Memory Transcription Subject: Chiri, Gojid Refugee

  Date [standardized human time]: November 1, 2136

  David puffed his cheeks out as he exhaled. They were turning ever-so-slightly rosy. “Jeez, how do you summarize an entire religion? I feel like I’d have to summarize half the cultural history of the Mediterranean just to give you the proper context.” He rubbed at the scruffy fur on his chin and seemed to give the question due thought.

  I opened my mouth to say something, but the odd voice stopped me.

  Hold your fire. He’s a few drinks in himself. He’s about to slip up.

  Trusting the odd one’s insight, I busied myself with one of the other cheeses. This one was pale gold, firm and slightly crumbly like dried clay when I tried to cut it. Flecks of white crystals--salt, maybe?--speckled through it. I had no idea how one would go about spreading it on the soft bread I’d been offered, so I just plucked it up and nibbled at it directly. It was salty and nutty, with a nice chew to it. Not as intense as the first two, but it had a deceptively subtle depth to it. The flavor lingered more than I’d have liked, so I let a sip of my martini dissolve it away.

  David shrugged and spoke wryly, half to himself. “Yeah, I’m not sure where to start. Honestly, they tell you never to talk about religion on the first date…” He blinked, and his eyes went wide as he realized what he’d just said.

  Got ‘im. Sass to maximum, full broadside!

  I smirked and leaned forward, elbows on the table, resting my head on my paws. “Hey, you’re the one who invited me up to his apartment for a home-cooked meal. Does that mean something different on Earth? Say your last three words again, slowly, and then tell me if I was wrong to make certain… inferences.” I tried to split the difference between smug and sultry. If he weren’t an apex predator, I’d almost be convinced he was panicked. Maybe he still was? Social predator, social faux pas? I needed to reboot him. “What’s this one called?” I asked, pointing at the cheese I’d just tasted.

  “Aged gouda, twelve months,” he said reflexively, his muscle memory helping him remember how to talk. “And I’m, uh… definitely open to the idea, yeah.” I resisted the urge to audibly cheer. David rubbed his eyes. “I’m a little worried about whether or not the job offer presents a conflict of interest, though.”

  I blinked. “How do you figure?”

  “I mean,” said David, sounding like he was embarrassed to be stating the obvious, “if I offer you a job and propose some kind of romantic entanglement in one sitting, I might be giving you the impression that one is contingent on the other.”

  I put a paw in front of my mouth in feigned shock. “You won’t date me unless I take the job?!”

  David cracked up. “No, the other way around! Wait, no, I mean neither, but it looks bad.” He shook his head. “I just don’t want you to get the wrong idea. I don’t…” David took a deep breath. “You shouldn’t feel pressured.”

  I snorted. “David, I came in here looking to borrow some food, shelter, and advice. I already got all three. By the sound of it, I could head out that door right now, take a long walk back to the shelter, and start submitting job applications to the nearest distilleries first thing in the morning.” I shook my head. “I’m sitting here because I’m having a good time. This is where I want to be.”

  “Zero fear of predators,” said David, shaking his head in disbelief. “Of either type.”

  I don’t… The odd voice sounded confused for the first time. I don’t think he means Humans and Arxur.

  Oh well. Nothing for it. I’d figure it all out eventually, probably. “This is who I am now,” I said decisively. “Take it or leave it.”

  David smiled. “Will do.” He snacked on some fruit and nuts from the platter, hammering home how humans weren’t just the flesh-eating monsters I was taught they were, either. “Alright, did you still want me to try to sum up Christianity?”

  “Yes!” I shouted, laughing. “You can’t just lead with ‘Oh, here’s your first experience with a predator religion, it literally involves its followers ritually consuming their god in effigy’ and just expect me to leave it at that!” My eyes narrowed with intensity. There was an unavoidable predatory raspiness to my voice as I told him, “I crave juicy details.”

  David raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Alright. Just keep in mind that humans are a contentious species, and there’s dozens of different schools of thought even within Christianity. There’s no version of this tale that isn’t going to bother somebody, at least a little. I’ll try to keep it neutral. Flippant, at worst.”

  David cleared his throat. “So around two thousand or so years ago, there was this preacher in the Roman province of Judea named Jesus of Nazereth, known to his followers as ‘Jesus Christ’, or roughly ‘Josh the Anointed’. According to legend, he could perform miracles, and he was of divine and/or royal heritage. He was eventually executed for angering one or several groups of people who were politically powerful in the region. The story goes that Jesus, prophet and miracle-worker that he was, allowed his execution to happen so that his death could act as this, uh… kind of ritual sacrifice that would redeem the souls of all mankind. By tradition, he miraculously returned to life three days later before ascending bodily into the afterlife.”

  David took a sip of his martini. “Now, the central teaching of Christianity is that humans are damned and sinful beings, but because Jesus shed his blood for us, those who accept his love into their hearts will be forgiven for their sins, and will join him in eternal bliss in the afterlife.”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  We’re damned and sinful, too, the quiet voice observed with quiet conviction.

  David stopped talking, and stared at me like he was expecting a reaction. I blinked. “Wait, that’s it?” I asked.

  David shrugged. “Yeah, I mean, that’s the gist of it.”

  “But that’s just so… tame!” I said. “I thought the story would have more blood, or maybe a fight scene!”

  David snorted. “Not really, no. If you want blood, some people go into way too much detail about the execution. Seriously, there were movies about it. They were a bit much.” He perked up. “Oh, and as for fights, there was this one tale where Jesus caught some money-changers doing business on holy ground. He flipped out and started beating them with a whip. It was pretty rad.” David shrugged. “But by and large, no, the guy was kind of a pacifist by most accounts. If you’ve ever heard a human say something about ‘turning the other cheek’, that’s a reference to one of Jesus’s teachings.”

  I blinked in disbelief. “The most common predator religion in this part of the world centers around a pacifist,” I repeated, incredulous. “Why did you need to keep that secret from the Venlil, exactly?”

  David shrugged. “I mean, I’m not even a Christian and I still probably wouldn’t have bothered hiding it.” He grimaced. “But nobody asked me my opinion. Frankly the weirdest part is all the lamb references.”

  “What’s a lamb?” I asked.

  David looked bemused. “The Venlil look a bit uncomfortably close to one of our non-sapient cattle species, a sheep. It’s really weird for us, and I imagine it’d be even weirder for them if we ever told them.” He nodded towards the moldy cheese. “The Roquefort is made from sheep’s milk, and juvenile sheep are called lambs.” He shook his head. “Lady, you have NO idea how much symbolism gets attached to lambs. They’re the living representations of the concepts of gentleness and innocence. Jesus himself gets called the Lamb of God. If you’re saved by him, you’ve been ‘bathed in the blood of the Lamb’.”

  The preylike being, the pacifist whose blood is shed… The one who is consumed… He granted the predators redemption for their sinful nature. I got the sense that the odd voice was nodding along, like this story explained everything.

  Please make her stop, said the critical voice. We have enough to deal with already without her vibing with a religion she first heard about five minutes ago.

  David sighed. “Even in my own people’s faith, the perfect world at the end of time gets a litany of descriptions and prophecies that includes the line ‘the lion will lie down with the lamb.’”

  “What’s a lion?” I asked.

  “Vicious apex predator,” said David. “Pretty dangerous even to a human, if we’re unarmed. If you’ve seen a housecat, imagine one the size of my couch.” I chose not to. I preferred my predators to be good conversationalists. “But a rougher translation might be ‘predator and prey will live together peacefully’.”

  I nodded along so the odd voice would stop trying to do it for me. She was far too excited. Nevertheless, it was a beautiful sentiment, and it helped explain why humans had been so driven to be accepted by the Federation. Still, a thought occurred. “If Venlil look like sheep, then what do Gojids look like to you?” I asked, grinning mischievously.

  David chuckled. “Hedgehogs,” he said without hesitation. He pulled up a picture on his holopad. “Little foresty guys with brown fur and quills.”

  “Oh my gosh, he looks adorable!” I squealed. It was tiny and quadrupedal, but that just made it look even more like a baby to me. “Look at his cute little snout!” I looked up suddenly and glared at David. “You’re not allowed to eat them!” I declared.

  David laughed. “Hedgehogs are not typically a food species,” he explained. “They’re just kind of around. Well, on the other side of the planet.”

  I nodded, satisfied. “Excellent. Now tell me their secrets. What kind of symbolism do hedgehogs have?”

  David thought about it. “Just the hedgehog’s dilemma, I think,” he said. He nodded towards me. “It’s the quills. When they’re tensed up, you’re safe, but nobody can get close to you. To really let someone in, you have to let your guard down, even if that means they could hurt you.” He smiled warmly. “It’s a metaphor for interpersonal relationships. It’s about trust. To love is to accept the risk of harm.”

  That could have been quite pithy if he were talking to literally any other Gojid in existence, pointed out the critical voice. But no, he gets the one Gojid that needs no encouragement to open herself up in a fucking predator den.

  Flip it around on him, said the odd voice. It’ll be funny.

  I leaned forward, smirking, and took his hand in my paw. “It’s okay, David,” I joked. “You can open up to me.”

  David… flinched away from my touch like I burned him.

  Wait, what the fuck, what is happening?

  David held a hand over his mouth, thinking, worrying, an anxious expression tainting his face. He tapped his foot nervously. He was debating something, like he… like he genuinely wondered if he could trust me. Or if opening up to me would hurt him.

  He stared at me, and I suppose my look of complete blank confusion won him over. I was too clueless to be nefarious.

  He sighed, and let the words drag themselves reluctantly out of his mouth. “I… might have… gotten onto the radar of some dangerous and annoyingly persistent people,” he said at last.

  I blinked. “Uhh… who?”

  David coughed. “The Central Intelligence Agency,” he said miserably.

  Wait, what?

  “Wait, what?”

  David shook his head. “Look, it’s nothing too bad,” he said. “They keep trying to recruit me. They say I’ve got a talent for human intelligence, but like… I think they just want to keep me close, make sure I can’t run my mouth about what happened. They can’t legally force me to join or anything, but they also don’t want to accept that I’m not interested.”

  He’s not dangerous to you, the odd voice repeated.

  “What? I thought you were a chef. Why would a fucking spy agency care this much about you?” I asked.

  “I am a chef,” David insisted. “But, umm…”

  But he is dangerous.

  David slumped down into his chair. “I… made an Arxur cry.”

  He hurt the demons who took our family from us…

  I sat bolt upright, eyes wide, and gripped the table hard enough for my claws to start digging into it. “What the fuck, how?!”