Another chapter chaps. Apologies for the delay. Mentions of Depression and symptoms in this chapter so consider yourself warned. I am writing this story with the permission of BlueFishCake. Please feel free to make suggestions and ideas for the continuation of this story, if continuation is what you desire.

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The sound of boots clicking against the hard marble-like floors of the palace was the only sound to be heard as David and Kurt were led by the nameless Raikeri. The lighting was dimmed for the night but still dull purple lights were positioned along the corridor at regular intervals, the light causing the gold inlay on the decorative panels on the walls to gleam with an almost ethereal glow.

Struggling to keep up with the long-legged stride of the larger Raikeri David had dubbed “Furball” in his head he didn’t even glance at Kurt, his body in a cold sweat as he wondered what on earth they had been summoned to the palace for. Of course, there was one thing that sprung to mind but he wasn’t about to get his hopes up. The Empress of the Shil’vati empire wasn’t simply going to use a pair of museum guides when she could in full honesty claim any human she desired. Besides, the heeled boots he was wearing were a far more pressing concern on these cursed polished floors, meaning he had something a little more tangible to concern himself with to help calm his nerves.

If he was in a more relaxed frame of mind he would’ve been able to admit that the palace itself was a truly magnificent display of Shil’vati history, clearly, a building which had been built upon numerous times over the years, the changes of architecture plainly visible as they gradually made their way from section to section, making their way deeper into the sprawling structure.

Eventually, just as David was past the point of pain in his aching heels and was breathing heavily, their guide suddenly turned down a seemingly innocent-looking corridor towards an innocuous door that looked distinctly like a broom closet.

Upon her knocking at the door, however, the subtle yet distinct click of multiple electronic locks being disengaged (David could have sworn, and Kurt later confirmed, that the woman had even been swiftly scanned) the door swung open to reveal a surprisingly large office.

Seated behind the solid yet barely decorated desk opposite the door sat a female Shil’vati, her formal yet clean-cut clothing instantly identifying her as a woman of practical consequence.

The Raikeri led the two humans forward until they were standing before the desk before saluting the woman.

“Ma’am, presenting Humans CW1060120 and CW1536069 as requested!”

Keeping his face as neutral as possible David internalised this information. While some people might be annoyed at being numbered like an item he had enough experience as an employee of the NZDF on Earth to have had his own service number (despite not being a soldier) so he wasn’t particularly upset at the idea. What he found interesting was the fact that none of the museum staff had been told about their numbers, meaning it was a way for their “handlers” to identify them without them realising.

“Well shit,” he thought to himself as he stood there, staring the woman in the eye with as neutral an expression as he could muster.

With a curt nod, the Shil stood, her calculating gaze sliding over the two men as the Raikeri stepped back out of his peripheral vision.

A silent few moments followed, a clear intimidation tactic which neither Kurt or David fell for, David keeping his eyes fixed on the woman’s own gaze. Finally she gave a tight smile, her tusks glittering with subtle gold inlay as she sat back down in her seat.

“The Empress was most impressed with the museum this morning” she stated idly, clearly waiting for a reaction that never came. “Her majesty has several ideas regarding the museum and its items having finally seen them in the flesh and has tasked me with ensuring they are carried out.”

That did not sound good. And this entire situation was feeling more and more like a test of sorts.

“As such, one of the ships is to be removed, which one was it? Ah yes, the HMS Victory is to be withdrawn from public display. It is instead to be shipped to the palace at Thocra and floated on the lake there”

Again the two men said nothing, though David for one had a stream of cuss words and abuse charging through his head.

“The Empress, as a result, wants educated humans to command this item to make sure it is undamaged and is appropriately crewed”

The hair on the back of David’s neck rose up, his toes positively curling in reluctance at the idea.

“However!” continued the woman, “there is a reason you two, in particular, have been summoned. You are the only two males in the museum with combat experience, however short it may be. One of you is to captain the Victory, the other is to be placed in another role, equally important to her majesty as well as to your duties here.”

The silence which followed this declaration clearly unnerved the woman, her eyes flicking between the two humans as she waited with an expectant expression.

Eventually, David, feeling like a child stuck up his hand. At the silent gesture to speak, he took a breath and took the proverbial plunge. “As far as I know ma'am, neither of us have naval or sailing experience, especially not a ship the size of the victory. Surely there are other humans more suited to the role.

This question, despite questioning the judgement of his superiors, earned him an appraising, if calculating, smile. “Indeed there are, and they are being sought from Earth as are the humans who will ensure our own engineers know how best to maintain her. That said, the Empress is determined that a, shall we say properly motivated, staff member is kept onboard in a position of command.”

“Understood” David nodded in what he hoped was a professional manner, “So privately owned eye candy, whoopie” he thought to himself as he side-eyed Kurt.

The German in question took the opportunity to clear his throat, clearly not enthused with the idea. “And the other role?”

Out of all the reactions David had anticipated in the brief flash of instinctive threat assessment which arched through his subconscious mind, a tired sigh and a flick of eyes upwards wasn’t one of them.

“The role is simple, if ceremonial. Whichever of you demonstrates a certain set of skills over the coming month, which we will assess, will be assigned as a T’koltha for her majesty.”

Despite not having a whisper of an idea what that meant, David felt a cold bead of apprehension down his spine despite the tight uniform.

Kurt simply shook his head, “Apologies, that term is unknown to us.”

“Hardly surprising as it is an ancient title in old high Shil!” her eyes narrowed, “A more modern definition would be as a… courier… of vital correspondence.”

“Diplomatic material?”

“Among other material yes. And no you will not engage in negotiations. The role would simply be to deliver correspondence from the Empress to key individuals around the Empire, and outside of it. Messages which could not run the risk of being intercepted by being sent via more modern routes.”

Her eyes roved over the two men, her expression disturbingly unreadable, “This role does come with numerous benefits and even more responsibilities. I will be honest, her majesty has been advised against this course of action, but she has made her wishes known."

Finally finding his equilibrium again, David couldn’t help but raise his hand like a child at school “With respect, what “certain skills” are you looking for with regard to one of us becoming Postman Pat?” he ignored the strange looks both Kurt and the woman gave him as he waited for an answer.

“Well, while I have no idea what this “Pat” is, what we are looking for is for us to know. You will both be notified of your position at the end of the month when a decision is reached.”

A wave of a hand later, Kurt and David were being led back the way they had come. Neither man spoke as they were led by their Raikiri guide, the only sound being the clip of their heels against the floor accompanied by the occasional sounds of the guards they passed stiffening to attention in order to not look as if they were bored out of what little brains they had.

When they were finally ushered into their team's quarters and the door shut firmly behind them, they were greeted with the wide nervous gaze of their colleagues, expressions of relief and uncertainty painted on every face.

“So? What happened?”

“Errrr, how would you say it Kurt?”

“We were offered a job each!”

“What?”

“Ja! One of us to captain the Victory! The other is to become a… how did you say it? Postman Pat?”

“Aye that’s the one”

“Whats a Pat?”

“Seriously? Did no one watch postman pat as a child?”

Over the next few days and weeks, the team found itself bonding both on the museum floor and in their quarters. Watching each other's back as the crowds, determined to examine the humans, showed no signs of stopping.

Sexual harassment became an almost hourly occurrence as pushy aristocrats and teenagers used fair means and foul to try everything from surreptitious photos to copping a feel and even several incidents of attempted rape. Fortunately, David's team was less affected with the last type of situation, owing to the weapons and technology being much deeper within the museum, meaning the "Human hunters" rarely ventured that far for fear of actually learning something.

The onsite security were no help either, though at least they knew better than to try anything too untoward with what was essentially the Empress’ property. Thanks to David’s and several of the others attempts to get to know them better as well, they could sometimes even be relied upon to turn up before things got out of hand, though this was an enragingly slow process.

Despite the constant paranoia and at times utter terror David felt, especially when on his own on the museum floor, he didn’t dare focus on it, knowing full well the consequences if he did.

Having been diagnosed with manic depression during his final year at university, (much to his shock at the time), he had already had a number of coping mechanisms which kept him off the happy pills. While some of these methods were a lot worse than others, he knew that bringing up the idea with his superiors would end badly for him. The idea of those purple cockwombles poking around in his psyche was something he refused to countenance and burdening his colleagues simply wasn’t an option. As a result, he was left at crossroads. He could survive, by taking his mental health into account. Feign sickness if he had a black day (or as he called it, “getting smacked over the head with the despair stick”), or he could do the more risky option, one which he had to admit was kinda stupid, but it had got him through uni with only one big failure (his father had never completely trusted him on railway platforms since).

Seeing no other option, he went with the latter option, channelling his emotions, comparing it to conducting a choir. Anger was channelled and morphed into carefully timed and applied remarks, designed to do as much possible emotional damage to those he directed them at. Usually, Shil females who were pushing the boundaries.

His utter terror and horror he painted with a thin veneer of kindness, using it to empathise with the smaller children who came to the museum, especially those which he found who had managed to lose their families. These were perhaps the easiest cases, especially as he could empathise with them. The fear of never seeing their parents again, the confusion and the sudden realisation that one was really so very very small in the greater world.

It was these cases he would gently introduce himself to, his “masculine” appearance seeming to put most of the younger ones at ease, especially the females, who were the most commonly forgotten, especially with the larger families that came through.

Despite their different species it never crossed his mind to leave them there, instead, he would paint on a smile, introducing himself with a gentle (what he dubbed “grandfatherly”) tone.

Asking where they’d last seen their family he would lead them towards one of the numerous benches against the walls, using a museum issue communicator to get in touch with the front desk who would put a call out around the museum.

Usually, it was only a few minutes before a frantic family member would appear, and it was all David could do to not miss his own parents as the child was hugged and sometimes gently admonished for wandering off.

However, there were always the “other” interactions, usually from the higher socially ranked families, a servant sent to grab the child, no affection to be seen as they disappeared back into the crowd. It reminded David bitterly of his experience teaching swimming in Central Auckland before he was employed at the Army Museum, the multiple children who had told him plainly their parents weren’t going to be there for Christmas, or Birthdays or any other event when he asked how their weeks were going. The numerous nannies and au pairs who sat beside the pool instead of parents when their children went to competitions. At the time it had saddened him, now it infuriated him. However, in his quiet moments of self-reflection, as well as the team discussions at the end of the day, he couldn’t help but question whether it was his inability to help, or the situation itself which caused the most outrage in him.

In the back of his mind, he knew and acknowledged the numerous fake masks and emotional suppression was bound to end badly eventually. However, it wasn’t until three weeks into the job that just how badly he was affected became apparent.

It was mid-afternoon and the lunchtime rush (guess some things really do transcend species) was beginning to slow down. The museum was still crowded, but you could move through the crowds with a certain amount of ease.

The midday battle had been a mock-up of the Spanish Civil War with David’s group playing the role of the Spanish Nationalist forces from North Africa.

Having been a reenactor in his spare time back on Earth David found the whole thing slightly more enjoyable than many, but even he was starting to flag from the daily recreations held for gawping ignorant tourists, most of whom went to see the battles, not as educational elements, but more as cheap entertainment from the “sex planet”.

Coupled with the looming sense of the “despair stick” above his head he simply squared his shoulders, stiffened his upper lip and walked back onto the floor as he was expected to. In his eyes this wasn’t as a duty to the Empress, it was for Earth, its peoples, his team… and yes, even to the Shil people who knew nothing of Earth, the precious minority who were genuinely curious and craved to know of lives, worlds and people other than their own.

His insincere, internal pep-talk however was interrupted by a gut-wrenching, mournful wail coming from the memorial to the Shil casualties on Earth.

It had not gone unnoticed by the humans that the wall of names of Shil dead had not stopped growing in the weeks they’d been there. In fact, the wall had only a few days before been broken into four parts, the quarters of the wall spread around the now four entrances to the central amphitheatre.

Quickening his stride he hurried towards the sound of the commotion. Rounding the corner into the open space around the amphitheatre he noticed a solid knot of Shil around the main wall, the sound of smashing glass and steel emanating from the middle.

His hindbrain screaming at him to turn and melt back into the crowd he instead strode towards the crowd, several Shil seeming to startle at his approach, one male even going so far as to hold out a hand to stop him as he walked past. “No!! don…!” was all he heard before he slipped through the gaps in the group towards the epicentre.

Squeezing between the predominantly female group he suddenly stumbled, toppling forward as his hand flung forward to arrest his fall. Unfortunately, this resulted in him stumbling clear into the middle of the crowd.

There in front of him was a Shil woman, kneeling as tears streamed down her face, the shattered remains of one of the drones used to carve names on the memorial wall in front of her, her huge fist slamming into its casing over and over in an almost rhythmic pattern in time with her breathless sobs.

The drone it seemed had been in the middle of carving a new set of names into the stone, the last name only three-quarters done.

David’s sudden appearance however seemed to snap the woman out of her reverie, her black and golden eyes focussing on him with initial surprise before widening in misery-fueled rage.

The pit dropped out of David's stomach as he barely managed to begin to raise his hands placatingly before she surged to her feet, her fingers wrapping around his throat in a death grip, her speed shocking him into inaction as she hoisted him off the ground. “WHY!!” She snarled, her utterly broken voice ringing in his ears, “She was militia!! Not a clamming marine!”

David's hands scrabbled at her wrists, his panic causing him to have to mentally struggle to stop himself thrashing in her grip as his vision was already darkening at the edges.

The woman’s emotions were changing though, her gaze losing its sadness to be replaced with a burning, animalistic hatred, every ounce of that hatred focused in that moment on the human in her grasp, of the same species who killed her loved one.

The crowd at that moment was useless, many stunned by her actions, others clearly empathising with her at the expense of the human desperately trying to break free.

With her grasp still firm she slammed his body into the stone wall, what little air remained in his body knocked free as his head rang from the impact, his body slumping as fight or flight kicked in.

Fortunately for him, the impact had loosened her grip, meaning that despite the weakness behind the kick he aimed at her ribs was still enough to get her to drop him, his throat burning as he coughed, struggling shakily to his feet as he braced himself against the wall before ducking to avoid a wild grab aimed at his head.

“P-Please!” he pleaded, “Madam! This is a… shit! A memorial!” he staggered, still struggling to get enough air in his lungs as he swung for him again, rapidly closing the distance.

“My daughter!” she snarled, “butchered by a weak! pathetic! pustule race like yours? She wouldn’t! hurt! A! THING!” the last word delivered as a bone-chilling screech she threw herself forward, David only barely managing to hurl himself to his right as she careened past him and into the wall, her body slamming into the floor as she turned her head to keep him in her view.

Seeing his chance David realised that the crowd was only growing, rendering the idea of fleeing hopeless and meaning that any relief would be delayed. Between death and continued existence, he wasn’t in the mood to consider the shiny door. Years of self-conditioning and a deep dark well of poorly contained emotions paid off as he felt a hand closing around his ankle. Slammed into the ground he was at least prepared for it and pulled his free leg back, the solid heel of his boot slamming into the distraught woman's face as she attempted to drag him towards her, the solid sensation of his foot impacting with flesh also serving to push him away from her, out of her loosened grip as a shriek of pain and feral rage filled his ears.

Quickly rolling onto the balls of his feet he launched himself at the woman, closing the distance and slamming into her waist, the toe of his boots slamming into the backs of her knees in turn as she attempted to struggle to feet, sending her crashing back to the floor.

Thanks to his conversations with Korva he knew trying to choke the woman from behind would be a waste of time, even if it was only to knock her out, Shil evolution being based on deep diving creatures. Shil had amazing lung capacity, something which would certainly help if they had choirs, but in this exact situation, it was a problem. The only way he was going to win without help was by exhausting her, which fortunately she seemed to be doing herself.

Hooking his feet around her thighs he spread his weight across her lower back, while also making it hard for her to bend her lower back or get to her feet.

The wild thrashing of the woman behind him began to calm slightly only for her to suddenly try to roll onto her side to throw him off.

Grunting with the effort, sure in the knowledge, he’d be crushed if she succeeded in getting on top, he pulled back a hand and straightened his fingers, driving them into her waist just above her hip bones, a satisfying gasp and whoosh of air sounding out as the air left her lungs and she slumped back onto her front.

Distantly, as if underwater, he could just make out the sounds of a struggle behind him, the woman howling miserably beneath him as he remained in place, his throat aching painfully every time he swallowed and the pain in his back and head as the adrenaline slowly ebbed.

Before he could dwell too deeply on the thought, he was suddenly bowled clean off the woman’s back, a smaller, but still much larger than him Shil straddling his hips as her fist slammed into his face, her nails raking and digging into his cheekbone and above his eye as it felt like she was trying to peel his flesh from his bones, his neck jerking with the blow as frantically raised his hands. All thoughts of self-restraint leaving him as he struck upwards blindly, snarling in defensive, terrified rage, a vicious, feral sound even to his ears as his fist connected with something fleshy, fingers and nails sinking into thick flesh as his vision went hazy, the blood rushing in his ears as his brained blanked out, the urge to hurt his tormentor ringing like a deep cathedral bell in his mind. He felt his lips curling in a manic, frantic grin (once described by his Krav maga instructor as "Fucking nightmare fuel you bastard"), a grunting squeal the only sound he heard before the weight suddenly lifted off him. The sounds of shouting and shrieking filling his ears as yet again he found himself struggling to his feet, one hand clutching the right side of his face which he could feel already swelling hot stickiness flowing freely done his face and neck, the other eye taking in the welcome sight of security wrestling the young Shil female to the floor. His heart still pounding he moved forward to continue his defence before he was grabbed from behind, huge muscular arms pulling him back, allowing him to stare into the petrified gaze of the young woman pinned on the floor, the family resemblance to the older woman marking her as most likely another daughter. The older woman herself was curled into the fetal position, choking on her tears as another member of the security team cuffed her.

Feeling his fury dissipating as rapidly as it rose he struggled slightly in the arms gripping him, his instinct immediately shifting to offer comfort if he could. However, as he grunted slightly in frustration still being gripped like a criminal, his view was blocked by the armour of the lieutenant in charge of the security shift in this area.

“Get him to the infirmary” she barked at someone behind him, the idea of turning his head to look feeling a bit too painful to contemplate at the moment as he glared up at her with his one good eye.

“I. Will. Fu… Bloody. Walk” he panted, the woman holding him losing her grip slightly as if in surprise, allowing him to spin carefully on one heel, hating how he nearly slipped and fell as the world tilted precariously. All he could see was the swimming faces of the crowd as they stared in a mixture of concern and amazement, probably that he was still standing.

“You will not!” exclaimed the lieutenant, “You’re barely standing! Someone get a stretcher!”

A groan slipped out of David's lips as he fought the urge to turn back.

“I.. I am a thrice-damned human!” he growled, “I will not be carried when I can stand!” he waved behind him with the hand not clutching his face. “she needs it more, and I! Will! Damn! Well! Walk!”

Another nervous-looking guard hurried over, the crowd parting as David took a step forward, his stomach lurching as he placed one foot firmly in front of the other, the sound of his heels striking against the gleaming floor filling his ears and giving him something to focus on as a large arm wrapped around his shoulder, guiding him in whatever direction they were headed, he couldn’t remember.

He wasn’t sure which came first, his legs giving out as they turned a corner, his vision going dark, or the alarming sound of a panicky Shil voice screaming cuss words.