The Sorry Pepper

Up until meeting Piotr, Frimb believed she had a good grasp on the size of humans. Twice her height, maybe more, maybe less.

It did not occur to her that these soft-skinned creatures could grow to be giants.

But there Piotr stood, his smooth head eclipsing one of the ceiling lamps beyond, the hollow spaces that held his tiny eyes vanishing into shadow. His upper limbs - of which there were only two - were nearly as thick as her torso, and his massive hands could probably crush her head like an empty box. One limb bore an image of a blue-green homeworld; she still could not believe that humans would stab colors into themselves, but of all the things to suffer for, a homeworld seemed appropriate. As she considered this topic, she briefly wondered how she had gotten into this mess in the first place.

It had begun, like all her troubles, with her sister-friend Grii.

---

“Frimb! Frimb! I require your help!”

Frimb, sixth-oldest of Tyra, lifted her goggles as she looked up from her latest circuit board to find the one who was shouting. All around her were bins heavy with the offgassing smell of silicon and aging plastic, each one a carefully documented project awaiting its turn to be repaired - pump solenoids, servo controllers, personal datapads, prosthetic interfaces, on and on across the rows. Frimb liked her things to be nice and neat, which is why the sight of Grii, ninth-oldest of Tyoden, who was scurrying towards her workshop, filled Frimb with a terror that curled her antennae.

With a hurried motion she seized the door with two hands and the lock with two more, pulling it shut and locking it just in time for Grii to run face-first into the clear plastic with a dull bonk.

“HEY!” cried Grii, her tone petulant as her own antennae twitched with outrage. “You did not need to do that!”

“Yes, I did,” said Frimb, slipping out into the maintenance hall and locking the door again behind her. “You are too careless. I have a very important job, and I cannot work if you knock over my shelves again.”

“This has only happened one time,” Grii grumbled.

“One is too many. Now, what silly thing do you require me for?”

“It is not silly!” said Grii. “I need to steal something.”

“No.”

“It is important!” Grii whined, skittering in a circle on the floor. “Human Piotr needs the Pepper!”

Frimb’s eyes went wide, and she looked about to be sure no-one had overheard. “You told a Human about the Pepper?”

“No! But he needs it! He has made a very big mistake, and this is the only way to make it right!”

Frimb fidgeted her mandibles in thought. Only the Gzee families knew the secret of the Pepper, and after the Day Of Crying Incident, only the Broodmothers were allowed to give them out. But even silly Grii would not ask to steal without good cause.

“What has Human Piotr done for the Brood?” Frimb asked.

“He has done many things,” Grii grumbled, counting on her digits. “He carries boxes, and he gets things from high shelves, and he is kind to the grublings, and he has shared many of his audio-recording-books of Earth History for the sisters who are studying Human languages, and one time he scared away Human-children who were being rude to me. He is a Brood-Friend, and he is my friend. We must help him!”

“You must help him,” Frimb corrected. “I owe him no such debt.”

Grii made a frustrated chirp and scurried in a circle again. “Then let me be your debt-haver. I will do anything you ask for one day!”

“Would you leave me alone for one day?” Frimb asked dryly.

“No, better! I can be useful! I will sweep your floor and make you a lunch and help you sort your, uh...”

“Touching my bins will be the opposite of help,” Frimb trilled a heavy sigh. “If I cannot make you go away, then I will help you – if you promise that you will not come into my workshop without knocking anymore.”

“I promise!” said Grii.

A promise from Grii would last all of a week, but for Frimb, that was enough.

---

The Queens' Garden was a standard-size shipping bay about two crates high, but for one of Frimb's height it was cavernous. Rows of planter-box shelves and hanging pots filled every space except the central lane, where the enormous Queens could be wheeled through on rolling chairs to bask in the scent of flowers and greenery. The plants were separated by species, Human strawberries and Galayalag roundfruits and slates of Urrakhan cave-moss all lined up in their appointed places. The aliens came to visit sometimes, too, to check on their plants and enjoy respite from square steel.

And guarding the Garden was none other than Poppil, third-born of Dram, who was not pleased to see Frimb approach. The antennae that peeked through her starch-grass hat stiffened in suspicion as she greeted them.

“State your business,” Poppil hummed, double-gripping her trowel like a dagger.

“Greetings, sister-friend,” Frimb chirped, feigning disinterest. “I have been asked to examine the sprinkler controls. Could you- ”

“Asked by who?” Poppil huffed. “I have put in no such request.”

“Oh? How curious... then perhaps the water-usage-monitor is in error.” Frimb lifted her datapad and made a show of examining the false report she'd made. From the corner of her vision, she could see Grii crawling carefully behind Poppil – almost too carefully, making a grand gesture of it like a mischief-maker in a stage play. Suddenly, Grii began to climb, and it took all of Frimb's effort not to let her antennae betray her outrage and surprise.

“This must surely be the case. I have seen no errors in the sprinkler schedule.” Poppil narrowed her shining eyes. “You have not answered my question. Who has ordered you to come bother me?”

“I was told by Tyoden,” Frimb lied, “who was told by Kzzit, who was told by the Captain.” At the mention of the Captain's name, Poppil stiffened – this, perhaps, would arrest her attention. “You see, the Captain is concerned about certain... unlisted plants being grown without his knowledge.”

“I would never!” Poppil hissed, recoiling. “I am loyal to the Captain, and a good and virtuous daughter! I would not waste precious water on frivolities. Absolutelynot!”

Behind them, Grii was wobbling upright atop one of the planter-racks, stepping gently around the pots to make her way towards a bright red plant above. Frimb felt the beginning of a nervous twitch in her antennae, but held still.

“Of course not. I trust you completely, sister-friend. Let us solve this matter quickly...” Together they went away towards the garden's control-box-room, where Frimb waited in terror for a clatter and crash that thankfully never came.

---

And so it was that Frimb came to the lower floors, where the weight of centrifugal gravity pressed heavier on her carapace, and found herself peering up at the very large human whose name was Piotr. They had met him on a small balcony with a lovely view; the lower floors were made for Human habitation, shipping containers stacked and modified to make homes and workshops and with generous space overhead for cranes. Where the painted steel was too dull or rusted, hanging fabric and lights helped brighten the space. Whatever fear she felt, her sister-friend Grii seemed to feel none at all.

“Friend Piotr!” Grii chirped in Human-English, unwrapping her hidden prize. “I have brought a solution to your problem!”

Piotr took a knee to accept the gift, turning it gently in his massive hand. “I do not understand. How does vegetable solve problem?”

“This is the Bazzitrin Suffering Pepper. If you eat it, then your apology will be accepted by any who witness it!”

The human's brow flattened. “Pepper. Is hot?”

“The hottest! You will suffer for days!”

He stared at the pepper for a time, his face deathly still; with no antennae or mandibles, Frimb could only guess what the stillness meant. But at last Piotr nodded in understanding, then stood back to his terrifying height. “Spaziba. You are kind to share this with me. I owe you great debt.”

“There are no debts between friends,” Grii said with a dismissive wave. “When do you intend to- ”

“Now. I go now.” True to his word, he turned to leave, forcing Frimb and Grii to scamper after him.

They descended stairs made for too-big feet, all but hopping after Piotr as he lead the way with plodding steps, and made their way into the Human market. Food burned on smoky griddles as human children ran between the legs of the adults, impossibly strong despite being as short and thin-limbed as Frimb herself. What storefronts and habs did not offer food had other crafts, fabrics, and trash-goods and plastic furniture with painted details on every surface. Frimb had only glimpses to appreciate all these things, however, as she followed the path Piotr carved through the crowd with his heavy stride. Other Humans turned their heads, though whether they were gawking at her or at Piotr she could not tell.

“Who is it you must apologize to?” Frimb asked, all but shouting to be heard from down below.

“Olga,” Piotr answered. “She is... important to me.”

“Why?” Frimb asked.

“Olga help me with this.” He gestured to the mural on his arm, the blue-green planet. “She help me cover... old part of myself. When I first ask for her help, I lie. Three days ago, I tell her truth. Now she will not speak to me.”

“A lie is a small thing,” Grii offered.

Piotr was still-faced again, quiet in his march. “Not this one.”

At last, they arrived at a tent where a sharp metallic buzz cut through the air – an etching tool laying a dark pattern into the arm-skin of a sitting Human, the tool wielded in turn by a Human female whose own arms were all but black with drawing. Her head-strands were pale gold, tied back in an intricate braid like a power cable. At Piotr's approach she stood to regard him, face curled in what Frimb guessed was anger. It did not take long for her to begin shouting.

“Idiot!” Olga shouted, her accent much like Piotr's. “Are you deaf as well as stupid? When I say I do not want to see you again, I mean it! Now get out of my shop before I write on your eyeball!” She jabbed her tool at him as she spoke.

Piotr said nothing, enduring her words like a nail before a hammer, and held up the pepper.

“What is this?” she asked.

“Apology.”

Then, to Frimb's horror, his face opened like a trash compactor and he ate the entire pepper. Frimb raised a hand to stop him, but Grii waved at her to be still.

Piotr's jaw moved as he ground the pepper in his mouth, which would have disgusted Frimb to watch if she was not currently trapped by fear and fascination. He took a deep breath, bracing against the pain, and moisture began to appear beneath his eyes. He spoke in sputters through the mouthful of pepper in a language Frimb did not understand.

“What is he speaking?” she asked.

“Russian,” said Grii. “Now hush.”

Piotr’s face seemed to crumple, the soft structure of his skin bunching up around the eyes, and the drops of water began to run down his face like garden drippers. His voice, too, seemed to break; the cold strength that once rumbled from his throat began to waver like the trilling of a massive grub. Yet he stood under the burden of pain, hands clenching so hard they seemed they could crush steel, legs set as though they could bear the weight of a shipping crate. At last he swallowed the pepper, coughing at the mistake before continuing his apology.

Olga's hatred seemed to falter, her own face growing soft in understanding, until at last Piotr broke into open, childish sobs. She set her stabbing-tool down and come forward to take his face in her hands, and wiped his tears with her digits as he repeated the same phrase over and over – there was nothing left to do but beg, it seemed. Whatever he said, it was enough, and she stretched up to wrap her hands around him, speaking softly like a mother as he curled inward to bury his face in her shoulder.

A crowd had gathered of passers-by caught by the sight of the two lovers – for that is what Frimb assumed they must be, now – and all of them recoiled in horror when Olga pressed her mouth to Piotr's. He tried to push her back, but she refused him, all but seizing him by the skull and only relenting when it was clear the pepper had burned her as well. She coughed and cursed and laughed, and Piotr laughed with her, still sniffling through the pain, but the laughter made Frimb believe that whatever wound had come between them was certain to heal now.

“Wow,” Grii murmured. “I did not think that would work.”

“Are you serious?” Frimb hissed. “You troubled me for all this on a chance?”

“He needed help,” Grii said softly, still watching. “I had to try.”

Frimb could not refute the logic of unconditional kindness, and so she folded her arms. “I suppose you are right.”

---

Frimb and Grii gave their farewells, trudging home through the human crowds, past rusted homes and giant’s cradles, with the underfloor of their own homes waiting high overhead. It was a saga in itself to perform their journey in reverse, and they did not speak much until they left the elevator and were once again in blessed low-gravity, strolling tiredly on their way back to Frimb’s workshop.

“Did you understand what they said?” Frimb asked at last, stretching her sore limbs.

“A little,” Grii replied. Her tone was cool and quiet. It was unlike her. This worried Frimb.

“Then tell me,” she prodded. “I should get to know, after all this trouble.”

Grii looked up thoughtfully and did not answer at first, which was not like her, and this worried Frimb until the reply came at last with a hesitant sigh. “Piotr told Olga,” she began, “that his tattoo was badly done, and asked her to make it beautiful. But it was a cover-up of an ugly thing. The sign of the Purist.”

“Oh,” said Frimb. And in that word was wretched understanding of what Piotr had been.

Their own ship, their own people, could be called pirates by the too-rich and the too-strong whom they battled and stole from every now and then; Frimb only knew the rumble of the cannons and the additional repair work that came her way after each raid. But from the stories she had heard, Purists were another kind of pirate entirely, and to know Piotr had been one once was a horror. The Urrakhan would call him eggbreaker; the Galayalag would call him killer-of-one. Her people would call him monster, and that would be enough.

“Did he ever hurt... our people?” Frimb managed.

Grii shrugged.

“You did not know,” Frimb offered. “You were deceived.”

“No,” Grii said, shaking her head, “I did not help the person he was. I chose to help the person he is now, who he wants to be. That was the good thing to do. It is you who was deceived - and for that, I am sorry.”

Grii stared sadly ahead, and Frimb reached over to take her hand. “It will be okay.”

Grii looked up, thinking to herself, and then rummaged through her pocket-bags. At last she pulled out a small bright bulb with a stem, and Frimb’s eyes went wide again.

“You did not.”

“It was in case we got caught,” said Grii. “I would have felt very badly if you were disciplined for helping me.”

Frimb fussed her mandibles as she chewed on the conundrum. It was good of Grii to think ahead, for once, but stealing a pepper to eat so she could apologize for stealing another pepper was a foolish thing. Yet it was a kind thought, and Frimb had come to reassess the value of kindness after today.

“Keep it. You will need it for the next time you break my things.”

Grii shook her head. “No – the burning-flavor wilts when it has been off the vine too long. It is now or never.” As she made to brace herself for the bite, however, a Human-voice came behind them.

“Well, well. What have we here?”

Frimb and Grii looked up to find a Human female, dressed in a dark blue uniform with a datapad tucked in one hand as if it were a part of her. Her attire was not like the other officers of the Human crew, which meant she could only be the Captain's newest recruit; Frimb did not know her name, but had heard that her rank was Lieutenant.

“Good day, Lieutenant,” Frimb said in her most polite English, standing to meet the Human's posture. Grii followed suit.

“Good day. You wouldn't happen to have a harvest permit for that vegetable, would you?” the Lieutenant asked, her face curved in the dry smile of a hunter assessing its prey.

Grii swallowed nervously as her antennae curled. “Oh, uh... I received permission for this one. A verbal agreement.”

“Really?” the Lieutenant asked, feigning surprise. “Because the gardener Poppil called me an hour ago to report a theft from her garden. And here you are, with an unlicensed vegetable. It seems simple to me...”

Suddenly, Frimb realized the Lieutenant's hunter-gaze was directed not at them, but at the pepper.

“It is quite unfortunate,” Frimb agreed, stepping forward and taking the pepper from Grii, “that stolen vegetables are often eaten before a culprit is found. Poppil will be disappointed, but...” She shrugged, and a glint of understanding shone in the human's tiny eyes.

“Yes, well. It can't be helped.” Frimb held up the pepper and the Lieutenant took it, appraising its color. “I suppose I'll have to tell her my search was... fruitless.” She smiled to herself, then gave the two sister-friends a nod and turned on her heel to leave.

Frimb took Grii by the arm and began to walk in the opposite direction. “Run,” she whispered.

As they rounded the corner, they heard a crunch, and then a sneeze, and then a pained howl that escalated as they took off in a scurry.

“I did not know you were such a rule-breaker!” Grii chirped.

“Don't ask me to do this ever again!” Frimb replied, her irritation tinged with the color of laughter.

And so they fled back into the tunnels of steel that they called home, the coughing curses of the Lieutenant echoing far behind.