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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/SomeOtherTroper on 2026-03-26 14:03:30+00:00.

[Sgt. Jake Moses]

I was awoken by some rude knocking at my door and a call of "SERGEANT MOSES!" that my military training advised me it would be unwise to not attend.

...at least I'd hung all my stuff up before I went to sleep (I am done with trying to calculate what's actually day and night out here), so I yelled "COMING!" while pulling my uniform on, and eventually opened my door to a Space Otter with a staff (so that's how he made such loud knocks!) and an oddly familiar robe.

Or is that just how all hooded robes look? It looked a lot like a monk's robe from Earth.

He said something I couldn't understand. I, fairly obviously, couldn't fucking understand it, so he made a couple of radio calls that I assume were for a translator, and eventually the Agent showed up, and absolutely showered him with language he bit back on, and ...ok, that didn't go so well.

Eventually we were in a room that oddly resembled a temple, but with a pool in the middle, with paintings on the walls around it behind the pillars, and my translator said "he's going to explain our marriage customs to you", while glaring at both me and at the Chaplain by turns.

Then he said something, and she started screaming at him. This was obviously going to go badly, and it did. Only one of them knew my language more than my basic name and title, and I didn't know why the Agent was so angry (at a Chaplain, no less), but I...

It's honestly the first time I've felt truly isolated on this voyage. The Agent was the one who was screamingly angry, although the Chaplain was getting there, and she was also the only one I could hope to understand me, but in her current state, I'm not sure that was possible.

I really hadn't been giving the Captain and Ensign Fern enough credit for everything they'd been doing to keep me from feeling alone in this tin can of crazy Space Otters, simply by speaking my language, and through ...other means.

I had absolutely no idea what the two otters were disagreeing about, but whatever was going on was exploding from a screaming argument into an outright fight in the middle of a ...temple? ...chapel? I wasn't really sure what the word for this space was. It seemed unsuited for this kind of violence, at least to my eyes.

So I pulled the trigger and called Fern.

I told her, in a few quick words, what I was looking at, and she instantly dropped the call. I hoped that meant she was on her way, because although I'd experienced a bit of 'play fighting' with the Space Otters, this was starting to get really close to the edge of that, and I felt like trying to intervene, especially when only one side could understand I was saying "stop!", was a bad idea.

The doors slammed open, and Ensign Fern came to the rescue, in a somewhat crumpled uniform showing she outranked them both, and a haircut that (I later learned) marked her as a convict. That last bit probably helped here, because she absolutely radiated intimidation, combining both her rank and an aura of "I just got out of prison, do you think I'm afraid of going back?" Neither the Chaplain nor the Agent had been at that briefing.

She didn't enter their fight, she simply terrified them out of having it with a few crisp words.

They broke it up in seconds, and the Agent retreated, merely saying "you have a new translator" to me before walking out and shutting the doors behind her with ...I'm not sure I'd call it a bang, or even a slam, but it was very audible. The Chaplain retrieved his staff and propped himself up with it, saying some things I didn't understand.

"Could you please help me understand what just happened?" I asked Fern, "and, more importantly, why?"

Fern took a very deep breath.

"Our field Agent," she began, stiffening herself as if she was about to say something she didn't want to have to say, "has a ...I think the best translation is 'a significant doctrinal difference'? with our Chaplain. That's probably what set things off. I'm betting he said something she really didn't like, and things escalated." Then she sighed.

"This isn't how I wanted you to learn about our religion," she told me, and then said some things to the Chaplain that seemed to mollify him a bit, "but it's my fault for putting you in that situation. I asked for the Chaplain to teach you, and forgot you'd need a translator."

"I probably should have spent more time learning the language," I said, taking some of the fault for my own. She relayed what I could only assume was a translation of this to the Chaplain, and he seemed to perk up a lot. Fern looked a lot less tense too, after he said a few things.

Now that his hood (and a lot of his robe) had been ripped or displaced, I noticed that the Chaplain's fur had gone gray, and even white, in many places, especially on his muzzle and head. So he was older than the other crew members I'd interacted with. Hopefully a bit more understanding than some of them.

"I'm sorry, sir," I said to him, with a bow, and Fern translated. That seemed to really perk him up, as he began to talk at Fern while getting his robes back together. Well, as much as he could, given the rents the Agent's claws had put in them, but he managed pretty decently.

"I didn't want to have to give this lecture," Fern told me, once the old Space Otter was done speaking with her, "but it's my own selfishness that ruined that first attempt at translation for you."

"It's fine," I said, embracing her, and unsure whether to - "since we're in the presence of another officer," I asked, "should I use your title or your name?"

"My name is fine," she said, "in this space, rank matters very little."

"It's fine, Fern," I said, hugging her tighter, and noticed the Chaplain trying not to laugh.