“Answer. Human should not translate. Human should be human, not people.”
“Query. Does not people mean people?” Again, Rick’s voice belched out an approximation of the word “human.”
“People only means a generic group.”
“Query. How does one define human?”
That made Max hesitate over the linguistic parameters menu. “I’m not sure. It’s like Rick—I know it has a meaning, but I don’t know it because everyone just says the word.” When Rick had asked about the human origin of the translation Max had provided, Max had blathered about how it was a common name and often assigned to those in charge and Rick had been the boss. He might have even mentionedMagnum P.I., but given Rick’s general insecurity about the universe’s prejudices, he wasn’t about to bring upRick and Morty. “It’s probably related to Homo sapiens.”
“Query. Define Homo sapiens.”
“Um... upright man or thinking man... something like that.” Sometimes Max was embarrassed about how much he didn’t understand about his own planet and his own language. When he’d been in school, the formal definition of Homo sapiens seemed like the sort of useless and stupid question a teacher would put on a test to catch kids who hadn’t read the chapter. Max filed that sort of trivia in a part of the brain that got flushed regularly.
Rick made a bubbly, spitty sound and several smaller tentacles undulated, suggesting the irony of the name amused him.
“Yes, yes. I know. The rest of the universe believes humans are morons. However, we don’t describe ourselves that way.”
Rick’s tentacles stilled and then several drew up closer to the bottom of his bulbous head. “Others’ peoples call Rick’s people the Ugly peoples.”
Max’s hands stilled over the controls. He turned and studied Rick’s eyes. “They call you Uglies?” He blew out a breath and Rick’s tentacles curled tighter. “Can I shoot all the bastards that insulted you like that? I’ll aim for non-vital organs.” Max intended that as a jocular form of emotional support, but all of Rick’s arm tentacles balled up and the fingers along the undersides waved madly.
“I prefer you not shooting.”
Max caught the nearest tentacle and drew it closer. “I didn’t mean that. Sometimes humans exaggerate to show emotion. I exaggerated my potential action to show the depth of my anger that anyone would call you ugly. I won’t shoot them. I’ll just fantasize about shooting them. Often.”
Slowly Rick’s tentacles uncurled. “Unclear fighter humor is killing of people.”
Despite the mangled translation, Max did understand the sentiment. He wound his arm around several tentacles and leaned toward Rick. “I would not kill over words. I only express depth of emotion.”
Rick leaned back and for a time they sat quietly. “Unboned tentacle is clearer gauge of emotion than liar words.”
Max laughed. “Probably.” He had explained facial expressions to Rick, but those subtle clues were much harder to read than tentacle positions. Rick projected everything he felt. Max wondered if the other aliens said such mean things because they could see it bothered Rick’s people or if they simply didn’t care. They’d found Max a social worker of sorts, so they had some sort of moral code, but kindness didn’t seem part of it.
In the weeks, or even months, Max had been on that first military ship, the crew had fed him and shown him how to piss in a retractable trough. However, they’d spent almost no time reassuring him or trying to improve communication. They were assholes, or as Rick would’ve said, polonium-headed poop people.
“What do the pirates who invaded call their people?”
Rick was silent for so long that Max was about to rephrase the question with a “Query” when Rick spoke, “Others’ peoples cannot pronounce.”
“How would it translate?”
“People who hunt.”
“Of course.” Max grunted. “They don’t hunt well, though, do they?”
“They hunt well; humans hunt better.”
Max ran a hand up and down a tentacle before he turned to work his magic on the translation computer. “Request. Say the name of pirate species.”
Rick moved back to his position leaning against Max’s back and burped a name.
The computer started “Peop—” Max typed a command. “Request. Repeat name.” Rick did and this time the computer voice said, “Hunters.” Max grinned and held a hand up. Rick obliged with a tentacle version of a high-five.
“Clever Max not from moron species as others suggest,” Rick said, and Max imagined his whale song and burps sounded a little smug.
“Hell, yes.”
“Clarify. Yes you believe you are from moron species. Option. Yes you are not from moron species.”
