“Kohei acts irrationally. Infected by beliefs of Unbalanced ones,” a mint-green alien with pink tips shouted.
“Unbalanced ones show more logic than Hidden ones who expect universe to have sameness with Hidden ones,” Kohei shouted back.
“Hey!” Max shouted. “Enough. Let’s finish the questions for the paperwork, so anyone not part of my family can leave my room.”
“Logical!” Rick said with a shimmy of approval. “Ask queries.”
The official edged along the bed, away from Kohei. Apparently an alien Unbalanced one was not as scary as a Hidden one who had decided to imitate Hulk Hogan. The official raised his computer display and when he spoke, his voice was softer. “Report length of longest tentacle.”
“I have no idea,” Max said, but Rick spoke over him. “Thirty one inches.”
Max blinked for a second, collecting his thoughts before saying, “You’ve measured?”
Rick slowly rotated and gave a little shimmy. “I enjoy the significant length difference in tentacles.”
Before Max could process that, the official asked, “Report length of shortest tentacle.”
Panic hit Max as he realized what Rick called his shortest tentacle. “Whoa. NO! Unbalanced ones do not report the length of our shortest tentacle. Half our population doesn’t even havethe shortest tentacle. The short tentacle will not be discussed in public.”
“Records!” the official belched.
“No!” Max returned.
Rick traced soothing circles against Max’s shoulder. “Length difference is impressive. Shortest tentacle is attractive and short.”
Max groaned. “My shortest tentacle is perfectly average for my people.”
“Query. Clarify,” the official said, “half of Unbalanced ones are missing short tentacle. Do you average those members into your statistical data set before averaging?”
“No.” Max’s face was so hot that he feared he might burst a blood vessel.
“What is average for Unbalanced ones?” the official asked. Maybe he thought he was being sneaky by trying to get the information that way. He wasn’t.
“For Unbalanced ones, discussing the length of the reproductive tentacle is as taboo as saying that a Hidden one has an unfortunate number of symmetrical and equal eyes.” Max stared right at the eyes in question, and the official slowly sank down several inches. Max then felt guilty because this guy was trying to do his job, and he was having a terrible day because of Max and his family.
“Leave entry blank or make estimate from fact that tentacle fits into lower tentacle hat without external bulge,” Rick suggested as a compromise. First, Max had no idea why he could not get the translator to use “pants,” but second, he wanted to loudly proclaim that he did have a bulge. He had a nice bulge because he had a nice cock. At the very least, he had an average cock. He hadn’t needed to hide in the shower room during basic training.
“Illogical,” the official muttered semi-softly, and the audience of strange Hidden ones made bubbly sounds of derision. “Markings on dominant tentacles.”
“If you’re asking about my reproductive tentacle again, the markings are as private as the size,” Max warned. Here he’d thought the military doctor had been invasive during his first physical for the military.
Rick curled a tentacle around Max’s right wrist. “A white line two inches below the hinged elbow,” he said, touching the scar where Max had cut himself falling off his bicycle as a kid. “Irregular brown spotting with much asymmetry.” He ran a tentacle over Max’s arm.
“Freckles,” Max said. “Those are called freckles.”
“Two marks raised from the skin on the anterior of the hinged joint where tentacle meets torso.” Rick ran a tentacle tip over the back of Max’s shoulder.
“Moles,” Max said. “I have two moles.”
Rick let his tentacles drift down to Max’s hand. “Visible lines of veins branching in irregular patterns,” he said. His touch was feather light, and Max regretted their audience because his shortest tentacle twitched in a way that made it clear it wanted to get longer.
Max jerked his hand away. “Are we done?”
The large Hidden one with salmon-pink tentacles moved forward. “Outsiders are dangerous.”
Max scoffed. “All sentient life is dangerous. A sentient species becomes dominant by being dangerous.”
The new guys stood straighter. “Hidden ones hide. We are not dangerous.”
