Author's Notes: It took me a while to complete this chapter, but it came out long so I guess that's a good thing. Most of this segment is Dop's POV, but don't worry, I didn't forget Kee Wai. I want to say more, but I don't want to give away too much. I hope you guys like this story, since it's one I'm fairly proud of at the moment. the world in "Prisoners of Pride" keeps growing bit by bit. Thanks for reading, and I hope you'll leave a review :)
Chapter 4
Unrest
It was yet another day of driving the snackey cab for Dop, but the bloated cab driver didn't feel as calm and carefree as he normally did. He had noticed for weeks that Foodcourtia's Irken and alien tourists were avoiding each other, and paranoia about the future of Irk was at an all-time high.
The new Tallest had been selected, and there was not one but two new rulers. It was unheard of for two Irkens to be the exact same qualifying height for Tallest, and yet it had happened. To be fair though, losing two Tallests in a week was unheard of as well. The Empire was entering uncharted territory in more ways than one.
While Foodcourtia was 5 light days away from Irk, it didn't change the fact that Irk's political backwash would end up infiltrating the crowded eatery planet. Elite soldiers seemed especially excited, and Dop wondered if something big was going down. He wasn't ignorant of the rage and bloodlust that had infested his people since Tallest Miyuki was murdered on Vort, but he also tried his best to stay out of it. After all, these were affairs that didn't concern him. All he was programmed to do was drive a cab, and he preferred it that way.
He was driving a reptilian couple down the streets of the Booshli restaurant district looking for a place called Gloooorb's. As he slowed down to search another cab sped up ahead of him and Dop nearly rammed into the offending vehicle as it abruptly stopped.
"Hey, down your's, defect!" Dop shouted angrily as he extended a PAK leg out the window and made a rude slashing gesture at the perpetrator.
"Get exploded, ya pig smelly!" The other cabbie hollered back as he stuck his head out the window, which then bumped into a low-hanging sign. "Ow!"
"Heh heh heh...glitch," Dop chuckled to himself as he looked at his rear view window to make sure his passengers were alright, "Hey, you folks see your stop around here anywhere?"
"Two more stops signs away," The male Booshli replied in a quiet hissing tone of voice.
Dop nodded and drove on in silence while his passengers chatted quietly among themselves. He eavesdropped on the conversation for lack of anything better to do. They were talking about the odd way Irkens speak. Apparently these creatures thought hissing sounded so much better than bouncy verbal tones. They compared Irken speech to the sound of a rubber ball bouncing down their own throats, and if Dop had been any other cabbie he might've been insulted. As it was he didn't see a reason to pick a fight with someone who had the ability to leave him a nice tip, so he drove on and pretended not to hear them.
After he dropped off the Booshli lizards Dop decided to go back to the snackey cab hub to clean his car. It took twenty minutes to make it to the hub due to all the traffic out that day. Foodcourtia was a place with constant traffic from ground vehicles to hover vehicles to spaceships, so Dop was used to taking way too long to only go a small distance.
The hub was one of the biggest buildings within a half-planet radius. There were only two snackey cab hubs to supply the entire planet with cabs to help snackers get to where they needed to go. Dop looked upon the purple building with tired bored eyes; not nearly as impressed with such a sight as many of the tourists would be.
Dop drove past the lobby and down to the washing station where he parked his cab. He got out the hose that sprayed suds and a substance akin to water, and then began to wash the cab from top to bottom. After spraying he started scrubbing down the overworked machine with a sponge. He took special care to clean above the rear hover mount where he had painted the cab's name in black Irken script; Kee Wai. Needless to say he was quite attached to his sweet ride.
"Hey Dop!" Another cabbie, Nalb, shouted as he started walking toward the busy driver, "Hey Dop, the Foodening is coming up in just another four months. I was just wondering...do you know anyone who might want to replace me? I wanted to use up my vacation time and avoid the rush this cycle."
"The Foodening lasts 20 years," Dop pointed out with a skeptical expression as he scrubbed a passenger door, "I know for a fact that you do not have 20 years of accumulated vacation time. In fact, it would take you 427 years, 2 months, and 5 days to accumulate enough time to take the entire Foodening off."
"You sound just like the Cab Lord," Nalb pouted dejectedly, "I hate the Foodening! It's always busy, the sheer number of people makes the temperature hotter, and the traffic gets worse! Just once I'd like to take the Foodening off work and spend some time on Irk or something."
"You are needed here just like the rest of us," Dop stated firmly, "So don't expect sympathy from me. Besides, I'm looking forward to it. This is my first Foodening. I hear this time period is great for earning extra tips."
"Yeah, at first," Nalb scoffed with a hand on his hip, "Then by the 10th year most of the diners have run out of money. Then the whole planet becomes a din of festering hedonism as tourists start exchanging illegal items for money, not to mention other favors. The Foodening brings out drug dealers, arms dealers, grifters, thieves, and alien sex in every hotel and back alley! Do you know what organic breeding looks like? It's disgusting! Especially the fat ones!"
Dop gave Nalb a flat look, and Nalb scowled back at the younger cabbie.
"I'm just saying, it's chaos," Nalb added matter-of-factly, "I want out, and I will find a way to get a replacement even if it kills me. I can't do this anymore!"
"Just upgrade your cab," Dop suggested; a slightly annoyed edge to his voice.
"Upgrade?" Nalb asked obliviously, "What do you mean upgrade?"
"I mean upgrade your cab so you can break orbit," Dop replied, "You'll have to wait until a few months after the Foodening starts so your cab doesn't explode out in space, but then when you're able to leave and most other cabs aren't you'll make an obscene amount of monies. That's what I'm going to do."
"Really?" Nalb asked in amazement, "Can you show me how?"
"Of course," Dop nodded agreeably, "Just pay me 200 monies, and when I'm through with your cab it'll be almost as impressive as Kee Wai."
"You should probably stop calling your car that," Nalb advised as he looked to make sure no one else was listening, "I know that's a Vort name, and trust me when I say you don't want anything to do with Vort right now. The Tallests will probably invade Vort within the next few months. In fact, they might even do the organic sweep on Vort and wipe out most of their species along with every other living thing on that planet."
"You don't really think that, do you?" Dop asked; trying and failing to sound disinterested.
"Look, I don't know what your sick fascination with Vort is, but just forget about it," Nalb warned Dop, "They're as good as dead."
"I have no fascination with Vort," Dop huffed defensively, "I merely like the name Kee Wai, and I'm keeping it on my cab. You can't take away a cab's name after 24 years, after all."
"Suit yourself, but you'll lose customers," Nalb shrugged helplessly before sauntering away slowly, "Just remember, I want my cab able to break the Foodening's orbit just like yours can. I'll pay you in two weeks when I get my next check."
"See you around," Dop waved goodbye before going back to washing his cab.
Dop mechanically washed his hover cab, but his thoughts were light years away. Irkens aged quickly so he looked as adult as anyone else working on Foodcourtia, but Dop was only 26 years old. To an Irken who could live for millennia that was nothing. To him the Vortian girl Kee Wai was only yesterday's memory, and deep down beneath his mask of apathy he feared for her safety. He only hoped she had achieved her dreams of leaving her home planet, because that would be the only thing that would save her from the wrath of the Tallest.
Sol Ban and Kee Wai celebrated their one year wedding anniversary by eating a modest dinner of Vort dogs and Draft juice at Sol Ban's office at the Knits Teef Weapons Research Center. He had been hired just 7 weeks prior to work on a more efficient plasmarian battle tank design for the Irken Empire. The Irkens were angry with Vort and refused to send diplomats to the planet, so the Vortian government enacted a stimulus program to increase military spending so that they could appease their allies with more weapons.
Sol Ban had been hired because Lard Nar, one of the center's top scientists, quit when he found out they were still making weapons for the Irkens. Lard Nar was considered a brilliant engineer but a bit of a conspiracy theorist. He hoarded equipment for himself so he could make his own battleship. He claimed it was designed to escape the Irkens when they declared war on Vort, but everyone thought he was crazy. After all, Irk and Vort had been allies for centuries. Even if things got rough it seemed absurd to believe the Irkens would suddenly go to war over so little.
"These Vort dogs are pretty good," Sol Ban commented before he bit into his second one, "Where did you get these?"
"Bark's Bakery down on the corner," Kee Wai replied with her mouth full.
"Ah, that is a decent establishment," Sol Ban nodded approvingly, "They've been in business for 65 years if I remember correctly."
"67," Kee Wai corrected him, "Um, Sol Ban? Forgive me for being nosy, but...Why couldn't you just come home to work on these spec sheets?"
"Security is pretty tight around here lately," Sol Ban replied apologetically, "I wasn't even supposed to let you in here, but I doubt anyone is going to check up on me. I'm mostly left alone to complete my work when it comes to design. Collaboration doesn't come into play until we get into the building phase of our operation. I don't know if they'll need me for that or not, but since I'm new here I need to be willing to do whatever is required."
Kee Wai sighed sadly, and Sol Ban raised a questioning eyebrow to quietly ask her what was wrong.
"Sol Ban, I've been thinking about this whole Irken situation," Kee Wai poured out her concern, "And I can't help but wonder if maybe that one scientist was right. I forgot his name, but you know him, the one that quit and started building a battleship."
"He's clinically insane," Sol Ban dismissed her worries, "Lard Nar was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and general anxiety disorder. Don't worry, Kee Wai. These weapons will appease the Irkens, and then everything will smooth over and return to normal. Trust me."
"But why don't we make some of these weapons for ourselves?" Kee Wai reasoned, "Why are the weapons only for the Irkens?"
"Because people don't kill. Weapons kill," Sol Ban replied sagely.
"But the Irkens are people, and they kill," Kee Wai posited.
"No, the Irkens are not people. They are weapons," Sol Ban replied stoically.
"That's not true!" Kee Wai shouted indignantly as she leaned over the table to glare at Sol Ban.
"No?" Sol Ban raised a brow, "Consider this, Vortians value life. Irkens do not value life. Vortians are organic life forms that use tools. Irkens are tools that use organic bodies to move. The PAKs they wear are their very cores, and without the PAK the Irken cannot exist. They do not use the weapons in their PAKs. The weapons in their PAKs are a part of them. Irkens are military programs that happen to look organic, therefore they are, in fact, weapons."
Kee Wai knew it was more complicated than that, but she didn't know how to refute Sol Ban's argument. It was times like this when she wished she was smarter than she was. Smart girls didn't get cornered in a debate like this.
"I hope I didn't upset you, my love," Sol Ban replied with more tenderness than a moment ago, "I know this is a delicate subject, but I hope you understand now why we need to give the Irkens these weapons. If we show the Irkens we still trust them to protect us and we will still provide them with their program's desire, then they will stay in orbit and keep us safe from the greater threats in the galaxy."
"I suppose," Kee Wai conceded, though she wished she could figure out more to say on the matter, "Um, Sol Ban? There was something else I wanted to tell you tonight, and I thought our anniversary was the perfect time to do so."
"Yes? What is it, Kee Wai?" Sol Ban put down his Vort dog and gave her his undivided attention.
"Last week I took a test..." Kee Wai began hesitantly.
"A test? Are you going for your super genius degree?" Sol Ban asked hopefully.
"No, not that kind of test," Kee Wai replied; her head looking down at the floor and her hands wringing together, "Sol Ban...I'm pregnant."
Sol Ban gasped and held his hands to his mouth. He looked wide eyed at Kee Wai, and she sheepishly looked back at him. She hoped he would be as happy with the news as she had been, but she knew that the pressures of the weapons contract might make him moody.
"H-How many?" Sol Ban asked; still in shock at the news.
"Only one," Kee Wai replied, and then she smiled joyfully before she said, "It's a boy. He's three weeks along, and in another eight weeks we'll be parents."
"Technically we're already parents," Sol Ban pointed out cheekily before getting up from his chair and going over to hug Kee Wai, "Oh, my love. We're parents."
Kee Wai, still sitting down, put her hand on his arm and looked up at him lovingly. The world might've looked a little hectic at the moment, but they knew that their baby was going to make things better for them. They would just have to work extra hard to make a good home for their firstborn son.
It was two months before the Foodening was to take place on Foodcourtia. Dop had rigged his and Nalb's cabs to be able to pull away from the snacking gravity with little strain on the engines. Unfortunately, the Foodening wasn't the most exciting thing happening in the Irken Empire at the moment.
The Tallest had just announced a new initiative to assert dominance over the universe and conquer all inferior races. The plan was called Operation Impending Doom, and every Irken was abuzz with the news. Many were thrilled with the idea of finally unleashing the armada's fury on the weak, while a few dissenting voices were upset that helpful alliances would be broken.
Dop found it hard to get away from the news about the upcoming intergalactic invasion. One instance in particular stuck in his mind, and for some odd reason Dop didn't quite understand it left him feeling a little defensive.
He drove to Shkoogorgh's one day for his lunch break, and just as he was about to enter the restaurant he saw two invader class Irkens walking in front of him. It was a male and a female, both with fuchsia eyes and clothes, and both interchangeable in appearance. They were talking among themselves, and just before they went into the diner Dop heard part of their conversation. Being the professional observer that he was, he eavesdropped.
"Why did we have to come to Foodcourtia?" The female asked the male snootily, "I hate this planet! It's full of nothing but alien filth and military grade rejects. There was a table-headed service drone back at that one restaurant that demanded a tip. A tip! Who tips defective drones like him?"
"I understand, but this place has some great Irken eateries," The male placated the female, "Don't worry, soon we'll get to invade all of the inferior planets, and then there will be no more aliens on Foodcourtia. It'll be a cleaner planet; a better planet. A place built by Irkens, for Irkens. Soon most of the universe will cater only to us."
Dop stopped listening once they went inside. He no longer felt like eating in Shkoogorgh's, so he went to the place next door without really knowing what was in there since he always ate at Shkoogorgh's.
When Dop entered the unknown establishment, he was struck by how clean and inviting it looked. It was a bakery that smelled of sweet oils and spices. It was decorated with lace and pink stucco with a clear display case for baked goods. A pale lavender Vortian female stood at the counter fiddling with her credit reading machine. When she saw that her newest customer was an Irken, something that almost never happened in a Vortian establishment, she smiled uneasily and she stood up straighter.
"Welcome to Ting Ting's. How may I help you?" The cashier asked politely, though Dop could tell his very presence made her nervous.
"I don't really know what to order here," Dop replied honestly, "I haven't eaten Vortian food since I was a smeet, and I've never been here before."
"Let me guess, Shkoogorg's was full?" The cashier guessed wryly.
"No, but the atmosphere wasn't to my liking today," Dop replied in a manner he hoped sounded friendly, though Irkens usually couldn't tell.
"Well, I know Irkens love highly processed plant-based foods, so I would recommend the Gildan bread," The cashier offered helpfully, "It's a starchy fried breadstick that's dark green and tastes kind of like your version of curly fries, only with more sweetness."
"That sounds great. I'll take an order of that," Dop replied gratefully as he handed over his money card.
"Alright then, your total is 3 monies," The cashier replied automatically as she scanned the card and handed it back to him, "Just sit wherever you want and I'll bring your order when it's ready. Thank you for choosing Ting Ting's and have a productive day."
Dop sat down on a table meant for five customers, but it hardly seemed to matter. Other than himself and the cashier there wasn't another soul there. That seemed strange since Foodcourtia was one of the busiest snacking planets in the galaxy. He'd never seen a restaurant that couldn't get customers in their door in his entire career, so he began to wonder just how bad the food really was in this Vortian bakery. He considered just walking out in case there were germs or something.
Just as Dop was about to get up and leave the Vortian female came back with a large paper bag full of ugly green food sticks. Even though Dop was wary of the food, he couldn't help but stare at the way the Vortian walked. He was always fascinated by the way they moved. It wasn't with the military precision of an Irken, but rather with a graceful deliberateness that could be likened to a cross between a spider and a show pony. It was as if every Vortian subconsciously believed they were beautiful, and that level of classiness intrigued Dop.
"Here you are, sir," The Vortian female offered the bag to Dop, who hesitantly took it, "If you want to order anything else let me know."
"Is your place always this dead?" Dop bluntly asked.
"Well, um, I mean we get Vortian customers sometimes," She stammered; obviously feeling embarrassed, "However, it isn't easy being right next door to the Irken Fry Lord's own establishment. Sizz-Lorr doesn't bother us much, but other Irkens tend to be quite hostile toward us. Of course I'm sure they had a good reason!" She was quick to add; remembering that her customer was Irken.
"Us? Who else works here?" Dop asked curiously.
"Well, I'm the only one who actually works here," The female simpered, "Though my parents live upstairs in the apartment with me. This was originally their bakery, and it is named after my mother. They're very old now, so I take care of them and run the bakery so we can keep up the rent payments. We've considered moving back to Vort. I've never actually lived there, but things are getting pretty tense here. We might be safer on our planet of origin than we are in Irken space."
Her words made Dop think of Operation Impending Doom. Vort wasn't just on the list to be targeted, but was actually the most coveted planet on the list. The tallest most competent invader would be given that planet, and Vort would most likely be obliterated in the organic sweep, depending on the invader's recommendation and the will of the Tallest.
"Ma'am, take it from me, do not lose this place," Dop warned her gravely, "For the sake of your family's legacy, do not give up. There is nothing for you on Vort. This is where your life is, so you shouldn't surrender."
The cashier then sighed and sat down in the chair next to Dop, which he wasn't sure he was comfortable with. She was the wait staff and he was a customer. This seemed a little too personal for his taste.
"I don't know what I'm gonna do," She admitted to Dop, "Our food is good, yet no one will give us a chance. This shop has been open for 30 Vortian years, and it used to be popular. Ever since Irk started frosting out Vort however, nobody wants to be seen in this place. We're being treated like we're diseased just because we're Vortian!"
Dop, feeling uneasy at the heated emotion expressed by this perfect stranger, started stress eating the Gildan bread. It turned out to actually be pretty good. Not good in that addictive way Shkoogorgh's food was, but good in a more wholesome homemade way that Dop wasn't familiar with.
"You like it?" The cashier asked expectantly.
"Um, yes actually," Dop replied; still surprised that he meant that, "I'm going back on shift in a few minutes. What else do you have?"
The Vortian's face lit up as she introduced Dop to her varied selection of treats. She even allowed him free samples so he would know what he liked before he ordered. When Dop returned to his cab he loaded up the front seat with bags full of odd Vortian snacks. He just hoped the lack of sugar didn't cause any more weight gain. Irken metabolisms required high levels of sugar or else they would slow down. Either way he knew he had just found his new favorite place to eat; mostly because it wasn't too crowded.
The next day Dop returned and parked his cab in the hub's washing area. He didn't really sleep much, and Irkens didn't stop working unless they had vacation time, so he would drive his cab all day and all night unless it was time to wash it or he needed to eat or change clothes. Dop actually found it surprising that for most species the work day ended. Then again, they had a lot more biological functions than an Irken to attend to, like bathroom using and baby making.
As Dop was washing his cab he noticed Nalb was running up to him with a quicker stride than usual.
Oh great, now what does he want? Dop thought longsufferingly.
"Dop! Don't go out there today!" Nalb shouted wildly, and Dop gave him a quizzical look, "Dop, don't go out there! There's a planet-wide protest today!"
"Protest? On an Irken-controlled planet?" Dop asked skeptically, "Right."
"It's true!" Nalb defended, "Sizz-Lorr organized the workers from nearly every restaurant on the planet to refuse service until the Tallest give in to his demands. The cabbies are getting in on it too. I'm gonna refuse service as well. This is gonna be the best time ever! We don't have to work! We can sit on our butts and still make a difference. So, you in?"
"Wait a minute," Dop held up a hand to stop Nalb's rambling, "Demands? What is Sizz-Lorr after exactly?"
"Uh..." Nalb was drawing a mental blank, "Uh...Hey Rolk!"
"What?" A shrill voice screamed from somewhere in the parking lot.
"What did Sizz-Lorr want?" Nalb asked idiotically.
"Neutrality, you nitwit!" Rolk screamed back at him.
"Oh right," Nalb then turned back to Dop and calmly said, "Neutrality, you nitwit."
Dop facepalmed, and Nalb stared back at him without understanding just how annoying he was being at the moment.
"Oh, wait! I remember now!" Nalb suddenly exclaimed, "Sizz-Lorr says sixty five percent of our profits are from alien snackers, and if Operation Impending Doom forces Foodcourtia to turn customers into death penalty criminals, then Foodcourtia as we know it can't exist. He wants this planet to be a safety zone for aliens of all species so that they'll still want to come here. So, you wanna skip work with me and call it protesting?"
"If I skip work then who will take passengers where they want to go?" Dop asked with a hand on his hip, "I know this is important, but Foodcourtia needs me. Skip work if you want, but I'm going out there and doing my job."
"Suit yourself," Nalb replied with a dismissive wave, "You know something, Dop? If I had just passed that stupid psyche test I could've been an invader. Now look at me, driving a stupid snackey cab for a bunch of ungrateful germy worm-beasts."
"Then I say thank the Control Brains for the psyche test," Dop teased, "Good luck at the protest, Nalb. I've gotta get back to work."
Dop finished washing and waxing his cab, which took about an hour, and then went back to driving around looking for passengers. It was a strange drive, since for once in his life he wasn't being sandwiched in on all sides by other snackey cabs. He was alone in the air. That never ever happened, and it felt a bit eerie.
Dop noticed as he drove by that he was getting dirty looks from the restaurant owners and even some of his fellow cabbies. Dop was beginning to question the wisdom of working when the rest of the world was protesting. His Tallest were against this protest, however. If he kept doing his job then he decreased the chances of being punished with the rest of the rebellious workers.
Then again, this was organized by Sizz-Lorr. He was a Taller, a Fry Lord...surely his voice would be listened to if nothing else. Perhaps this protest wasn't doomed to failure. Dop made up his mind then and parked his cab on the side of the street.
As it happened he parked in front of Ting Ting's bakery, and he saw the Vortian cashier standing in front of her shop with two elderly Vortians; likely her parents. They were given a wide berth by the other protesters, mostly Irkens that wanted to avoid the Vortian stink as they called it.
"Do you mind if I stand here?" Dop asked the cashier politely, "I don't know where I'm supposed to be."
"You're a real indecisive one, aren't you?" The cashier asked playfully, "Sure, you can stand here."
"Thank you," Dop replied as he stood in front of a window and tried to look like he wasn't restless and bored.
A few awkward minutes passed where the three Vortians talked among themselves and Dop stood there feeling like a big fat paperweight. He wouldn't be surprised if it was actually possible to get reprogrammed as a paperweight by the Control Brains. It seemed there was no job too ridiculous or degrading for their capricious nature. He looked over and waited for the young Vortian to stop speaking to her parents before he dared to speak to her.
"Excuse me, ma'am?" Dop called out, and the Vortian looked at him expectantly, "I never did ask you, what is your name?"
"Vio Mah," The young cashier replied, "These are my parents, Shir Lee and Ting Ting. Dad, Mom, this is my newest customer, um...what was your name?"
"Dop," Dop replied without offense.
"I'm surprised an Irken bothered to come to our bakery," Shir Lee commented as his wrinkled old head bobbed up and down uncontrollably, "Your people have been very unhappy lately. I understand, of course. If our high council had been killed by your people I would be upset too. I know how much your Tallest meant to you."
"Thank you, sir. It has been quite a loss for us," Dop replied respectfully, "We have moved on though. Our new Tallest will lead us to new heights and greater victories. That being said, I hope this protest works."
"Yes, I hear the Irkens plan on evicting all alien business owners from Foodcourtia," Shir Lee replied; his eyes barely able to focus on Dop.
Dop hummed an agreement to his statement but didn't add anything else. How could he? These poor aliens didn't know the half of it. They thought they were merely fighting eviction, but it was so much worse than that. Due to his loyalties he could never divulge Operation Impending Doom, but he knew if it succeeded and this planet was not made a sanctuary zone then all of the aliens here would be killed. They were fighting for their lives, and they didn't even know.
