Bet-Khar carried the human through the dimly lit corridor, her slight weight barely noticeable in his arms. She clung to him tightly, as if she thought she might fall, her fragility reminding him of how weak her kind truly was. Though it did not trouble him, he found it inefficient—the way she relied on him for protection, as if her survival depended solely on his strength. She was small, fragile, and wholly dependent on him—an inconvenience he hadn't foreseen.
As they entered his quarters, Bet-Khar's steps slowed. His eyes swept the room with cold calculation, realizing he hadn't fully considered this situation. This vessel was designed for a single hunter, not two. There was barely enough space for himself, let alone this small human.
The sleek, black interior of the ship was efficient, designed with minimal distractions, everything built into the walls to maximize space. Bet-Khar's design had been flawless for solo hunts—getting a Yautja hunter down to a planet's surface undetected, completing the hunt, and returning to the warship. He glanced at the bed, a compact, functional space made to fit his large frame. For her? It was far too small to share, and the floor, while hard and cold, would have to suffice.
The human shifted in his arms, breaking the silence with her tentative question. "What's wrong?"
Many things are wrong, he thought dryly. Where do I even begin? His gaze settled on the small bed that clearly would not accommodate two beings. "This vessel is constructed for one hunter. It is... inadequate for multiple occupants."
He glanced briefly at the bed, already dismissing its usefulness for her. The design was flawless for its purpose—stealthy planetary insertion. He hadn't accounted for unnecessary complications like carrying an extra lifeform. Though he did not regret the decision to bring her aboard, he was starting to realize that managing her would require more attention than anticipated.
"It is my design," he added, his tone almost matter-of-fact, as if this were self-evident.
The human raised an eyebrow, clearly trying to make sense of his words. "You designed this ship?"
"Yes." His tone remained blunt. "It is suited to the needs of a Yautja hunter. Unfortunately, I did not foresee the need to accommodate an additional... passenger."
He placed her on the floor with the precision of someone who had learned to control his strength over the years. Her weakness made her all the more delicate, and while he took care not to harm her, his movements were still practiced and efficient. She was fragile, and that meant he had to handle her differently than he would his own kind. Inconvenient, he thought briefly. But necessary.
Her lips twitched with a faint smile, her body visibly relaxing. "I'm just glad to be safe. Honestly, the floor sounds fine right now."
Bet-Khar gave a short nod, acknowledging her adaptability but saying nothing. He stepped back and crossed the room. "The floor will suffice," he said. It was a simple truth, and it didn't matter to him where she chose to sleep, as long as she survived.
He crossed the room, heading to the wall. "I will instruct you on the cleansing unit's use. Do humans require... special maintenance?"
Her face reddened again, an odd reaction he had noted before but still didn't fully understand. Her body changes color often, he thought with mild annoyance. These physiological shifts seemed inefficient, unnecessary. "Uh, well... we need to go to the bathroom and... shower regularly," she stammered awkwardly. "We also brush our teeth. That's... it, really."
Bet-Khar tilted his head, assessing her words. The needs of her species were primitive but manageable. He found the idea of brushing teeth odd—an extra layer of maintenance his kind had evolved beyond. "I will demonstrate the facilities," he said. "You will inform me if they meet your requirements. Adjustments can be made."
He studied her for a moment, noticing her skin color had changed again—darker this time. "Your face changes color often. Are you ill?"
She let out a small laugh, startled by the question. "No, I'm fine. Humans just... blush when we're embarrassed."
Blush. He filed the word away, though he still did not see the purpose in it. It seemed her body betrayed her emotions in ways that Yautja would consider inefficient. Her species was riddled with unnecessary complexities. Then her voice dropped, quieter than before. "No one's really taken care of me before."
Bet-Khar studied her, narrowing his gaze at her words. Her kind does not care for its younglings? He almost questioned it aloud but stopped as she continued.
"I've always been on my own," she said softly, her voice breaking just slightly.
Her vulnerability hung in the air, unfamiliar to him. She was so small, so fragile, and yet she looked up at him with an expression he didn't quite understand—something that made him uneasy. He wasn't equipped for this. He wasn't a caretaker. He didn't know how to comfort younglings; he had no experience with such matters. Yautja did not offer comfort.
And yet, she expected something from him. Her wide eyes filled with hope, as if waiting for him to say something that would ease her fear or reassure her. He didn't know what, though. Comforting words weren't in his nature, but something about the way she looked at him—vulnerable, dependent—made him feel a subtle, unfamiliar pull to respond.
He shifted slightly, his gaze hard but contemplative. He wasn't used to this, but... maybe he could give something, even if it wasn't what she truly sought. "I will ensure you are... maintained," he said, his tone more formal than usual, an awkward attempt to offer what little he knew. It wasn't comfort, but it was practical. That's all he could offer her.
Her eyes widened, and Bet-Khar registered the subtle shift in her expression—thankfulness, maybe? She whispered, "Thank you," her voice barely audible, but full of emotion.
He gave a slight nod, acknowledging her response. Though her emotions seemed excessive to him, the human was strange like that—grateful for things that were basic, for survival. She was clearly overwhelmed, and he didn't entirely understand why, but he found himself inclined to let her have this moment.
With a quick gesture, he motioned toward the far corner. "Come. I will show you how to use the cleansing unit," he said, quickly redirecting the focus to something he could explain with certainty. "Once you are clean, you will rest. Your little human brain is likely overloading with information it should not have access to," he added, his tone matter-of-fact. "It's best you rest before your limited capacity shuts down completely."
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