Chapter Three
Max threaded his waythrough the crowd, wondering why aliens hadn’t yet invented mass transit. Sure, he had issues with the New York subway system, and falling asleep on a train that was bound for Tremont had not been a fond memory. However, someone could make a killing with a tentacle-friendly bus route.
He looked at the towers that rose in the distance. He wondered if the city was as crowded as the docks. Maybe he’d find out later. Right now he had a mission.
A large bell-shaped alien crashed into Max and cut between him and Rick. Max cursed the asshole’s backside and reached for Rick. Rick hesitated, but Max kept his hand out, waiting for Rick to get over whatever insecurities made him want to avoid touching in public. Rick might fear giving Max some sort of ugly cooties, but Max didn’t listen to bullies in high school and he sure as hell wasn’t going to start now. If he could survive being gay in the damn Midwest, he could survive holding tentacles with his non-symmetrical partner.
“Others reinforced in belief Max from moron people,” Rick warned him in a whisper even as he slipped a tentacle into Max’s hand.
“I don’t care.” Max squeezed Rick and turned to wade into the crowd again. This time Rick pressed close, his tentacles brushing Max’s back.
A more honest answer would have been that Max cared a lot, but he was too stubborn to ever let someone else intimidate him into changing. No one liked being the butt of the joke, the outcast, the loser who was afraid of going into the boys’ locker room after school. However, when Max had come out of the closet after Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell had ended, he’d sworn to himself that he would never go back in again. And he wouldn’t. If the universe didn’t like his relationship with Rick, well he was all out of fucks. Being the victim of alien abduction did that to a man.
Rick gave him a gentle push to the right and Max spotted the map. They had a distorted point of view that meant straight roads appeared to curve inward toward the middle and none of the data was communicated in text that could be translated. It used a series of hard-to-memorize symbols.
He couldn’t find the symbol for Trader. “Query. Where is the trader we discussed?” Max asked.
“Query. Clarify. Time or content of discussion.”
Max glanced around at the passing crowd and then leaned closer to whisper, “Clarify. The trader who couldn’t get permission to trade on the Hidden World.”
Rick rotated a few degrees and aligned his largest eye with Max’s face without answering. Seconds passed, and Max waited. Unless he missed his guess, Rick was questioning Max’s intelligence. Either that or he was getting cold tentacles. Finally Rick said, “Reminder. Those with no license on Hidden World are those who will not trade with those of Hidden World. The others maintain interconnected anger at the Hidden People.”
“They can be interconnected in their anger all they want,” Max muttered. As far as he was concerned, a universe that boycotted a species for being secretive deserved to get their tentacles handed to them on a platter, and Max was the guy to do it. He grew up watchingMission Impossibleand theA-Team. He had a plethora of cheesy revenge plots to draw on. “This guy is a trader, and that means he wants to make a profit.”
Rick slid his tentacle forward so the tip escaped Max’s grip and curled around his wrist. “Agreed. Compensation is significant motivation for those motivated by compensation.”
Either Rick was trying to be pithy or the translation matrix needed help distinguishing different versions of that word. “I plan to take advantage of his desire for compensation,” Max said. And if this guy wanted Rick’s fancy new navigation software, he would have to assist them in a little Nathan Ford-esque plotting. Max might not live up to the standards set by the mastermind ofLeverage, but he was willing to try.
“Query. Which what advantage of compensation?”
That had been clear as mud. “Do you trust me?” Max asked. He didn’t have the detailed language needed to explain how his plan would come together, and he definitely didn’t want to try in the open.
Several of Rick's tentacles snapped up into tight curls. “Clarification. Any action that is set leads to your belief in my mistrust is unintended.” He reached for Max with several tentacles as though seeking to reassure him.
Max smiled and ran his fingers along the underside of a tentacle. The tentacle in question shivered. “Clarify. Sometimes humans in a relationship will ask that question, not to seek information, but to remind a partner that trust is valued.”
Rick's tentacles uncurled again. “My memory exceeds humans who must forget. I trust Max.”
“It’s not that humans forget.” Max struggled for the right words. “Sometimes we hurry to speak or act and our brain doesn’t pull up all relevant information.”
Rick made a sound like blowing bubbles. “Humans are odd,” he announced.
