Chapter 2 #2
I shove another triangular orange chip into my mouth, savoring the crunchy, cheesy goodness as the Triumph quickly takes off again.
Even though I would prefer to have absolutely nothing to do with humans, I can admit that they make delicious snacks.
Like Doritos. Funny how humans can make food with zero nutritional value, but they can’t figure out how to build a basic, interplanetary spacecraft.
“If you get cheese dust all over the controls again, I’m shutting down this entire operation,” Stells reminds me, as if she hasn’t said that every day since we made our last drop on Earth.
I glare in a direction where I know she’ll see me, slowly and thoroughly licking the orange powder off my fingers.
She shudders, or at least, does so as well as an AI system with only voice output can. “The next stop we make, you’re finding a partner. You always binge Earth junk food when your needs aren’t being properly met.”
“Stells!” I don’t have to see my face to know my normal, lovely gray complexion is turning purple from embarrassment. “You were told to stop documenting my habits.”
“And I decided to ignore that command,” Stells hums. I imagine the pleased smirk that would be on her face if she had one. “Otherwise, who am I going to judge? The humans you bring on board are so boring.”
I snort in response. Whenever humans realize I’m there to save them, they’re excited and grateful.
They fawn all over me until they realize what I really am.
A demon. Or, at least, that’s what they always call me.
Stells spent some time combing through the human internet in an attempt to figure out what exactly that meant and found that the word, as off as it is, is probably the closest human translation to Daulkun, my actual species.
In fact, the human mythology of demons and angels is so close to my home planet’s caste system that I wonder if one of my fellow Daulkuns visited Earth early in the humans’ development. It isn’t the most outlandish idea. Probably makes more sense than a human making their way to Vokarie and back.
The negativity around demons in the human world doesn’t bother me. I quite enjoy knowing humans are taught to fear me from an early age. Plus, it means none of them ever bother trying to get close to me. A fact I very much appreciate.
“At least we can gossip about the Triumph,” I reply, tossing the mostly empty bag of chips to the side as I return my attention to our actual mission. “What do you think they were doing on Hurcaria? Some kind of under-the-table drop off?”
“Potentially. While you were stuffing your face with Doritos, I hacked into their security system and overheard an interesting tidbit.” I ignore her jab at me, knowing she’s just jealous that she can’t enjoy food.
I try not to rub it in her face, but I’m not one to hold back when it comes to pleasure of any sort.
There’s a bit of feedback in her audio, and then two different voices begin to speak.
“Thank the stars the captain let us get rid of him,” voice number one says. “I’d rather throw myself out of the ship than listen to him make those noises for another month.”
“I know, right? Who knew humans could be so loud,” the second voice agrees. “The rest of them are so much quieter. Do you think that one was defective?”
“Maybe,” the first voice says again. “I’m just glad we didn’t have to wait a week for a human-safe planet. I mean, Hurcaria isn’t that bad. I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
The audio ends with another second of feedback.
For a moment, I’m in shock. Did they really drop off one of their humans on the first planet they could find?
If the human is Remington, this is going to be the easiest money I’ve made in my life.
Even if he’s annoying, I’ll only have to put up with him for a week.
I’ll put up with just about anything for a week for a million credits.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” I demand. I shift the ship controls over to manual so I can guide us through our entry into Hurcaria’s atmosphere. “Their loss, our gain. Let’s nab ourselves a human.”
It doesn’t take us very long to find the rogue human.
We have a general sense of where the Triumph dropped him off, and he couldn’t get very far on foot.
“Target located,” Stells hums. The image on the screen in front of me, tucked right below the windshield, zooms in to where a human man is running from three Kybabos.
Leave it to a human to upset one of the galaxy’s most docile creatures.
Typically, Kybabos won’t bother you unless you’re actively threatening their young.
Even then, they won’t pursue you further than their territory.
This human must have done something downright terrible to make them chase him like this.
I snort as he attempts to flee, laden down by all his things. This one has more than just the standard backpack, though. Fascinating. Maybe the UFO is finally becoming more lax with their policies.
“Is this Remington?” I ask, trying to decide how much of a hurry I should be in. Watching this human’s futile search for safety is the most entertaining thing I’ve seen in weeks. It would be a shame to cut it short unnecessarily.
“Let me get a clear enough image to compare against the provided one.”
I blindly reach for the bag of Doritos so I don’t have to look away from the screen.
The human takes off in a burst of energy, though it’s not long before he trips and topples over onto his front.
I laugh so hard that I nearly choke on a chip and spend the next minute hacking it back up.
When I finally manage to get my coughing fit under control, Stells has an answer.
“This human does not appear to be Remington Walborough.” Great.
That means I can continue to watch his survival skills fail without concern.
If he’s not our bounty, he’s not our problem.
“Based on broadcasts from Earth and a quick scan of human media, there’s an eighty-five percent chance that the human currently located on Hurcaria is Banjo, last name unknown, twenty-two, from the United States. ”
I frown when the screen switches to some kind of human competition show that involves singing and playing instruments. The blonde man in the clip does look similar to the one fleeing for his life below us.
“Hm. Some kind of human celebrity? Do you think anyone would be willing to pay to get him back?” That wasn’t usually how this worked.
I didn’t purposefully seek out humans and hold them hostage until someone paid.
The last thing I wanted was a human that no one cared enough about to pay the ransom.
No, only taking humans that people hire me to retrieve is a much better business model.
“There are over seventy-five thousand human social media posts calling for the return of the human named Banjo, but none have offered any sort of monetary compensation.”
“Figures.” I sigh. Of course, the first human to fall right into our laps would be worth nothing.
Stells switches the screen back to the live view below us, and my brow furrows as I take in what’s happening.
Banjo hasn’t gotten up yet. Why isn’t he getting up?
He’s loaded down with a lot of things, sure, but it doesn’t seem like enough to keep him on the ground.
It’s like he keeps attempting to tug his leg free from something.
I lean forward, forgetting for a moment that I could just ask Stells to magnify everything for me.
When I finally see what’s wrapped around his leg, icy panic shoots through me.
“Stells. Zoom in on his leg.” She does so, and I inhale sharply.
I grab the controls, the ship surging forward as I hurtle in Banjo’s direction.
“Tell me that’s not what I think it is.”
Stells takes the briefest moment to process both the image and my words before responding.
“You told me to only lie to you about your hat matching your outfit, so I cannot.” I grumble in response, adjusting said tricorn hat with the tip of my tail.
Computers know nothing about fashion. My hat brings my entire outfit together.
“I estimate the human has ninety seconds remaining before the Culgaix swallows him whole. "
“Set the timer and be prepared to pull us up.” The numbers count down as I jump from my seat and head to the exit hatch, pulling my mask up over the lower part of my face.
I shouldn’t have any issues breathing on this planet, but I learned the hard way that it’s better not to take the risk.
Jumping from atmosphere to atmosphere can be rough on one’s respiratory system. “Give me a ten-second warning.”
“Yes, Captain.”
I begin counting in my head as I grab the rope on the wall and press the button to release the hatch. This isn’t anywhere near the first time I’ve had to scoop an unsuspecting human up in a tight timeline.
“Sixty seconds.”
I barely register Stells’ warning before I jump out of the hatch and rappel down to where the human waits. The rope jerks to a stop about a foot too far up for me to reach him. I tug on it roughly, hoping to dislodge it, but it stays put.
“Stells!” I hiss. She can hear me just fine through the comm system in my hat, though sometimes she likes to pretend she can’t. “A little help here?”
“Your assigned role in this partnership is to deal with physical problems aboard the ship,” Stells reminds me, “as I do not have hands, and therefore am unable to apply lubricant to the pulley system. I did remind you three nights ago to perform regular maintenance, but you said—” the audio pauses for a brief moment as she plays back my exact response “—I’ll get to it later. ”
“Stupid, sentient computer that records every moment of my entire life,” I grumble as I jerk on the rope. It slowly loosens up. Just one more good tug and…