The sign said “Earthling Wanted” in large print, and I, a perfectly eligible Earthling, said “Heck yeah.” Busy space station life bustled around me as I stepped close to read the details on the holoboard. Other ads were for the usual range of odd jobs and social events, but this one was specific.
And it couldn’t have been more perfect for me. A courier ship was contracted to deliver someone’s pet cat to them in deep space (I guessed that a breakup had happened while the owner was away, or their temporary job had turned into a permanent one) and while the couriers were perfectly capable of getting the cat there, this was several days of travel, and they hadn’t the first idea of how to care for an Earth animal.
Well, I thought with no small amount of smugness, They just got themselves an expert. I copied the holo ad onto my phone, then found a vaguely-private corner of a public seating area and activated the call. I stood up straight and professional, as if I was meeting a wealthy new client with an ailing Samoyed. Would they want a detailed resume? A rundown of the places I’d worked and trained, my range of expertise on animals big and small? Or perhaps a description of what I would do in various unexpected scenarios?
Nope. The octopuslike alien who popped into view — deep green, harried, and female unless I missed my guess — only had two questions for me.
“Great, you look like an Earthling,” she said. “How experienced are you in caring for cats?”
“Very,” I said, ready to add more.
“Good. Can you leave immediately?”
“Yes,” I decided, thinking quickly. “I just have to grab my things. Where’s your ship?”
“Meet us at the semiaquatic spaceport before the shadow covers it.” She glanced at something offscreen. “We leave before the solar sails have to fold. Be quick.” With that, the call ended.
I blinked once, then shoved the phone into my pocket and sprinted down the corridor. Passersby stepped aside and gave me disapproving looks, especially the group of red-pink bugfolk who chattered after me in their own language, but I dodged through the loose crowd without hitting anyone. Nearly tripped over a smaller-than-average Waterwill, which could have been disastrous given their “column of jello” consistency, but I hopped on by with a quick apology.
Are Waterwills really that fragile? I wondered as I ran. My biological studies had all been Earth-based. I knew the best way to hold a chameleon, pet a cat, and catch a chicken, but I hadn’t the foggiest idea how the friendly blobmonsters worked.
Well, maybe I’d find out.
I skidded into my small room and threw things into the suitcase. There wasn’t much to pack, since this was a temporary stop. Five minutes ago I’d been planning to trudge back to Earth and look for a new job. My old workplace was under new management and doing a reshuffling that made for a perfect time to take a quick lap around the galaxy, something I’d always wanted to do. It had been a great vacation. But there wasn’t much call for a veterinarian in space. Or so I’d thought.
One more jaunt, I told myself. It pays well enough to be worth it. And they clearly need my help. With a look about the room for anything I’d missed, I zipped the suitcase and shouldered my backpack, then cancelled the rest of my reservation at the control panel by the door.
A few more button presses, and the door wooshed open to let me dash off through the residential area, towing my suitcase on its repulsor plate behind me. That bag was much better than my old wheelie-case, which was always tipping over when I turned quickly. This one did have a tendency to slide around like a toddler on ice, but I was an old hand now at pulling the strap just right to keep it from taking anybody out at the knees. And honestly, I usually walked at a more reasonable pace than this. But time was short.
I glanced at a multiclock as I passed an elevator hub; sunset was coming for this side of the station. I wondered who had decided to make the station rotate in orbit instead of keeping one side facing the sun, but that was beyond my pay grade. Maybe it got too hot otherwise.
Long lines at the food court made me slow down, edging past a variety of body types before I reached a clear area and picked up speed again.
Success, I thought. Didn’t even bump into a scaly tail. This door? That door!
I found the dry-air-breather’s access port and hurried into the airlocks where steeply angled sunlight was streaming in. I only stopped once, to swipe my ID in exchange for a cheapo force-field exo suit. Just in case the separation of dry air, wet air, and water left anything to be desired. I’d made that mistake once. One experience of scrambling for the emergency cutoff switch in an airlock rapidly filling with water was enough.
Those octopeople breathe dry air, right? I fretted while I retrieved the exo disk. I think so. They just like more baths and moisturizers than I do. I’ll be fine on a ship made for them. Assuming the one I talked to doesn’t live in a scuba suit while onboard. But surely they would have said. Probably.
With my ID back in my pocket and the control disk stuck to my chest (using technology that was basically the inverse of my suitcase), I shoved out into the spaceport in a cloud of my own air. I was greeted by more air, rows of parked ships under a glittering force field between us and the stars, and an impatient-looking green tentacle alien waiting in view of the airlocks. She waved me toward her ship as soon as she saw me.
Strongarms, that’s what they’re called, I remembered. I guess I’ll get a name for this one once we’re on the way. With golden solar sails spread wide, the little round ship looked like a cartoon bat, or maybe a lemon that wanted to be a pirate ship when it grew up. The epitome of dignity either way. I made a note to say nothing about that either.
“Right this way; stand back while the door shuts; the animal is in the cargo bay with more food and junk than any sane creature could eat in the time we’ve got; I’ll introduce you after takeoff.” The green Strongarm didn’t give me a chance to do more than nod as she spoke. “For now, come grab a crash seat in the cabin. I’ll introduce you to the crew after takeoff too.” She sped down the narrow corridor with a quiet slapping of tentacles on the shiny blue floor.
I did my best to keep up, despite having to bend over as I walked. This ship was not designed for a tall species. At least the walls and ceiling were a clean white, not one of those squishy organic ships that made my skin crawl.
“Got the human,” she announced as the door to the cabin spiraled open. She waved several tentacles back at me, one pointing at a chair near the wall that had a fighting chance of fitting me. “Quick-quick.”
I ducked through the sphincter-door (also gross, but less so), waved at the dozen or so random aliens, then shoved my suitcase behind the chair and sat. The chair was cup-shaped and way too small, but at least the back was flexible. I could feel a localized gravity field in place of a seat belt.
These folks have a lot of faith in their ship’s power source, I thought as I lifted my backpack to where it would give me neck support. Here’s hoping we don’t crash. For lots of reasons.
The crew were mostly ignoring me, though in a polite way. Strongarms, Frillians, and a few Heatseekers. Octopeople, colorful fin-covered bipeds who looked like tropical fish that had learned to walk, and little lizardy folks. All air breathers, though two out of three had aquatic origins. As the engine hummed to life, I shut off my exo field.
Damp air caressed my face like someone breathing on me from uncomfortably close. Great. But it was breathable and wouldn’t damage my stuff, and we were already in space, judging by the viewscreen that had just registered some very quick movement. Only stars and a few distant ships were in front of us now.
“All right, introductions!” announced the green Strongarm. “You can call me Kamm. What’s your name, human?”
“Robin Bennett,” I said, sitting up straight. “Earth animal expert at your service.”
Kamm accepted that and rattled off the names of everyone else in the room, then gave a quick rundown of the journey we could expect. Three standard days, no wormholes planned, no asteroid showers or other hoo-ha expected.
And now that we were clear of the space station’s shipping lanes, we could make good time and move about the ship.
Kamm hopped out of her seat and hit the floor with a wet smack. “This way, animal expert. Let’s show you to your charge and your room.”
I grabbed my suitcase and followed, trying to be graceful while simultaneously ducking and high-stepping through the door. It was like walking around in a kids’ playhouse.
At least the cargo bay had a properly high ceiling. It also had many boxes of cargo, and one metal cage with a very distressed cat. The I-don’t-want-to-be-here yodel echoed off every wall.
“Well, there it is,” said Kamm with a wince. “It’s been this loud the whole time. I hope that’s not a cause for alarm?”
“Not the sound alone, no,” I said. “Let me take a quick look. Hey, kitty.” I approached with a gentle voice and quiet footsteps.
The tone of the cat’s yowling changed when it saw me, aiming for pity over volume. Poor little gray tabby sounded very lonely. A nameplate with paragraphs of contact information said “PICKLE” in all caps.
“Hello, Pickle. There there, kitty; it’s okay.” I greeted the cat with a soothing babble of syllables, letting it sniff my fingers through the bars, only noticing once it quieted that Kamm had stayed by the door.
“Oh good,” the alien said. “It likes you. Will you want the whole crate in your quarters, I hope? There’s enough room.”
“Yes, definitely,” I said, standing back up. The cat mewed in protest.
“Great. All the food and whatever should fit too. Grab a sled.”
At Kamm’s directions, I helped maneuver a hoversled under the cage, then down the hall. She led the way with a different sled full of airtight cases covered in labels. Her cart was the more rattletrap of the two, which I appreciated; the supplies wouldn’t be bothered by any jolts in height, but an anxious cat sure would.
Pickle yowled all the way to my quarters. Our quarters, rather. Kamm was eager to rush off once I said I had everything in hand, and I couldn’t blame her. But the noise stopped as soon as the door shut.
“Mew?”
“All right, kitty,” I said as I took off my backpack. “That door seems solid, so you probably won’t run off and get stuck under the brake pedal, or however they fly this ship. Do you want to come out?”
Pickle didn’t, when I opened the door, but I made myself comfortable on the floor by the cage and read through the info packet that had popped up on my phone. Pickle was a girl cat, five years old, spayed, fond of cheese and toys that crinkled.
Eventually she crept out to accept some gentle scritches and a warm lap. I was considering moving to the giant squishy cushion that passed for a bed when the door chimed.
“Ow!” Those claws were sharp when Pickle launched off me to hide in the carrier. I got to my feet painfully, shut the small door, then opened the big one. The ceiling was low in here too.
A maroon-and-teal Frillian stood there, just barely short enough to stand normally in the hallway. “Did you bring food, or would you like to join us for a meal?”
I looked back at the quiet cat. “I do have some ration bars, but I wouldn’t mind meeting everyone properly. Let me dig out some food for my charge here, then I’ll be there. Which way…?”
The Frillian gave me directions, then scooted off. I turned to the multiple boxes labeled “food,” and checked the info packet. Pickle had preferences.
But of course she was too scared to eat. I left the tray of high-quality wet food inside the cage alongside a dish of water and a well-chewed toy mouse that promised to have familiar smells. Then I gave her some quiet time.
And I got some fun time! The crew turned out to be outgoing and friendly, with many a joke ready about the types of food that my species was known to eat. They were mostly a carnivorous set, of one kind or another (fish, bugs, rodents; not a T-bone steak among the lot). They weren’t phased by any kind of plant food, but the existence of dairy products as a whole was soundly denounced as vile weirdness.
“Honestly, it makes sense,” I laughed. “Milk is the first food we eat when we’re born, then we found ways to make it into a bunch of other fancy things.”
“Yes, but why?” asked a bright red Heatseeker, his lizardy face intent. “Organic drippings sound like the absolute last choice of edible foods.”
“Spoken by someone who has never tasted ice cream,” I told him. “Or pizza! Those are some of the best foods out there.”
“I’ve heard humans mention pizza before,” said a large gray Strongarm. He gestured with something that looked like an uncut sushi roll. “What actually is it?”
I happily explained, then had to go on a tangent about bread, since that was apparently a weird human thing too.
“Really? None of you folks have food made of processed grains?” I asked, to a row of blank stares. “Guess not, but okay: it’s crushed grain and water with yeast — those are little microscopic creatures that help turn it into proper food — as I understand it, the air bubbles in the finished bread are their farts — I’m not doing a good job of selling this, am I? I swear it tastes good!”
The big Strongarm laughed loudest. “No, but keep going! You were going to circle back to ‘cheese’ and why it’s not rotten.”
I did my best, eventually giving up while insisting that they would probably like at least some of my species’ barbaric dishes if they ever got a chance to try them. It was a fun conversation. And the food was all right too. A bit fishy, but I’d had worse.
I was sad to see the meal end, with everyone scattering off to their various tasks, some of which might have been fun to help with: untangling cords or organizing cases or deciphering random space messages. But my duty was with the cat.
Pickle was caterwauling loud enough to be heard from the end of the hallway. I hurried in and comforted her again, opening the cage and settling in to rest on the cushion-bed with her snuggled next to me.
With nothing else to do, I drifted off into a nap that was more restful than expected, given the alien bed. I woke, braved the alien bathroom, then went back to sleep. Even after the vacation I’d been taking, it was a bizarre luxury to have no demands on my time. I didn’t even know what kind of day/night cycle this ship was on.
And it didn’t matter. I slept as much as I needed to, ate a couple ration bars, fed and played with Pickle, and I read a book I’d been meaning to get around to. It was nice.
Crew members showed up occasionally to invite me to meals, but otherwise I spent the whole trip in my quarters. And as much as I enjoyed the camaraderie of dinnertime, the guilt I felt every time I returned to piteous meows kept me from staying out longer.
I really would have liked to, though. They even had a music night with instruments I’d never heard of. There were spares that I was welcome to try.
But Pickle had been scratching at the cage the last time I returned, and if she tore a claw because I wanted to know what an alien trumpet sounded like, then I would have failed in my duty.
So I stayed with the cat who purred like an outboard motor, and I did some more reading. It was still nice. Peaceful. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to take a turn at the radio station, listening for gossip and distress calls and triple-encoded secret messages.
The end of the trip caught me off guard. Kamm showed up with a ten-minute warning before the time we needed to have the crate stowed in the cargo bay, and me seated in the cabin.
“Already?” I blurted. “Right, I’ll be packed up in a jiff. Got the sleds?”
In the rush of gathering things, ushering Pickle back into the carrier, and hurrying to the cargo bay, I didn’t really have time to Feel Things about the trip ending.
But I felt them anyway. I’d miss my little snuggle buddy. I hoped she had a good life ahead of her.
The man waiting at the spaceport a few minutes later, as close to the landing pad as he was allowed, was a grizzled old space marine type. Stereotypes said he would have been more at home with some vicious beast as a pet, but I’d seen enough mismatched owners in my time to just smile at how eagerly he waited. And the way his face lit up at the sight of his cat was heartwarming.
Pickle’s distressed meows turned to welcoming mews when her human scritched her through the bars. I didn’t have to remind him that he owed money before he could take her away; he was on top of that. Though I’m sure Kamm would have made sure if necessary. The two of them handled the transaction with speed. Then to my surprise, he opened the cage there on the landing pad.
Pickle clawed her way up his thick jacket to settle purring onto his shoulders, like this was where she was meant to be. Maybe it was.
“Thanks so much for bringing her to me,” the man said to Kamm, with a nod to me as well. “Gonna introduce her to the new family; now everyone I love is in one place.”
Kamm said a polite goodbye while I gave him a warm smile and wiggled my fingers at Pickle. The cat gave me a slow blink, purring hard and nuzzling his chin. Then the pair of them walked off to the rest of their lives.
“Come grab your stuff,” Kamm told me. “He left a big tip, which I’ll pass over to you. No way we could have done a thing to calm that creature ourselves.”
“Thank you,” I said. “It was my pleasure.” It really had been; going home seemed anticlimactic now. It was just a pity I hadn’t been able to socialize with the crew more. They were good people.
I followed Kamm back into the ship for the last time — or so I thought, until a pair of crew members called from the radio station about a message from their sister ship.
“They had a fuel leak, and only managed to coast into orbit of a moon four days out,” said the small Frillian. “They need fuel, repair supplies, and extra food for their cargo.” He looked from Kamm to me. “I don’t know what planet the cargo is from, but if you don’t have to be anywhere just yet…?”
I grinned. “I don’t, as a matter of fact. I’ll happily come along if you’ll have me.”
Kamm flipped a tentacle in what was probably a shrug. “Why not? It worked out well just now. And I want to see if you can play a flange horn.”
“Me too!” I said. “Let me just grab some provisions before we go. At least one of you folks has to try pizza.”
This was years ago now. I never did get a regular job back on Earth, and I don’t regret it one bit.
(A couple crewmates did regret the pizza, but at least it was funny.)
~~~
This is official backstory connecting these comics with this novel. Robin has had a lot of adventures, and is about to have more!
The hot nighttime air blasting through the windows of the hovercar made conversation hard for all of us, but that didn't stop Paint. She pulled her lizardy face into the car long enough to ask "Can we make more deliveries to climates like this? It's great!" Not waiting for an answer, she stuck her snout back out into the gale.
"I'm just glad the air is moist," said Captain Sunlight from the driver's chair. She was as fond of extreme tropics as the next scaly little Heatseeker, but as least she was tactful about it. "If this was an arid climate, we'd dry out in no time."
Zhee snapped a pincher in irritation, adjusting the coldpack draped around his shoulders. He had another around his praying-mantis hips. "I," he declared, "am glad it is DARK. Sun this intense would fry us on the spot. This is not a temperature for any reasonable being." He cast a big bug eye in my direction, with what passed for subtlety.
I hadn't spoken up yet because I was busy guzzling water to replace all the sweat I was losing. "Agreed," I said when I came up for air. "There's a place this hot back home. We call it Death Valley."
Paint leaned back into her seat. "What? How could such a lovely heat mean death? It's so nice."
"For you," I said at the same time as Zhee. I would have high-fived him but didn't want to hurt myself on his pinchers. Instead I said, "I'd die of heatstroke in no time."
"But you have that temperature regulation!" Paint said, waving a hand in my direction. "I thought you were fine in hot and cold!”
"Just because I'm warm-blooded doesn't mean I'm comfortable in all temperatures," I said to my scaly crewmate. Holding up an arm, I asked, "You see this sweat? This is not fun." I was wearing the smallest amount of clothes I could stand: sports bra and shorts, and it was still too much. “At least the wind helps. I’ll want to get the unloading done as quickly as possible when we stop.”
“We’re almost there,” Captain Sunlight said, pointing at the navigation screen.
It was a good thing she had that screen, since the view outside was an endless nighttime seashore with sand dunes and rocks, but no memorable landmarks. You’d never know there was civilization here. We’d been instructed to land our ship far inland, so we didn’t risk blowing sand into a burrow when we took off again. Luckily the hovercar was acceptable. Thinking about dragging all those crates across the dunes by hand was enough to make me need another drink of water.
When we settled in to park, it was beside a boulder at the very edge of the water. Gentle waves lapped at a very flat shore. No civilization that I could see. The air gushing in the windows was oppressively hot and wet.
“The client should join us at any time,” Captain Sunlight said, getting out of the chair. “Let’s unload.”
“Aw,” Paint said.
Zhee led the way out the door while I focused on taking deep breaths. This was unpleasant.
Sunlight insisted on keeping all but the dimmest lights off, for the sake of the client’s nocturnal eyes. The many stars helped. Luckily there wasn’t much around to trip over. And the boxes were head-sized, not gigantic hassles. There were a lot of them though, and we weren’t quite finished stacking them on the wet sand when the client rose from the waves.
Captain Sunlight’s polite greeting prompted me to look up just in time to see what looked like a lobster the size of a horse come splashing toward us. I clamped down on a startled yelp. Professional calm, I reminded myself. This is entirely normal.
I did a pretty good job of pretending to be calm while I set down the box I was holding and went back for more. Sunlight kept up the small talk and handled payment, both thanks to technological aid: a translator and credit screen with some impressive waterproofing. The voice that came from the speakers was almost too deep to hear. It reminded me of my aunt’s favorite whale impression.
“Thank you for your use of time,” the client said. “Our previous delivery people arrived at high tide, leaving us with a long walk to the burrow.” A little crustacean leggie waved back at the water, where I assumed the doorway lurked. Now that I thought about it, I could almost make out a darker spot among the waves.
And that’s not so much a lobster as a huge shrimp, I decided, setting down another box. Looks like it would have some bright colors in the sun, too. The starlight didn’t illuminate much, but the faint glow from the ship’s cargo hold showed hints of red, blue, and green. And far too many legs, honestly. But you didn’t hear that from me.
“Last one,” Zhee announced, resting a box against the others. “Would the esteemed client like to confirm the count?”
The client did, waving two legs while counting. “Confirmed. I am pleased to do business with all of you.” Captain Sunlight started to say something else polite, but the client wasn’t done talking. “And it is pleasant to see such a lovely being of light.”
With the way all those legs moved, it took me a heartbeat to realize she meant me. “What?” I blurted.
The rest of the crew were confused too. “Being of light?” asked the captain tactfully.
“Yes, and with those charming stripes, too!”
It was all I could do not to ask “What?” again. I just looked at Sunlight, wondering if I was being pranked. If so, she didn’t look in on the joke.
“I, ah, can’t say I’d noticed,” she told the client.
“Your eyes are different, aren’t they?” asked that deep voice with even deeper sympathy.
“Um. Must be.”
“You’ll have to take my word for it, then. You two little ones blend in with the surroundings, while you, friend, look more like an artfully painted land-skimmer,” she said to Zhee, who looked like he had decided to take it as a compliment. “But you. You glow like a gentle moon, with all the curves of a crashing wave across your surface. My night has been enriched with the view.”
“Uh, thank you,” I managed. “My pleasure.”
“I will be sure to request such prompt and pleasurable couriers for my next delivery. I thank you.”
“And we thank you!” Captain Sunlight said. “We’ll be on our way. I trust you can get the boxes into your home without trouble?”
“Oh yes, this will be fine,” said the client with more leg waves. I wasn’t even sure which part of that complicated face to look at. “May you have safe travels!”
With more polite words from Sunlight, we re-entered the hovercar and took seats in even hotter air. The door shut, the engine started, and a very welcome breeze wafted in. Sunlight eased away from the beach at a tactful speed before gunning it toward the ship. No one spoke until the sea was out of view behind a dune.
“Glowing?” exclaimed Paint. “Stripes??”
“Did she mean heat vision?” Zhee wanted to know.
“Can’t be,” Sunlight said from where she drove madly. “She compared you to a nice paint job, remember?”
“As she should,” Zhee said. “But was that a different thing she was seeing when looking at me?”
“Hard to say,” Sunlight said. “Robin?”
“I have no idea!” I burst out. “This is the first I’ve heard of any of it! Is there a chance she’s joking?”
“I don’t think so,” said Captain Sunlight. “All the courier reviews of her behavior are top-notch. If she was the type to lie like that, then surely she would have done it before.”
“But stripes??” I asked, sticking a forearm into the aisle. “You’ve seen me! What stripes? I don’t even have that much body hair!”
“You don’t glow in the dark, either,” said Zhee, staring with the kind of intensity that only someone with truly gigantic bug eyes can. “You reflect a little starlight right now, what with all the grossness you’re exuding, but I doubt that’s what she meant.”
I laughed. “You know, people do sometimes describe sweating as glowing, but it’s really not meant to be taken literally.”
Paint leaned close, all curiosity. “Does something in your sweat fluoresce?”
“No!” I said. “Nothing about me does! This is absurd!”
“We can check the wiki as soon as we get back in range,” said Captain Sunlight. “The ship’s knowledge banks are pretty good, but let’s not kid ourselves.”
“I can’t wait,” Paint said. “My money is on the sweat.”
I shook my head and finished the water bottle. With the way Sunlight was driving, we made it to the ship quickly indeed. Paint was already out of the car and telling the rest of the crew about it while I had barely stood up. I exited to several other curious faces, immediately telling them no, I had no idea.
Normally after that kind of delivery I would have gone to wash up, but this time I just grabbed a towel to wipe off the sweat (and to wear as a shawl in the much cooler spaceship air). Captain Sunlight was calling for top speed.
And she got it. Good thing we’d be refueling soon, because I was pretty sure we’d used up a solid chunk of the reserves.
But we were back in range of easy broadcasts, in record time! Everyone who didn’t have to be somewhere else crowded into the meeting room with the big info screen.
And we all learned that humans freaking glow. Just too dim for anyone to see, unless they have extra-super-special eyes. The kind of eyes that can also pick up the seams from cell division that are usually just as invisible.
“What the heck,” I said, staring at the screen.
Sunlight had called up both topics side-by-side, and everyone was reading at different speeds. I’d skimmed enough to be unsure of what emotion to settle on.
“It’s not the sweat,” Zhee said.
“Well, it’s also not the heat vision!” Paint retorted.
“It may sometimes coincide with heat vision,” Captain Sunlight said, pointing as she read. “Tied in to metabolism, changing throughout the day. Human metabolism creates heat, right? So it could be both.”
“But it said it’s not.”
“I still win the bet,” Zhee insisted.
“Oh, you didn’t even make a bet!” Paint said.
Mur sat beside me, flipping a tentacle in amusement. “It’s a pity we don’t have anyone with those extreme eyes onboard,” he told me. “We could send the pair of you into dark areas, and she could see by your light.”
I shook my head. “This is just bizarre. I can’t believe nobody told me.”
The squiddy alien shrugged a pair of tentacles. “If you can’t see it and neither can most of the civilized galaxy, I’m not surprised that it isn’t common knowledge. What I want to know is—” he spoke louder “—Hey Zhee! Do you want to get glowing paint to decorate yourself with now, since somebody is outshining you?”
Zhee angled his antennae into a glare. “Maybe.”
“Ooh, me too!” said Paint, to no one’s surprise. “Can we do the walls too? It’ll be great if we ever lose power!”
I huffed a laugh. “Look what you started.”
“You’re welcome,” Mur said. “Care to see who can paint some nice new decorations in the highest and most creative places?”
“Absolutely. You know I can reach the top of the engineering crevices by putting a foot on each wall and shuffling upward, right?”
Mur cackled. “And you haven’t seen what a properly motivated Strongarm can do! Extra points for painting a likeness of Zhee somewhere he’ll never find.”
“You are on.” We shook on it, which is an absolutely disgusting experience when tentacles are involved, but I managed to pretend it wasn’t. Gotta be professional, you know.
~~~~~~~~~
Fact check! Humans do glow slightly, and we do have stripes called Blaschko’s Lines.
Yes I based the alien on a mantis shrimp; yes I know the shrimpvision thing has been debunked; did it anyway. They’re cool.
And if you enjoy these shenanigans, you may like the book that this is backstory for. More stories to come!
(Thanks to @theacegamingdemon for giving me the idea for this one months ago.)
I just shared the first bit of fiction that the main character from The Token Human appeared in with the $10+ patrons. Hard to believe that I wrote it eleven years ago! Of course I had no idea it would go anywhere, much less to a novel with a sequel in progress, and an endless series of short stories that shows no signs of stopping.
High five to my past self for scribbling down something worth playing with a bit more. And a bit more. And maybe some more...
"Man, Earth animals would be incredibly invasive on another planet."
"Yeah, rabbits are already a huge problem in Australia! Imagine what kind of havoc they could wreak on an alien ecosystem."
"Like if space poachers stole some, then crashed."
"Any alien criminals who did that would deserve…”
A Swift Kick to the Thorax
It’s available today! Tell your friends and enemies!
Img ID: the cover of the sci-fi novel “A Swift Kick to the Thorax.” It features a veterinarian’s prescription pad floating in space, with the title written in the prescription area. A pen floats behind it and a chunk has been bitten out of the pad.
Have I mentioned how much I enjoy writing a narrator who doesn't bother with a lot of dignity? I get to write things like "She stood proudly to her full height (armpit level), and declared..."
This ship didn’t have any humans onboard either, but they did have an extra spacesuit in one-size-fits-most human measurements. It smelled, predictably, like feet. It was also a little short for me, but I could deal with a bit of tightness in the shoulders. Much better than braving an actual spacewalk with just a cheap air shield.
They needed my long human fingers, you see.
“It’s between these panels,” explained the small lizardy being beside me. Her suit was the same boring gray as mine, but the face behind the dome was a yellow more eye-searing than the ship. She was a very businesslike lemon lizard. “We have tools somewhere that can probably reach it, but those might scratch the surface, and anyway an idiot who shall remain nameless put them in the wrong place. No idea where they are. Go ahead and grab it if you can. Then we can finish welding.” She waved back toward the pair of crewmembers waiting with repair gear.
“No rush,” called the other lizardy Heatseeker, her scales a mottled orange. “It’s a nice view out here.” She pointed her tail down at the moon we were orbiting. “Lovely clear space weather.”
“Yes, rush,” grumbled the bug alien in a segmented exo suit. His gray outfit was decorated with adhesive spangles and fake gemstones, which was certainly a choice. From what I could see under the dome, his praying-mantis face was gaudy purple and similarly decorated. This sure was a colorful crew.
And they were waiting on me. I took a magnetic-booted step towards the damaged area. “Is the meteorite hot?” I asked. Probably a dumb question, since it had hit the ship hours ago, but better dumb than dead from air loss.
“No, no,” the yellow Heatseeker said with a wave of her tiny hand. “Just a bit of junk where it shouldn’t be. Honestly, I would have gotten a Strongarm to pull it out, but the tentacle arms on their suits are thin and flexible; they might tear. Yours has armored fingers.”
“That it does,” I said. I appreciated that armor. “All right, let me see. Not sure I can reach that far. Does this plate pull out farther?”
“Yup.” She waved the bug alien over. “Put those mighty blades to work. Mind you don’t bop her in the face with a shuwog.”
“Shuwog?” I asked as he proudly clicked his way over, pincher arms at the ready.
The orange Heatseeker burst into song. “WHAT THE HELL IS A SHUWOG?” she bellowed, making me jump. “Someone tell me ‘bout the shuwog. All the times I’ve heard shuwog … nothing rhymes with a shuwog … c’mon explain it to meeee…”
“That doesn’t answer my question,” I said.
"It's a song!" she replied.
"An annoying song," the bug guy muttered as he fit his pincher blades into the opening.
"But what's the answer?" I asked.
The orange Heatseeker pushed the repair kit forward and launched into an explanation. "In the Mesmer language, the term for that part of their arm translates as 'Sacred Hinge Upon Which Our Glorious Blade Arms Pivot to Eviscerate Pathetic Prey-Beings.’ That makes the massive acronym 'SHUWOGBAPEPPB.' It shortens to shuwog, and the band The Loud Ones just came out with a song about it, which is very catchy..."
The Mesmer cranked on the panel with more violence than necessary, and held it open for me. "Stupid song," he said. "Disrespectful."
“No it’s not! It honors the sacredness of your arm parts! And makes a catchy dance tune.”
I edged around him to peer into the crevice and reach for the meteorite. "So a shuwog is…"
"Wrist," said the yellow Heatseeker. "It's his wrist. The bendy part. Their language is unnecessarily flowery."
"Very necessary!" the Mesmer objected. “To showcase our glory!”
I closed my armored fingers on the space rock and pulled it out with nary a scrape. “Got it!” I held it up in triumph, ready to say more, but stopped when something bounced off the hull near my head.
"Shrapnel! Get inside!" the yellow one shouted. The others were already scrambling for the hatch.
"Did we do a full orbit already??" asked the orange one, struggling with the repair kit.
The Mesmer looped a pincher through the straps and dragged her along with it. "Yes."
I kept close, hunching my shoulders as more small things hit different parts of the ship. The crewmembers tumbled through the hatch and pulled me along with them, slamming it behind me just before a large chunk of something whanged into it. I managed to smack my arm on the bulkhead, but took no other damage.
"Everybody okay?" the yellow one asked. The others said yes.
"Yeah, just a bump," I said, realizing I was still holding the space rock. I moved it to my other hand and shook my arm dramatically. "Ow. Right in the shuwog."
The glare that the Mesmer gave me, with angled antennas and flaring mouthparts, was balanced out by the bray of laughter from the orange Heatseeker. Even the yellow one snorted.
"Sorry. My wrist's not sacred," I told him.
The orange one was still laughing. "Sure it is!" she said. "It helped get the rock out from behind the panel! Saved the day! We can finish the repairs as soon as the junk cloud is past."
"That may be a while," said the yellow one. "I'll check with--"
"Let's sing to pass the time! C'mon, I'll teach you the words."
The Mesmer slammed a button to open the door between the airlock and hallway (with his shuwog) and flounced out, stomping with all his feet. He took off his helmet as he went. "Call me when it's time to weld. I will be ANYWHERE else."
"Party pooper. Anyway, it starts with a drum solo..."
The yellow Heatseeker left on official business while the orange one trailed out into the hallway before settling down to explain at length.
I followed. The hallways were tall enough for me to stand up on this ship.
“The chorus is the best part, but even the background singers have a good time. If you can say ‘shuwogbapeppb’ a few times in a row, you’ve got it. And the beat is so danceable!”
I set the rock down on the floor next to my helmet, listened to asteroid chunks raining down outside, and I learned a very catchy song.
~~~
I’m exploring backstory in honor of the book coming out soon. There are so many adventures to be had!
When our ship landed to deliver the overdue shipment of weird little space goats, I admit I was surprised when I saw what their owners looked like. “Big,” I’d been told. “Polite,” as well. Even “Very careful about where they step.” But no one had told me to expect pink elephants.
I almost stopped in my tracks as I exited the ship, only jumping forward again when a shipmate’s bug leg prodded my shoulder blade. I stepped quickly and did my best to stare without slowing up to the proceedings.
Our small crew was bringing the cages out onto a landing pad raised off the ground, level with the average head height of the gigantic life forms whose home planet this was. They strolled by on business of their own, each with six legs and trunks in pairs: top and bottom. Their tails looked prehensile too. But the most striking part was the color: as bright pink as any flamingo, with flappy ears that faded to a more salmon-orange with yellow edges. All they needed was polka dots to look like the most absurd hallucination this side of the Milky Way.
“Hello, esteemed client!” announced our captain as he led the procession toward the pink face waiting at the edge of the platform. Captain Pockap was, I’d learned, the nephew of the captain of our sister ship, and somewhat new at this. I hoped he was waving his green tentacles at the right alien.
This elephant was pretty noteworthy, actually. Its eyes had the white haze of cataract sufferers on Earth. And as we approached, it moved its ears down to show a hat of some sort— Wait. No.
It that a human on its head?? I thought as I walked. What the heck?
It was. While Captain Pockap greeted the alien that still hadn’t spoken, I took in the sight of the muscley blonde guy perched on a saddle that was clearly custom-made for this scenario. He was wearing weird little booties and had one foot raised, like he was ready to tap out a message on the alien’s head.
“And hello to you too!” Pockap concluded with a wave up at the human.
The pink behemoth finally spoke. “Kindly do not distract my seeing-eye human,” it said in a deep voice. “He is working.”
Pockap gave many flowery apologies, which the alien ignored in favor of enquiring about the state of its cargo.
“The animals are in perfectly good health,” Pockap said. “Though they did give us some trouble. I’m afraid I’ll have to insist—”
His demands for additional money were interrupted by urgent hisses from several crewmates who knew better, and (thankfully) by the arrival of another giant pink elephant.
The two aliens spoke in rumbles almost too low to hear. The crewmates yelled at the captain in whispers. I stood awkwardly to the side, a newcomer without much stake in any of this.
“Hey,” called a different voice. “Quick question.” It was the human guy, waving me over while his employer (owner?) was busy with conversation.
I trotted to the edge of the platform, careful not to lean too far. No railing. “Yes?”
“Is there one ship like that, or two?” he asked, pointing over my shoulder at the lemon-looking thing we’d come in.
“Oh! Two,” I told him. “The other one looks just like it. Parked over thataway.” I pointed off to where Kamm’s ship was picking up a new courier job. The two were nearly the exact same model on the outside, though only one had corridors tall enough for me to stand comfortably.
“Thank you,” the guy said in clear relief. “I wasn’t sure I was describing it right. Glad I directed her to the right one.”
“Yeah, you got it!” I said. I made to move back toward the crew, but he had one more thing to say.
“If you’re looking for a change in careers, there’s plenty of demand for sight assistance here,” the guy said. “We work in shifts, and the pay is good.”
“Oh, uh, thanks! I’ll keep that in mind.” This wasn’t the type of career I was aiming for, but it certainly was memorable. I wondered if there was a foot-tap code.
The second elephant said its goodbyes and moved off, leaving the seeing-eye human to snap to attention and catch his employer up to speed with the surroundings. No one had moved much except for me. I sidled back to where I was supposed to be.
Wiser minds had prevailed, thankfully. Pockap didn’t press for extra fees, and the blind pink elephant who owned the goats didn’t say anything about his conversational misstep. I was quietly shaking my head about how strange my life had gotten when Pockap got involved in moving the cages onto the waiting cart, and he bumped the controls that let all of the goats out.
They immediately bounded across the platform in a wave of gleeful orange tentacle-fur, kicking up their heels and knocking each other over. Their scrambling was only matched by the ship’s crew going for the nets to catch them again.
I chased after two of the little troublemakers who broke away from the herd to make a mad dash toward the alien elephant at the edge of the platform. I could see the human tapping urgently at the giant head, but not soon enough. One of the goats skidded to a stop while the other sprang across empty space to land beside him.
He caught it. Just leaned forward in his harness and snatched it up like a wayward puppy. The one that had stayed on the platform was already scampering back toward the ship.
“Good catch!” I called. “Hey, are they poisonous?” No one had been able to say for sure, and it seemed like an important detail right now.
“Only if you’re allergic to bees!” the human said as he bundled the wriggling creature into his shirt. Anemone-tendril fur smacked his face.
“Thanks, good to know!” I said. “Let me grab a cage to put that one in.” I darted off while the blind elephant asked what was happening with more patience than the situation deserved.
Thankfully for all involved, our ship was the only one on the platform, and the door was shut. Those frisky goatlings had nowhere to go but around in circles. Not that they minded running in circles, of course, but it was only a matter of time before the crew managed to grab them one way or another. Mostly with nets. Sometimes with hands — or the equivalent — and sometimes with trash cans or whatever else was convenient. I hauled a single-occupancy cage over to the edge and got permission to climb onboard the giant alien’s head in order to retrieve the little critter that was trying to kick free.
I almost lost it over the edge. Almost. But the client didn’t need to know that. I got it in the cage and put the cage back on the cart with the rest, and that was all the mattered. The animals were none the worse for their adventure.
Pockap was allergic to bees, though.
“You finish up here,” he wheezed to the yellow Heatseeker who was already ushering him back toward the ship with exasperation on her lizardy face.
She spoke into her communicator to the crewmembers still on the ship. “Need a medical scan for the captain. Toxins and allergens. Quickly, please. He’s — okay yes, Zhee is carrying him in now.”
The gaudy purple Mesmer had scooped up the captain like an octopus that needed to be tossed back into the sea. It looked like an awkward motion with his praying mantis arms, but then, everything looked awkward to me and my human hands.
“Our sincere apologies,” said the new acting captain, coming to join me at the edge of the platform where she could address the client. “In all honesty, that spokesperson is not suited to this job. I hope his incompetence hasn’t caused you undue distress.”
It hadn’t. The large alien was more amused than anything, and willing enough to finish the transaction. Moments later, payment had been transferred and the animals were in a transport car, off to be someone else’s problem. I looked around to make absolutely sure that there were no sneaky little orange faces hiding somewhere. All clear.
“Farewell,” rumbled the elephant. “Safe travels.” It turned away from the platform slowly, leaving plenty of time for the human on its head to scan for tripping hazards and give the all clear. “Home, Jeeves.”
I held in a burst of laughter. Jeeves? That can’t be his real name. Did the first person to be a seeing-eye human suggest that as a job title? Amazing.
A cutesy little peeping noise told me the acting captain was doing her people’s version of a sharp whistle for my attention.
“Sorry, coming,” I said. Everyone else was heading for the ship, and I brought up the rear.
“Considering a job change?” she asked with a flick of her tail.
“No thank you,” I said. “A noble cause, I’m sure, but it doesn’t speak to me. I’d rather stay with you folks.”
“Good,” she told me, walking faster. “You’ll be useful to have on hand when we tell Pockap that we’re voting him out of the captain’s chair.”
“Oh my,” I managed. And I thought today was already as eventful as it was going to get.
~~~
(More backstory for the book. I’ve already got the next bit planned out!)
