Earth Fathers Are Weird (Earth Fathers #1) - Lyn Gala Page 0,12

“tentacles good.”

“Query. Health.” Rick moved closer so his misshapen head floated over Max.

Max blinked up at his alien employer. “Answer. Health great. Good. Awesome. Fabulous.”

Two tentacles curled up close to the head of Max’s cock while the last of the tentacle inside Max slipped free. “Query.” Rick blasted the air, but he touched a milky white drop.

“Answer. Cum. Semen. Sperm. Reproductive fluids. Dick juice. Pearls. I had a boyfriend who called it that last one, and honestly, I don’t get it. It’s not a solid, and if my semen were made out of pearls, I’m pretty sure it would hurt. Maybe he was trying to tell me he was interested in sounding, but if so, he was way too subtle about it.” That had been Max’s second real boyfriend, and the first one he’d been willing to touch when the lights were on. Sure, his family and friends were supportive, but Max had still been a little weirded out about touching another guy where someone might see, even if the someone in question was Max.

He assumed heteros were equally weird, given the sort of shit they talked about on daytime television, like that one woman who was in danger of a divorce because she wouldn’t let her husband see her without makeup. Max wasn’t that bad. Hell, he didn’t even own makeup. At least he hadn’t since that brief goth phase his sophomore year.

“Query. Health,” Rick said.

Max levered himself up and sat on the edge of the table. He was pretty sure he was worrying the boss. “Query. Offspring,” Max said. A little change of subject sounded like a good idea.

“Offspring. Health. Proficient.” With that, Rick swiveled on his leg and undulated his way out of the examination room.

“You didn’t even buy me flowers,” Max complained softly. Honestly, though, he was grateful that he wasn’t losing the job because his gut bacteria was toxic. Losing this job would suck. Accidentally killing alien children would suck worse.

Chapter Five

With a sigh, Max cracked his back and stood. He was pretty sure the “chair” Rick had found him was an alien torture device. The sloping top and awkward height didn’t lend themselves to working on the translation matrix for long periods of time. And like all the “rooms” in the ship, there was barely space for him to stand and take two steps. At least this room was larger than his sleeping quarters. The single-sized fold out bed filled every inch, and he had to lift it to access the washing or toilet. If it weren’t for the fact that every surface had stiff padding, he’d feel like he was on a submarine.

And the computer didn’t make his life easier. Either the computer thought Max was a brain damaged four-year old or the system was set up to maximize frustration. After identifying twenty different colors as “blue,” Max never wanted to see the color again. And he couldn’t figure out how the system chose topics. One hour he would be identifying colors, and the next looking at pictures of impossibly complex machines as the computer highlighted certain parts for translations.

Maybe that’s why the computer thought he was an idiot.

The door opened, and relief washed through Max. Awkward half-conversations with Rick were infinitely better than working on the computer matrix. “Rick, my buddy, my friend. Save me from the evil computer.”

One of Rick’s tentacles twitched. Max needed to up his game. On good days he could get three or four of them to curl. “Translation matrix has failed,” Rick said. “Define evil.”

“Evil. Sadistic. Serving the dark forces. Causing pain. The enjoyment of others’ pain. Evil.”

“Query. Correlation Darth Vader.”

“Exactly,” Max said happily. He might have been trapped light years from home with no idea of where home might actually be, but at least he could corrupt an entire new species. Max took his pleasure where he could find it.

“Query. Do does what how Max designate computer to call Darth Vader?”

That had been as clear as crude oil. Max made a mental note to work with the computer on the structure of questions. “Answer. No. I dislike computer now. Darth Vader is evil always.”

“Computer dislikes you,” Rick said. Either the computer had an artificial intelligence or Rick was developing an attitude. Max liked it. Rick waved his talking-tentacle, the one most likely to twitch or curl when communicating. “Come for health to offspring.”

“Query. When will I see offspring?”

Rick’s answer was a cacophony of untranslatable notes. So far the computer and Max had found no common ground