Faceoff
Ever get cognitive whiplash going from one group of aliens to another? You’d think I’d be used to the variety since I’ve spent so much time bopping around the galaxy, but some things just catch you by surprise.
It was a simple difference. I’d been talking with my smallest crewmates while we walked into the space station, trying not to loom over anybody or step on a tentacle in close quarters. The hallway between our corner of the docks and the central concourse was a narrow one. Then Coals realized he’d left something on the ship, and Paint volunteered to go back with him to help find it, and Mimi took a side corridor off to the public bathrooms, with a comment about checking how the local mechanics handled sanitization fields.
It’s possible that he even meant that. As long as he didn’t steal any parts for our ship, I was more than happy to let the octopus alien’s bathroom time be his own business.
I was thinking that, still slouching a bit after waving goodbye to Paint, when I turned a corner and was suddenly the smallest person around.
Hulking shapes in scales and space suits filled my vision, clustered near the entrance with no way to see past, much less wriggle by. I hadn’t heard the voices over the chatter of the crowd that had to be out there somewhere, and the ambient music. (Something with drums. Much better than the leg-singing screeches from the last station we visited. At any rate, it was loud.)
I stopped in my tracks and straightened up, glad I hadn’t slammed into the broad back in front of me. The spacesuited individual wasn’t even looking, and neither were the other two next to him. (Her? No idea.) I couldn’t see the faces from where I was standing, just the burly, hunched shoulders, and the short reptilian tail. Smashers, that was the name for these guys. I’d never been on the receiving end of their disapproval, and I wasn’t about to start.
The raised voices got louder. I peeked past a giant elbow to see that some scaly members of this huddle seemed to be facing off with the Smashers.
Uh oh. The scaly guys were Armorlites. While most races that I’d met were likely to take the threat of a good smashing and back away, Armorlites never backed away from anything, even (especially) if it was a good idea. Not that I would speak ill of any intelligent race’s common sense, mind you. It’s just that after a few run-ins with these frat house dinosaurs, I had something of an opinion about their skills in diplomacy.
Picture a T-rex with good arms and bad self-preservation sense, baring his teeth at someone roughly his own height, who’s wearing a space suit and speaking in the deepest of voices that makes the very air vibrate. I’d honestly thought it was part of the music, an instrument I didn’t recognize.
But no. It was threats.
“You think you can just claim a table here without paying your respects?”
The Armorlite in front waggled his claws. “We can claim anything we want. You should be respecting me!”
“You’ve got to earn respect, blunt-fang.”
Those were definitely fighting words, and I was concerned. I hopped in place, trying to peek around the meat slab blockade to see if the station had any kind of security forces nearby. No luck. And with the music thumping away, I couldn’t tell what reactions the people on the other side were having to this confrontation.
Just as I turned to rush back down the corridor, the group broke out into sudden movement, all of them lunging and dodging. I watched over my shoulder for a couple of steps, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. Were the Smashers aiming to head-butt the Armorlites with their face shields? Those things weren’t rated for combat. Unless they were. Or —
Unless they were dancing instead.
I stopped dead as the laughter registered in my brain. The two groups were having an honest-to-goodness dance-off next to the food court, and that had been the plan from the start.
“You’ve gotten slow, with footwork like that! I thought this would be a challenge!”
“I’ll show you a challenge! Stand back with your short tail, and let a real expert show you how it’s done!”
“Oh, a real expert? Did you bring one with you?”
The trash talk and deep-voiced chuckles blended with the music while the crowd of giants stomped and jumped and spun. They moved away from the entrance a bit so they’d have room to properly cut a rug, and I caught glimpses of many staring faces at a safe distance. Not a single security officer was among them. Several recording devices were, though.
I edged back in their direction, cautious of flying elbows, and sidled along close to the wall. A cluster of Frillians moved aside to let me escape, busy as they were with filming the dance battle and also laughing about it. They were on the tall side for their own species, but downright spindly compared to the dancers.
Once past, I took a deep breath. I’d reached the food court. Nice to see that it was populated by a range of species, all of whom were going about their day as if this kind of nonsense happened all the time here.
I stood tall and set out to find some human food. There was bound to be someplace that carried Earth cuisine — likely mixed together in bizarre combinations that no Earthling would have done on purpose, but little surprises are a way of life out here.
~~~
These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.
Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.
The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).
