Four good months have passed. My owner has kept her word in organizing an education for me. It is amazing how they solve that on this planet! Each village, no matter how tiny, has a library that provides access to all universities on the globe. There’s a particular dark room equipped with electronics up to the ceiling that can create a visual environment so real you’d believe you’re sitting in the lecture hall, other students beside you, and the teacher presenting material at the front. If it’s not a lecture, the dark room can simulate a laboratory or any other workshop, complete with fine instruments you can learn to handle. On top of that, there’s a translation option that instantly transforms the Manide’s language into terrestrial English. Clearly, it’s not unusual for Earthlings like me to attend such courses. I’m even able to take remote exams in English. Only at the end of my studies, I’m told, do I need to pass a vast grammar and terms test in the local language to earn the degree. Well, I still have time for that.
Each day, in the afternoon, I’m allowed to walk down to the village and attend my classes. She offered to manage dinner instead of me, so I’d have time to study at the library. This move of hers astonishes me. It’s a bit beyond what I thought modern slavery could be. She restricts her own comfort to give me the space I need. Slowly, I’m getting a different impression of her, but I know all of this exists only because of her mercy. I’m just lucky my owner is quite... okay. It could be far, far worse.
In the evenings, over dinner, she and I often have long discussions about philosophy. Naturally, I’m always of a totally different opinion. Over time, I feel like I’ve improved my debating skills. I’ve started luring her into particular directions before slipping in arguments that refute hers. But it’s tricky. I notice how she adapts too, changing tactics and switching to more complex lines of reasoning. I suspect there’s a whole philosophy of *dispute culture* among the Manides. Maybe they get specific training in it—I don’t know. But I like it. It takes my mind off my situation for a while. Yet, of course, I’m still pursuing my main goal: to get out of here.
The language of the Manides is strange, with weird letters and arbitrary pronunciations. At least the grammar is simple and straightforward. I’m making slow progress, though, because I still hate learning it. So far, I can say basic sentences like “I go shopping,” “I forgot my bag,” and “Where do I need to go?”—useful phrases for a slave in a beautiful village full of friendly people.
Until now, I’ve gotten along with her quite well. Sometimes Steve joins us for dinner, and, to my relief, he hasn’t asked any more stupid questions since our first meeting. I trust him. He’s smart and empathetic, and I’m glad to know there’s at least one Manide here I can turn to if I get into trouble.
##
Today, I don’t feel so good. The memory of my mother gnaws at my heart. By my calculations, I’ve been on this planet for five Earth months. Combined with my first military assignment, I’ve been in service for eight months now. I should have been back in four months. My mother might still be receiving my army salary, thinking I’m fine and caught up in some classified laboratory project. But what then? How will she feel in four months when I don’t return?
Most likely, nothing about my situation will have changed by then. My mother’s son—enslaved to the enemy, trapped on a distant planet.
So, at dinner tonight, I’m in a particularly bad mood. I sit in front of my six dishes. Yes, it’s still the six dishes as the Manides like to serve them. I could have asked for a single, simple dish with everything combined, but I didn’t. I realized I like the weird arrangement. I also didn’t want her to serve herself more conveniently than I. My worth is the same as hers, I insist. I keep this ritual not for reliability, like her, but to demonstrate my own magnitude. I told her that once, and she actually found it a good idea. Nothing I say ever seems to shatter her. I can argue, she’ll agree or disagree, and when I win an argument, she acknowledges it calmly. She never gets angry. Cool, right? No. It upsets me. And today, it upsets me even more.
“Everything okay with you today?” she asks.
Grumpily, my eyes lock onto hers. “No.”
“Why? What’s up?”
“Well, uh, today I got to the point where I realize I’ve had enough.”
“Of what?”
“Of all this. All this shit here.” I pause before continuing, “I wanted to die, remember?”
She straightens up slightly, her face serious. “Yes, I remember.”
“Well, guess what? I still want to!” I shout, my anger spilling out. I mean every word. The grief about my mother, imagining her suffering in four months—it’s killing me. I want to be dead because there’s nothing I can do.
“Why do you want to die?”
“Because...” I hesitate. I’m not about to tell her about my mother. My life is my own business, and I won’t share it with the woman who’s stripped me of my dignity. Of my last free will. Of my death. “…because all of this is a lie. It doesn’t work. You can’t take a man away from his death wish. It’s his decision alone. Why didn’t you kill me on the ship, like any other soldier would? This life here is like hell to me!”
She looks at me, stunned. I’ve gotten to her this time, so I press on.
“You’re nice, Steve’s nice, but I’m far away from home, captured in this phoniness against my will. You’re not doing this for me. You’re doing this for yourself—to amuse yourself with the stubborn human you won. To fill your empty heart. To restore your dignity. But I’ll never feel okay here. I never will!”
Her stunned expression doesn’t change. She doesn’t react—doesn’t say a word. This isn’t normal. A chill runs through me. I stand up, stepping closer. Nothing. She doesn’t move, doesn’t blink. “Hey, what’s up? You frozen?”
Still nothing. I wave my hand in front of her eyes. She doesn’t respond. Panic rises as I shake her shoulder gently, then harder. She’s frozen—stuck like a photograph, like someone trapped in their own mind.
“If this is some trick to make me panic, stop it now!” I shout, desperate. “It’s not okay doing this!”
Still nothing.
“Okay, I’m sorry. Please, it’s not as bad as I said. I was just upset. Had a bad day.”
But she doesn’t move. Tears build in my eyes. I’ve broken her somehow. She’s unresponsive, and I’m terrified. I need help. I need Steve.
Leaving her carefully supported by the chair, I rush along the path to Steve’s house. He’s home, thank God. When I explain what happened, he doesn’t hesitate—he races back with me.
In the kitchen, Steve stares at her, dumbfounded. “How did this happen?”
“I… I complained a bit about my situation,” I stammer nervously.
He raises a skeptical eyebrow. “A *bit*? Doesn’t look like a ‘bit.’”
“Okay, I overdid it, obviously.”
Steve sighs heavily. “It’s not entirely your fault. What you’re seeing is a condition some Manides develop when faced with an emotional discrepancy that hits too deeply.”
He sighs. “Well, huh, it’s not entirely your fault. What you’re seeing here is a rare condition some of us Manides experience when confronted with a discrepancy that hits us on an emotional level.”
Oh shit, that doesn’t sound good. I’m screwed. And so is she—everyone can see that. But Steve continues, more encouragingly,
“Though it’ll be okay in a few days or weeks. We need to get her to a hospital.” Then he tilts his head, peering thoughtfully at me. “But you can’t stay here. And I’m not allowed to take you in. You’ll need to be brought back to the detention center.”
“Oh my God! And then what happens to me?”
“I don’t know. I’m no expert on rare incidents involving the common clause. But it’ll be okay. The laws are well thought out.”
Help! Well-thought-out laws? That doesn’t sound good. I’m an intruder to them, and I hurt her. But aside from that, I don’t want to leave this place. And I don’t want to leave her forever, not when she’s in this state. Not after this conflict. Suddenly, my body decides to produce tears again. Desperate, I mutter,
“Isn’t there another way? I don’t want to leave her!”
“Yeah, but you don’t even like it here, right? I mean, you were pretty unhappy. Maybe you’ll get a different chance now.”
“I... I... don’t want a different chance right now. I messed her up, and I want to fix it. Is there any way I can undo this?”
Steve mulls over my plea and then slowly comes up with a suggestion. “Well, if you really want to help her—and this might actually speed up the regeneration process—you’ll need to take care of her for a few days instead of sending her to a hospital. I can give you three days. Three days for her to snap out of this. I’ll cover all her shifts observing the wild animals we’re tracking. But after that, I’ll be completely wiped out—no sleep and stuff, you know? Until then, she can stay here, and you’ll have to take care of her. If she doesn’t recover in that time, I’ll have to request a new partner for the project, and she’ll have to go to the hospital.”
Nodding wildly, I’m deeply grateful for his suggestion. I’d do anything to undo this. I’ll prove myself to be reliable.
“Okay, so listen,” Steve says firmly. “You really need to do this well. And don’t even think about running off halfway through. I need you as a partner here, not some panicking human trying to go home. If you want to escape, do it now. I won’t go after you. But from this moment on, I need to trust you, Eric, if we want to get Kehan back on her feet.”
“Kehan?”
“Oh, for crying out loud! You didn’t even know her name all these months?” He snorts, rolls his eyes, and grumbles, “Sometimes I really wonder why she puts up with you. I really do.” Steve inhales sharply, exhaling with exaggerated frustration. “Her name’s Kehan, dude. She’s my friend, and she worked her ass off to get you off death row!”
I’m speechless. He’s right. That’s what it’s all about. She didn’t want me to die. That’s it. How did I not see that? Shocked, I try to give him a response that sounds trustworthy.
“You’re right! I was such an idiot. I didn’t realize that. I’ll do whatever you need me to do!”
“Okay, Eric, let’s sit down. This is going to take a while.”
Then he goes through a long list of tasks and routines I’ll need to follow to keep Kehan healthy while she can’t move or respond. As he explains the details, I notice how meticulously he focuses on each step. He must be a dependable partner to Kehan—and she must be the same for him. How was I so blind to the way the Manides work? They’re just people trying to do their best every day. It’s not about being cunning, tricking others, or dodging responsibilities. It’s about making a difference—just like humans try to. Nothing more, nothing less.
Finally, when he’s done briefing me, Steve leaves, promising to check on me the next evening when he gets a break between observation shifts.
Relieved to have gotten this chance, I’m left alone with her. She’s still sitting at the kitchen table, staring blankly into nothing. Suddenly, I hear a dripping noise. It’s her—peeing. Steve predicted this would happen. Even though it unsettles me deeply, I stay calm on the outside. I stand up, walk toward her, and say softly,
“Now, we’ll get you cleaned up, then you’ll have some food, we’ll brush your teeth, and get you to bed.”
I don’t know why I say we instead of I. I guess there’s a reason for it.