They were one of the worst Knomiras. Any time people said no to them, they immediately demanded to see the higher ups. No one was going to stop them from getting what THEY wanted! It was their way, or the highway! Then there was an accident, they demanded THEY be treated first! They shoved the person that they didn't even see, someone smaller than them out of the life pod and forced their way in. The person, a Havenworlder child, scrambled in, afterward, but badly hurt due to the shove. They looked into the eyes of this innocent, a child whose eyes asked 'why?' the entire trip to the emergency vessel. They held the child's hand, carefully, realizing what they did. They realize, they couldn't be acting like that anymore. -- Anon Guest
Knomira: (n) (1) A person who loudly, repeatedly, and vocally asserts their rights to the cost of everyone else around them. (2) An extremely selfish individual incapable of caring about anyone they don't know. (3) The gender-neutral alternative to "Karen". [Origin: onomatopoeia for their repeated catchcry of, "I know my rights!"] -- Dictionary of Confounding Human Words.
Launch plus three minutes. Tourist Will had barged into the lifepod, demanded the most comfortable seat inside, and they had just now finished drafting a scathing anti-review of the entire cruise company just because of the Vorax raid "they let happen".
A soft meeping, one that had been going since the launch, finally invaded Will's awareness. A small Havenworlder child was making an insistent noise whilst staring at them. "Someone shut that terrible creature up," Will snapped, not at all reading the room. Reading was for other people. "It's bad enough we have to endure this cut-price lifepod, but does there have to be whining?"
Someone murmured, "Are you sure there's no airlock on this thing?"
Will scoffed in their general direction. "Death threats are punishable by loss of all property and recompense to the injured party. I know my rights."
As one, the rest of the lifepod groaned. Except the little Havenworlder, who kept meeping and staring. The friendly letters on one bracelet declared it to be Pij.
"I said someone shut that creature up! It's so annoying!"
"So's a broken wing," said a techie on their datareader. "And three cracked ribs. And internal bleeding. And bruised vital organs."
This made no sense to Will. "I don't have any of those."
The entertainment screen, previously showing friendly blorps and an estimated countdown before rescue, came to life as a different passenger shielded the meeping Havenworlder's eyes. Pij's eyes.
Securicam footage of the lifepod entrance played. In-ship, and in-pod, side by side. There was little Pij, toddling towards the safety of the pod, and there was Will.
Shoving her into the doorway in their rush to get in.
"That's a pre-verbal baby," said the techie. "She also has a concussion, so we can't give her all the meds she needs. But -hey- as long as you get your rights, you're fine, right?"
Will wanted to say any of: Well of course it is. That's the way of the world. Survival of the fittest. If that creature didn't want to get pushed, then it shouldn't have got in my way. I know my rights. I have the right to safety. But Will did a very rare thing. They thought about that.
They thought about that for longer than the usual handful of seconds that it took to work out an argument in which they were in the right and the rest of the universe was wrong.
They had, all unthinking and full of self-importance, nearly killed a baby. There was no counter-argument to that.
Having to literally face it for - Will checked the returned screen full of blorps - the next five hours was not punishment enough.
[AN: Big thanks and blessings to PJ for donating a coffee to alleviate my current financial desperation. I have turned your initials into Pij, the poor little baby Havenworlder in this story.]
[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / prill]
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