by Lyn Gala
“I love them,” Max said gently. “Come get to know them. Eventually we will have the money to fly back to Earth, and you can come with us.”
She backed away a step. “You have to know how much those things creep me out.”
Max loved Dee the way he loved all the guys in his unit. These were the people he’d trained with, fought with, drank with. He knew them better than he knew his biological family, and lots of spouses got jealous of how close the guys in the unit were. However, he would not choose her over his family. “You can’t come into my house and insult the children I’m raising,” he said firmly. “My children.”
“You can’t—”
Max didn’t wait to find out what she thought he couldn’t do. “I’m happy to introduce you to Rick if you can be polite, but I don’t want to argue with you, and I have work I need to finish. I’ve convinced a trader that her ship has security vulnerabilities, so now I hope to make a little money by selling her equipment to fill in those gaps. Come back in three or four hours, and we can share some food and you can meet Rick.” He backed away from her.
He read shock in her expression. As Max retreated, that transformed to dismay. Max turned and fled up the ramp to the ship before the guilt made him do something stupid... like invite her to move in with them so she didn’t have to be alone.
He didn’t have to trigger the door mechanism or wait for it because Kohei stood watching through a crack in the door. As Max approached, he moved back and the door slid open. Max ran home.
Chapter Sixteen
Max leaned against the equipment cart and watched Carrington’s head of security lower the weapon. “What do you think?” he asked.
“It is an excellent improvement,” she said.
Max had no idea if she was a she, but the Tribes aliens with their elaborate dress and triangular faces made him think female. He was a horrible person for making that assumption, but Max didn’t have the energy to worry about his lack of woke-ness right now. He had a con to run, and so he let his brain make the assumption that Tribes aliens were very tall women with muscular, jointed necks.
Besides, if asking for a name was taboo, then asking about reproductive organs seemed whatever level was two steps beyond taboo. Scandalizing maybe. Infuriating was a possibility. And Max did not want to infuriate this Tribes alien he had nicknamed Xena. She had grasped the mechanics of the weapon and had proved a deadly shot. She would not have fallen for the same shit the Hunter aliens had, so either their prowess at hunting was overrated or Tribes aliens were skilled warriors as well as willing to take jobs as social workers. It was almost human of them.
“I'm glad you approve. I brought some armor for you to try on as well,” Max said as she took another shot. She didn’t even line it up. She lifted and fired in one motion. And she still hit the target. Damn.
Xena craned her neck around one hundred and eighty degrees, and Max suppressed an instinctive shudder. She said, “That word did not translate. Clarify armor.”
“Armor is protective clothing that is used to counter the weapons of others.” Now that English had been added to the business translation computer and an obscene amount of compensation had been added to Max's bank account, communication was easier, but not perfect. And more annoying, Rick did not have an expensive business computer license. So the one person Max yearned to freely communicate with, he couldn't.
He could if he and Rick were somewhere like Carrington's ship, but if they were on her ship, they couldn’t do half of the things they wanted to. Maybe a quarter because Max did like to do a lot of things other than have sex. He would enjoy being able to discuss whether or not Buffy the Vampire Slayer should have made Xander come out of the closet without a lack of emotional context and translation matrix failure. The more he had that improved communication with other aliens, the more he ached to share it with Rick.
However, they had researched the price of a license, and even their much-improved budget couldn’t handle that sort of expense. It would compromise their ability to buy supplies and update the computers. And since Rick made his living with those computers, the updates had to come first. And improved security and engines came second, and the translation computer was far enough down on their wish list that Max didn’t think about it. Or he tried not to.
The door opened and a rush of humidity flooded the room. Xena turned around and put the weapon on Max’s equipment cart before lowering her head in respect. That turned her neck into a broken S-shape, and Max looked away as a cold shiver shot up his spine.
“I see you are seeking to improve your financial position through my credits again,” Carrington said. The gill slits on her neck quivered.
“I do provide the best weaponry out there. I assume you want the best.”
“I am very concerned about claiming the best of everything.”
Max had named her well when he’d called her Carrington. Her love for oversized hats and her desire to own nice things were the two constants he could count on from her. He found her much more relaxing to be around than Bundy. He understood Bundy and found him useful. Given that Bundy was making a ton of money acting as their representative, Bundy had started sucking up.
But there was something about Carrington that struck Max as human. Download her brain into Alexis Carrington's body, and she could’ve walked the streets of Denver, and no one would know the difference. It was nice to be around an alien that Max felt like he could predict.
For example, he had predicted Carrington would drop in on the sales call. Max hadn't asked for her, and theoretically, he was meeting with Xena to discuss arms and equipment. However, the second Rick had registered his program in Max’s name, Max knew that Carrington was going to make an appearance. And he could even predict what she was going to do.
“I enjoy being compensated for my work. But then, I think that's a universal sentiment. I don't know of anyone who likes to be underpaid.”
“I consent.” Carrington bent her neck downward, and Max avoided the sight of that unnatural curve. Still reminded him of a bird's broken neck. “I acknowledge you registered a copyright on a new program this morning.”
Bingo. That is exactly where Max had expected this conversation to go.
“I did,” he said in a mild tone. “That has been my main project for months. I work on arms and more physical projects when I need to take a break.”
“Even when you were carrying the Ugly offspring?” Carrington blinked at him.
“Even when I was pregnant with the Hidden offspring,” he corrected her.
Her gills quivered.
“Anyway, I am letting Bundy handle the auction on that program. I don’t know what the navigation program is worth.”
Carrington moved closer. “I have the ability to administrate the sale,” she said.
What a beautifully greedy bitch she was. Max loved it. Feeling almost as if he was back on Earth, he shook his head. “I have an agreement with Bundy. I won’t go back on my word to him.”
She stood straight, her neck lengthening. “Are you aware that only sentience that is capable of producing a protector can deeply understand honor? Other species only know words and rules and laws of honor.” She looked at Xena. Xena tilted her head to the side and turned so she showed the underside of her chin.
Max packed the weapons away. He doubted he could get Xena to purchase any body armor, not with Carrington making her play for the bigger prize. “That’s interesting. I imagine you have psychologists who spend their lives comparing the thought processes of different species. That would be an interesting career.” Max would’ve rather scooped out his own brain, but someone would find it fascinating. “I trust that you have honor because I believe you will not manufacture weapons without purchasing the rights even though Xena understands every alteration I have made.”
“I do,” Xena agreed. “I would not have thought of such changes, but seeing them, I understand the theory and function. I will pay you because you have brought value to these wea
pons and I will not dishonor value.”
“I appreciate that.” And Max did. It was good to know that Carrington’s crew didn’t plan to cheat him.
Carrington slid another inch closer, and Max was uncomfortable with her proximity. He suspected she was trying to buddy up to him to get the profits from the navigation program. “You have brought value to navigation. That value is not as obvious to understand.”
“I’m not going to cut Bundy out of the deal.” Max wanted the buyers hungry and competitive before bidding started. That was why he had come out to show Xena his newest weapon design. People wanted what was right in front of them, and Max needed to be in front of the prospective buyers to make them want the program more. He was going to go visit Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum later. The two Pajekhs had purchased his first weapon and had asked him to do a security check on their ship. Their language was closer to human and less likely to give Max a headache, but the Spaceballs aliens left him trying to avoid giggling. But they had credits, and Max planned to let them try to lure him into selling them a copy under the table. He wouldn’t because that would undermine the final auction price, but he would let them make their play so they could taste that program and want it even more.
Luckily greed was universal. Even Bundy had to admit that Max was good at marketing his work.
“You have honor. But you do not have obligation of honor to Bundy,” Carrington said. “He is buyer and seller. He has no honor to you.”
“Oh, I am sure you’re right about that,” Max said. Bundy would’ve stabbed him in the back for a credit. Or at least have done the financial equivalent. “But he took a chance on my work when everyone else thought I was a moron.”
“You are a warrior. Warriors and protectors are not morons,” Xena bellowed.
“Thank you.” Max appreciated the support. “But a lot of people made assumptions.” Max didn’t add that the people on the law-enforcement ship had no business doing any sort of assessment of new species because they were morons.
“Both humans in custody appeared to lack cognitive skills,” Carrington said. “That is evidence in support of claim. Not assumption.”
Max flinched at the mention of Dee. She had not come back that night or in the week since she had visited. He felt like an ass for not running after her, for not doing something to make her see that his family would welcome her and she didn’t have to be alone. He couldn’t imagine what her life had been like at the docks. She said nightly lodging and food were free, but man or woman couldn’t live by reconstituted vitamin cubes alone. Hell, she didn’t even have a volleyball she could paint a face on. He remembered sitting in the maintenance shaft and crying because he felt so damn lonely, and he hadn’t been alone.
She had.
“We were injured and had too many new ideas introduced at once. I hear the Chosen did not handle it well when they learned of other sentient life in the universe.”
Xena made a bugling noise.
Carrington tilted her head. “You speak factually.”
“Thank you. I like to be factual.” Max locked the equipment cart before picking up the remote. It was time for him to go home.
“Humans are factual.” Carrington repeated herself. Max turned on the cart and started it toward the exit. Damn, this ship was humid. Max would have to change clothes when he got home because he had just about sweated through this one. He could have entered a wet T-shirt competition with it.
Carrington walked beside him. She was persistent. “Being factual, you should understand well that I would handle your sales more effectively.”
“I am happy with the effectiveness of Bundy.” Max smiled at her. He wondered if she took that as a friendly or threatening gesture. He didn’t care, but he did increase the speed of the equipment cart.
“There are facts which make me an improved administrator of your sales. There are facts that would endanger your ability to make sales,” she said as she followed him.
Max didn’t stop the cart, but he stopped to study her for a second before turning his attention back to it before he drove it into a wall. “That sounds slightly mobbish.”
“Clarify the term mobbish,” she said.
“Mob. Dishonorable individuals who work together to break the law or earn compensation by making others feel threatened or threatening them.” Huh. Max was getting good at being a dictionary.
Carrington’s neck gills slapped shut. “I am not lacking honor.”
“I never said you were,” Max said before he could drive his best customer away. “Your statement sounded like a threat, so the statement sounded mobbish, not you.”
Carrington followed as Max approached the main exit. Fresh air from outside leaked through the thick ship air like water through a sieve, assuming that water seeped through that sieve in such small quantities that a person was desperate for more. The humidity was killing Max. “From a certain perspective, perhaps,” Carrington admitted. “I dislike how humans see perspective.”
Max laughed. “We are annoying,” he agreed. He increased the cart’s speed now that he saw the open door.
“I would ensure you compensation beyond the ensuring of honorless Bundy,” Carrington tried again. She was the most persistent alien ever. Well, other than Rick, but that didn’t count because Max liked Rick.
“Max!” a voice called out in English. For a half second, Max feared Xander had followed him, but Xander’s voice was lower and more sing-song than clipped like this one. Dee raced toward him. “Run!” she screamed.
Max’s feet engaged before he could consider motives or possibilities. His squad member told him he had to run, so he dropped the cart’s remote and sprinted toward the exit. A Tribes alien came out of a side door, and Max went into a controlled slide, his feet forward, the sides of them digging up the slime that covered the ship’s floor. He hit the Tribe’s alien in the ankle, and with a bugle, the creature went down.
It scrambled to catch Max, but all it caught was the edge of a shirt that ripped when Max jerked free. He dashed for the open air, but the second he broke free, he spotted the line waiting for him. People of Red, their violet stripes and lips—their operatic cries as they spotted Max—their law-enforcer uniforms. Oh fuck. Something had gone wrong.
A body crashed into him from behind, and then human hands clutched his arm. “Oh fuck,” Dee whispered, an echo of his own thoughts. Yep, that about summed it up. An alien raised a stunning weapon, and Max raised his hands in surrender.
Chapter Seventeen
Max followed the lead law-enforcement alien, but most of his attention was on Dee who walked beside him. He had no idea what she had done, but she had done something. He knew it. He kept glaring at her, but she was immune because she didn't even bother looking chagrined.
Carrington’s ship was closer to the city, and that was where they were headed. It meant that every step took him farther from his family. Max wondered how long Rick would wait for him to return before he figured out that something was wrong. Selfishly, Max wished Rick were here to curl a tentacle around his arm and tell him that he knew how to fix this.
Not that Rick would say that. Rick would bugle complaints about Max never listening to his warnings. He would probably then add a few insults about Max not running fast enough. Even if Rick berated him for following this stupid plan, Max would want him here. And to be honest, Rick had a right to say “I told you so” about a thousand times.
They passed the three- and four-story buildings that housed traders and craftsmen and headed deeper into the city, always surrounded in front and back by the purple People of the Red. At one point, they passed an alley, and Max considered making a run for it, but when they got to the entrance, a police officer stood in the opening, his oversized lips moving with puck-puck-puck sounds.
At five feet tall, it wasn’t impressive, but its weapon was. Bundy had tried to convince Max that weapons weren’t valuable commodities. He was either an optimist or an idiot. And the whole time, aliens stepped aside to
watch as Max and Dee were escorted by the armed guards. As they passed, the chatter would quiet, and huge alien eyes would watch them pass.
They passed under an archway, and the boardwalk broadened and the buildings grew taller. Max had never been to this part of the city. Fuck. Max glared at Dee, but this time she narrowed her eyes and glared back at him. “Don't give me shit because I warned you too late for you to get out,” she snapped at him. She lifted her chin and probably hoped to project strength, but that was not the impression Max got.
A forward guard turned to consider them, and hysterical giggles floated through Max’s gut. Rick would have told the guard that it lacked eyes in appropriately asymmetrical rear-facing places.
No matter what had happened, the police were treating both of them the same. By trying to help Max, Dee had landed in the soup with him. Max waited until the guard turned back to the front before he leaned closer to Dee and whispered, “What did you tell people about me?” If he could figure out what he was being charged with, maybe he could minimize the damage.
She narrowed her eyes more. “I didn't tell them anything. I overheard them talking about you.”
“And you happened to be on Carrington's ship?” That was too much coincidence.
Dee’s anger vanished and she looked confused. “Carrington?” They both fell silent when an eight-foot-tall alien with a crown of tentacles took a step forward. A People of Red alien screeched, and the translator gave a sharp “Back!” The aggressive alien retreated, but Dee couldn’t stop staring at it.
Max was more concerned about the Hunters in the curious crowd. None of them came near, but Max’s palms itched with the ghost of a maintenance hook slick with viscera.
Max pulled his thoughts away from that morbid subject. “Carrington. The alien who owns that ship. Big hat, money hungry... you know, Alexis Carrington.”
“You give them names?” Shock colored Dee’s voice. “I mean, I knew you gave names to the ones you called family, but you name all of them?” She studied him as if Max were ten cards short of a full deck.
