“I couldn't agree with you more. One of these days you're going to meet some other humans, then you're going to discover exactly how odd we are.”
Rick made a quarter turn so the tentacle wrapped around Max’s wrist was pulled tight. Maybe he was questioning the likelihood of humans finding space, but Max put a little more faith in his species. Sure, they were a disorganized mess of suicide cults and rioting now, and they would be a disorganized mess of crime and drama once they arrived, but he suspected that in the middle they would pull their shit together.
That was what happened when people were pushed. They adapted, they survived. In SERE training, instructors had told Max that humans could survive the impossible, and had on a semi-regular basis. They’d proved that with a gruesome, full-color proof. In this case, Max figured the visit from alien ships was a serious gut shot, but the human race was going to fight back eventually.
They would get up to space if only so they could properly scream at the law enforcement officers for chasing the Nish through their gravity well. And then they would sue someone. Max worried that the universe would do the same thing to him that it had done to Rick and judge him by his people. He just had to make sure that his reputation was settled first. Max walked in the direction Rick had suggested when he’d touched the map, and Rick followed.
He hadn’t been thinking about reputations when he’d been on that law enforcement patrol ship. Back then he had taken every opportunity to embarrass himself. He was fairly sure they had tranquilized him a couple of times because his general level of panic had gotten too high, but in Max's defense, his survival and escape classes had never covered alien invasion. He assumed that was an oversight the military was addressing now.
“Query. Will Trader have access to language translation of the Hidden People?” Max asked. He’d worked his ass off to get that computer system to recognize English and if he had to start over with a different language, he might stab someone.
“Concern. Sharing of linguistic database could lead to illicit copying. He is known for removing without adequate compensation.”
“A greedy businessman? Who would've thunk?” Apparently there were some constants in the universe.
Rick hurried to walk at Max’s side instead of following. “Query. Clarify ‘thunk’. Thunk is sound to fall.”
“Clarify. Thunk is conjugation of think when speaker makes fun of himself.”
Rick didn't say anything, but he had that expression again, the one that said that he questioned Max’s sanity. Max was a bad, bad boyfriend because he found that entirely too entertaining. He cleared his throat. “I'm going to say some things to the trader that you might not understand. I am asking you to believe that I can outsmart our enemies.”
“Correction. Trader is not enemies. Trader is seeker of compensation, not danger to eliminate.”
Max tugged on Rick to pull him closer for a second. A lavender alien with big lips flinched away as if they were a pile of dog poop, and several of Rick’s tentacles curled. That called for some serious distraction. Pulling out the big guns, Max ran his fingers up the largest central tentacle to the point where it met Rick’s body. With a shiver, Rick let his tentacles drop again. “I’m not sure if I should be complimented that you think I’m capable of taking on the universe in armed battle or insulted that you’re afraid I might.”
A large alien came barreling past them on the walkway, nearly pushing them into the side of a building. Max not-so-accidentally stepped on a trailing tentacle. The creature gave a high-pitched yelp, but Max kept walking.
“Max bad,” Rick said with a soft burble.
Max didn’t bother answering. “Is that the trader’s symbol?” Max pointed at the writing beside a door. The shops on the main level were the largest ones, with elevated walkways leading to smaller shops on the upper levels. So if this guy had a street-level shop, he was big-time. Max felt a little fizzle of worry that he might be biting off more than he could chew.
Rick didn’t notice Max’s unease because he simply said, “It is.”
Max blew out a breath. Putting aside his worry, he stepped up to the door. He waited for the side of the door to retract, but nothing happened. He glanced at Rick. His tentacles weren’t curled as much as tucked close to the central leg.
“Query. How do I get door to open?”
“Answer. Request entry without one of the Hidden People.”
“Yeah, that doesn’t work for me,” Max said. “Query. Can we show him a small part of the programming, something that makes him want it?”
“Answer. Yes. Clarify. He will not trade with the Hidden People.”
“I hate that you act like that’s normal.”
Rick just studied him for a good minute before he pulled a small computer display out of his hat and tapped on it. He let go of Max’s wrist and glided forward before pressing his computer to the door. Max moved closer to the door.Come on guy. Get curious. Or greedy.Max could work with either one.
The computer next to the door beeped and hummed and chittered, but the door remained stubbornly closed. Max had almost decided to give up on this lead and look for someone else to act as their point man, but then the doors slid open a fraction of an inch.
Rick made a farting noise.
Hopefully that wasn’t a sign. Because if this plan didn’t work out, Max didn’t have the screenwriters theA-Teamfolks did. He didn’t get to reshoot the scene if these aliens decided to take offense at his attempt to reorder the universe, and Max had avoided researching alien penal codes and prison systems.
