by M. D. Cooper
Pinky looks to the man, who looks taken aback.
“Uh…dignified?” he offers.
Pinky nods approvingly. “I’ll take it. How much?”
The man says, “It’s really not meant to be an individual…” he sighs and shakes his head. “How’s two hundred?”
“Sold,” Pinky declares as if he’d been plying her with his wares.
He rings up the sale. Being the professional he is, he asks, “Would you like a box for it?”
“No thanks, mate. I’ll wear it out.”
We do some more window shopping before going back to meet Nana. We find nothing else of interest, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing could have topped Pinky’s find.
***
We arrive back at Nana’s house in a wave of triumph and satisfaction. We troop into her little cottage and she embarrassingly regales us with stories of my childhood.
Even cyborg nanas are biologically required to engage in this rite of passage.
Pinky wears her glorious crown the whole time. Instead of objecting to her wearing a hat in the house, Nana wholeheartedly approves. She and Pinky have so much in common, it’s spooky.
Meanwhile, Greta hugs my arm while she laughs about the time I narrowly avoided a kidnapping by a man who turned out to be a serial killer.
Yeah, I know. It sounds dark. But the way Nana tells it, it’s a hoot. She’s got a knack for storytelling and a certain comedic timing. I hadn’t previously realized this about her.
But Greta’s hugging my arm and laughing and I can feel her heartbeat and some other, softer things against my elbow, and I don’t give a damn about anything else. So I laugh, too.
All too soon, it’s time to leave. The Second Chance will be moving on, and we must move on with it. I’m sad. I feel like I’m just getting to know this version of my grandmother. But my new home is in space, and a starship waits for no man, woman, unspecified, or Nana.
It is a rule of the universe.
Nana seems sad, too. “What’s your next port?” she asks.
“First, Earth’s international space station, and then on for a tour of the Alpha Centauri system,” Greta says.
She always knows what’s ahead. She’s a good brand ambassador.
“Do you think there are any tickets left?” Nana asks as she removes her apron. She’s served us another round of tea and horrible cookies. At least this time, I’m able to shunt all my cookies Pinky’s way, and she wolfs them down like a starving Labrador.
The Labrador species of people, not the Earth variety of dog. I’d never compare Pinky to a dog. She’s far too majestic with that crown of hers.
Hell, she’s too majestic even without it.
“I’d have to check to be sure, but I believe so. It’s rare that we’re booked solid.” Greta answers.
“Could you get a ticket for me, dear? Just around the Alpha Centauri system, then back to Earth again. I’d like a chance to do some traveling while I’m in good working order, and to spend time with Charlie and his friends.” Nana hangs her apron on its peg and smooths it.
Greta’s eyes cut to me, frantically asking if this is okay.
“It would be great to have you aboard, Nana,” I say. “Greta and Pinky are the best galactic tour guides in all the solar systems.”
Greta beams. Both from her happy smile and a slight increase in luminescence. It’s always easy to see when Greta’s happy. “Absolutely! I’ll do it right now.”
Greta pulls out her telcoder and, after several long moments, she announces, “Done. And, as luck would have it, I was able to get you a free room. I get comps through my employer on voyages that aren’t sold out.”
Nana leans forward and gently pinches her cheek. “You, my dear, are a peach.” She turns to me. “You be nice to this girl, or I’ll never forgive you.”
Pinky saves me from having to respond to this. “Greta’s not a peach. I’m a peach. I’ll show you things in Alpha Centauri that will make your servos short out.”
“Well,” I say, “not actually short out. Right?”
Pinky snorts. “Not literally. But almost.”
I feel like we’ve gotten into a weird territory. To distract, I say, “Do you need help packing, Nana?”
Nana doesn’t answer. She leaves the room and comes back a moment later with a suitcase. “Nope. All cyborgs are required to be ready to evacuate at any moment. Union rules.”
Right. Okay. This should be interesting.
Chapter 5
Back aboard the Second Chance, I’ve gotten Nana settled into her cabin. It’s across the ship from my cabin, but maybe that’s okay. Gus will be looking out for her, and I can get over there in just a few minutes if I hurry. Plus, it leaves me some room for romantic freedom.
You know, just in case I need it.
Cyborg or not, Nana still goes to bed at eight o’clock in the evening. With her comfortably dozing, I join Greta and Pinky in the bar for a drink.
I arrive and, as is our custom, wait for Pinky to tell me what I’ll be drinking. She likes to choose for people, and she’s usually bang on.
“Cheerful Seagull,” she announces, pointing at me with an accusing finger that, in other circumstances, would vex me greatly.
“Isn’t that a morning drink?” Last I knew, she was only serving them as a breakfast aperitif. But Pinky makes her own rules and changes them often, so there’s no telling.
“Most of the time. It’s what you need right now.” She spins away to perform her violent ballet of drink making, then sets a glass in front of me.
Greta’s already sipping a Thunderstorm, which is an old favorite of hers. It’s what she had the first day we met, now that I think about it.
I sip my Cheerful Seagull with appreciation. Pinky’s perfected the recipe, and it does, indeed, suit my mood. It has just the right mix of carbonated effervescence and acidic juice.
“Are you really okay with Nana Rose being aboard?” Pinky asks. “I’d feel weird about having my grandma along.”
“Yeah. It’s nice, actually. I’ve changed, she’s changed, and it’s good that we have a chance to get to know each other again.”
“That’s so nice.” Greta looks so happy, I try extra hard to ignore the carnage of her lushfruit muffin.
Someday, I’ll ask her about it. Just like someday, I’ll wear that red shirt and show it who’s boss.
But not today.
Today, I’m just glad to be here with my friends and my nana, looking forward to some new adventures.
I lift my glass. “To the future.”
Just to be clear, this is not a normal toast for my people.
Greta clicks her glass to mine, and Pinky grabs a tall, skinny cylinder so she can join in. The glass is empty, but her sentiment is not.
“To the future,” Pinky and Greta repeat, in unison.
To the future, I say again to myself. May it be full of adventure and happiness. I look at Greta’s honest, open face, and add another private thought. And love.
THE END
— — —
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The Horrible Habits of Humans
by S.E. Anderson
One mission away from retirement, and Strax just had to be assigned babysitting duty of a new race – the humans had better be worth it.
Commander Strax is the best the Order has to offer, but he’s ready to settle down now. Just his luck that his superior officer has assigned him to take the Human race out for a test drive, and see if these fleshy beings are a good fit to join the Order.
But when a simple dimplomatic mission goes sideways, it’s up to Strax to save the universe, with the Human in tow. And the human has some grand ideas of his own…
Chapter 1
The thing before him stood pink, fleshy; altogether disgusting.
And it was baring its fangs.
They were short, white fangs; not as pointed as some of the creatures Strax had encountered planetside, but still, oddly grim to see, and somewhat threatening from this repugnant creature. Strax made it a point not to let the stranger hear the small, sharp intake of air that he used to cleanse his nostrils of the fowl odor.
“Commander Strax, is it?” The stranger asked, baring its teeth even more, revealing pink gums. Everything about this creature was in shades of pink, except for the eyes, which were a bright, chlorophyll green. They reminded Strax of the mold that grew in the ship’s containment system, purifying their water and air.
But there was nothing pure about this… thing.
“It’s an honor to meet you.” The fleshy creature bowed at its midriff. At least it knew how to show respect. Strax did not bow back. “I’m hoping this mission is as fruitful as our two nations anticipate.”
This time, Strax did not hide the cleansing breath. The creature seemed startled. How primitive.
“As do I,” Strax responded, internally sneering. One of the perks of having an exoskeleton was the ability to write inside one’s own shell, unnoticed. “You must be the human.”
“Well, one of them,” the stranger swiped his digits through the odd ruffled tuff above its head. Strax didn’t have time to learn the terminology: the human wouldn’t be here long. “Michaels, Patel and Juarez are assigned to other parts of the ship. But it seems Admiral Ma’kurajaa-” he said this with great difficulty, while still showing its teeth, “wants me to shadow you. And, in that manner, for you to observe me, as I prove to you my species is a good fit for the Order.”
Good fit? Strax didn’t see this puny human lasting even a day on his ship. From the little he could tell of the species, they were physically weak, and yet insanely confrontational, territorial to the point of killing millions over small patches of land. Thank goodness the Order was civilizing these primates.
“Very well,” Strax said curtly, “I expected you to follow my commands to the letter. I cannot have you stepping out of line. The second you do, the offer from the Order is rescinded, do you understand me?”
“Loud and clear, commander.”
“I see your translator is working well?”
“I wasn’t fitted with one,” said the human, “I learned all 57 languages of the Order so that I might get picked for this mission. It is my top priority.”
Fiery furnace, what a weird race. The human didn’t need to know all 57 languages, it only needed to know one. Negotiators coupled with translators would handle the rest. It wasn’t as if they were going to let this human into diplomatic meetings.
“Then let us commence. Follow me, if you will.”
Strax turned his back on the human, and strode down the hall, giving the thing no other option than to follow. Its steps echoed through the pristine chambers of the massive ship.
Strax was proud to be assigned command of the Ascendant, one of the most remarkable ships of the fleet. The human wasn’t even dignified to grace its many halls. Why was the creature continually showing its teeth? The commander kept his eyes riveted on the hallway beyond: he would not give the human the benefit of being seen. That would only go to its head.
He realized then that he had no name to call the human. Even it knew how rude it was to simply call a subordinate by its race alone, and Strax knew he had to play nice with Ma’kurajaa if he wanted to be relived of this babysitting duty.
Then again, if he did an awful job, they would never assign a new inferior being to his ship, and the prospect of that kind of freedom filled the commander with glee.
If you could call it glee. It was maybe an odd, bubbling excitement, one that rose through his chest and made him simmer in his shell. Once he got an idea like this in his head, it was impossible to get it out.
But in the meantime, he had to know what to call the human, who was now trotting beside him, fleshy lips drawing a pink line on a pale pink face.
“You may address me as Commander,” said Strax, delicately prodding the human to introduce itself, “or Commander Strax. Never simply Strax.”
“Understood, Commander,” the human replied, right where Strax wanted him. Strax prided himself on how he could get anything he wanted without even asking. He understood other races more than anyone else could. “My true name is Stevenson, but as the son sound is difficult to pronounce without human teeth, I usually go by Steve. Though you may call me lieutenant if it makes it easier for you.”
Lieutenant? Strax hid his surprise behind his facial antennae. When other races were assimilated into the Order, their military hierarchy was thoroughly studied for a generation in order to see how they would fit into the Order’s grades. If this creature was already being referred to as a lieutenant – despite the planet only having been discovered less than a decade ago – meant he had some serious claws.
“Lieutenant Steve,” he said aloud, though in his mind he was scoffing loudly, “In my language, Steve means shitface.”
“As I am well aware,” the human shifted shades of pink, but did not flinch. Did they have a camouflage trait that the Order didn’t know about? The color was making him stand out more, not less. The Calistrians could turn almost invisible when called to hide, but this human was changing color and emanating heat as a response to threat.
Which, of course, was exactly what Strax wanted to see. If the Order needed to know how the humans reacted under pressure, then he would put the pressure on, and he had no intention of letting up.
The human was silent. Good. Strax felt a small thrill inside of him again – the feeling that could almost be glee. He had hated the idea of having humans on board, but now, the thought of being able to make them writhe with such visible discomfort was giving him more energy than he could ever had expected.
He would enjoy making Human-Steve, or lieutenant shitface, writhe.
“Have you been giv
en the tour of the Ascendant yet?” he asked, trying to make himself sound pleasant. No excuse for the Admiral to accuse him of being unnecessarily cruel.
“Not a real one, no,” said the lieutenant, “I have seen digital, holographic renderings, so I know my way around, but this is my first time on board, and I have not visited the ship yet.”
“Well, you should know we went to a lot of trouble to make you and your fellow humans feel comfortable.”
This was not exactly true: he himself had just signed the papers, without really reading them. The four humans would be sharing one room, with bunks, as was the human way. The bunks needed sheets of foam, which Strax found incredibly odd, but if that is how humans rested, then he was obligated to provide.
Other than that, no changes had been made. That morning, the earth military had given the Ascendant a few crates of what they called “shelf stable” meals, which meant the cafeteria didn’t need to alter their already extensive menu. They were told to provide water to the humans at all times of the day – like they were plants, or something – and that they needed 8 hours of sleep per night. None of this impacted the rest of the crew in the slightest.
If the humans wanted to be part of the Order, they would have to fit in on their own. They would not be given exemptions.
In a few days, this human would be scrambling for his approval. It was amusing, to have such power over an inferior being.
It might almost be fun.
Chapter 2
“Have you seen how odd their food is?” Myla’s mandibles quivered in amusement. “The colors! How outrageous!”
“I heard one complain to another that what they were eating wasn’t pleasant because its molecules were not vibrating at the right frequency. Fiery furnace, how ridiculous!”
Strax enjoyed his evening meals. The trough before him was full of wriggling, freshly caught squalupins, which he stabbed with his pincers, bringing them to his eager mouth. With him were his officers, sharing in the feast, finally away from the stress of the massive ship.