Earth Fathers (Patreon)

I have had such a rough start to the year this year.  I don't know whether it's this group of kids or the fact I started Noom and I'm calorie deprived or menopause, but I am feeling wrung out. However, I have to carve time out for me and my creative juices or I will lose my ever-livin' mind.  So here we go:

  - - - - - - - - - - -

Max threaded his way through the crowd, wondering why aliens hadn’t yet figured out mass transit. Sure, he had issues with the New York subway system, and falling asleep on a train that was bound for Tremont had not been one of his fonder memories. However, someone could make a killing with a tentacle-friendly bus route.

He looked at the towers that rose in the distance. He wondered if the city was as crowded as the docks. Maybe he’d find out later, but right now he had a mission.

A large bell-shaped alien crashed into Max and then cut between him and Rick. Max cursed the asshole’s backside and reached a hand out toward Rick. Rick hesitated, but Max kept his hand out, waiting for Rick to get over whatever insecurities made him want to avoid touching in public. Rick might fear giving Max some sort of ugly cooties, but Max didn’t listen to bullies in high school and he sure as hell wasn’t going to start now. If he could survive being gay in the damn Midwest, he could survive holding tentacles with a non-symmetrical boyfriend.

“Others reinforced in belief Max from moron people,” Rick warned him in a whisper even as he slipped a tentacle into Max’s hand.

“I don’t care.” Max squeezed Rick and turned to wade into the crowd again. This time Rick pressed close, his tentacles brushing against Max’s back. When Max stopped to study a map, Rick touched one spot with a tentacle. Max gave Rick’s tentacle another quick squeeze of gratitude.

A more honest answer would have been that Max cared a lot, but he was too stubborn to ever let someone else intimidate him into changing. No one liked being the butt of the joke, the outcast, the loser who was afraid of going in the boys’ locker room after school. However, when Max had come out of the closet after Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell had ended, he’d sworn to himself that he would never go back in again. And he wouldn’t. If the universe didn’t like his relationship with Rick, well he was out of fucks. Being the victim of alien abduction did that to a man.

Rick gave him a gentle push to the right and Max spotted the map. He still wasn’t very good at reading alien and apparently translating visual information was some sort of taboo. Max didn’t understand the details, but then he didn’t understand why humans had half the superstitions they did, so he was chalking it up to the general weirdness of all sentient species.

He couldn’t find the symbol for Trader. “Query. Where is the trader we discussed?” Max asked.

“Query. Clarify. Time or content of discussion.”

Max glanced around at the passing crowd and then leaned closer to whisper, “Clarify. The trader who couldn’t get permission to trade on the Hidden World.”

Rick rotated a few degrees and aligned his largest eye with Max’s face without answering. Seconds passed, and Max waited. Unless he missed his guess, Rick was questioning Max’s intelligence. Either that or he had guessed Max’s plan and he was getting cold tentacles. Finally Rick asked, “Query. Reason for seeking location of trader not permitted on Hidden World. Reminder. Those with no license on Hidden World are those who will not trade with those of Hidden World. The others maintain interconnected anger at the Hidden People.”

“They can be interconnected in their anger all they want,” Max muttered. As far as he was concerned, a universe that boycotted a species for being secretive deserved to get their tentacles handed to them on a platter, and Max was just the guy to do it. The universe had missed a childhood of watching Mission Impossible and the A-team. He had a universe of cheesy revenge plots to draw on. “This guy is a trader, and that means he wants to make a profit.”

Rick slid his tentacle forward so the tip escaped Max’s grip and curled around his wrist. “Agreed. Compensation is significant motivation for those motivated by compensation.”

Either Rick was trying to be particularly pithy or the translation matrix needed help distinguishing different versions of compensation. “I plan to take advantage of his desire for compensation,” Max said softly. And if this guy wanted Rick’s fancy new navigation software, he would have to assist them in a little Nathan Ford-esque plotting.

“Query. Which what advantage of compensation?”

That had been clear as mud. “Do you trust me?” Max asked. He didn’t have the detailed language needed to explain how his plan would hopefully come together, and he definitely didn’t want to try in the open.

Several of Rick's tentacles snapped up into tight curls. “Clarification. Any action that is set leads to your belief in my mistrust is unintended.” He reached for Max with several tentacles as though seeking to reassure him.

Max smiled and ran his fingers along the underside of one of Rick’s tentacles. The tentacle in question shivered. “Clarify. Sometimes humans in a relationship will ask that question, not to seek information, but to remind a partner that trust is valued.”

Rick's tentacles uncurled again. “My memory exceeds humans who must forget. I trust Max.”

“It’s not that humans forget,” Max said. He struggled for the right words. “Sometimes we hurry to speak or act and our brain doesn’t pull up all relevant information.”

Rick made a sound like he was blowing bubbles. “Humans are odd,” he announced.

“I couldn't agree with you more. One of these days were you're going to meet some other humans, and then you're going to discover exactly how odd we are.”

Rick made a quarter turn so the tentacle wrapped around Max’s wrist was pull tight. Maybe he was questioning the likelihood of humans finding space, but Max put a little more faith in his species. Sure, they were a disorganized mess of suicide cults and rioting now, and they would be a disorganized mess of crime and drama once they reached space, but he suspected that in the middle they would pull their shit together and focus on reaching space. 

That’s what happened when people were pushed. They adapted—they survived. In SERE training, instructors had told Max that humans could survive the impossible, and had on a semi-regular basis. They’d proved that with a gruesome, full-color proof. In this case, Max figured the visit from alien ships was a serious gut shot, but the human race was going to buckle down and adapt. They were going to get mad about others traipsing through their space and that was going to fuel a new space race.

They would get up to space if only so they could properly scream at the law enforcement officers for chasing the Nish through their gravity well. And then they would try to sue someone. Max worried that the universe would do the same thing to him that it had done to Rick—it would judge him by his people. He just had to make sure that his reputation was settled first. Max started walking in the direction Rick had suggested when he’d touched the map, and Rick followed.

He hadn’t been thinking about reputations when he’d been on that law enforcement patrol ship. Back then he had taken every opportunity to embarrass himself. He was fairly sure they had tranquilized him a couple of times just because his general level panic had gotten too high, but in Max's defense, his survival and escape classes had never covered alien invasion. He assumed that was an oversight the military was addressing now.

“Query. Will Trader have access to language translation of the Hidden People?” Max asked. He’d worked his ass off to get that computer system to recognize English and if he had to start over with a different language, he might stab someone.

“Concern. Sharing of linguistic database could lead to illicit copying. He is known for removing without adequate compensation.”

“A greedy businessman? Who would've thunk?” Apparently there were some constants in the universe.

Rick hurried to walk at Max’s side instead of following behind. “Query. Clarify thunk. Thunk is sound to fall.”

“Clarify. Thunk is conjugation of think when speaker makes fun of himself.”

Rick didn't say anything, but he had that expression again, the one that said that he questioned Max’s sanity. Max was a bad, bad boyfriend because he found that entirely too entertaining. He cleared his throat. “I'm going to say some things to the trader that you might not understand. I am asking you to believe that I can outsmart our enemies.”

“Correction. Trader is not enemies. Trader is seeker of compensation, not danger to eliminate.”

Max tugged on Rick to pull him closer for a second. A lavender alien with big lips physically flinched away like they were a pile of dog poop, and several of Rick’s tentacles curled up. That called for some serious distraction. Pulling out the big guns, Max ran his fingers up the largest central tentacle to the point where it met Rick’s body. With a shiver, Rick let his tentacles drop again. “I’m not sure if I should be complemented that you think I’m capable of taking on the universe in armed battle or insulted that you’re afraid I might.” 

A large alien came barreled past them on the walkway, nearly pushing them into the side of a building. Max not-so-accidentally stepped on one of the trailing tentacles. The creature gave a high-pitched yelp, but Max just kept on walking. 

“Max bad,” Rick said with a soft burble.

Max didn’t bother answering. As far as he was concerned, every damn alien who crowded into their space was bad and Max was being reasonable; however, he was almost sure Rick didn’t see it that way. “Is that the trader’s symbol?” Max asked as he saw the writing beside a door. The shops on the main level seemed to be the largest ones, with elevated walkways leading to smaller shops on the upper levels. So if this guy had a street-level shop, he was big time. Max felt a little fizzle of worry that he might be chewing off more than he could chew.

Rick clearly didn’t notice Max’s unease because he simply said, “It is.”

Max blew out a breath. He could do this or he could let Rick and the children get taken advantage of. He was not alright with that plan. It felt like cowardice. So putting aside his worry, he stepped up to the door. He waited for the side of the door to retract, but nothing happened. He looked at Rick. His tentacles weren’t exactly curled, just sort of tucked up close to the central leg.

“Query. How do I get door to open?”

“Answer. Request entry without one of the Hidden People.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t work for me,” Max said. “Query. Can we show him a small part of the programming, something that makes him want it?”

“Answer. Yes. Clarify. He may not trade with the Hidden People.”

“I hate that you act like that’s normal.”

Rick just studied him for a good minute before he pulled a small computer display out of his hat and tapped on it. He finally let go of Max’s wrist and glided forward before pressing his computer to the door. Max stepped forward so he was the one standing closest to the door. Come on guy. Get curious. Or greedy. Max could work with either one.

The computer next to the door beeped and hummed and chittered madly, but the door remained stubbornly closed. Max had almost decided to give up on this lead and look for someone else to act as their point man, but then the doors slid open a fraction of an inch.

Max made a farting noise.

Hopefully that wasn’t a sign. Because if this plan didn’t work out, Max didn’t have the screenwriters the A-Team folks did. He didn’t get to reshoot the scene if one of these aliens decided to take offense at Max’s attempt to reorder the universe, and Max had intentionally avoided looking up alien penal codes and prison systems.