by Lyn Gala
“Are we done insulting each other? Can we get on with business, or does this ritual need to continue longer for you?” Max asked the room in general.
The Carrington alien answered. “I require clarification on the ritual you reference.” Now that Max had named her Alexis Carrington, he was having a hard time thinking of the alien as anything other than a “she” even though he had no idea how the species understood sex or gender.
“I'm referencing this metaphorical pissing contest we're having. People on Earth quite often do this when they don't know each other, particularly when they believe they are in competition with one another. They push and threaten. They brag about their accomplishments, such as killing a whole group of Hunters while defending my ship and family, you know that sort of thing.”
“Do you believe we would engage in Earth ceremony?” Carrington asked with unvarnished confusion. She was at least eight feet tall, so she peered down at him, her neck gill things flapping. The only other Tribes alien Max had seen had been his social worker, Heetayu, and that one had been even taller. Max was grateful there weren’t more Tribes aliens around because it made him intensely uncomfortable to stand near an alien who was so much larger. However, he wasn’t going to back down, especially not to someone wearing a yellow and fuchsia floppy hat.
“Sentient life comes with a territorial imperative and a need to defend what is theirs. Am I wrong?”
Carrington looked around at the gathered aliens as though expecting backup. The others watched her without offering a single word of support. She turned back to Max. “You adequately describe basic universal psychology. But there is no territory to claim here.”
“Sure there is. Compensation is a form of territory. With more compensation, one may claim more ships and more land. Compensation is the core of territory. It is my desire to have a more stable territory with adequate fuel. That drives me to share my weapon design. My instinct says I should keep it to myself. After all, if no one else has my weapon, then I am unique and no one else can build a defense system against it.”
“That is a violent way of seeing the world,” one of the Pajekh said.
“I can be a violent man. I was chosen by my people as a defender. I was in a machine attempting to engage the Nish because of it. I was specifically chosen because of my accuracy in using weapons to kill others and I was trained to improve that skill.”
Another Pajekh pulled all his tentacles up under his pith helmet like a hermit crab pulling all the vulnerable bits into the shell. That was a rather unambiguous sign of distress.
“But I would rather sell my inventions. Fighting is never my first choice,” Max said before he freaked out the aliens any more. He wanted to be taken seriously, not to have everyone assume he was a psychopath. “But when I came to talk to Bundy here, I found out that you all assume that humans are morons, and that I was one more moron on the family tree.”
“I have not said that,” Carrington said. She drew up to her full eight feet and then did that neck fold trick to look him in the eye.
Max shrugged. “You’re thinking it loudly.” One alien twitched his tentacles and two more shrunk down the way Rick sometimes did when he was so upset the center tentacle curled. Maybe Max shouldn’t have made jokes about telepathy. However, stress had broken his humor button back when he had first joined the Air Force, and the assholes that ruled the universe were not going to improve his ability to control his mouth.
“Humans are morons,” an alien Max hadn’t seen before said. He resembled a fringed purse, complete with two impossibly long “arms” that could pass for the handle. But Max had never seen anyone with bad enough taste to carry goose poop-green accessories. “They have not yet achieved space flight.”
“Well, no. We haven’t.” Max had prepared an answer for this. “As near as I can figure, the dinosaurs were roaming the Earth when the rest of you found space. My people weren’t even on the horizon. So considering that we started the race after the rest of you had finished and left that part of the galaxy, I don’t think we’re doing so bad. We have, after all, visited other planets in our solar system.”
“Clarify dinosaurs,” the purse demanded.
“The dominant life form on the planet when your ancestors were still in that part of the universe. They were all killed by a meteor strike that damaged the environment and killed all large lifeforms.”
Carrington said, “Then the dinosaurs were the morons for not reaching space before the disaster. That is why reasonable species reach for outside their one planet. Accidents happen.” She sounded very proud of that proclamation.
“Well, not really. You see, there had been three or four extinction level events that had already destroyed the environment before that. Our planet is a dangerous neighborhood.” Max hadn’t thought about it before, but knowing that life had to keep restarting did make him wonder why people hadn’t panicked about having to reach space earlier. It shouldn’t have taken a high-speed Nish pursuit to convince people that the planet was fragile.
Now aliens were looking at each other and tapping away on computer pads. Max had stirred them up.
“Now maybe we can discuss your complete inefficiency at developing weapons,” Max said. “The wide scatter focus on the laser weapon that I confiscated off a certain Hunter that invaded my ship was completely inefficient. The targeting system is so inadequate that I couldn't fire from a distance at all, and even up close, it failed to adequately deliver the one thing I expect from a weapon—the ability to kill.”
Oh yeah, Cinnamon Carter had nothing on him.
Chapter Nine
Bundy waited until all the aliens had left before he said, “Humans might not be morons.”
“That is probably true,” Max said.
Xander made an amused burbling, but then he’d watched enough American television to know why Max felt the need to qualify that statement. After all, politicians were part of the human race, as much as Max would like to have denied that fact, and Max was not going to stand up for their collective intelligence. Officers assigned to Air Force One ended up more jaded than ones who served in active arenas.
Bundy continued. “The weapon design sold for more than anticipated.”
“Yep.” Max continued packing the cart. Xander handed him a prototype weapon to secure in the locking compartment. “The next thing I want to sell is the English translation database, but not until someone offers a ridiculous amount of money.” The one time Max had walked into a department store in New York City he had learned the power of brand. If the store was a big name and the product had name-recognition, then people lost their ever-loving minds and paid hundreds or thousands of dollars on a pair of frickin’ jeans. He needed people to put humanity in the same mental category as Tom Ford or Louis Vuitton.
“Clarify ridiculous,” Bundy said.
Max didn’t know if the word failed to translate or if Bundy was looking for a specific amount. He turned to face the alien. “Don’t sell until a buyer gives you more money that you think is even reasonable. Then sell.”
Bundy blurted, “I retain sixty percent.”
“Oh hell no,” Max snapped. “The translation program took much more time to create than the weapons. I know weapons, but having to work with words.... Oh, someone is going to pay me for that. You get twenty percent.”
“Twenty is below standard!” Bundy’s horror and anger came through his fancy translation program. Max hoped Xander was getting good samples to reverse engineer with their own translation program. Max had a fantasy of hearing the lust in Rick’s voice when they tangled limbs. As much as Max knew the feeling was there, he wanted to hear it—not that he planned to admit that to his son.
“Fifty-seven,” Bundy countered.
“Twenty.”
“Fifty-five.”
Max straightened and studied Bundy for a second. “Standard and not one percentage more. There are many traders who would work with me now. Carrington showed a lot of interest.”
She had won the
bid on the weapon plans, so clearly she thought there was profit in working with a human. Bundy drew his mouth up into an even more puckery pucker before agreeing. With that, he left, and Xander and Max were left alone to secure the cart before heading back to the ship.
“Max Father is brilliant,” Xander said in English.
Max turned his translator off. “That was the easy part,” he said. “I didn’t make any claims that weren’t true. The weapon design and the translation program are easy to pass off as mine because they are, more or less. James is better with the specific math, but I understand the theory behind all the changes we made. It’s going to be harder to convince them I am capable of the sort of math your father does.”
“They were full of fear. Very, very fearful.”
“No, they were cautious and wary,” Max said.
“Wary and fearful are functional synonyms,” Xander said.
Max locked the last compartment and stood. “No, they aren’t.” He gathered his thoughts because he didn’t want to teach Xander to use fear to get his way. Max hated bullies, and he wasn’t going to raise one. “If they were afraid, they would run away from me. They didn’t. They are wary because they are suddenly aware that I am dangerous.”
“But if you pose a danger, would that not imply that their lives are in danger?” Xander asked.
“No. It implies that if they do something stupid to make me angry that their lives will be in danger, which is an excellent reason to avoid making me angry.”
Xander didn’t answer. With him, silence meant he was thinking hard. It was funny how different the children were. Kohei was quiet more often than not. He would occasionally ask questions and he loved to curl around Max’s leg when he was telling stories or when they watched television, but he wasn’t a talker. James, on the other hand, never stopped talking. It drove Rick nuts, although Max thought his enthusiasm was cute.
They guided the cart into the night air, and the winds whipped around them. “I think a storm is coming in.”
Xander tucked himself down on the side of the cart protected from the wind, and Max moved to the back of the cart to shelter him. “Are you okay?” Max asked. Xander wasn’t a child restricted to the water because of fragile skin, but Max still worried about him.
Xander wrapped a long tentacle around Max’s wrist. “I am well.” He triggered the rolling mechanism for the cart, and they rumbled toward the docks. The wind blew so hard that it whistled between the buildings and the raised walkways. Little whirlwinds danced through the pool of light cast by the strips that lined the undersides of what looked like gutters.
Max noticed that the streets were mostly empty, and he got the same creepy feeling he got during his short deployment to Bagram Airfield when it got too quiet. He wasn’t superstitious enough to think it meant anything, but in Afghanistan, when it was quiet, he had time to think about the suicide bombers, the hatred and terrorism outside the secured perimeter. That probably explained why the servicemen and women spent so much time trying to keep busy.
But he had that same eerie feeling now as they walked through the empty streets. He had too much time to think about what he had said, and Max’s stomach was tied in knots. This could all go so very, very bad.
Xander leaned closer. “You say you hoped to encourage their avoidance of your anger. Is that why you mentioned human affection for children?”
“Yeah. If any of those people hurt you, I would feel the need to hurt them back. They need to understand that danger.”
Xander tightened his grip around Max’s wrist. “The Hidden people retain privacy around their reactions.”
“I think the word you want is secrecy,” Max said, “Keeping secrets can be good. It means that people can’t predict you well enough to counter your moves. However, sometimes people need to understand what you're capable of.”
“So they can be wary of you,” Xander finished. “Do you want them to fear you?”
Boy that was a loaded question. Max would rather be feared than treated like a moron, that was for sure. And the universe had put humans in that category. “No. I don't,” he said, since that was mostly true. It was funny, but Rick never asked the sort of questions that forced Max to sort his thoughts. But children.... Children made his brain bend in directions that a brain wasn't meant to. “I don't want people to believe that I am so irrational that they have to be wary that my reaction will be violence when they haven't done anything to provoke violence. Do you understand?”
“Query. Do all humans feel the same?”
“No. I wish they did.” There would be fewer wars if everyone had the same philosophy. “Some people like it when others are afraid.” The opposite was also true. Max had known a few too many people in high school that hadn’t been willing to warn their friends off any sort of bad behavior. Being popular was more important than being right. “Humans have much more variety in their reactions.”
They reached the end of the shopping and residential district and as they left the buildings behind, the night grew darker and the wind stronger. Luckily the path had running lights or Max might have walked right off the damn edge. “Query. Is this subject related to bullying?” Xander asked.
“Where did you hear that term?”
“After school specials.”
Those things had been the stuff of legend when Max was young—they were more his parents’ generation. “Okay, I know no one is showing afterschool specials anymore. I haven’t even seen them, and I’ve heard enough about them that I can safely say you should not use them to understand human behavior.”
“I watched a documentary explanation of the function of afterschool specials. The function resembles educational videos shown by Rick Father.”
Max doubted that. He was fairly sure they were more about wishful thinking and making kids conform, but then he’d never seen one, so what did he know. It did, however, make him worry about what else the kids might have seen when Rick had been grabbing signals Earth put into space.
Max didn’t answer until he saw a figure near the tower that marked the beginning of the spaceship parking lot. “Hey look, there's your father.” Max was about to call out a greeting when Rick turned and skedaddled back toward the ship. He paused. “Rick Father gets weirder every day,” Max said.
“He is a good counterpart for Max Father.” Xander blurbled with amusement.
“Dork.” Max tried to turn on his translator and communication device, but Xander wouldn’t move his damn tentacle.
“Rick Father hopes to quarantine any potential cooties,” Xander explained.
Max stopped and pulled Xander around so they were face to sorta-face. “You and your father and your brothers do not have cooties. Now the rest of the universe, I'm fairly sure they do. You know how you were asking me about bullies? They are bullies. They have bully cooties.”
Xander tilted his head. “They do not inspire fear. I can be in a room with them without wanting to run away.”
“Really?” Max asked. “If I hadn't been there, would you have stayed in a room with all of those judgmental, rude people?”
“If Max Father had not been there, there would be no reason for me to be there.” Xander had annoyingly perfect logic while still managing to miss the point.
“Query. Do you need compensation?”
“Currently, I do not. I am satisfied to remain with Rick Father and Max Father within immediate future. I would stay for when younger brothers appear.”
Damn. That conversation took an unexpected turn rather quickly. Tabling the discussion of future children, Max returned to his main point. “Your father is afraid that he will not receive compensation for his work. They use fear to take something from him and better their own trading. That makes them bullies.”
“In contrary, Rick Father accepts lower compensation that is natural. He has no fear, therefore they do not bully.”
Max was seeing red so strongly that he had to take a deep breath before he yelled at his kid. He knew that Xander
was being logical from a certain completely fucked-up point of view; however, he was not going to let his children accept an unfair universe. It was better to go down fighting than let bullies get away with bullying without a single protest.
“No, he only thinks it's natural,” Max said. “They have bullied the Hidden People for so long that people accept the bullying. But that embargo on your home planet was intended to create fear and make the people change their behavior.”
“They hoped fear of lack of compensation would make Hidden People unhide the Hidden Planet,” Xander said.
“Exactly. So they are using fear, only there’s this weird acceptance, and I don’t accept anyone hurting my family.”
“Which implies they are a threat and you feel justified in the use of violence,” Xander said.
Max blew out a breath. He wasn’t sure how Xander could be so right and so brilliantly wrong at the same time. “They are a threat to compensation, so I counter their threat with an attack on compensation.”
Xander’s tentacles waved. “I comprehend.”
Max had learned that when it came to the children, or any pseudo-octopus members of the family, it was best to double check comprehension. “What do you comprehend?”
“Clarify. I comprehend Max Father fears his family will not receive compensation and respect. That means the others bully Max Father, and that is wrong. You should commit compensation violence against them.” With that, Xander uncurled his tentacle and turned the speed up on the cart so it bounced down the walk toward the distant ship.
“That’s not what I said,” Max called, but Xander simply waved a few tentacles without slowing the cart.
Children. Max wondered if the human variety were as difficult to raise. If so, he owed his mother flowers and about a fuck-ton of good chocolate.
Chapter Ten
Rick was not waiting inside the door. Kohei and James were. Xander might have been the tallest brother, but Kohei was starting to develop thick tentacles.
