Earth Fathers Are Weird, chapter two (Tentacles ahoy!) (Patreon)

Spaceballs led Max down a mundane ramp and to an alien world. In the distance, a city was partially obscured by a greenish, grayish haze that might be pollution and might be a poisonous atmosphere that would kill Max. In his days on the ship, he’d discovered that the alien computers had absorbed very little English so his ability to ask about anything that mattered was extremely limited. It was just his luck that the real aliens had appeared over Earth when no one was broadcasting Star Trek over the air. That would have provided his ungracious hosts with a more practical vocabulary. Spaceballs patted the ground with a tentacle. “Here. Here. You seek others here.”

Max looked around at the bustling port. George Lucas did not have an imagination this vivid. Aliens of all sizes hurried past each other. Stacks of cartons rolled through the crowd on automated sleds that buzzed in high tones when some tentacle monster stopped too long in front of it. And then the alien in question would wave half his tentacles in the air while the other half carried him clear of the freight’s path.

Tentacles, tentacles everywhere. 

Okay, that wasn’t fair. Only half the aliens had tentacles. The other half had some combination of more leglike limbs. And several individuals were the same species as the first alien Max had seen. They had a center tentacle that moved like a snail’s underside with two narrow legs on either side. One of those ran past, her two outer legs lifting the body and flinging it forward to land on the center leg over and over. Max was developing a killer headache. Maybe the atmosphere was poison and he could look forward to a quick and agonizing death.

“Here, where? Where do I go?” Max asked. In the Air Force, he’d resented how the military dictated every aspect of his life, but right now, he would appreciate a few rules.

“Here. Here.” Spaceballs tapped the ground again. Either the translation computer was particularly fucked or Spaceballs hated him. Either was possible.

“Where do I go?” Max illustrated by pointing first in one direction and then the other.

“Here.” Spaceballs turned and fled back up the ramp. Max tried to grab him, but the helmet-like top half was too smooth and his tentacles moved far too fast for Max to keep up with, especially with his stomach churning. He still wasn’t sure if that was a symptom of stress or a sign that alien food was killing him, and he was reaching a point where he didn’t care. Totally fucked was total and fucked, and whether the level of fuckedness was multiplied by two or ten didn’t matter. 

The ship door closed behind Spaceballs and Max was left alone. With nothing better to do, Max started wandering toward the city. On earth, most of the cities he’d seen had a central island of high rises with a wide ring of smaller buildings. However, this city filled the skyline with towards of all shapes and angles. Several actually grew larger at the top, which seemed like a rather unstable shape for a tower, but Max had to assume aliens understood their own architecture better than he did. To his human eye, it made the city look wrong.

“Human.”

Max turned and a ten foot tall alien stood in front of him. “Human. Question.” The sound came from the translator on the thing’s wrist, but the actual voice came from gill-like slats on the sides of it’s huge, muscular neck. And unlike all the other aliens, it stood on two legs with two long arms that hung down past the knees. Of course the arm had a short upper half with an oversized forearm that ended in a four-fingered hand. Or a two-fingered two-thumbed hand. The alien had just enough humanlike features that looking at it was even more disturbing than having tentacle monsters around.

“Yes. I’m human.” Max looked up at the triangular underside of the alien’s chin, but then the neck sort of folded like a snake bending into an s-shape and two oversized eyes were suddenly gazing right into Max’s. Max’s stomach nearly revolted. The shape of the neck looked too much like it had been broken.

“Designation Heetayu,” it said. Given that the translator didn’t alter the sound, Max assumed that was either a name or a title, but he was grateful that at least some of the aliens could communicate without screeching. 

Max smiled. “Nice to meet you Heetayu. I am…” He hesitated. Giving his full name and rank would probably confuse the alien since Max couldn’t explain what the different parts meant. “I’m Max,” he finally offered.

“Mass.” The head raised back up. “Come.” He strode off.

Max hesitated, but in the end, he didn’t have any other resource, so followed Heetayu. They threaded through the crowd. Max tried hard to avoid touching any of the aliens. The rare alien was terrifyingly large, and a few had bright colors that, on Earth, would suggest the species was poisonous. 

None of them paid attention to Max. Either they had seen humans before or the variety of life forms was so great that no one cared about one more. Max assumed it was the second. Either that or the government had been keeping one hell of a secret. While Max didn’t put it past the government to do exactly that, he had to assume that the alien dogfight over middle America would have caused far less panic if anyone in the chain of command had a clue.

The alien stepped over a low rail and headed for a mint colored wall. This close, Max realized the way had a whole line of alcoves, some narrow and others wide. And set into each niche was a computer panel. Heetayu chose one of the wider alcoves and stepped into the shade before turning huge eyes toward Max.

“This looks interesting,” Max said.

Heetayu touched a trident symbol at the side of the panel. Then he said, “Designation interface.” It lit up with hundreds of lines and individual displays and alien text. In the upper center, it had a red light that reminded Max uncomfortably of Hal 9000. Hopefully that was coincidence and not evidence that Stanley Kubrick was trying to warn the human race about the unreliable nature of alien computer systems.

“Interface with what?” Max asked.

“Interface,” Heetayu said. “Translator matrix limits.”

“Yeah, I’m not impressed with the translation matrix.” Max stepped up to the interface. It made the cockpit of his F-22 look like a child’s toy. “What do I touch?” He looked up at Heetayu.

Heetayu then touched dozens of buttons all at once, his eight fingers dancing over the controls. Max had no hope of following the commands he used, but a long tone sounded and then Heetayu reached into a recessed niche and pulled out a translator cuff like the aliens on the ship had worn. He held it out.

“Thanks.” Max took the thin metal and looked at it. Before he could do anything, Heetayu took it back and pressed it to Max’s wrist. The metal adapted to Max’s arm and Heetayu trilled. 

“Touch,” he said, tapping a two inch glass square.

Max tugged at the translator cuff a second before he laid his fingers on the glass. A new set of lights flashed, and then Heetayu did his finger dance over the controls again. If this was supposed to be some sort of explanation, this guy sucked at his job. But after a second, Heetayu pulled Max’s hand away from the glass and then repeated his request.

“Touch.”

Max touched it, and this time, the computer made a humming sound. It then squealed. Max flinched back, and the second he broke contact, the interface went silent and dark.

Heetayu twitched and the single line of hair down the back of his head and neck that disappeared under a loose shirt all shimmied. “Touch,” he said again.

Max felt a need to defend himself. “I was startled.” He stepped up and touched the glass again. Once again the computer interface hummed and then squealed. This time Max noticed that the flaps on the front of Heetayu’s neck closed. “You don’t like the sound either,” he guessed. Most animals had some sort of flap or protection over their ears, so it made sense that Heetayu was closing his ears, especially since his own language used the same lower tones as humans. “Does this thing even know English?”

The panel projected a stilted but understandable voice. “Interface updated. Query: Current language. Designation English confirm.”

Max had to do a little mental translating to make sense of that. “Yes. Current language is English.”

“English. Confirmed. What I assist you?”

Max looked at Heetayu. Since he had two front-facing eyes, Max could tell that the alien was watching him; however, he didn’t offer any suggestions. Max only needed one kind of assistance. “I need to find transportation back to my planet.”

“Which planet claim you as yours?” The computer asked.

Max nearly pounded his head against the nearest hard surface. Clearly pronouns did not translate well. “My planet means the planet where I was born. I don’t own it.”

“No smart. Logic.” Heetayu’s quiet voice might have been an admonition for Max to be more logical or it could have been sympathy for the frustration of dealing with a computer. Who knew. However, Max took a deep breath and tried to focus achieving his goal. “Do you know the ship I came in on?”

“First noted coming from the OooOOOoOoO.” The name of the ship translated as a child’s scream. However, if the computer knew the ship’s course, Max had a chance to pin down Earth’s location.

“That ship fought the Nish inside the atmosphere of an inhabited planet outside the trading network,” Max said. Hopefully if he gave this damn computer every fact he knew, it would spit out the location. “Do you have the location of that planet?”

There was a moment of hesitation, and Max’s heart stopped. If he couldn’t tell anyone where Earth was, he couldn’t find his way home. 

After a pause, the computer offered: “Planet OOOOooOoOOooo.”

“Planet Earth,” Max said. 

“Updating database—local designation Earth.Transportation queried.” The computer paused. “Three ships responding. OOooaaO.”

Max was getting tired of the screeching. “I don’t understand the last part of that.”

Heetayu pointed at a dark square. “Touch.”

Max was starting to suspect that Heetayu was either a tourist guide or a social worker. He touched where directed and alien symbols appeared. “I can’t read that,” Max said.

“Touch.” Heetayu pointed to a symbol in the lower left corner. The text shimmered and then English words appeared. “Flyer” was followed by a set of alien figures. “Erogingingin” was followed by another. Then three lines listed “Uber” with figures following. Max assumed that the aliens had assumed “uber” was the generic English term for taxi service. That was a lawsuit waiting to happen.

“I don’t understand local currency,” Max said.

Heetayu lowered his head again. “Currency. Question.”

“That’s what I’m asking. Currency. Question.” Max knew that wasn’t helpful, but he had passed the limits of human frustration and was now exceeding the number of problems a saint could handle without losing his mind. “How do I pay for these ships? How much are they charging? Currency. Economics. Money. How do I get and use money?”

Heetayu touched a number of buttons on the interface and then pointed at the glass square again. “Touch.”

“This is getting old,” Max muttered, but he did as ordered.

“Request currency,” Heetayu told him.

Max was fairly sure that any economic system that actually worked would be more complex than simply requesting money, but he gave it a try. “Request currency.”

The computer made a long screeching noise, and Max touched the dark screen before his alien helper could prompt him. Three lines showed up. “What are those?” Max asked. None of the titles were translating into English and the numbers were still indecipherable. 

Heetayu’s finger hovered over the first line. “Language. Improve translation matrix. English.”

“Yeah, your matrix needs some work,” Max agreed softly. He just wasn’t sure he was the man to do the work to improve it. He’d nearly lost his Air Force scholarship over his Spanish grades, and he usually guessed on when to use who and when to use whom. His English teacher had tried to explain, but Max found it far more complicated than calculus or disassembling an M16. However, if he had to play English teacher to buy a ticket home, he’d grit his teeth and do it. “How much would that pay?”

Heetayu’s answer didn’t translate, leaving Max to rub his temples as his headache intensified. “Let’s try this another way. At that rate, how many years would I have to work to pay for a ticket?” Max wasn’t sure that would translate either. After all, he didn’t have the vocabulary to ask about food costs or housing. However, it would give him a rough idea of the local economy.

Heetayu reached across Max and typed in a number of commands before answering. “Three hundred and seven Earth years.”

Max gritted his teeth and fought back an urge to punch someone. The unfairness of the whole situation pressed against him like a hundred needles all stabbing his soul, but there was no one to hit. No one to scream at. Now if Max could get his hands on the captain of the fucking ship that took him away from Earth and refused to return him… well, Max would happily spend a few hours trying to find vital organs with a dull knife. A sharp one would be too quick and merciful. He took a deep breath.

“I won’t live that long, so what are the other options?”

Heetayu lowered his head slowly. “One options pay ticket in three and almost one years.”

Max assumed that meant almost four years. Fuck. However, in the grand scheme, that was better than dying of old age on an alien planet. “What do I have to do?”

“Translation matrix failure.”

Max closed his eyes and counted to ten. In movies, the hero never seemed to have language problems. Alien abduction was not living up to the hype, but hey, at least he had avoided the alien probes. That was a small blessing.

“In return for compensation, what action will I need to take? Will I help improve translation matrix?” Max knew he wouldn’t be, but hopefully that would help clarify the question.

Heetayu raised his head again. “Raise young.”

“A nanny? Someone wants to hire me as a nanny? Or, someone put out a job that anyone could answer. I could get there and they wouldn’t want me.” If Max was honest with himself, he wasn’t any better with kids than he was with English grammar. Every time he was around his little brother, Max managed to disappoint him or piss him off.

Heetayu touched Max’s shoulder. “Jobs only for individual touches…” He pointed to the glass square. “Mass have compensation.”

Max frowned. That sounded weird for more reasons than the questionable grammar. “Why would someone hire me to take care of their children?”

Heetayu’s head lowered. “Compensation giver. Unpopular. Loud.”

A bad boss. Well fuck. Of course Max would travel to another planet and find the alien version of Colonel Wilks from flight school. The man was an asshole, and apparently so was this alien. However, Max had sucked it up to get his papers to fly jets, and to get home, he’d endure a whole lot more than loud. However, he couldn’t walk into a job blind. He turned to face Heetayu, hoping that the alien would understand the seriousness of his next words. “I take compensation. Soon after, I regret it. How do I leave?”

Heetayu lowered his head so they were eye to alien eye. “Translation matrix failure.”

Max sighed. “I really hate that phrase. Okay, question. How do I leave if this compensation giver is too unpopular or too loud?”

“Leave ship. Find console.” Heetayu pushed his face toward Max. “Offspring hurt.”

Max snorted. He sucked as a babysitter, so he doubted the kids would get close enough to him to suffer any emotional damage if he left. However, maybe alien kids were clingier.  “I’ll try to avoid hurting offspring. How easy is it to find console?”

“Translation—”

“Matrix failure,” Max finished for him. He was grateful he didn’t have a sidearm because he was feeling the need to shoot someone.  “How many consoles are there?” He looked at Heetayu, but the alien just looked back at him. Max tried again. “Question. Number of consoles?”

Heetayu blinked. “Many.”

Right. While vague, that did imply that Max would be able to find help if he wanted to leave the job. Technically Max had signed up for the military despite an equally profound lack of information. Of course back then, Max had been you and stupid and desperate for an ROTC scholarship to pay for college. Now he was middle aged and stupid and desperate for a ticket home. Funny. Life hadn’t changed as much as Max had assumed. “Let’s go talk to this giver of compensation who needs a nanny,” Max said with false cheerfulness. If his life was going to shit, at least he could smile. It always creeped people out.

Heetayu lifted his head back up without reacting to Max’s expression.

Unfortunately there was a lack of actual people in Max’s life right now.