by Lyn Gala
Chapter Six
Max floated in the salty pool water and stared at the ceiling. Long curving ribs and a web-work of support cables filled the dome. All the other rooms in the ship were featureless. Bunks, sinks, cabinets, wiring, and structure were all hidden behind padded doors. While practical, it made for boring rooms, even compared to the military bases where Max had been stationed. On the practical side, it would make the ship far safer if they ever lost artificial gravity.
When Max bumped into the water filtration island, he turned and swam slowly toward Rick. He floated with all his arm tentacles spread out like a starfish with his big head bobbing in the middle.
“Why have most of the ships I visited so far had the same gravity?” Max asked. He got the feeling that Rick wanted to talk. Max worked on the translation matrix by himself for hours every day, but the second he started to run laps through the outer corridors, Rick would show up. At first Max assumed Rick was confused. Actually, he still thought Rick was confused. Rick had a habit of watching with the same expression Max had when watching reruns of Twin Peaks out of order. In both cases, they knew something important was going on, but it wasn't clear what.
However, Max assumed Rick felt more than simple curiosity. Maybe he was lonely without his kids around, or maybe he was suffering an alien version of divorce or a child custody dispute. He was downright stalkerish when Max came for a swim. Max couldn’t do more than a lap or two around the center islands before Rick glided in on his single leg. Rick struck him as a lonely man. Alien. Whatever. Max sometimes wondered if the children were imaginary. Maybe Rick wanted a friend and feared rejection. Even without compensation, Max would happily hang out with Rick. He was fond of Rick and his randomly scattered eyes and his love of any story with Darth Vader.
“Most ships make gravities similar,” Rick said. The translator still had a slight awkwardness to it, and some concepts led to entire failures of vocabulary, but overall, Max was quite proud of his work on the translation program. That had been downright understandable.
“Query. Why is that? Have all the different aliens gotten together and decided to use the same gravity?” Max considered that from a pilot’s perspective.
Logistically, that would’ve been safer than navigating wildly unpredictable gravity wells when approaching another ship or station. Having a standard would prevent pilots from having to calculate the forces that gravity would apply to the ship. Otherwise, somebody would do the equivalent of driving through a laundromat’s front window. When that happened in Wichita, it was an interesting item on the news. If someone's tentacled Uncle Bob drove his spaceship through a station window, Max was fairly certain that people would die.
“No. All creatures in ships like gravity that they like.”
Max righted himself and dog paddled next to Rick’s large tentacle. “Are you telling me that all of these different aliens have similar gravity on their home planets?” That didn’t make a lot of sense. But then again, Max was quickly discovering that the universe didn't care about his personal opinion of it.
“Yes.”
Sometimes those one word answers made Max want to tie Rick’s tentacles in a knot. “Clarify. Query. Why would everyone's planet have the same gravity?”
“Many planets are many gravity different.”
“Exactly. If everyone has a different gravity on their home planet, then why are all of the ships using similar gravity?”
Rick twirled until he considered Max out of a new cluster of eyes. “Different planets have many gravity different. However. Clarify. Most who travel space have gravity similar.”
“Why?”
Rick's tentacles twitched. Max grabbed the edge of one of the water filtration islands and pulled himself half out of the water. Thank God he had taken a job with a patient alien. Even if it caused him tentacle-twitching frustration, Rick would explain a dozen different times if Max asked him to. In his whole life, Max had never been able to talk to someone the way he could to Rick, and that said something sad about Max’s love life.
“Planets of large create more gravity.” A few details came through only as untranslated belches, but Max understood the bulk of the statement.
“Yes,” Max said.
“Big planets have many metals. Elements owning large electron numbers.”
As the translator struggled with technical terms, Max realized that he needed to do a little clarification of the periodic table. That said, he did understand what Rick was talking about. Large planets would have more heavy metals and radioactive materials, more nuclear fuel, and basically more raw materials for building a spaceship. If they were playing a world building game, Max would want to start his civilization on a big planet.
“Yes, and with more of those metals, they could reach space. And then they would be here with ships that used heavy gravity. Where are the ships with heavy gravity?” Max asked.
“No. Clarify.” Rick paused, and Max could almost see the thought bubbles over Rick’s head as he struggled to find a way to explain concepts that were obvious to him, and not-so-obvious to Max. “Big planets mean difficult lifting. Ships fall back to big planets. Those ships are not in space.”
“Oh.” Max grimaced. Gravity trapped some cultures. “Are there large planets with big civilizations that can't get off?”
“Yes. They trade in information or communication. They send up ships too small for a pilot. Sometimes traders drop materials into gravity well. They do not travel space.”
“Okay. That makes sense. That also sort of sucks. My people have wanted to visit the stars ever since we looked up.” Max doubted that Rick had understood much of that, so he added. “My ancestors who could not yet make ships and rode horseback wanted to find a way into the stars.”
“Query. Clarify horseback.”
Max groaned and slid back into the water. His arms were turning to goose flesh in the chilly air anyway. Rather than swimming laps, he did a slow, modified backstroke, enough to keep himself warm. Rick swam next to him, his tentacles graceful in the water. “What about small planets? Shouldn't they be able to reach space easily? They would have light gravity.”
“Small planets lack metals of many electrons. They lack...” Rick's explanation devolved into whale song and belches. Whatever small planets lacked, it was more technical than anything Max had taught the computer to translate.
A cramp caught Max under his lowest rib and he rubbed his side as he floated in the water. “So are you saying that all space going species have roughly the same gravity?”
“Limited range, yes. All ships in space have creatures of comparable size and mass. Few outliers at extreme range.”
Max thought about the range of alien bodies he’d seen at the space port. He’d seen some that must have topped out at forty or fifty pounds, and others that would probably weigh several hundred if their mass/weight ratios were similar to humans. Now that Max thought about it, that was a limited range. Hell, adult humans had that much variety. The port had lacked any fairy- or dinosaur-sized aliens.
“If everyone evolved on planets with similar gravity, I guess that makes sense. Are there other similarities?”
Several of Rick’s tentacles brushed against Max’s leg and led certain of Max’s parts to pay entirely too much attention. Max made a mental detour into the land of Cornelius Stirk, the psychic cannibal who wanted to eat Batman’s heart, and that did the job. The touch of heat in Max’s cock vanished, leaving him nothing but gas to worry about. He should get out of the pool before he blew air bubbles of massive proportions and had to explain flatulence.
Rick answered. “All intelligent species have a central point for processing senses—a head. All intelligent life have tentacles.”
“Wait a minute.” Max flipped back over into a dog paddle. “I’m intelligent, and I don't have tentacles. In fact, a number of tentacle-less aliens were walking around that spaceport.”
Rick curled a long tentacle around Max's wrist, lifting it out of the water. �
�Tentacle,” he said.
“Correction. Clarify. Arm,” Max responded. Maybe the rest of the universe had tentacles, but red-blooded human beings wouldn’t appreciate that particular label.
“Tentacle with interior bone structure.”
Max considered that. Rick had a point. Unfortunately. “It resembles a tentacle,” Max compromised. He needed to spend some extra time with the translation matrix because if aliens ever bothered visiting the backwoods of Earth, earthlings would get a little cranky over the distinction. At least Americans would. Hell, Max had grown up around people who considered dark skin or sexual orientation tragedies worthy of wailing and a prayer group. Max didn’t even want to think how those people would handle tentacles.
Max gasped as another cramp hit.
Rick still had his tentacle curled around Max’s wrist, and he pulled their bodies together. “Query. Health?” Even with the translator, Rick’s bugling sounded worried. Max’s body chose that moment to cramp again, and this time Max let out a giant fart that bubbled up to the surface with a weird smell, like an eraser that had grown hot from too much scrubbing across the paper.
“Human digestive microbes create gas. It sometimes hurts. My health is fine.” Max tried to extricate himself from Rick’s tentacles. For every one he pulled free, another found a new place to latch onto. Max was not thinking about how the watery wrestling match was causing tentacles to brush over his cock, but he was insanely grateful for cold pool water.
“Query. Assist I in removing gas?”
Max did not even want to think about what Rick might do to get gas out of the intestines. However, whatever plan he came up with, Max preferred to stick with the tried and true method. A little fart party and he'd be fine. “No. It’s natural. I appreciate your concern, but I've been dealing with human intestines for a while. Sometimes it's best to let them be gassy.”
Rick swam toward the edge of the water, pulling Max with him. “Translation matrix failure.”
Max was not getting that message as often as he used to, but it was no less annoying. “I’m healthy. You don't have to worry about me so much. I'm not sure what assumptions you're making about humans, but we’re not fragile.”
Rick pushed him toward the edge and Max got his feet under him as another bout of gas tried to escape. With Rick guarding the water, Max decided to stage a retreat and find the nearest toilet. As he went for his shirt, Rick followed. “I respect human strength. I would not compensate you for offspring without evidence of human strength. I wish to check health.”
Max ignored the request for a checkup. The last thing he needed was a tentacle up his ass. Given the current state of his intestines, that introduced entirely too much opportunity for humiliation. So he changed the subject. “Oh? Are we talking about offspring?” This was the one subject Rick avoided. Most of the time, bringing up the offspring led to Rick’s quick retreat, which was evidence of trouble in his domestic life. However, this time Rick hovered near Max, even as Max headed for the door.
“Probability of healthy offspring is high.”
“Good. I'm glad to hear it.” That was more information than Rick had ever offered on his children up to this point. Max still didn't know how many Rick had, when the ship would pick them up, how old they were, how much care they would require, or even how many eyes they might have. But now he knew they were probably healthy. “When can I see them?”
“Most accepting compensation avoid seeing offspring.” Rick had several of his tentacles curled up.
Something was wrong. “That must make it awkward when they're supposed to take care of them.”
“Care does not require seeing.”
Max narrowed his eyes. If the translation matrix worked well enough for them to have a discussion of the comparative pros and cons of developing a civilization on a large planet, even if it was a rudimentary conversation, they should be able to discuss kids. In fact, Max knew for a fact he had done a whole translation unit on identifying family relationships.
The poor computer had glitched when Max had labeled large numbers of genetic relationships as simply “cousin.” He got the feeling that other species liked to have different words to suggest how much genetic material any two individuals shared. Despite once seeing an Internet chart that explained the difference between a third cousin twice removed and a second cousin three times removed, Max couldn't explain any of those more nuanced relationships. So once he got past grandparents, children, siblings and uncles, he pretty much called everything else cousin. Despite all of the time Max had invested in family dynamics, Rick still seemed unable to have a conversation about the children Max was supposed to care for.
“I have a preference for seeing them,” Max said slowly. He carefully chose words he knew would be in the translation matrix.
Rick’s tentacles curled tighter. “Query. Reason for seeing offspring.”
“I don't know. So I know what they look like? I want to look at the children and see if they have your eyes.” Max leaned closer.
“They develop their own eyes. They will not require donation of mine.”
That had gone right over Rick's head. Max tried again. “I want to see how big the children are. I want to know what they look like. Human offspring have heads and eyes that are larger proportionally. We consider that combination of traits cute.”
“Query. Clarify cute.”
“Answer. Cute. Causing no harm. Attractive. Inspiring touch.” Max had grown strangely good at this game of trying to define things which should not require definition.
A few of Rick’s tentacles relaxed a little, but he still looked like a tense little ball of octopus. “All species find offspring of own cute. Humans, no will find my offspring cute.”
“Don't bet on it,” Max muttered before he organized his words more carefully. “Humans find many offspring cute. We find most offspring cute. Even when offspring are of dangerous predators, humans find them cute.”
“Predators are not cute.”
“Show me your children.”
Rick’s tentacles curled up again. The asshole thought Max would hurt them. Max took a step back and tried to rein in his anger. Whatever history Rick’s people had with the rest of the aliens, it wasn’t good. Hell, Max’s alien social worker had hated the idea of Max taking this job. So maybe the babies weren’t cute.
Another cramp hit Max’s side and he pressed his hand to it and groaned.
Rick darted closer, wrapping his tentacles around Max. “Yes. You see offspring. I check health of offspring and you see.”
The pain distracted Max, so Rick was urging him toward the exit before the words filtered down to the important parts of Max’s brain. He stopped and nearly pulled Rick off balance. For a second, Rick’s considerable weight leaned into Max before he righted himself. “We’re going to see the offspring?” Horror swept through Max. “Rick, where are your offspring?”
Rick tilted his head and considered Max out of another grouping of eyes. For a minute, they stared at each other. Then Rick’s tentacle slid over Max’s wet skin and curled over Max’s side. “Offspring here,” Rick said.
Fuck. Another cramp struck, and Max gritted his teeth.
“Come. Check health offspring and Max,” Rick said, and then he used considerable strength and more speed than Max realized he possessed to hurry Max toward the medical bay. The fucking alien had knocked Max up. Horror washed through him, and his memory provided a montage of chest-bursting aliens. However, Max couldn’t imagine Rick allowing his alien kids to kill him. He couldn’t. So the horror passed and a healthy dose of anger took its place. As soon as the pain was over, Max definitely would tie one of Rick’s tentacles into a knot. He just needed to figure out which tentacle had done the impregnating so he could damage the one that would hurt the most.
Chapter Seven
Max stared at the holographic image of his gut. Or more precisely, he stared at the three blobbish forms that lit up bright white on the scan. Triplets. He was carrying tri
plets. Fucking aliens. Max had grown to accept many things about aliens. They were illogical. Their ships were claustrophobic. They had a bad habit of putting tentacles where tentacles shouldn't be. But this was the peak of the creepy mountain. He had baby aliens in his gut.
“Offspring difficulty moving.” Rick hovered a tentacle near the largest of the three white blobs. The image enlarged, and Max got his first view of the actual alien child. He had his big head pointed up, but only a couple of his short, stubby tentacles pointed down. The rest were shoved in there next to his head, and as Max watched, the offspring wiggled, struggling to get a tentacle free. At the same time, a horrible cramp nearly doubled Max over. He drew his knees up and groaned. “Oh God. Oh God. That does not feel good.”
“Offspring turning. Offspring choice for making turn poor.”
Max corrected him. “Your offspring is making a poor choice. I agree with that.” Max took a deep breath as the pain faded. “He does not have room to be doing yoga.” Max wasn’t sure he had room to breathe, not that breathing would be a good choice for a creature living in someone’s intestines.
As Max watched the screen, the largest tentacles slipped free and eased down into the intestine under the head. Max collapsed back against the bed. “Okay. We need to talk about the word nanny.”
“You nanny in return for compensation,” Rick said quickly.
Max stared at the boring ceiling. That was much better than watching the alien lifeform on the scanner. He hadn’t grown into his tentacles yet, so he was all head and eyes. If the thing were anywhere other than Max’s lower intestinal tract, he would call it cute. “This is not nanny. Nanny is protecting offspring after they are born.”
Rick was silent for a long time before he said, “Query. Born?”
“Born. Clarification. Outside another’s body. Free in the world. Biologically independent.” Max was going to spend considerable time in the translation matrix making sure this mistake never, ever happened again.
Rick’s tentacles drew up. “You nanny for compensation,” he repeated.