20. THALIA

Ahane swished his tail, made sure his apron was secured, and held the handle of a very large ladle/baseball bat situation. He tilted his head towards me.

I adjusted my hood to make sure it was sufficiently deep and checked my sleeves were secured by ties to my upper sleeves (so the cuffs wouldn’t drag in the food) but that my wrists were hidden by my glove cuffs. Forearms wrapped in cloth strips to hide any trace of Human skin and Grey probe scars, and protect the healing chemical burn.

Gloves secured, feet wrapped, hood arranged. “Ready.”

It was one of the few words I could manage to choke out in Utilitarian. I had better luck with High Dialect, but most people wouldn’t have a 25XA codex on their translator. Translators had finite capacity, codexes weren’t free, and speciality codexes were pricey.

Well, codexes could be free, if you wanted to write to the planet in question, cite your financial hardship, and then wait six to ten years (or whatever it was) for your request to be processed.

It wasn’t like the menu was anything other than gray slop, white slop, white slop with mysterious bits, and three types of pancakes: green semi-custard half dollars, green burned-until-they’re-pucks half dollars, and one large pancake tossed on the grill just long enough to scare it, served un-cooked side up and mildly warm side down. All options came with a variety of toppings that looked and smelled like fish food and things I had scraped out of the bottom of the oven back home when I’d put a pizza on the center rack and forgotten about it.

I’d been nine. We’d been hungry. Dad had finally come home, rounded us up for dinner, we’d ended up on some all-night drive to some estate auction two states over, and when we’d gotten home… well. At least the apartment hadn’t burned down. Dad didn’t believe in renter’s insurance.

I stood on my tip-toes at the door-end of the counter to get a look at the crowd lining up. “Holy shit. Seriously?”

“Food is a serious matter,” Ahane said, utterly deadpan and ladle/club at the ready.

“But this diner isn’t.” There had been plenty of food-related business out on the concourse. Granted, this was hot food and not stolen rations that might have expired five hundred years ago.

Ahane unlocked the first door, then stood clear of the hallway and used his tail to throw the locks on the outer door.

Two taproot guys surged through, tripped over each other, and an articulated crawled over them.

Ahane swung the ladle and nailed the articulated right in the thorax joint.

I winced.

Ahane stomped on one of the fallen taproot guy”s neck and pinned him to the floor, lashed his tail around the articulated’s feelers, then swung the ladle again to uppercut the second taproot guy as he tried to stand.

The sound of the ladle making contact was a DONGGGGGGGGG.

“Orderly line!” Ahane bellowed. “Orderly line!”

The crowd shoved and pushed itself into a line down the concourse.

Ahane hooked the articulated around the thorax-y part and dragged them forward and swung them around out of the way.

Ahane pointed the ladle at the next in line, who was pale as a sheet and clearly weighing how badly he wanted slop and pancakes. Ahane then pointed the ladle at the interior of the diner. “You will be polite with my assistant or there will be further discipline.”

The articulated centipede/worm scurried/squirmed across the floor, climbed up into the round bowl-like stool at the counter, and turned her three eyes towards the menu hanging behind my head.

I leaned against the counter and put on my best bored waitress air while Ahane let in the first batch of customers before kicking the first three guys to the back of the line and snarling at everyone else to wait in line at the concourse.

Don’t speak English, don’t speak English…

In fact, just don’t speak at all.

Gestalt menus were based on numbers—you ordered by number for everything you wanted. Same reason why I was Assistant and Ahane was Cook: translations and pronunciation. So it was pretty easy for me to understand when the worm with legs made glug-glug noises with her bodychonk and it translated as she wanted a six: the disgusting mega-pancake. For a beverage, she wanted hot potty sewage.

At least that’s what I took it to be. It smelled like someone had thrown lemon pepper into a cesspool and then heated it to the most offensively lukewarm temperature ever. Either that or a battery fire at the local dump. Wasn’t sure which.

Luckily, my mask was able to filter most of the scents of the kitchen.

Everyone seemed very excited for their slop and sewage.

Pen and paper were in short supply to write tickets, but with only a few items on the menu (and no substitutions or modifications, thanks), keeping orders straight wasn’t difficult. The most popular dish was the mega-pancake, followed by some orders for half-custard pucks and white slop with mysterious bits. I hauled myself up onto the homemade stool of crates and random trash to shout through the service window how many of whatever, and Ahane slapped it onto the flat top or scooped it into a shallow, wide bowl. I then carted the dishes to their tables, collected payment by having them press one of their varied appendages to a small pad on a lanyard around my neck, and returned to my post behind the counter to establish who was a regular and who wasn’t, because regulars meant potential rides back to Earth.

I ignored the twinge of guilt. Ahane was going to fix the ship and go back to whatever (or wherever) he had come from. Probably rejoin the space commando brotherhood and fuck up more Greys.

An endeavor I fully supported.

He didn’t need to know about my efforts to get back to Earth. He’d probably try to stop me. Because dangerous. Because damn near impossible. Because would end badly.

Frankly, I didn’t deserve to go back to Earth.

Ahane telling me about the Gestalt mind-mapping procedure had presented a third option. I deserved to be mind-paste. My brain was full of facts about the Greys. Things I’d probably forgotten or didn’t even know were important, but if they could scrape it all out and sort through it…

Maybe it would help the other Humans. Maybe it would stop the Greys and protect Earth.

Something yanked me out of my thought spiral. My attention slammed back to the diner, where I’d been leaning against the counter, and everyone in the diner was sort of looking at me. A blend of everyone abjectly staring and trying very hard to not stare. Plates were empty or hadn’t been served.

Fuck.

“Food!” a patron that looked like a werewolf howled (was he the same guy from the strip club?). He smashed his paw/fist into the table.

The way everyone was staring/not-staring… had I been talking out loud?

A lot of plates had built up at the window. Ahane’s sunset gaze and red body loomed through the narrow rectangle.

Double fuck.

I scrambled, grabbed some plates, and began to distribute them. Wolf-guy snarled at me just as I was about to set down his slop.

[NO DIRECT TRANSLATION : EXTREME SLUR]

Excuse me. What? He was going to call me EXTREME SLUR just because his fucking slop with ugly bits hadn’t been launched from window to table?

This was no five-star resort. He was lucky I had washed my hands.

I shifted his plate to my off-hand and pointed at the door.

He bared his teeth at me.

Maybe pointing wasn’t a universal gesture. Time to break out my 25XA. Ahane had taught me two words to dismiss someone. I chose the ruder one. “Fuck off.”

My pronunciation must have been on point.

He lunged for the plate. I managed to dodge and not drop the plate. His claws scratched the floor, he spun and snatched at the plate, swiping it from me with one arm while he sent me flying into the floor with the other.

Oof.

Oh, that hurt.

The door to the kitchen smashed open.

Ahane ripped off his apron at the same time he threw his ladle. It hit the werewolf straight in the head. Ahane flicked his wrist and the length of chain on the handle snapped around the wolf’s neck. Ahane yanked as the ladle swung full around and smacked the werewolf in the head for a second time.

Werewolf’s claws threw sparks as they raked over Ahane’s extended scales, once again frost and roses tipped with winter sunset.

Werewolf dude opened his mouth to snap at Ahane.

Ahane shoved his tail right into werewolf’s mouth. ALL the way.

Werewolf choked on the surprise meal.

“No one,” Ahane snarled as he drove his tail down werewolf’s throat looking for his previous meal, “touches her. Not with your words, not with your eyes, and not with your fucking limbs!”

He threw werewolf down into the floor by the throat. From the inside.

Then he scooped the guy up, dragged him out the door to the concourse, and disappeared from immediate view.

I slowly got to my feet, still wheezing and half doubled-over.

All of us went oh shit when werewolf smashed up against the window from the outside. His eyes were bugging out and his tongue drew smears over the glass. Behind him, Ahane had him with both claws, his scales burning bright in the darkness.

The darkness with no air.

I almost screamed what are you doing!? I crawled over two other horrified patrons and banged on the glass.

Ahane held the werewolf there as the werewolf visibly suffocated in the brutal cold. Ahane sparkled like a distant miniature sun.

I banged both fists on the glass. What are you doing?! Get back in here! Don’t fucking kill him! And don’t get yourself killed, you stupid space commando!

Ahane yanked the wolf off the glass and tossed him.

I shoved my hands over my mouth to hold in my scream as the werewolf dude sailed through the very thin air towards the void. He moved in slow motion, letting us take in every single bit of the horror, terror, and regret that suffused every fiber of his being.

Ahane stomped down the walkway and disappeared into the grimy, dusty, dancing lights.

The werewolf floated off the boardwalk, down the length of one of the docks, and managed to hook a protrusion from one of the docked ships. Then he clawed his way along the top of the ship, down the side, and onto the dock, his movements slowing as the air in his blood ran out.

Suddenly, two of the centipede/cockroach bouncers from the casino scuttled down the boardwalk. Their little legs carried them so fast, but they barely seemed to move, and I swear the tap tap tap from their footfalls echoed across the structure. They glided to the wolf, shoved a breather over his face/snout, and dragged him back up the boardwalk.

Ahane stomped back into the diner. He pulled his apron over his head and sashed it behind his back.

I caught myself before I screamed what were you doing and instead settled for slamming my gloved fists into his chest while silently screaming what the fuck do you think you were doing!!!!

He caught me by the elbows and didn’t let go. I peered up at him from my hood. His scales were thick and sharp through the cloak, and he looked like he’d been made out of frozen metallic rose petals.

I grabbed his apron straps and shook him. Or tried to. He only let himself move once to acknowledge I was, in fact, tugging on him.

“Did he injure you?” Ahane’s voice walked the edge of do I need to go murder him and I’ve made my point.

My midsection throbbed from forearm to the lower ribs—wolf guy had hooked me right under the ribs and damn, it smarted like a stubbed toe—but I wasn’t hurt. “No.”

He dipped low and ran his hands down my arms. “Are you sure?”

Thank whatever deities kept an eye on this part of the galaxy I was wearing my mask, because my rage wanted to take the form of punishing him with the most aggressive kiss he had ever (and would ever) endure.

“We have customers waiting.” His voice was a deep rumble that conveyed comfort. Along with a huge heaping side of what are you even upset about, I’m fine.

I gave the apron straps a couple more useless tugs because I couldn’t use my words to yell at him.

Ahane looked deliberately around the diner, then back at the line of patrons still waiting outside for a table. He released me and went back into the kitchen.

Well, great. Good talk. Asshole.

I picked up the fallen plate, tossed it in the bus bin, and went to get the squeegee to sop up the spilled slop.

Attempted murder didn’t seem to impact anyone’s appetite: everyone went back to eating, and customers continued to come in and place orders. Nobody wanted to be the next for Ahane to send on the lightless walk. Or the never-ending super slow-mo tumble into the lightless void.

How I was able to tell that glug glug and assorted trills, chirps, grunts, and guttural language was respectful, don’t know, but there was a certain yes, ma’am in the air.

The line at the door moved again and the oh hell caught my attention, and the Site Master glided through the doors.

The Site Master was not happy. His bottom legs did a little tap dance on the floor while his upper legs made spiraling motions twisting one on another.

I raised my voice. “Cook!”

Ahane pushed his way through the door, still wearing his apron, but not carrying his ladle/cudgel. Didn’t need to. Everything about him conveyed I’m not sorry and you’re wasting your time.

The Site Master waved his feelers towards the ceiling while his twirling upper legs took on a subtle, specific rhythm to the rotations. “Don’t kill my patrons, Cook.”

Ahane squared himself to be a giant ruby brick of fuck you and launch himself right through the nearest window. “Your patron was more trouble than he is worth.”

“I decide the worth of my patrons and my staff. That patron owes me a great deal of money, and if I had to write off his debt due to you killing him, I would transfer that debt to you.”

Ahane tapped his tail on his right shoulder. Struck me as the 25XA equivalent of the world’s smallest violin.

Something about the Site Master became sinister. “I understand if you cannot control your anger when someone places a hand on your mate.”

“She is not my mate,” Ahane bit out.

“Precisely. And since she is not your mate, as you claim, then do not kill my patrons. I do not care if you enforce discipline and manners. But do not kill them. They cannot pay me if they are dead and broken.” He lashed Ahane on the shoulders with both feelers.

His feelers made strange sizzle noises as they hit Ahane’s scales and something smelled very sweet.

The Site Master tap-glided away.

Ahane made a snort noise and went back into the kitchen.

Fuck. How many dead bodies were there going to be?