Earth Husbands are Odd (Earth Fathers #2) - Lyn Gala Page 0,12
can go back to the ship.”
“Query. Do you wish to return to ship?” Rick traced lines on Max’s arm.
“No,” Max admitted, even though he felt guilty about saying it. He was an asshole for pushing Rick. Max had avoided marching for gay rights, so it felt hypocritical to metaphorically shove Rick out of the asymmetrical closet.
“As you tell offspring, I reserve right to call you polonium-headed poopy face.” Rick walked down the alley, his largest arm tentacle still around Max’s wrist.
“I am not a poop face,” Max protested.
“Potentiality of poopy face exists,” Rick said. Once again, his logic was on point. Rick stopped in front of a door. “Entrance to back for delivering of supplies.”
“Clarify. Service entrance.” Max stepped in front of the door and waited. The trader probably had surveillance, so now they could only wait; hope that he was curious enough about the program to open the door; pray that this scheme wasn’t illegal or if it was, that they didn’t get caught. Max was starting to regret his decision to avoid the criminal database.
After several minutes, the service door was flung open and the short trader stood in the opening. He sang loudly, and once again, his translator barked out, “Demand information.”
“I want to sell you a computer program for navigation.” Max took a deep breath and tried to ignore the flush of adrenaline that made his heart pound. Rick’s tentacle tightened around his wrist.
The trader frowned at Max and then Rick and back again. “Species of you is inferior in navigation.”
Once again, Max had found a logical alien. “The program is superior.”
The trader made a shrill whistle that ended in a three-note trill that repeated several times. Max got the feeling he’d been cursed out by a flute. “Superior but ugly not traded.”
“You can profit from trade without seeing ugly,” Max said. That was a generality, but he didn’t trust the translation computer with any sort of nuanced suggestion.
Rick spoke up, but the translator only caught about every third word. “Husband.... Computer program.... Others peoples.... Compensation.... Others peoples.” The nouns were separated by burps and rumbles that made the trader stand taller with each passing second. Apparently Max had not done a good job of programming the translation computer with vocabulary related to conning people. However, the trader’s gaze was darting back and forth like a spectator at a tennis match where both competitors had been dipping into the meth stash.
When Rick finished, the trader said, “Come,” and retreated into his shop. Max traded looks with Rick and then they both followed.
“What did you tell him?” Max asked.
“Max lacks sense that moron species would possess.”
Max snorted. That was probably true, but he still doubted Rick had said it, at least not to someone outside the family. When the offspring and Max ganged up to declare a water war on Rick, he said that and worse.
They followed the trader through shelving lined with numbered boxes into a room that resembled Rick’s computer room.
“Business communication facilitator.” The trader poked a long, boned finger toward a bright blue control unit.
Rick set his computer down on a ledge clearly built for it and tiny wires rose from the surface. Dozens slid into the cracks in the sides of the tablet. Hopefully that was normal. Rick didn’t seem bothered, and he was very protective of it.
Rick reached a tentacle toward Max. “We can communicate more easily now.”
Gone was the broken English, the almost right word choices, the awkward phrasing.
“What the hell happened with the translation computer?”
“Official translator functions as a business communication facilitator,” the trader said. “Database is right that you are from species of morons who cannot leave their planet. You didn’t make current navigation program.” Max heard the anger in the computer-generated voice.
Ignoring the trader, Rick answered Max’s question. “Every linguistic database in the known universe is entered, so the computer has a large enough sample to compare a new language against linguistically similar samples. Every species donates to one system. No one can tamper with one system. Only buy a license to use it.”
Rick’s voice still sounded like Rick—like the tones Max had assigned him on the translation computer. However, now the emotional content of the words was clear. Rick had a softness to his voice that his loud belches and rumbles hid and the computer voice had—up until this point—been missing. Max smiled. “It's impressive. I’m surprised no one has stolen the programming.” Max was already wondering if he could scam someone out of a copy.
The trader