Chapter Five #2
“Don’t insult people to their face,” Max warned.
James glurbled. “All government people. One face. Max Father amuses, but I will hide insults and whisper when they glide around corner.”
“That’s not... are you insulting my English?
” Max was slightly offended, but the car pulled up outside a tower that had the most obnoxious iridescent windows Max had ever seen.
It looked like a wet oil spill reflecting the morning sun on a carrier.
Technically he shouldn’t have known what that looked like, but deck crews could get a little lazy sometimes.
James flowed out of his side of the vehicle. The car was so low and the sidewalk so uneven that Max stumbled his way to the building like a drunk man. It wasn’t the first impression Max wanted to make, but James was moving too fast for him to regain his balance or his dignity.
The entrance was an irregular arch with edges that looked like it had been carved from solid stone.
When James charged forward, glass doors pivoted up, parting in the middle and disappearing into a hidden pocket.
James was tiny compared to the other Hidden ones and Max rushed forward before he lost sight of his idiot son.
The other Hidden ones largely ignored James, but as Max appeared, they all shrank down, their walking tentacles curling in distress and all the other tentacles tucking under their bulbous heads.
One Hidden one even dropped a pile of plasticy cases and they clattered to the floor as his tentacles turned into tight little knots.
Max had been conditioned to care about the curly-fry status of tentacles because he felt more guilty and shitty with every step, even though he knew the scene was objectively funny.
Dozens or maybe even a hundred adults all shrank down to child-sizes like a magic trick.
Hell, James was now the tallest Hidden one in the lobby.
“Information kiosk,” James shouted as he reached the center of the lobby where a light shone on an octagonal shape that reminded Max of the control room of the ship.
A holographic pillar flickered into existence, and James waved a tentacle through it, poking at particular parts. When Max caught up, he could see the words speeding past, but the computer only translated spoken language, so he couldn’t read any of it.
“This way,” James said as he speared a purple square near the bottom of the holographic control panel. The hologram flickered and vanished.
Hidden ones fled as they walked the lobby. James didn't seem to notice the horror with which they were being watched, and Max didn't care. He was more concerned about the stress that specific Hidden ones might be causing his husband.
James led them to a platform that looked like the old-fashioned merry-go-rounds with their metal handles and center support poles. James climbed aboard and curled a half dozen tentacles around the various supports. “Max Father hold tightly,” James said.
The next platform had three Hidden ones; it took off from its starting position, and take off was the absolute best description because the elevator launched like a rocket.
Deciding he didn't care about dignity, Max sat on the floor and wrapped his legs and arms around the center pole that supported the curved struts. If Max hadn’t been a fighter pilot with specific training in withstanding G forces, he might have passed out when the lift took off.
As it was, he came dangerously close to losing his grip, and at that point he would have been dashed to pieces in an open elevator shaft.
Not only did Max have a thing against dying young, but he didn’t want to die in a pointless accident caused by Hidden ones’ inability to recognize danger. It was undignified to have pulped bits of your body scraped off the floor. He refused to do it.
Luckily, the lift slowed before they reached their destination. Max was almost certain that if it had stopped as quickly as it'd taken off, he would have suffered traumatic brain injury and whiplash.
The moment the elevator floor lined up with the actual floor of their destination, James slid right off it, but Max continued to cling to his support as he tried to get his terror and his roiling stomach under control.
“Is Max Father damaged?” James asked
“I'm fine,” Max lied. He surreptitiously checked to see if he had pissed his pants. Luckily, he hadn’t, so he forced his arms to uncurl from the support and stood on shaky legs. “What floor are we on?”
James did a quarter spin and twisted a couple of his tentacles in a way that Max had learned to associate with confusion. “We are on this floor. You can stand on it.” James used his longest arm tentacle to pat the floor helpfully.
Max took a shaky step forward and then another, slightly surprised that his knees were still holding his weight.
“Clarify. For humans, ‘floor’ can designate how high in a tower we are. The first floor aligns with the ground, then we number each layer of living space to show how high we've gone so the living structure above the first floor is called the second floor and then the third and fourth and fifth and we count until the highest part of the tower is the highest number.” Max was almost embarrassed about how nerdy he’d gotten in his ability to give detailed definitions.
James’ tentacles relaxed. “We are in floor 107.”
“On,” Max corrected in a distracted tone.
That explained the G forces. Max gave the Hidden ones kudos for efficiency, but even the military wouldn’t approve of this place, and Max had found the military embodied the whole ‘what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger’ ethos to the point of stupidity.
He would find stairs on the way out. Maybe.
If the choices were walking 107 flights of stairs or risk being flung down an elevator shaft, Max might take the risk.
That was a decision for future him. “Right. Let's go find Rick Father.”
“You should call Rick Father Rick Husband or you will confuse stupid excrement orifice government officials.” James sounded so earnest that the profanity almost made Max laugh.
“And you will offend the same officials if you call them excrement orifice,” Max warned.
“But I intend insult. I do not believe you intend confusion,” James explained. He did have Max there.
James slid away down a wide corridor that seemed to widen and narrow randomly.
That and the dark iridescent windows casting shifting shadows made the hallway feel like it was an underwater passage.
If Max’s stomach weren’t still trying to slot back in place under his ribs, he would've thought it was cool.
James led the way to an arch and Max followed him into a windowless, dimly lit office space with dozens of curving desks of different sizes and dozens of shocked Hidden ones.
“I demand to speak with takers of Rick Father,” James bellowed into the silent room. Max straightened and stared back at the multitude of eyes that were all focused on him.
“Rick Father,” James said louder.
His son was getting frustrated, and a frustrated James could lead to some interesting profanity, so Max took a step into the room.
If everyone's attention was on him, then he would take advantage of it.
“I demand to see Rick Husband, the father of James who is young enough to be financially supported by his egg layer.” Max coughed, his throat sore from bellowing the words out in his best imitation of Hidden one tone.
It seemed to work. A pale green Hidden one larger than most of the others slid forward.
“Designation Rick is in room of greeting,” he said.
“Query. Clarify. Location of room of greeting,” James demanded.
Max had no idea why the computer was falling back into the more formal and stilted language of its early communication, but Max suspected it wasn't good.
Either James was shouting to the point that the computer was having trouble identifying the words, or James was saying something less polite and the computer was trying to capture the stilted odd cadence.
The computer sometimes did that when the others were using the Hidden one equivalent of irony or sarcasm which for them seemed to include choosing old-fashioned words.
Rick had explained it was a way of saying that someone was old and out of touch and incapable of handling modern life.
Normally Max determined whether his children were being offensive by seeing whether the others shrank down on their walking tentacle.
However, since these people were all pretty shrunken the minute they saw Max, it was hard to judge the emotional tone.
The Hidden one who had spoken to them kept his walking tentacle straight as he slid straight toward James. He detoured at the last second, veering slightly left which took him to the far side of James and away from Max.
Max followed James into the watery corridor and down a half-mile of hallway before the Hidden one stopped at a new room.
This one was enormous with a giant pool in the center and padded benches set in rings around the pool.
Max spotted Rick immediately. He knew every splotch, every spot, every red tipped tentacle on his husband's octopussy body, and he broke into a run.
“Rick,” he called.
Rick sat taller, his walking tentacle braced on the bench he rose and twisted to look at Max out of his largest eye.
The large gathering of Hidden ones reacted, some shrinking down at the sight of an alien, but strangely, some of them stood taller.
Max was almost to his husband when the lizard part of his brain recognized danger.
Max slowed it to a walk, but before he could say anything, a large arm tentacle struck Max in the lower leg so hard that Max collapsed to the ground with a scream of agony.
“Max!” Rick screamed, and normally Max would want to comfort and reassure Rick whenever he heard that tone; however, he was too busy screaming over what he was almost sure was a broken leg.