It Doesn't Translate

Pirate Invasion –––––––– MAX WELCH GRABBED ONTO the counter as the sound of metal soles clinking against the titanium walkway on the arcades of The Luna Terminal reached him. They shouldn’t be here yet. It had only been two days since the last time. With a deep breath, he forced himself to relax his shoulders. When opening the Hamburger bar, Max had figured they’d be kind to him since he was the only restaurant for at least a light year—days’ worth of travelling in the fastest high-speed ships—but of course, the f*****g pirates didn’t care. Maybe they’d only come here to fuel up... Yeah, right. Maybe they’d come to the floating city to do some grocery shopping. Pirates probably needed to stock up on necessities too, right? They couldn’t steal everything they needed. He held on to his hope as he glanced over to where Quam sat and sipped on his coffee. Max was proud of his coffee; not many were able to get it on their menu and Max had managed to land a deal with one of the top brands. It was the real thing, not the bland laboratory-grown kind you could pick up at any space colony. When the hollers of men jostling and laughing came close enough to make the one customer who had been enjoying a cup hurry out of his—her?—seat, Quam sighed and put down the tablet. “They’re early.” Max swallowed and gave him a terse nod. He hated when Bair and his crew came, but he’d be damned if he was to give them the satisfaction of showing it. “Why don’t you go to the office? It isn’t Friday; you could be occupied elsewhere.” Max snorted out a laugh. Yeah right. He appreciated Quam’s offer though, he really did, but there was no way around it. “He knows I’m here; there’s no use in hiding.” Bair had insisted on Max serving him every Friday, the threat of things going bad if he didn’t hung in the air. Bair was capable of ruining his business at a whim. Max, like everyone else in this small port, wouldn’t survive for long without the deliveries coming from the mainland—from whichever mainland they ordered. The Luna Terminal was one tiny floating fake city—his restaurant, one grocery shop, one barber, one fuel station, a bathhouse of all things, and the health centre. They were close enough to Earth for Max to get deliveries, had he been farther away they'd refused his orders. He was proud of his burger joint, all his products came from Earth, and he suspected a good part of his customer came only to have a look at the only human they’d likely ever see. Smoothing out the wrinkles on his half-apron, he looked into Quam’s black eyes—the entire shape of them was black, no whites. At first, they had freaked Max out, but he didn’t notice it anymore. Quam was about seven feet tall, black eyes, and the texture of his skin reminded Max of a snake he’d once patted—apart from that he looked mostly human. He wasn’t though; there weren’t many humans left. The population on Earth had dwindled rapidly due to wars, infertility, and environmental issues. Max hadn’t seen a human since he’d left, and that was four years ago. On lonely nights, it was hard to remember he wasn’t the only one left. People still lived on Earth, fewer and fewer, but they did exist. Sadly, most of them were deranged. With a shrug, he went into the kitchen to prepare the fryer. It was still early in the day, but so much could go wrong in a blink of an eye, and not being ready to receive lunch orders would be just one more thing that could set off Bair’s temper. No one ate cheeseburgers and fries like Bair and his crew. “I’m serious, Max. He can’t know for certain you’re here. For this once, spare yourself the trouble.” Max wanted to, his only consolation in the whole situation was that Bair and his crew only came once a week. Why the hell couldn’t they stick to their schedule? He breathed out a sigh, hoping Quam wouldn’t notice how his body wanted to tense up. “They know I’d never leave.” Humans didn’t cope well with the high-speed vessels other species used to travel. With human transportation, it took years to get somewhere. Bair knew nothing short of a life-threatening illness or injury would make Max leave. He bet the giant puffer fish liked those odds. Quam clenched his teeth together, making the overlapping scales on his jaw stand out like little horns. “You getting irritated won’t help.” The snapping wouldn’t help either, but Quam could read him easily by now and wouldn’t take offence...probably. Max paid Quam to take offence, sure he manned the grill on occasion too, but his contract stated his occupation was doorman/bouncer, and if you read between the lines, bodyguard was on the list. He had worked for Max for four years and their relationship, in Max’s opinion, was perfect. Quam sipped coffee as if his life depended on it and he did so while reading on his tablet, if things got busy he helped out, and if things turned hostile, he dealt with it. They didn’t talk much, no one bothered the other with unnecessary questions or made any claims of wanting to spend more time together than they needed to, but Max trusted Quam to keep him safe—even from Bair and his crew. The clinking sounds of metal soles against the titanium gangway right outside the door made Max want to scurry away and hide in the back. Instead, he double-checked that his apron was clean and got ready with a pen and paper. Despite the door already being open, they managed to bang it against the wall. There was no overhead light, but Max saw Bair’s shadow fall over the doorstep anyway. Shoes were clinking as more of his men gathered behind him. Max didn’t look up—some aliens interpreted eye contact as a challenge, so Max made sure never to look at any of them. He probably should make more of an effort to learn about different species and their customs, but he didn’t have the time—okay, maybe he was lazy. Quam was some form of Reptoid, which was enough for him. What Bair was he didn’t know. His face reminded Max of a blowfish, thankfully without the spines some of them had. His jowl wobbled as he turned his head, his round eyes sat close together, and his mouth resembled a fish’s. It was too small for the round face, and there weren’t any real lips, just hard-looking edges. His best feature was his skin, a beautiful mocha-colour with small white dots all over, not that Max would think any better of him because of it. Bair was scum, a nasty pirate, and nothing would change that. He steeled himself as the men, or whatever he should call them, spilt into his restaurant. With a deep breath and a quick glance at Quam, he clutched his pen and paper and went to take their orders. Hopefully, none of them had keen enough hearing to pick up on his heartbeats. “Are you ready to order, gentlemen?” Max kept his voice welcoming, his gaze glued to the grey tiles on the floor, and made sure to keep his distance from Bair who sat at the end of the table as usual. Max noticed they were fewer than they normally were. Maybe they’d been out raiding some poor unknowing merchant ship or something. The idea scared him more than he wanted to acknowledge—Bair on an adrenaline high was worse than Bair in his normal mood. “We’ll have dessert today.” Max didn’t have time to react before he was pulled down onto Bair’s lap, large hands roamed his body, and his skin burned when Bair nuzzled his neck. The scorching heat was too much. With a strangled cry, Max fought his way out of Bair’s hold, hitting and kicking, his heart hammering while Bair chuckled. Quam was by his side before he managed to regain his balance. His hand—three fingers and a thumb—gently gripped Max’s elbow to help steady him. Max almost jerked away; he was not used to being touched and with Bair’s burning contact fresh in mind he wanted nothing more than to lash out. But he didn’t. Instead, he took a calming breath, and when Quam let go of him, Max took a half-step in behind him. “I have to ask you to leave if you can’t refrain from harassing the staff.” Quam’s voice was tight with anger, something Max wasn’t used to hearing. He looked up, saw the protruding little horns on his jaw and to his surprise Quam’s skin had taken a bluish hue, gone was his usual light yellow colour. Bair chuckled again, and Max tasted bile at the back of his mouth. Welts were starting to form on his neck where he’d been in contact with Bair’s skin. He tried to ignore them but they itched and stung, and he was turning dizzy. “He is mine, and everybody knows it. Why don’t you go back to your quiet corner to read your book and let me have a little fun?” Max looked at the floor, hating the fear splashing around in his gut. “I’ll be your server today, gentlemen.” Quam nudged Max and nodded towards the counter before turning back to the party. “If you find that unacceptable you know where the door is.” Max waited for a second or two to see if anyone would object. When no one did—though Bair did grumble—he walked away. He liked to think his gait was relaxed but the only one he was fooling was himself. With shaking hands, he put on another pot of coffee in case Bair had been serious about the dessert. It didn’t take long before Quam was back by his side. “How are you faring?” Max frowned, sometimes the wording was a bit strange, he guessed it was a slight translation problem. All the races approved by the Allied Species Federation (ASF) had language implants to make communication possible. “I’m good.” “No queasiness?” Well, he always was a bit queasy when Bair and his gang were here. “No, I’m fine.” “Good, it’s illegal for Daector species to touch anyone without first making sure they don’t react to their poison or have their permission to touch them despite it.” Quam made a face Max guessed was disgusted—reading alien facial expressions was hard, but Quam he usually understood. Max touched his neck, the welts had started to weep, and his hand came away slightly sticky. “Even humans?” Humans didn’t have much sway in the ASF—too few, too weak, too insubstantial. “There are no specific species listed; it should be the same for everyone.” Max snorted and took the piece of paper Quam held in his hand. They both knew that was far from reality. “There is a law, Max. He’s not allowed to touch you.” “Yeah, well, I’ve told him several times, and it hasn’t made any difference, has it?” Max hated that there was nothing he could do to stop Bair from doing what he wanted—he was just a measly human, after all. Looking down at the order, he started preparing seven coffees. “Top you off,” he asked when Quam didn’t move. “I said I’d be their server. I’ll bring them their coffee.” “I can do it, Quam. Drink your coffee before it gets too cold. You haven’t had your three breakfast cups yet.” Max smiled, willing Quam to go back to his table. It wasn’t Quam’s job to serve the customers and Max had to face them sooner or later. He couldn’t run a restaurant if he couldn’t take orders from all kinds of species. Quam sighed, a thing Max was pretty sure he’d picked up from him. He couldn’t remember Quam ever sighing in the first year or so he’d worked here. “If anyone of them touches you, I’ll throw them out.” Max looked up at him, once again noticing his usual yellow shade give way for a blue one. What was up with that? “I expect nothing else.” They both nodded, and Max started placing the coffee cups on a round black tray. He would have to go two rounds. Hesitating for a second, he grabbed a cloth and wiped down the counter before pulling in a careful breath and grabbing the tray. He could do this.