Max was about to comment when a triangular-shaped bus with a pinched top careened toward them, not stopping as it sped through the ugly barracks village before turning toward them.
When the bus stopped, doors on either side flipped up like the old DeLorean’s doors, and Max had an image of an alien bus in the opening scenes of Back to the Future. However, the reality was closer to a circus as a dozen of Rick’s people tumbled out like clowns out of a too-small vehicle.
Max moved closer to Rick as Hidden ones glided up the unpaved road, the largest in the lead.
“Friends of yours?” Max prayed these were friends or maybe the local welcome wagon. Hell, he’d take immigration officers, but the stiffness of Rick’s tentacles suggested otherwise. His tentacles quivered with Rick’s efforts to prevent them from curling tightly in distress.
“I am not possessing of any friends on Hidden world.”
The Hidden one in front of the pack stopped fifty yards away and bellowed. His tentacles were stiff, and unlike Rick whose tool hat looked vaguely saddle-like with a few tools hanging in the place of stirrups, this guy wore a helmet.
It had a dome to top that shone dully almost like cheap imitation leather and a clear face plate that went all the way around and covered the wide strip of eyes that encircled his head. A tentacle was slid through a ring attached to the bottom of this helmet, and the other end of the loop connected to a barrel that appeared to be a weapon pointed in their direction.
Max didn’t want to escalate the situation, but he was also not about to let anyone think of him as helpless, so he rested his hand on the butt of his own weapon. “Is this the welcome wagon?” Max asked in the calmest voice he could summon.
The stranger at the front of the pack said loudly, “We are the wagon of reclaiming.”
Up until now, Rick had been frozen in place, but now he shook himself loose and jerked forward. “There is nothing to reclaim!” he shouted.
“That is ship of –” The belch that followed went untranslated. Max had learned that meant it was a proper name and the translation could not pick up any etymology it could use to define it. Rick had once asked why Dee’s name was the fourth symbol in the linguistic coding system, so some names translated poorly, but most came through in the native language. Still, it was clear that these guys were saying someone else owned the ship.
“That is registered as ship of reclaiming,” the lead guy said. Max suspected he was a police officer or maybe a repo guy.
“That is ship of mine,” Rick bellowed in answer. Max’s calm, happy husband was getting worked up.
“Paperwork is filed for ship of reclaiming.”
“Ship is registered to genetics of mine.” Rick and the guard almost shouted over each other as they each rushed to speak. However, Rick’s last answer caused some consternation among the gathered officers... guards... police?
The spokestopus slid forward. “Request for reclaiming is valid.”
“Ship belongs to genetics of mine,” Rick insisted.
“Reclaiming is valid!”
It was like listening to octopus toddlers yell at each other. No one was coming up with reasons or explanations. They shouted louder.
“Hey! It’s a mistake, so how do we let everyone know that this is our ship?” Max yelled over both of them. Or he tried. Human vocal cords were not designed to outshout aliens, but both octopi in question were polite enough to listen.
Apparently that was the right question because the spokestopus slipped his tentacle out of the loop that was attached to the weapon that was attached to his tool helmet. “Relocate to Trading City and file challenge for paperwork requesting reclaiming,” the officer said.
“Acceptable,” Rick said. “I go to Trading City,” Rick said with a gesture towards the distant spires. “I complain of inadequacy of paperwork. You stay and meet traders.” He gestured with a different tentacle towards the cluster of squat gray buildings.
“I think we need to stay together. Let’s go to the city and get back before the boys are back from swimming,” Max suggested.
“Negative,” Rick bellowed with a belch. “I am loving of unbalanced husband, but unbalancing creates unbalanced problems. I go and bugle at paperwork of inadequacy.”
Max blinked. That required more mental translating than usual, but he got it. “Are you telling me that I would cause problems?” Max might be offended. Honesty hurt.
All Rick’s tentacles curled up and snapped closer to his center walking tentacle. “Max is adjacent to many problems although I do not assign causal linkage.”
“Okay. Rude much?” Max asked before he lowered his voice. “If there is a legal challenge, I am not comfortable leaving you to handle it by yourself.”
Rick curled a tentacle around Max’s wrist and squeezed hard enough that it hurt. “Remain with ship. Remain with children. Talk to traders. When I am done expressing discontent with inadequacy of paperwork, I will return.”
“Query. Will you keep your communicator with you at all times?” Max asked.
“Yes,” Rick said quickly.
