I’ve been waiting for this moment, lunch break. I wish I could’ve done this yesterday but, as all good masterminds, I need some time to think through every possibility and probability. Marching head-on into danger is not conducible to effective results after all! Yes, I deserve to be praised for my patience and elaborate stratagems. Right before the system-wide announcer rings out and summons all the cattle to the feeding quarters, I storm out of my office right towards Station Number 6. This poor girl doesn’t have time to think about where to look at, the hallway or her superior. She puts up her empty hands up to her face in premonition of an attack from a power-walking autist, trying to cover up at least the pretty part of herself from impact.
-	“Liùhào!” I’d never heard my voice tone out with such certainty and authority before.
-	“Y-yes!?” She squeaks out in a satisfying fashion.
-	“To my office, now.” I grab her by the wrist and lead her the opposite way of where she intended to go today.
-	“E-eh? What?” She sounds and looks like she’s about to cry, she probably thinks she’s getting eaten alive today. Lucky her, I’m not into cannibalism.
No pig or cow had ever stepped foot into this office before. At least I hope so. I wonder what she thought of the second she got forced to cross that line… What’s she thinking now? Is she afraid? Looking back at her face, confusion and fear are the correct behavioral assessment. She’s meek, sheepish, and is trying to look everything everywhere all at once. Any more than this and she’ll start sweating bullets… That’d be useful though!
I present her to the table of the office, it’s a very large one, meant for meetings, putting things on top of, using as a workbench, you could even use it as a bed if you’re brave enough. Upon it lies one of the previous tenant’s products. A rather dated and well-worn M4 copycat, the fabled AR-15. Liùhào has been working with it for the past week. And so has everyone else on this station for possibly longer than I’ve been alive— Damn rifle refuses to die, the blessing of Samuel Colt may be at play. Exoplanet 04 eats up these by the thousands, you’d think eventually they’d run out of people to arm or kill.
-	“Liùhào, my gun is broken, fix it.”
-	“Wh- But, you’re the armorer…? Why can’t y—” The once afraid look in her eyes dissolves into seriousness, with a stethoscope you’d probably be able to hear her brain cogs turning, she seems to immediately understand. “What’s wrong with it?” Upon hearing these words, not only am I satisfied, but thoroughly overjoyed. I glance at the small arms repair request form.
-	“Won’t fire, multiple magazines attempted, cycling functional.” She strokes her chin once, possibly to get rid of the sweat, or possibly as a behavioral tick of hers. Looking at her up close may be more entertaining than I first thought.


          

This girl who I had thought to be shy and cowardly immediately lunges her hands at the gun, slowly but steadily stripping it piece by piece, the magazine drops to the table first, I originally intended for it as a red herring, which she acknowledges with flying colors. Once the thirty-rounder is no longer attached, she makes sure to yank the charging handle twice— along with dropping the hammer, while making sure to not point it anywhere unsafe. And it is in a fervorous display of technique and impressive wit— that she unzips her tracksuit and brings the zipper end towards the rear pin, popping it open. When she pulls on the charging handle, the bolt carrier group reveals itself to the world. 
Which means it’s my time to admit this plan really might just work, right as I go through my pocket to grab a ready-made mini-screwdriver, I see her fidgeting with the bolt carrier’s firing pin retainer with her nails. Her face looks pleasantly refreshed as I hand her over the screwdriver, and she quickly pops open the retainer with it. She taps on it against her left palm, now revealing the firing pin.
She inspects it, but doesn’t take her time with it, she knows already. It looks like a mushroom.
-	“…Chief.” She presents the culprit to my eyes. I am entertained, yes— but most of all, I am absolutely pleased with this performance. I can’t hold my smug grin anymore; I slide towards her a document file listing the location of the spare parts in the office.
-	“Go find it.”
No wonder her production rate is like it is, she spares no time in getting her hands dirty. Following a correct assessment of what cabinet holds firing pins. One which, I might add, I could not reach. Miss I like firearms hurries back to the disassembled precision instrument. I see this process with the periphery of my eye—singular— as I get some prepared food from the mini-fridge next to the kitchen sink. She’s fast, very fast. By the time I got to her with food, the gun was already reassembled. I slide her the food in the same fashion as the prior document; it’s not one of the MREs or whatever slop they feed to the pigs, it’s real food, meant for human consumption.
-	“You eat lunch here today.” She looks at me dumbfounded, back and forth between me and her food, gently laying the firearm against her side of the table, very gently so, as her attention prioritizes the food and the dichotomic dilemma it presents to her.
She looks as if she’s questioning whether or not to proceed, totally unsure of what's going on.

          

I like to eat in silence, and it might just be she does as well, as I’ve not heard one chew, scrape, or otherwise infuriating noise as I’d heard countless times in the cafeteria. My hopes for this project grow exponentially the more I examine this girl.
It seems part of the reason why is because she had already eaten her food by the time I looked at her. She still didn’t know where to look, and she’d returned to her sheepish self. She likely felt as if sticking out like a sore thumb.

-	“Chief?”
I don’t say anything, I just stare at her, acknowledging her question non-verbally.
-	“What are those papers next to you? You keep glancing at them.” She feels terribly ashamed of asking, her voice is terribly quiet.
Again, I don’t say anything, instead I just hand them over to her. They’re the documents detailing all the production orders and repair request forms. Another surprise of this woman is that she is literate, but at this point I wouldn’t be surprised if she spoke a second language.

  -	“Chief, with all due respect, this is bullshit.” I nearly choke on my food and cough it out as soon as I can.
-	“What?” I look over, starstruck and without having finished clearing my throat, but her eyes were still dead set on the papers.
-	“There’s no feasible way for you to fulfill all these, the file system for the spare parts is a mess, so you can’t repair any of these with quality or a feasible timeframe, it’s as if you’re expected to just spit out firearms and replace the broken ones, but long-term, you’ll just have the same problem 5 years from now, that’s resources you’re losing! Producing a single part and storing it properly is far more cost-effective!” 
Genuine interest for this issue shows in her face in the form of mild annoyance and a tinge of rage at the failures of bureaucracy.
Up until now, this thief had stolen my curiosity. She had stolen my undivided attention. And just now, she has stolen my very ideas. I don’t even know what to say, what to tell her, this is an issue because the second she realizes I’m not replying, she lifts her head and sees me staring at her.

-	“Oh- Uhm- I’m sorry, cattle shouldn’t speak. I apologize.” She brings her palms out again; she turns her head away and all her certainty dissolves into thin air, fear of retribution and punishment now in its place.
Perhaps I’d known subconsciously, she was my only chance at solving this problem of mine. But she’s proving to be far more than I originally anticipated. I was going to take my time, but this plan has to go into motion immediately.

I take my cellphone from my breast pocket and dial my commanding officer. He takes a few seconds to reply, Number 6 still attentively staring at me in fear.

-	“Xuânxiǎojiě. Wéi nín hǎo.” The voice comes through.
-	“Captain, good day to you as well. I have an urgent request.”
-	“Yes, what is it?”
-	“I need Station Number 6 replaced by tomorrow, even better if by today.”
-	“That’s— err… I’ll see what I can do. Has there been an accident? What’s wrong with the current bovine?”
-	“Under Article 19 of the Organic Regulation Decree 15.844 I uphold the rights of my incumbent artisan status to instate said bovine as my personal assistant, doing so is within the limits of my autonomous administrative superintendency.”
-	“…Right. Okay, that’s fine. I’ll come down later so you can explain to me why, I’m not revoking your act.” He knows there’s not much he can do, but the fact I’ve never taken an action as drastic as this should make him understand I did not come up with it on a whim… Even though I kind of did.
-	“Thank you, Captain. We’ll talk later, then.” I hang up the phone and place it back on my coat’s breast pocket, my Cattledog, formerly Liùhào, stares at me with nothing but disbelief on her face, absolutely baffled at what just happened. I looked at her for too long, now I gotta say something: “You’ll be eating lunch here tomorrow as well."

My Niúquǎn has been fixing some firearms while waiting for the Captain to show up, I’ve been doing so as well, just to kill the time. Being able to stare at her without having to deal with the stench or sight of other pigs is, as shameful as it is to admit, really refreshing. Her precise handling is rather addicting to watch, it beguiles me for the smallest instants before I catch myself entranced and force myself to go back to work.
-	“Chief?” Her voice has returned to that soft, comfortable tone I heard about a week ago. 
-	“What?” I accidentally respond in a rather dry tone.
-	“I never thought about it until now but, working with someone else is quite fun.” Her eyes mellow out as she finishes her sentence, a kind, gentle smile is a consistent confidant of her facial features. But it’s only when her eyes sharpen in comfort that it really shows how delicate she is, despite her interests and the grease on her hands.
-	“Have you not worked with someone else before?”
-	“Mmmm～” She lets out a long pensive disfluency, before continuing: “I suppose I have… But they weren’t really someone so much as something…” She looks a bit upset saying that. “…Eventually I realized the machines were the friendliest companion when it came to working as a group… the other ones just… well, you know how it is.”
-	“I’m not very fond of them, they disgust me, every moment I had to stare at them mindlessly working... It’s just so infuriating! I wanted nothing to do with those things.”
-	“…” Her silence makes me feel a bit guilty… Gghhh! Dumbass! Why’d you go and say that! Now I have to say something embarrassing to get out of it!
-	“…You’ve… changed my opinion on the subject, however.” I look away, I can’t bear the idea of showing my emotions face first. “I guess I’m enjoying the idea of working with someone for the first time, too.”
I hear the slightest giggle from my right ear, and so I swing my neck across to see this dog holding her hand to her mouth, sly smile alternating between widening ear to ear and puckered inwards as if it isn’t blatantly obvious that she’s laughing.
-	“The hell are you laughing at!?” I didn’t steel myself correctly, I just showed my empty hand, I know for a fact I’m flushed at this very moment, my tone and pitch were incorrect, I’ve just about done it now and assured to everyone in this room that I am thoroughly agitated from shame. 
-	“N-no! no! It’s- It’s just-“ She can’t stop laughing now, but it’s not an evil laugh, she’s not laughing at me, it’s something else, I can tell because she’s about to burst into tears as she desperately tries to get a grip on her laughing fit by covering her mouth, but laughing reminds her of laughing, and it only makes her laugh more. She keeps attempting to say, “I’m sorry!” between laughs, but she never quite completes the sentence. After a while, and with some difficulty of my own, trying to not laugh myself, her laughter finally yields and allows her to speak: “I’m- I’m really sorry, Chief… It’s just— it made me so happy to hear that from someone… You’re really kind, and I can tell you like to hide it… It’s just too cute and it makes me want to laugh and, and maybe cry a little bit.” She wipes the tears off her face with whichever part of her hand has the least grease, and between the swings of her wrist, I can see her softly smile as her eyes dawdle over the memory of what just happened, as if she’d already gone and attached nostalgia to it.
… What a strange dog I adopted.
    

-	“Xuânxiǎojiě, good evening. I apologize for arriving so late.” The Captain speaks upon entering the office, and as he gets to the end of his sentence, removes his cap and stares at us, disbelief would promptly fill his face “Oh for fucks’ sake.” He says, staring at my Niúquǎn. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
-	“…Captain? What’s the matter?” I’m completely lost here; I need him to explain.
-	“It’s just—” He sighs, deeply so. “…This isn’t a bovine, it’s an outlaw.”
-	“…A what?” 
-	“Uh oh, busted.” This girl says.
-	“Wait— what does that mean? ‘Outlaw’?” She keeps quiet when I ask this, but the Captain delivers an explanation.
-	“Haven’t you found it odd how intelligent she is? The ones outside are a bunch of retards, they fuckin’ drool and stare if you’re capable of walking and eating simultaneously as if it’s the most impressive thing possible by a human.”
-	“…Captain, you become quite foul-mouthed outside of phone calls”
-	“Aye I fuckin’ do! I don’t have someone on my ass wiretapping what I’m sayin’!” He sighs even more heavily than before.
-	“Chief? Who’s this one?” She leans over to me and whispers, but I’m sure he heard her regardless.
-	“Oh, it’s just The Captain.”
-	“No, Xuânxiǎojiě. I am not The Captain, I am Captain Húběi. Captain is a rank, not a title.” He pinches his nose bridge with considerable strain “Your father’s peskiness lives on thanks to you…” He mourns my disregard for his military career.
-	“Cap—”
-	“Yes, outlaws. I’m getting there.” He correctly predicts what I was going to ask. “They’re pre-existing citizens that, for varying political or legal reasons, have been stripped of their class.” stripped of their class he says… how very Marxist of you.
-	“Well, I don’t see the issue here.” I really don’t, what’s the difference between one or the other? They’re both subordinates regardless.
-	“This one got transferred here because she got caught smuggling forbidden knowledge onto the station.” He pleads his case, as prosecutor.
-	“Alright.” I look over to her. “Will you do it again?” She visibly shakes her head, I look back to the Captain “Problem solved.”
-	“…” He stares at me, completely unamused by my antics. “Your family line is a plague of brats.” 
-	“Alright, alright, come on Húběi. This is my Niúquǎn. I’ll train her, I’ll feed her, and I’ll keep her from doing dumb things. In exchange I get to actually do my work, because, in case you haven’t noticed, I measure out to 150 centimeters and weigh a little less than a juvenile horse. So unless you want me to die on an accident and lose your only armorer, you’ll trust me on this one and let me do my job.”
-	“…Alright.” He nods in slight defeat. “I’ll get a new bovine for that post by tomorrow, it’s already too late for that now.” He places his cap back on his head. “Have a good night, Cattledog, Brat-xiǎojiě.”
-	“Oi.” The Captain ignores my rightful anger at that backhanded insult just now, instead choosing to leave the office while waving his hand at me. Nonetheless, I am thankful for his help.
As soon as the door closes, I’m overwhelmed with fatigue, I look over to my new assistant, who’s seeming a bit hesitant.
    

      -	“I’m going to sleep, you should go back to your… wherever it is you’re forced to sleep at.”
-	“Alright…” She’s really upset, visibly so, she looks just so dejected it’s almost worrying me.
-	“What’s weighing on your mind?”
-	“Oh— just… You know, the outlaw thing.” She scratches her nape as she finds the words to say. “Are you okay with that?”
-	“You heard my promise to the Captain.” I start cleaning up the table, placing all documents back where they belong. “Do you need any more confirmation than that?”
-	“I suppose I don’t” She doesn’t seem satisfied enough, but I don’t think there’s anything more I can tell her, I don’t really understand why she’s like this to begin with.
There’s nothing more I can say to her, she just waves at me when we part ways outside the office.

The way to the officer chambers is not as precarious as the one for the cattle. There’s no machinery to chew you alive in case you trip and fall head first into some contraption or otherwise. It’s just long hallways, disgustingly long hallways. Long, desolate, putrefyingly white, silver, and other grayscales. The medical bay and its dependencies were far more disgusting, infected with the stench of ethyl and isopropyl draining any humidity from this little world of ours. But not in the hallways, the hallways, they were far more normal. There wasn’t any deafening machinery, there wasn’t a concurrent stench of gunpowder and oils—this thought of mine subtly reminds me that my nostrils are still drenched in those two. Hence the reason I shower so frequently, it used to be almost religious but, I’ve calmed down lately, I’m less worried about impressions now that the commissioned officers don’t bother me as much.
I used to enjoy walking, and I still kind of do, to some degree. I remember I used to walk around the ship, anywhere I could, anywhere I was allowed, looking for anything that would catch my eye and inspire some thought or idea in me. I don’t think I ever found anything interesting, all these hallways are repetitive and almost maze-like in their decluttered paths. Signage everywhere just to make sure people don’t take a wrong, or maybe to give an idea of how far away they are to where they want to get to. I’m not exactly an architect so, I wouldn’t be able to answer that question.
Walking got pretty boring after a couple years, same route every day, same innocuous, bland, dull hallways of always. The same, every day. Perhaps It’s why I couldn’t remember anything on the way there, I only walk with my head hung low and periodically look up to see that one sign, the one that points to where I’m meant to take a right turn.
The blatant dehumanization on this astral joke of a home was something I cared about at some point, I wasn’t ever quite onboard with how no one here is ever allowed to do anything mildly interesting, I’d gotten in trouble a couple times for trying to talk to people, excused only because I was young and my father was somewhat important.
I did wonder at some point, what compelled me to search for fun, and what compelled these people to never provide for it. But I placed that thought in the back of my head a long time ago. Along with all the other doubts that would only get me in trouble.
Whoever designed this whole thing really deserves a medal, I would not be able to figure out a way to break someone’s morale so hard they stop bothering to even question authority.
Luckily for me I did not miss my turn, and the apartments are just right by. The colors never change, it’s all white, all silver, all gray, the only way to discern door from wall is to stare at the contours and contrast caused by the shadow cast upon the surfaces from the LED tubes on top of my head.
I used to do more work once I got home, opening this door of mine— If I can even call it my property— would just mean it was time to sit down and see what I could do in advance for tomorrow. But not today, and not lately, either. I just take off my clothes, brush my teeth, place my glasses into their case and allow my bedroom to fulfill its designated purpose.
Laying on my bed, thinking of what just transpired today… It’s odd, it’s all so strange, and new, and… weird, I don’t know, I’m not sure what to think, I don’t know where to start to figure out what I should be thinking about… I feel like even if I wrapped my head around this a million times over, I’d still not cover enough surface to understand what’s really going on… All I can do is distract myself with work, the me of tomorrow will figure it all out for me. But for now, I just want to sleep.