accident. And he wasn’t approaching or talking to Niko. He’d just happened to be nearby.

And had happened to stay after noticing him, staring at him from afar like a stalker.

He peeked around the corner, checking if he really had been spotted. Thankfully, they’d all turned away, and seemed to be leaving. He started to heave a sigh of relief, only to notice something strange. There was a Latian gator nearby, also staring at the group.

That wasn’t completely out of the ordinary; even now, many Latians tended to stare at Moccans, especially if they’d never seen one before. It was probably just a first-time gawker.