Earth Husbands (Patreon)

It's been a rough start to the school year, but I hid from my grading so I could indulge in a little private time with Rick and Max.  Max is really going to get himself in some trouble if he keeps this up.

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Max looked down at the face peering up at him. It was a beige alien, one from a species he recognized from the law enforcement ship. It had dark lavender lips with wide, purpley stripes on the face. It gave a high-pitched sing-song cry and the translator said, “Demand information.” Max mentally translated that as “what?” Rick started pulling back, but Max tightened his grip on Rick’s tentacle.

“I want to trade.”

The alien at the door looked up at Max and then stretched his overly long neck to stare at Rick. “Not trading.”

Max turned and took Rick’s computer out of his tentacle. If this trader didn’t want the program, he wouldn’t have opened the door. So he wanted to be talked into this. Max just had to find the right words. “This program is worth money. Compensation. Profit.” Max wasn’t sure if the words were getting across because the trader just stared at him. But he hadn’t slammed the door yet. Rick slipped a tentacle under the waistband of Max’s pants, but Max didn’t dare break eye contact with the trader—not even to tell Rick to stop molesting him.

The trader stood up a little straighter, stretching out to his full five feet high. After he looked around the street behind Max, his gaze settled on Rick. “Behind,” he said in that annoyingly high voice, and then he retreated into his shop and the door closed with a sharp snap.

Max blew out a breath and turned to Rick. “That went well.”

Rick tilted his head to the side. “I question your use of language.”

“So did my English teacher,” Max admitted. “So, where is the back door on this place?”

“Suggestion. We return to the ship.” Rick tugged at Max’s wrist.

Max looked at the rainbow of aliens walking past them. They represented every color and a huge range of sizes, but all of them were united in being assholes around Rick’s people. And here he had believed Roddenberry’s promise that space and the future would be better. Apparently at least one of those wasn’t true. At least he didn’t have to battle any Borg. Nope. He just had to do battle with the discrimination dragon. “Would Darth Vader return to the ship?” Max asked. When all else failed, he found Rick reacted well when Max appealed to Rick’s favorite sith. And Vader never retreated.

“He would hire for compensation to build poorly engineered war machine,” Rick said. “I lack funds of compensation and would avoid abounding death.” He tightened his hold on Max’s wrist.

“Right.” Max couldn’t fault the logic. “Suggestion. We find the back entrance and sell your program.”

Rick’s tentacles twitched, but he started walking away from the ship. “He failed in quality checking death machines.”

“I agree. One really good engineer could have fixed most of his problems.”

“One good engineer created problems. The Hidden People welcome Galen Erso as good at hiding.” Rick waved a couple of smaller tentacles.

Max wasn’t sure how one person could have both Galen Erso and Darth Vader as personal heroes, but then no boyfriend was perfect. If that was Rick’s worst trait, Max would survive. Rick led them through an arched opening into some sort of covered walk or alley. Grates ran along the sides of the walk. Under other circumstances, Max would have asked why, but they needed to get to the back door before the trader changed his mind.

Assuming that was the trader. “Query. Was that the trader?”

“Yes. Query. Identity of person not trader answering the door of the trader.”

Max sighed. Yeah, they’d had this discussion before. Apparently assistants were people who did things behind the scenes. No high-status individual would ever put a subordinate up front. It made Max wonder if he’d met the captain of the ship when he’d been with the law enforcement crew. If so, that was an amazing waste of time for the ranking officer. One of the best things about having been an officer, other than flying, was giving other people the crap work to do. But apparently the rest of the universe didn’t work that way.

Rick turned down another alley, this one larger. Almost no one was around and vehicles glided along rails without any drivers. So this was for deliveries.

“Current action causes distress.” Rick said.

Max stopped. “I don’t want to push you to do something you don’t want to.”

Rick moved closer. “You do not exert force or pressure on me.”

“If you really want to go back to the ship, you should go back.”

Rick rotated a quarter turn. “Query. Do you wish to return to ship?”

Max sighed. He felt like he was reliving the same fight he’d had with every boyfriend he’d ever dated. What do you want to do? I don’t know; what do you want to do? One of the levels of hell was probably full of people refusing to express an opinion. But at the same time, Max was tempted to start that circle jerk of uncertainty. He didn’t want to pressure Rick. He wanted to give him room to make his own mind up. “I want to sell your program for fair compensation. I can request compensation without you coming with me.”

“Clarify. You cannot. You fail providing required information regarding technical specifications.”

That was probably true. Max sighed. “If you really don’t want to do this, we can go back to the ship.”

“Query. Do you wish to return to ship?” Rick traced lines on Max’s arm.

“No,” Max admitted, even though he felt guilty about saying it. He was an asshole for pushing Rick. It wasn’t like Max had been out of the closet and marching for gay rights, so it felt hypocritical to shove Rick out of the asymmetrical closet. At least metaphorically. Hiding sexuality had been easier.

“As you tell offspring, I reserve right to call you polonium-headed poopy faces.” Rick started down the alley, his largest arm tentacle still tightly around Max’s wrist.

“I am not a poop face,” Max protested.

“Potentiality of poopy face exists,” Rick said. Once again, his logic was fairly on point. Rick stopped in front of a door. “Entrance to back for delivering of supplies.”

“Clarify. Service entrance,” Max said. He stepped in front of the door and waited. The trader probably had surveillance, so now they could only wait. And hope that he was curious enough about the program to open the door. And pray that this scheme wasn’t illegal or if it was, that they didn’t get caught. Max was starting to regret his decision to avoid the criminal database.

After several minutes, the service door was flung completely open and the short trader stood in the opening. He sang loudly, and once again, his translator barked out, “Demand information.”

“I want to sell you a computer program for navigation,” Max said. He took a deep breath and tried to ignore the flush of adrenaline that made his heart pound. Rick’s tentacle tightened around his wrist.

The trader looked from Max to Rick and back again. “Species of you is inferior in navigation.”

Once again, Max had found a logical alien. “The program is superior.”

The trader gave a shrill whistle that ended in a three note trill that repeated several times. Max got the feeling he’d just been cursed out by a flute. “Superior but ugly not traded.”

“You can profit from trade without seeing ugly,” Max said. That wasn’t exactly what he meant, but he didn’t trust the translation computer with any sort of nuanced suggestion.

Rick spoke up, but the translator only caught about every third word. “Husband…. Computer program… Others peoples… Compensation… Others peoples.” The nouns were separated by burps and rumbles that made the trader stand up taller with each passing second. Apparently Max had not done a good job of programming the translation computer with vocabulary related to conning people. However, Rick was apparently doing a good job because the trader’s gaze was darting back and forth like a spectator at a tennis match where both competitors had been dipping into the meth stash.

When Rick finished, the trader said, “Come,” and retreated into his shop. Max traded looks with Rick and then they both followed.

“What did you tell him?” Max asked.

“Max lacks sense that moron species would possess.”

Max snorted. That was probably true, but he still doubted Rick had said it, at least not to someone outside the family. When the offspring and Max ganged up to declare a water war on Rick, he said that and worse.

They followed the trader through shelving lined with numbered boxes into a room that resembled Rick’s computer room.

“Business communication facilitator,” the trader poked a long, boned finger toward a bright blue control unit.

Rick set his computer down on a ledge clearly built for it and tiny wires rose up from the surface. Dozens slid into the cracks in the sides of the tablet. Hopefully that was normal. Rick didn’t seem bothered, and he was very protective of his computer.

Rick reached a tentacle toward Max. “We can communicate more easily now.”

Gone was the broken English, the almost right word choice, the awkward phrasing.”

“What the hell just happened with the translation computer?”

“Business communication facilitator,” the trader said. “The database is right that you are from a species of morons who cannot leave their planet. You didn’t make a navigation program.”

Rick ignored the trader’s angry outburst, and Max could hear the anger in the computer-generated voice. Instead Rick answered Max’s question. “Every linguistic database in the known universe is entered, so the computer has a large enough sample to compare a new language against linguistically similar samples. Every species donates to one system. No one can tamper with one system. Only buy a license to use it.”

Rick’s voice still sounded like Rick—like the tones Max had assigned him on the translation computer. However, now the emotional content of the words was clear. Rick had a softness to his tone that his loud belches and rumbles hid and the computer voice had—up until this point—been missing. Max smiled. “It's impressive. I’m surprised no one has stolen the programming.” Max was already wondering if he could scam someone out of a copy.

The trader interrupted, and just as Rick’s emotions were now clear, so was the trader’s impatient annoyance. “The programming can't be accessed or reproduced by examining externally the various systems and their functions.”

With one last smile for Rick, Max turned his attention back to the trader. “We call that reverse engineering. We look at the function and attempt to recreate the process. However, I don’t know how you would stop someone from trying to create their own version.”

“People try to create one, but they don’t have access to the facilitator’s linguistic database,” the trader said. He stepped up onto a platform so he was as tall as Rick, but he was still several inches shorter than Max. “If your people know to reverse engineer, then you have more technical sophistication than the database suggests.” He sounded suspicious.

“I don't know, what is the database suggest?” Max gave the trader his most charming smile.

The trader gave another flute whistle. “It says you are a simple, non-spacefaring race with limited intellectual capacity and almost no skills. It says the larger of the two known humans in civilized territory took a job doing surrogate work for the Ugly People.”

Max’s stomach knotted. Two. Who the hell else was running around the universe. Max wanted to ask, but he had an obligation to Rick first, and he would look for the other humans as soon as he taught these assholes a little respect. “Not Ugly People,” he said firmly. “The Hidden People. And my people have a great respect for surrogates and an emotional attachment to children that really should not be underestimated.”

“Clarify that,” the trader demanded.

“If someone touches the children I surrogate for, the children I have helped raise, I am very likely to take a sharp object and remove one or two tentacles,” Max warned.

“He killed pirates who were Hunters,” Rick added.

The trader reached for his computer. “I should add violent to the database.”

Max stepped forward quickly enough that the trader flinched away and fell off his stupid little platform. “I wouldn't say my people are violent by nature, but we certainly have an ability to defend what's ours. That’s why I will not allow someone to cheat us on the price of this navigation program.”

“The program is not yours.”

“It is mine,” Rick said. “We are husbands, so we share resources. It is, therefore, the program is his.”

“Demonstrate worth of this program,” the trader demanded.

Rick manipulated his tablet’s screen and code flashed on the main screen on the facilitator. The trader moved closer. He had tentacles that ended in long, boned fingers that he ran along the screen as he read the code. “This is an exceptional level of sophistication.”

Rick physically shrank as his leg tentacle curved. It wasn’t a curl, but it was close. Max moved to his side, although he wasn’t sure why the compliment would upset Rick.

“You could make excellent profit from that,” Max said.

“I cannot buy work of the Ugly, Hidden People.”

Rick straightened up. “I have not registered my work.”

“So I can be the seller of record,” Max said. They needed a desperate trader for this step. Apparently the universe took copyright very seriously, so they needed someone to buy the program and help register the program to Max.

The trader moved around Max, giving him a wide berth. He stopped in front of Rick. “What would inspire you to come here without registering your work on the program.”

Rick rose up to his full height. “My faith in my husband. If you were to take what is mine, he would do great harm. He has killed.”

Max cringed. That was not where he had wanted the conversation to go. When it came to running a good con, Rick was not a good sidekick. However, Max had to back his play. The only way to get this guy to help was to convince him that he could make a good profit and that Max and Rick would take his secret to the grave. That required a united front. “If you try to steal Rick’s program, I will take a very sharp object and shove it into a very tender body part. But, we have a proposition for you. One that might make us both rather wealthy.”

“My continued ability to earn compensation requires that I not trade with Ugly, Hidden People. They have angered most of the universe by claiming territories behind their world, territories they don't have a right to.”

“We do not claim,” Rick protested. “We wish you to not fly through our space. We prevent you from doing that.”

“And that prevents people from reaching any of the space behind your world. To navigate around requires extraordinary time. You know this.” The trader turned to Max. “Do you understand the ways his people anger other people?”

This asshole was trying to drive a wedge between them. He was playing a con of his own. At least, that’s what Max would assume if a human was trying to split a partnership. Max leaned against the computer and rested his hand on his weapon. “My people would congratulate him. In fact, we do tend to claim territory preemptively, sometimes when someone else is already standing on it. Don't look for me to get upset because the rest of the universe can't figure out how to get around their security system.”

The trader whistled, and the computer translated with a whispered, “Fuck you.” He then spoke louder. “I will not trade with Hidden, Ugly People. If I do, I will not have any customers. I need compensation beyond one trade.”

“But what if your customers didn't know that a product came from one of the Hidden People? What if they believe the product came from a previously underestimated species that had been grossly misunderstood?” Max smiled and tapped the screen on Rick’s tablet.

“You are not the genius that created this.”

“We could tell people I was.”

“That would be untruthful.”

“I’m okay telling a lie, especially when the people I’m lying to have mistreated my husband.” Max held his breath. This was it. Either this trader helped him or he threw them out. Or he reported them, and what they were attempting to do was illegal. That was a possibility. 

The trader looked at each of them, but his gaze settled on Max. “You wish to lie to entire universe.”

“Yep.”

Another fluting curse followed, but this time the computer didn’t translate it. Max waited as the trader seemed to debate with himself. Rick slid to Max’s side and wrapped a tentacle around Max’s waist. “You have a square head,” Rick said softly. It took Max a second to realize Rick had called him polonium-headed, although he had been nice enough to leave out the poop reference.

“Other traders will not believe a moron species like humans can write this,” the trader said.

He wanted to do this. Max just had to push a little. “I bet you could convince them.”

“No.” The trader curled his fingers into a fist. “I desire the power to lie to others, but there will be too many questions. I cannot answer questions.”

“I can,” Max said. “With Rick’s help at least. If you work with me, I can convince your customers that I created this, and then you can pay me full price.”

The room went silent. Rick didn’t give a single burp, but his tentacles were drawn up into curled balls. That sent arrows of guilt straight to Max’s gut, but he was doing this for Rick, so he ignored the feeling. Instead he focused on the trader. They needed the man’s connections, and they needed help setting up this scheme; however, whether he would help was up in the air. Max prayed that greed was as strong of a motivation for aliens as it was for humans, and he added a second prayer that the program was as valuable as Rick thought. There was something perverse about praying to help with lying and cheating the law or the trade embargo or whatever shittiness these people had going on, but if that’s what it took, Max would do it.

After a long silence, the trader said, “How good are your people at lying?”

Max grinned. “We’re champions. No one lies better.” Rick’s tentacles balled up tighter, and the trader whistled, but Max could already tell this con was a go.