San Diego, California, Earth, Sol
Fall, 2024
The San Diego Zoo has been in near continuous operation for over six hundred years. What started as a collection of abandoned exotic animals over time sprawled into a massive complex featuring thousands of species from across the galaxy. But, despite the wide net cast by its curators, the focus remained always on Earth’s incredible biodiversity.
Tri’a, however, was bored. The Kit, standing only at about a meter in height from the tips of her triangular ears to the thick pads of her feet (not to mention her bushy, near-body length tail) was a lean, powerful athlete of impeccable skill. Give her a nah’hala—the Kit’s preferred martial weapon—and she could fell enemies scores larger and stronger than she could ever be.
However, the Xenobiology course at Starfleet Academy simply didn’t appeal. She possessed a passive interest in the diversity of life across the galaxy—namely in what constituted as “tasty”—but the difference between varying types of frogs or marmots or birds never really held her attention. This is probably why she was failing the class. Well, failing was a strong word.
“Not quite meeting the academic standards expected for a cadet,” was how her instructor put it. So failing, with extra words. But, there was still a chance she would pass, which is why she was at the zoo in the first place: the paper she was supposed to write from her experiences here would be a major chunk of her grade.
“The Red Kangaroo (Osphranter rufus) is a terrestrial marsupial from the Australian continent,” Tri’a read from a display. On the other side of the glass partition, a flyer just a little taller than the Kit stood with her joeys. The animals looked at nothing in particular. They seemed preoccupied with a sandy spot on the ground, or perhaps it was a beetle of some kind. Even Tri’a’s highly tuned senses couldn’t tell, so perhaps the animals were simply resting. Ultimately, this was the part she hated: trying to get into the mind of an animal whose intent and knowledge seemed unknowable.
The Kit watched them for a minute, waiting for something—anything—to happen, until suddenly they bounded away without so much as a goodbye. Tri’a stood, hand hovering over PADD, trying to make sense of what to do next. I could observe them on the monitors or watch the educational material, she considered.
She left for the cafeteria, instead.
Kit are omnivores, but Tri’a craved meat. Her plate was loaded with cuts from various animals from beef to pork to chicken. No sauce. It was all replicated, of course. The suggestion that anyone at the San Diego Zoo should eat a real animal was typically met with distaste, if not outright horror. As a sanctuary of life, only plants grown in the facility’s vast underground hydroponics gardens were available for consumption. Tri’a forewent the salad today.
When she sat, she chose a table and chair set that accommodated short and tall organisms. For people like Tri’a, that meant an elevated booth with steps on one side and adjustable bar stools on the other. It was an accommodating Human design, though her bench lacked a natural place for her tail, so she sat a few centimeters away from the backing. It was inconvenient, forcing her to sit with her back unsupported and upright.
She stared at the slabs of meet. They bled helplessly at her. That’s when a voice spoke to her. “Excuse me, you’re Cadet K’mnzi, right? May we join you?”
Two Humans in green shirts sporting kaki shorts and vests stood before her, holding their own trays of food. They wore matching wide-brimmed hats and carried identification labeling them zookeepers. To the Kit, they smelled of woodlands, moss, sweat, and a sharp odor she didn’t immediately recognize. At least they see me as a cadet and not an escaped exhibit, she grimaced.
“Yes,” she agreed hesitantly, then gestured in the Human convention with her hand so the keepers could understand her. It was often challenging here on Earth: Tri’a was constantly checking her body language and speech so that her meanings translated correctly for other species. This often meant adopting Human gestures and speech patterns, since Humans tended to be the common denominator between all the different peoples on the planet. When serving on the Brahe, it was easy: the small crew learned her culture’s idiosyncrasies and customs through regular, repeated exposure. In exchange, Tri’a learned much about humanoid culture. But now on Earth, where she met strangers all the time, she found herself constantly switching between what she found comfortable and what she found communicative.
“I’m Mia,” the Human woman said.
“Sal,” said the man. “We normally wouldn’t intrude on a visitor, Miss K’mnzi,” Sal continued, “but we were excited for an opportunity to meet you.”
“Why?” Tri’a asked. According to her mother’s increasingly persistent letters, Tri’a was a minor celebrity within Kitdom with many eligible suitors waiting in the wings. But within Starfleet, her exploits were often a minor support role not worthy of publication. Although only in her first semester at the Academy, Tri’a had already earned a reputation as an impressive martial fighter, but that’s where much of the praise ended and the criticisms began: inattentive, inconsistent, and argumentative were all words she heard more than once. For two random Humans to approach her by name was unusual.
“We learned about your people a few years ago after first contact,” Mia said. “We were immediately fascinated by your specie’s story, but also the physiological data we received.”
Sal chimed in. “I recognize you from the interview you gave to the Pasadena Gazette.” He beamed.
Tri’a’s ears lowered. The Gazette interview had been a disaster. Although she was able to answer routine questions about her species—often too honestly—, when asked about her career in Starfleet or what she thought her people brought to the Federation, she stumbled heavily. Tri’a was a fighter and occasional tinkerer, not a politician. Her aunt B’da, now a Kit ambassador working for the Federation, wound up doing damage control. “Next time, shut up and go back to stabbing things,” was the last thing B’da said to her before ending that call. Tri’a avoided the press at every opportunity.
“Do you lower your ears when upset or in distress?” Sal asked, concern in his voice. “Did we say something wrong?”
“N-no,” Tri’a replied, looking away. “The interview was not my finest moment.”
“Ska’gik aren’t used to getting a lot of interviews back home, right?” Mia asked sympathetically, using a Kit word for blonde, referring to Tri’a’s fur color. To the Kit, Mia’s word was not only surprising, but so heavily accented as to be initially unrecognizable.
“I’m impressed you know a word for my pelage,” Tri’a finally replied, her ears lifting, even as her tail bristled.
Sal chucked and gave Mia a friendly shove. “Show off.”
“But you shouldn’t use that word,” Tri’a continued. “Ska’gik became a pejorative about two generations ago. Azknak is the right word which means ‘fur of the dunes.’”
Mia stumbled over a rather profuse apology which left neither party wholly comfortable. To her credit, she sounded out the new word carefully and seemed to make a mental note not to repeat the error again. “Sorry, like I said we’ve been interested in the Kit since we learned about you, but we’re always looking for more information” Mia resumed, her cheeks slightly pink with embarrassment. “I’ve read several texts about your people, both from a physiological and cultural perspective. Your hips, in particular, are remarkable.”
Tri’a tilted her head slightly. An ear flicked.
“Ah, head tilt with ear flick: annoyed curiosity, right?” Sal asked. “You really know how to put your foot in your mouth, Mia.”
“Oh! Sorry! No, I mean like,” she struggled. “Your people are primarily upright, but can optimally run on all fours. It’s a remarkable bone and ligament structure which we don’t see very often in sentient species.”
Cautiously, Tri’a’s ears returned to an upright position.
“Mia is actually Doctor Mia Cortez. She studies evolutionary science and biology here at the zoo,” Sal added in a desperate attempt to salvage the conversation. In response to the Kit’s expression, he continued. “I’m her research assistant and a doctoral candidate at San Diego University.”
“We also do a lot of hands-on work with the animals. Partly for study, but also to supplement the regular zookeeping staff.”
Tri’a nodded, not entirely sure what to say next. The Humans had the advantage on her, which was a somewhat omnipresent sensation since coming to Earth. “I should probably get back to my assignment,” she said, her food untouched.
Mia and Sal exchanged a look. “Oh, could you tell us what it is? Maybe we can help?” Mia offered.
The Kit set her tray back down. They are actual scientists and I’m allowed to consult the staff here, she reasoned. “I’m supposed to find an animal and write a paper based on observations and existing scientific data. It’s basically my Final.” And if I screw this up I’ll have to retake the course, she didn’t add.
Both Humans seemed excited by this, Mia becoming particularly animated. “Have you settled on a species? We have so many, from tiny reptiles to huge mammals,” Mia offered. An epiphany struck her. “I’ve been looking for an opportunity to run a comparative analysis between Kit and terrestrial Vulpines for a while; this would be a great excuse to shift focus for a while!”
“I recognize the word,” Tri’a said, fur bristling all over as anger rose inside her. “I am not an animal—I mean, beyond not being a plant or fungi or energy being—I have nothing in common with your foxes!”
Mia mouthed oh shit! while Sal jumped in. “We know and totally agree. It’s precisely the difference we want to highlight. Too many people look at two organisms and think they’re related just because they share some common traits. It was a huge problem in the early twenty-first century because religious fanatics tried to categorize organisms by the superficial traits instead of hard data, like DNA. They called them ‘kinds’ and it totally disregarded centuries of taxonomy.”
“If you’d be willing to participate in our work, we’ll add you as a co-author and share our data for your paper,” Mia offered. “We went to identify the way environmental pressures helped shape modern-day Kit and how they are similar to our local wildlife. It’s a huge opportunity. Will you at least consider it?”
Tri’a stood with her tray, barely able to control the volume or ferocity of her voice. “To me, you two are the ones who still seem fixated on superficial similarities because I have more in common with Humans than your foxes: I am a member of a complex, space faring society of almost four billion. Personally, I have eleven siblings, forty-one nibblings, and sixty-seven first cousins. I speak three native languages, with additional fluencies in Klingon, Trill, Federation Standard and its signing equivalent. I have fiercely defended my shipmates against mindless beasts and dangerous, conscious enemies. And I learned the principles of warp theory and basic engineering in one afternoon on a whim. Do you know what an eidetic memory is? Because apparently, among my species, it is common. Is it among yours?” She took a shallow, shaky breath and snapped her jaw, “I am not an animal.”
Mia and Sal sat, mouth agape while several nearby patrons looked on, unsure how to behave. Tri’a didn’t wait for a response, nor did she acknowledge the onlookers. She dumped her tray in the first recycler and raced off into the exhibits.
No one tried to follow her which suited her fine. Her first instinct was to fight, but that wasn’t a practical option here. Trashing two ignorant but well-meaning zookeepers probably would have put her on probation at minimum. And while some of the exhibit animals would certainly make for interesting opponents, the only outcome of that choice would be similar to the aforementioned zookeeper-thrashing.
Instead, Tri’a found a quiet, dark corner in the subterranean section of a marine exhibit. There, under the dead-eyed gaze of a rather large shark, she curled into a ball and tried to calm down.
They didn’t mean to be gross, she thought.
Immediately, she chided herself with, you shouldn’t defend their ignorance!
Grace means forgiving mistakes.
Mia called us dirt-fur then dragged the whole thing out!
It wasn’t on purpose. Grace means forgiving mistakes.
On and on she struggled with her emotions while her ears remained flat against her head. She was a hidden ball of fur, bathed in the dim blue light of a shark tank.
It didn’t work. The noise in her head became so loud that it was all she could really perceive. Even meditation failed her here. When she could no longer stand the turmoil of her thoughts, she came to a rather violent conclusion: I’m going to find them, she decided. I’ll find them and show everyone we have nothing in common!
She left the safety of the marine exhibit and followed the signs until she reached an open, temperate area. From a catwalk, she navigated a path which weaved between trees and educational displays. Below, trees and shrubs and grasses hid various small species, many of which the Kit perceived through her sensitive ears. A gentle river cut through the uneven terrain and fed into many babbling brooks. There was something comfortable and calming about the place and it stirred within her a hitherto unknown instinctual desire to make a home here, where food would be plenty and the seasons mild.
She resented it.
“I’d like you all to meet Randy,” a distant voice said. Tri’a started walking towards it. “Randy is a four year old red fox who was born here at the zoo. Does anyone know the scientific name for the red fox?”
“Vulpes vulpes!” a child cried excitedly.
“That’s right! Now, most red foxes are afraid of humanoids, but Randy isn’t,” the original voice continued. “Randy is tame, because he was taught to get along with people and be friendly, but even Randy is unusually comfortable around us for a tame fox! If you see one in the wild, make sure to give them a lot of room.”
Tri’a pushed her way through the crowd until she was in the first row. A Human zookeeper stood about two meters away with several portable poster boards, each sporting pictures and facts about foxes. The zookeeper had uneven brown hair, mostly obscured by their safari hat, and a stocky build. They were tanned and sweaty from the day, a damp towel draped across their neck. To the their left was Randy the fox, bright red and white. He sat upright and regarded the crowd with passive interest. Mostly, he focused on his keeper’s hands, which held a small field mouse. The Kit noted the mouse was dead, but that didn’t seem to matter much to Randy. Her nose also knew the keeper had many such mice in a pouch they wore on their belt. Randy knows, too, she observed, seeing his nose go that way more than once.
Although the zookeeper was still talking to the crowd, Tri’a found it difficult to take her attention off Randy. Without meaning to, she started comparing his body with hers: he was much smaller, certainly not as muscular, and he had paws where Tri’a had hands. But she could see the similarities in the muzzle, the eyes, and the ears. Oh, certainly the ears if anything else. She couldn’t tell if the intelligence she saw in his eyes was real, or her anthropomorphizing.
“Can anyone tell me what foxes like to eat?” the zookeeper asked.
Cries of “mice” and “birds” and “rabbits” rang out. After a bit of this, the zookeeper interjected. “Okay I hear a lot of small animals which is great! But, they also eat berries and fruits. Does anyone know the word for an animal that eats plants and animals?”
“An omnivore,” Tri’a heard herself say. Several eyes noticed her in that moment, including a number of children who all excitedly proclaimed there was a talking fox. A few parents hushed their kids, but several were surprised, not recognizing Tri’a’s species. The Kit kept her focus on the demonstration, afraid of drawing more attention to herself by engaging the children.
Tri’a’s voice also caught Randy’s attention. He tilted his head in a way Tri’a immediately recognized as intense curiosity. He even leaned forward to sniff at her, but kept on the platform next to his handler. Do you see something of me in you, like I see you in me? she silently asked the fox. Despite her anger from before, curiosity and a strange familiarity was taking hold. She thought back to her early education: did early Kit look like this? An ear flicked. She couldn’t remember. So much of her people’s history had been lost to time; to the ecological disaster that destroyed the surface of her world and forced the Kit underground.
The zookeeper was similarly silent a moment before the right synapses kicked in. “Our Kit friend is right,” they continued with their regular, kid-friendly enthusiasm. “Foxes are omnivores just like Humans. Speaking of the word kit—not to be confused with the warp-capable species from another world—, fox babies are called ‘kits’ or ‘cubs’. Boy foxes are called ‘togs’ or ‘dogs’, and girl foxes are known as ‘vixens’. Does anyone know what a group of foxes is called?”
While they waited for the correct answer, the zookeeper tossed Randy a mouse and said, “good wait, buddy!” He caught the mouse expertly in midair, then sniffed at the zookeeper, looking for more. Eventually, an adult in the crowd landed on the answer they were looking for.
“That’s right! When foxes get together, we call that a ‘skulk’. That’s because, in folklore, foxes are sneaky, cunning, and quiet. What’s interesting is that you’ll find foxes on every continent but Antarctica, so different people came up with all sorts of stories about them: the Achomawi people who live in Northern California, for instance, say that Fox and Coyote are the co-creators of the world. The Chinese tell of fox-spirits called huli jing that may have up to nine tails! And foxes show up all over European folklore, like the mischievous Reynard the Fox who’s been around since at least the twelfth century!” These facts got a wide range of chuckles from the adults. One child asked how a fox could create the world and their adult reassured them it was just a story.
“Now, a few more Fantastic Fox Facts before Randy gets back to his family! Foxes usually mate for life and are monogamous–so they only have one partner at a time–, and Randy’s life-mate is named Cindy, a wild fox who got hurt and found her way here through a local chapter of Fox Rescue. They had a litter of four this past season. How long does it take for Mamma fox to have her babies?”
No one had an answer to that one. “About two months! That’s pretty quick! But, that comes with a price: newborn foxes are born blind, deaf, and toothless! It takes about two weeks for them to open their eyes and ears and start getting their teeth, so Mamma fox stays with them the whole time, while Dad helps keep the kits in line and forages food for them.”
The zookeeper’s watch beeped and they said, “okay folks that’s our demonstration for now! Come back at three o’clock if you want to see Randy again!” The crowd applauded generously even as it dispersed. Tri’a, though, lingered while the zookeeper answered a few questions. The last child asked if he could pet Randy. The answer was a gentle, but firm no.
When they were finally alone, the zookeeper addressed Tri’a directly. “I’m Alex, by the way. Would you like a tour of their habitat?"
“Because I look like them?” Tri’a snapped.
“Well, yeah. If I went to another planet and met a primitive Human-like animal, I’d want to know all about it.” Alex was busy folding up their displays. “I guess that’s why I did four months in Africa last year with the Silverbacks: big gorillas that Humans are related to, but you know, gorillas are not people. Anyways, your choice.” Alex called to Randy who hopped down and followed them to a nearby gate leading from the catwalk to the habitat floor. Using a key card, the door slid open and Randy slipped past like water bending down a river.
“Last chance,” Alex taunted, holding the door open with their hip while their hands were full.
Tri’a followed.
They descended a short wooden staircase. When they got to the ground, Randy took off into the foliage without even a backwards glance. The zookeeper chucked. “He just wants to check on Cindy and the kits. He’ll be back in a few minutes. Help me with this shed, eh?” they asked.
Tri’a opened the door to a small storage shed under the stairs which revealed a multitude of tools and educational material for various animals. The zookeeper placed the posters of foxes next to some about badgers and rabbits.
“Thanks for the help. I could do it in two trips but then I’d have to do the stairs again and I do like a million flights and a billion kilometers a day." They dusted off their hands, offering one to shake.
Tri’a recognized the gesture and didn’t begrudge it. She took Alex’s hand in hers and gripped tightly. “So, now what?”
“We walk,” they said. “This habitat is pretty big and there are a few trails we use to check on equipment. I’ll point cool stuff out to you.”
“You said Randy was coming back?” Tri’a asked with a head tilt.
Alex laughed. “Randy will find us. We’re pals, after all, and he knows where the mice are.” They pat their belt pouch.
So, zookeeper and cadet started to walk. The trails were narrow and winding, bending naturally with the trunks of trees and lower foliage. Tri’a’s senses tracked various animals around them, although she didn’t know their names. A few times, she tried to describe them to her Human companion who could sometimes answer.
“The problem is that I can’t smell or hear as well as you can,” Alex said, pushing a tree branch out of the way. “I’m relying on what I know about the exhibit and what I can see on the trail. That scat, for instance, is a badger’s. Probably K’mpec, since he usually forages around here.”
Tri’a recognized the name. “You named a badger after a Klingon High Chancellor?” she asked incredulously.
Alex released the tree branch which sailed over the Kit’s head. “Not me, personally, but if you ever met a badger, you’d understand.” They left the matter at that, as though it explained everything. “So, you don’t like foxes.”
“I never said that,” Tri’a grumbled.
They stopped and bent to look at a device disguised as a tree stump. Alex laughed. “Sure, but it was written all over your face,” they said. “You walked up ears at half mast, tail bristled, and I could see your canines clear as day. Good thing Randy was too busy looking for snacks or there would have been a problem.”
“You didn’t say anything,” the Kit pointed out.
The zookeeper opened a compartment in the stump and checked its contents: about fifty small brown pellets were nestled in a clear container. “I was betting your anger wasn’t really about Randy, but what he represents to you.”
Tri’a took a step back, offended. “You don’t know me, Human.”
“You’re a fox-sized and fox-shaped sentient life form on a planet where most life is either super Human-like or so radically different that comparison is impossible.” Alex turned to face Tri’a, remaining in the kneeling position so that they were roughly eye level. “So, people see you as one thing because that’s what’s comfortable to them, even if they know better, am I right?”
The Kit said nothing, just stared angrily.
“Let me ask you a question, friend: what gender am I? Best guess, I won’t be mad.”
“You’re male,” the vixen said immediately, reflexively.
“Why?”
Here Tri’a floundered, unsure of the question. Because he’s a teacher? Does menial work? But that wasn’t right: that was old-world thinking before her aunt and mother orchestrated a coup d’état that toppled the Matriarchy. Because he gets along with children? She knew none of those reasons were correct, but that’s how she felt in the moment, so she voiced those them more confidently: “You teach and do physical labor and are gentle with children.”
“Because on your world men do that kind of work, right?” the zookeeper asked rhetorically, all while nodding sagely. “You were wrong about me though: I’m neither male nor female.”
Tri’a squinted with suspicion. “That’s not possible. Humans are like Kit. There are only two.” Unlike Andorians, she amended.
“Perhaps in your cultural expectations–where non-binary people like me can’t exist because of a rigid gendered caste structure–they would force me into a box like that. To me, that’s not only wrong, it’s offensive. Just like how the comparison between you,” they pointed at Tri’a, “and Randy,” they pointed to the fox as he rejoined them, “is offensive to you.” Randy blissfully ignored the conversation and approached the pellet dispenser. Alex closed the device, snapping it closed before Randy could shove his face in it.
“So what? I should just accept people think I’m an animal? Embrace being someone’s pet?” Anger was bubbling over in her this time and Randy, sensing the rising tension, slipped away to the sidelines. He watched, alert from the bushes. Though he did not have the instinct bred over many generations driving him to protect his Human companion, to say Randy felt nothing would be dishonest; he just wasn’t sure what to do.
“Hell no!” Alex cried all while holding onto a smile. “I’m saying that no matter what people think about you, you know the truth. You aren’t an animal. I’m non-binary. Not everyone sees that right away or understands what it means, but that doesn’t change the objective truth that we are thinking, feeling people deserving of love and respect.” Their words and gentle, positive demeanor were enough to bring Randy back. “Even Randy deserves those things, despite only knowing about ten words, most of them synonyms for ‘food.’”
The Kit sat heavily on the ground. Alex fed Randy a few mice as they went through a training routine. Most of it involved sitting, waiting, and posing. Tri’a watched this ballet while she struggled internally. She was learning a lot today: apparently there are people of mixed genders, I look so much like a fox it’s confusing other people and it’s making me mad at this innocent animal, and ignorance exists even in paradise.
Maybe I should have read that guide book Simon gave me, she realized. Her Human host family were the parents of her dearest and closest Human friend, Kass. Although Tri’a was originally nervous about living with them, they proved to be kind, patient hosts. Simon, Kass’ father, took time each day to explain the intricacies of Human behavior, as he understood it. And, where his knowledge ended, he often brought books for Tri’a to read. Inundated with schoolwork, the Kit usually skipped the extracurricular readings in favor of meditation, martial arts, and sleep.
“It was easier on the Brahe,” Tri’a finally said, her ears falling flat against her head. Her tail fell in her lap and she stroked it gently. “I miss my friends. I miss other Kit.”
“Tell me about them,” the zookeeper said.
Tri’a and Alex spent the early afternoon together, walking the habitat and sharing stories about their lives. The Kit spoke of growing up in the Great Burrow, the massive underground city on her arid home world of Vrk’mz. She talked about living under the Matriarchy: how no one thought she would amount to anything because she was born blond and deaf. The Kit even cried, in her specie’s fashion, a keening sound that drew Randy close enough the Kit was able to reach out and touch him; the source of so much abstract amenity turned real compassion for the first time. He was warm and bright and Tri’a found, to her dismay, horror, and embarrassment that Randy’s proximity granted her a margin of peace in her tumultuous, homesick heart.
When Alex shared, it was of their life in rural Wisconsin: cold and snowy. They worked their parent’s generational farm where they bred rabbits and often took long hikes through the Flambeau River Forest, often canoeing where the water was gentle and mild. They spoke a little on being neither wholly male or female, but only when the Kit expressed curiosity, changing topics when it became uncomfortable for her. Alex recognized that not every culture understood, even if they knew it was a forgone conclusion that their existence was not predicted on other’s acceptance or understanding. It was enough to see Tri’a willing to learn and try.
Alex’s watch beeped. “I need to get Randy back to the catwalk for his next demonstration,” they said, then retrieved a pocket computer. “Put your contact info in here so we can keep in touch.”
As they walked back to the catwalk, Randy in sanguine tow, Alex said, “I noticed you seemed to calm down when Randy got close enough you could touch him.”
“My species is highly communal and I’ve been away from other Kit for months,” she replied. Tri’a reached out a hand to Randy who sniffed at it tentatively. He allowed her to touch him before bounding up the trail playfully. “Being around humanoids helps with the dnx’qnai–you’d call it a social anxiety–but, it’s not the same.”
“We take part time volunteers to help zookeepers and maintain the exhibits,” Alex said, gathering the educational materials from the shed. “If you’re interested, I’ll send you the paperwork.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“I hope you do,” the zookeeper said with their usual warm smile.
Tri’a helped carry the poster boards up the stairs. Once everything was ready, Alex called out to the growing crowd to come and meet Randy the fox. Not wanting to distract from the show, the Kit slipped away with a parting wave to Alex and Randy.
For the second time that day, the Kit made a firm decision. She navigated the zoo, via directory, until she found herself in a row of offices with little name plates on the doors. She knocked on one.
“Doctor Cortez? I’m sorry how I reacted earlier,” Tri’a said. “Will you help me with my paper? I’ve decided to write about foxes.”