by Lyn Gala
The second Max closed the outer door to the ship, James was tangling around Max’s legs. “Max Father. The compensation was much highly!” James sang happily. “Others like my weapons!”
“Of course they did.” Max stepped over the clump of tentacles and excited offspring under his feet. “You make wonderful weapons. I’ve told you this.”
“James’s weapon changes are not James’s alone,” Kohei said. “Max Father gives idea.”
“I work math!” James trumpeted.
“I able to math. Idea is more valuable,” Kohei retorted.
Max felt as though he’d stepped back in time to a sibling fight between him and Petey, only now Max was playing the role of mother. “Hey, be nice to each other! Kohei, James has a right to be proud of his work. The weapon is his as much as mine, and he never said I didn’t work with him.” James drew himself up a little taller, so Max shook a finger at him. “And you, young sir, need to share credit. Not only did I work with you, but Xander is risking himself to help run this con, so you have to give him credit too. And I know you had him check your math several times.”
James shrank back down, which inspired entire boat-loads of guilt. Parenting sucked. It was weird, but in the shows Max watched, the parents had to deal with slayer kids and werewolf kids and wizard kids, and those parents never seemed ready to pull their hair out. Well, usually not. Max was surprised he had any hair left, and that was on a normal day.
“We all did well today,” Max finished. James slid away, and Xander ran after him, leaving Max alone with Kohei. Of all the children, Kohei was the one Max connected to least. Maybe it was because Kohei never needed him, not like his brothers. “Cut your brother some slack.”
“He speaks rudely.”
“We’re family. If we can’t be rude to each other, then who are we supposed to be rude to?”
Without a second of hesitation, Kohei said, “Buttfaces.”
Sometimes the kids caught Max so off-guard that he didn’t even have a response. Flying fighter jets required less concentration than parenting. The rules were more direct and the instruments were easier to read.
“If you’re rude to buttfaces, they’re rude back,” Max said. “And sometimes that causes trouble that we don’t want. Family loves us. They have to keep loving us no matter what. So when we’re having a bad day, sometimes we take it out on family.”
Kohei blew raspberries.
“Just don’t assume the worst of your brothers.”
Kohei glided silently away, and Max felt judged. Majorly judged. It dulled some of the pride he had about how the trade had gone, but on the good side, his fear that he was a shitty father mitigated any apprehension about the con.
Max headed deeper into the family section of the ship, the part Rick still wouldn’t allow the children into. Rick wasn’t waiting in the corridor either. Max headed up to their shared quarters, and even before the door opened, a rhythmic banging greeted him. His stomach knotted. It sounded like Rick was throwing everything they owned against the walls. Max hadn’t seen that sort of anger out of Rick, and a little cowardly voice suggested he run for the hills. However, Max didn’t run from fights. Well, except for that one time when his ex had thrown all his clothes off the apartment balcony, but Max called that a strategic retreat.
When he triggered the door to open, he braced himself for a shit-throwing fit and broken possessions. Instead Rick was braced on the edge of the bed with a mechanical panel open and he was pounding a piece into the back of it. He didn’t even pause his work to announce, “I reviewed recordings. You are moron.”
“I am a moron,” Max corrected him, “and no, I am not.” Maybe he shouldn’t poke Rick’s grammar, but that felt like a safer conversation than the one Rick wanted to have. Max sat on the edge of the bed, and Rick lowered the tool he’d been using and shifted so his eyes were on level with Max’s.
“You lack logic.”
“I can’t argue with that,” Max said with a shrug. His measuring stick for logic was Mr. Spock, and he fell so far short of that mark that it wasn’t even funny. He couldn’t even match a love-pollen-infected Spock for logic. No shame in that.
Rick tilted and then rotated to consider Max through multiple eyes. “Clarify your clarification.”
Max grinned. Distraction level: master. Even now Rick’s tentacles were relaxing. “My first statement is a correction of your grammar. My second statement is truth. I am not a moron.”
“True and illogical is mutually exclusive and you are illogical.”
“I am not.”
“You am too.”
“Am not.”
“Am too,” Rick shot back.
“Awww. Are we fighting?”
Rick froze. For a second he was like a giant stuffed octopus sitting on the bed. Only his eyes moved as they slowly rotated in their sockets. Then his tentacles all twitched. “Nausea, heartburn, indigestion, upset stomach, diarrhea!” Rick bugled.
“You watch too much television.”
More tentacle twitching. “Television truths are still truths.”
Max studied Rick. When they’d talked before, Rick had said he was fine with this plan, but something had changed. Max toed off his shoes and pulled his feet up under him. “Okay, tell me in small, simple words why you believe I am a moron.”
“You are a moron.” Rick sank onto the bed.
“So you say.” Max sighed. “Clarify. Query. Why do you believe I am a moron?”
“Max presents self as violent.” The smaller tentacles curled.
Max held a hand out, but Rick kept his tentacles to himself. “I can be.” He kept his tone gentle.
“Nature of you not is violent. You could have given away my program to Hunters. You only are violent with Hunters when Hunters only say threat of violence against offspring.” Rick trumpeted again.
Max was starting to think that Rick’s grammar in his own language went to shit when he got upset. Either that or his accent got thicker or something because the computer struggled to get a coherent sentence out of Rick’s more dramatic proclamations. “I see that you’re upset,” Max said slowly. He wasn’t good at handling relationship conflicts. Hell, he wasn’t even minimally competent at it; however, for Rick he had to try.
“You are moron,” Rick said when Max took too long to finish his thought.
“Probably. I missed how much this would upset you, and I regret that.”
Instead of soothing Rick, that made all his tentacles curl. “You planned threat of violence!” The voice was so loud that Max flinched away from the sound. Damn.
“I had to convince them I wasn’t a moron.”
“You are moron! You intent perception violence!”
Max caught Rick’s tentacle and worked his fingers inside the tight curl. “They had a certain impression of what humans are like.”
“Correct impression. Morons.”
“Incorrect impression. Harmless. Helpless.”
Rick’s tentacle relaxed a tiny fraction. “The danger is that they will underestimate humans. You saw the television shows from Earth. You know the truth.”
When he spoke, Rick’s voice was as soft as Max had ever heard it. “Soap operas. Science fiction. Westerns.”
It would be so easy to allow Rick to deceive himself, but Max didn’t want to feel like a fraud, not with Rick. “News. Documentaries. War. Atrocities. Pol Pot. Hitler. Rwanda. Riots.”
Rick’s tentacles balled up again. “That humans are not Max human.”
Max sighed. “No, and I hope I never see the sort of violence I’ve watched on the news, but I am trained to fight. My grandfather fought people who followed Hitler, and my family is proud of how many he killed. I’m proud of protecting my family against Hunters.” Max swallowed a knot of fear and asked, “Are you frightened of me because I’m human?” Max couldn’t blame Rick if he was. Television broadcasts of the chaos after the Nish invasion made humans look slightly psychotic.
“No fear.” Rick flowed forwar
d, his tentacles everywhere at once, and Max fell back onto the bed, and Rick’s weight pinned him to the mattress. “I do fear nothing with you. I fear for you.” The computer missed the next bit of whale song. “If others peoples believe humans are to be feared, they will treat you poorly. They hate Hunters almost as much as Uglies.”
“Hidden people,” Max corrected him. “I assume they hate Hunters in part because they hunt. I am not hunting. I am trading.”
“Trading weapons,” Rick said.
Max wished they had a copy of the trading translator and its ability to translate tone. Without knowing how Rick felt when saying that, Max was a bit in the dark. It was like trying to have a conversation through text—one where the other person didn’t know how to use emojis. The tentacles helped, but there was a wide range of unhappy, and Max wasn’t sure which variation was turning Rick into a side order of curly fries. “Trading weapons brings in resources,” Max said softly. “James helped make those weapons and Xander helped me sell them. I am proud that we’re working together to beat these assholes.”
“I would prefer to hide.”
Max spread his fingers and waited while Rick curled tentacles around them. “I will protect you.”
“Who will protect Max?” Rick asked.
Max sighed. It was a serious question, especially when he didn’t understand the psychology and legal system involved. Honestly, Max would have been more comfortable if he had someone on his six, and Xander didn’t count. It was Max’s job to protect him, not the other way around.
“Silly rabbit, Trix are for kids,” Rick said.
“I have no idea what you mean by that,” Max said.
Rick shifted around, and Max umphed when he caught a tentacle in the stomach. “Sorries.” He settled next to Max on the bed. “Meaning. I am not made for providing helping. The Hidden people are best at hiding.”
“Ah.” Max got it now. Fear was a powerful motivator, and it might explain Rick’s sudden desire to bang on the equipment. Max remembered when he’d gone home senior year and told his parents that he’d gotten an ROTC scholarship. His mother had lost all the color out of her face, and she’d been so scared that her little boy would get killed. Funny enough, back then alien abduction had not been on the list of rational fears. “My human family worried about me fighting, too.”
“Extreme discomfort. They see you as violent—they prepare countermeasures with violence.”
Max sighed. “I know that. I understand that violence is a double-edged sword.”
“Violent individual uses sword, but sword is less worrisome than projectile and energy weapons.”
Max laughed. “True.” He stroked Rick’s tentacle. “I will be more careful. I had to change their minds about humans. I had to convince them humans and harmless were not equivalent.”
“Do not work too hard to accomplish that goal,” Rick said. Max could imagine a fearful tone in those belches.
“Coming home to you will always be my first priority.” Max traced circles on the back of Rick’s largest tentacle.
“Perfect.”
“But I would like to make the rest of the universe pay proper compensation, too,” Max added.
Rick made loud farting noises. No doubt that was an editorial comment, but in this case ignorance was bliss. Max had no idea what it meant. And right now, he didn’t care. He’d had a stressful day, and he had time to cuddle in bed with his Rick. That was all he cared about at this moment. He closed his eyes and let the stress of the day fade as he concentrated on the feel of smooth tentacles caressing his arm.
Chapter Eleven
Max was in the main corridor when Xander appeared with the equipment cart. “You ready?” Max called. Xander didn’t answer, but James darted around the cart and came hurrying down the passage. “Max Father, I will go with you!” James announced loudly. The doors at the end opened again and both Rick and Kohei appeared. Apparently, they were having a family reunion.
“James is annoying,” Xander blurted in English.
Max ignored the outburst. “I appreciate that James, but you need to stay here.”
“No. I help Max Father.” James stopped, forcing Xander to halt the cart. James was staging a sit-in. That seemed dangerous given how many tentacles he had and the weight of the cart Xander was controlling. It wasn’t as if Xander was too small to retaliate anymore. Max knew he was going to regret letting them watch Earth television. It had crappy role models for sibling behavior.
Max looked helplessly toward Rick who hurried down the corridor. After a few seconds, Rick slid forward and curled a tentacle around James’s torso. “Max Husband must work without offspring.”
James shoved his father’s tentacle away. “Untrue. Xander goes with Max Father.”
“Xander has talent with language. Xander can assist.”
James aimed his biggest eye at his brother. If octopus could’ve killed with a glare, Xander’s days would have been numbered. James’s tentacles were stiff as he said, “I can assist.”
Rick moved closer to James. “I too wish to go with Max Husband. But my talent is programming, and I am not of help where Max Husband goes. Therefore, I logically stay.”
“My talent is weapons. Cranky female-presenting creature requests help for weapons. Therefore, I go.” With each word, James's voice grew louder. Substantially.
Rick leaned his torso toward Max, which he interpreted as a request for backup. Max moved to Rick’s side. “Hey, kiddo. I wish you could go. In a fair universe, she would listen to your suggestions because you are very good at engineering. I bet you could do wonderful things if you came. But people aren't fair. The universe isn't fair. And if you came, she would not listen to you.”
James’s tentacles grew stiffer. Max had a flashback to Pete throwing a fit about Max’s school camping trip where he had not been invited. Rick might talk about how offspring were born mature, but Max was fairly sure he was full of shit, because James was gearing up for a toddler temper tantrum.
“She ignores Xander,” Max explained. “She is a rude poopy face with Xander.”
Xander made bubbly noises of agreement. Max was lucky that Xander had less of a temper than James did or both, their potential client and James, would get an earful about how poopy they were being.
“She ignores Xander because Xander has talent with useless language. I have talent with weapons. With ships.” After James made that proclamation, Xander grabbed at his brother’s closest leg. James grabbed back. Before Max could do anything, Kohei had waded into the middle of the match and grabbed both brothers. He was so much stronger than Xander and James that he pulled them apart, and Rick caught James and held him to one side.
“Xander, take the cart out,” Max said.
Xander spat at Kohei and said something untranslatable to James before he headed toward the door.
“I could help Max Father!” James said.
Max could imagine the wealth of frustration he would hear if they had the fancy business translator. And he got it. He did. As much as he hadn’t wanted to be assigned to active combat, he remembered the frustration of watching other pilots get those positions. He’d railed against the unfairness of never getting the opportunity to prove himself, all because someone had spread a true rumor about his homosexuality where an Afghani translator overheard it. It sucked knowing that you weren’t welcome, and it broke Max’s heart that James felt shut out.
“You are brilliant,” Max said as soon as Xander was safely out of the fray. Hopefully that meant James was listening.
“Much annoying with brilliance,” Rick added.
Max grinned at him. “Yep, you make good offspring,” he told Rick. The undulating tentacles suggested that Rick appreciated the compliment, even if James was still all stiff tentacles. “But kiddo, Carrington has this screwed-up idea that your people aren't worth trading with, just like she had a screwed-up idea that humans were useless and harmless.”
“You taught her of screwing up perception with humans
. Teach her different with Hidden People,” James demanded.
“I am trying very hard to do exactly that,” Max said. Having to look James in his eyes and tell him that the world was unfair—that sucked. Maybe if they could earn enough money, they could reveal the true author of the navigation program and then move to a part of space with absolutely no sentient life. Max was starting to think sentience was overrated. His family and a dog, and he’d be happy.
“Return to waters,” Rick said.
“I’m not dry,” James argued. He was sounding more like a toddler every second.
“Then go elsewhere.” Rick’s volume did imply snapping.
With more gentleness than Max expected, Kohei herded his little brother toward the door that led back into the main living areas. Max watched them go. “I hate this universe. Star Trek promised me that space was going to be better.”
“Star lied,” Rick said. “I didn’t know I hated until you showed me reason for much hate. I am unsure whether you should say sorries or I should be grateful.”
That was a pretty damn good summary of the whole fucked-up situation. “Maybe both.”
“Logical and illogical.” Rick blew bubbles. “Humans make life odd.”
Max huffed. “That we do.” He held a hand out toward Rick, and he curled a tentacle around it.
Rick didn’t speak for several minutes. “I worry. Carrington is not with trustworthiness. Be very carefuls.”
“I will,” Max promised. “Trust me, I know all these people are backstabbers. They want profit, and they will hurt people to get it.”
“They possibility hurt Max,” Rick corrected him.
“I won’t let them,” Max promised.
Rick tightened his tentacle around Max’s wrist. “Do not make with more violent words.”
No one could do guilt like Rick. He was a master of the art. Max curled his fingers around Rick’s tentacle and held on. He couldn’t make promises, not when he wasn’t sure how Carrington was going to treat him. Now that he had broken them out of the fallacy of believing humans harmless.
Rick headed after the kids. Feeling slightly worthless as a father and more stressed than ever, Max headed into the muggy morning air. This morning, the planet smelled of something sweet and earthy, like a strawberry that had gone off. Max sneezed, and Xander’s tentacles flew up in the air.
