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.

Keep reading

The last delivery our ship made was to a dry planet with too much wind. I’d say it was nice to be somewhere with moisture in the air again, but this was a lot of rain. And while I can appreciate the scent of petrichor and the sound of raindrops on the roof as much as the next Earthling, our current setup was a smidge inconvenient.

Paint asked, “Are you sure we don’t want to use the cargo bay instead?” She peeked past my elbow through the personnel door. “I feel like a wet floor there is less of a slipping hazard.”

“Maybe, but the awning doesn’t fit,” I told her, pointing up at the portable thing that came with this spaceport’s landing pad. It was made for single-person entrances, a hovering pink rectangle tethered to the ground with some kind of localized tractor beam. It stuck to the ship nicely, and hadn’t let so much as a drop sneak past to drip down my shirt, but it wouldn’t have fit over the cargo bay entrance.

“I thought we were going to use one of the bigger landing pads,” Paint said, surprise on her lizardy face as she looked out at the spaceport. “I know our ship is on the small side, but this spot looks tiny!”

“It is,” I said. “That douchnozzle over there sniped our spot.” I pointed at the sporty red single-person cruiser that was currently hogging a courier space. I’d heard Wio swear from the cockpit when she had to adjust our approach because the jerk zipped in front of us. I’d seen the nice big awning crumple down to fit his jerkmobile. After we’d landed in a spot almost too small for us, I’d seen him stroll away with fancy clothes and a force field umbrella, and he hadn’t come back yet.

He was a human, too. Not that I was bitter about any of that.

Keep reading

The wind on this alien planet was like I’d expected: not quite strong enough to put my balance at risk, but enough to make me glad I’d braided my hair back extra tight. Even with that precaution, little hair tendrils were whipping the sides of my face as I walked, and I didn’t have a hand free to brush them away. I was, as usual, carrying a box.

Mur could have carried it, but it would have been much harder for him, since he needed his tentacles to walk. Lucky bipedal me, with my free hands. I tried to focus on that as I squinted into the wind, scanning the nearly-deserted spaceport for our clients. I really should have brought goggles. Or at least a hat that wouldn’t get blown off.

A beanie would be perfect right now, I thought. Or even a scarf. I could be nice and fashionable with my swim goggles and a tie-dye bandanna. Why did I grab chapstick but nothing for my eyes?

I knew it was because Wio had only mentioned the drying properties of the local air when I’d asked. She was a Strongarm like Mur, and they admittedly had different priorities. No hair, for one.

“There they are,” Mur said over the wind. Not a thing got in his eyes.

Keep reading

I pushed my way into the engine room with a tray of food, wondering what was keeping Mimi from his meals this time. He was a dedicated sort, taking his job as spaceship mechanic seriously, and sometimes that meant long hours grumbling in the guts of the ship.

“Dinner!” I called. There was no sign of green tentacles among the viewscreens of the main room, and I didn’t feel like guessing which passageway he’d gone down.

“Thanks,” grated Mimi’s rough voice from somewhere to the right. “Up here.”

I followed the sound of someone rummaging through a toolbox to find Mimi perched on top of one pipe among many, in front of an open electrical panel. Wires were everywhere, most held aside with twist ties to bare the problem area. Mimi clutched tools in many tentacles. He was the very picture of an annoyed octopus digging through his toolbox for more. I wasn’t sure which pipes he’d climbed to get there, dragging the toolbox up to what was head height on me.

“Hi,” I said. “Where do you want it?” There wasn’t space for the tray on the curving pipes next to him.

Keep reading

“Are you warm enough?” I asked Paint as we walked. My fingers were chilly against the box I carried, but it was small enough that I could reach to rub them together.

“Yes,” Paint said firmly. She pulled her heat shawl close, nuzzling her scaly orange face into its yellow warmth. “This is fully charged, and much better than my old one.”

“Well, no falling in the water for you today.”

“No falling in the water for me ever!” she said. “Unless the water is warm. Then it would be nice.”

I looked around at the industrial ruins that we walked through, all damp concrete and convoluted passageways. Even the sunlight on this planet felt thin. “I don’t think anything around here is warm.”

“Not yet,” Paint said with a lift of her snout. “I’m sure they’ll get things back in working order soon. That box probably holds a key heating circuit or something, and the area will become more hospitable in no time.”

I smiled at her priorities. As a coldblooded Heatseeker, she could hardly be blamed for expecting warmth to be high on the to-do list. I would have focused more on landing pad repair personally, so visiting couriers didn’t have to walk through this maze of alien architecture to reach the inhabited area, but that’s just me.

At any rate, our delivery timeline was short but so was the best route, at least according to the map on my phone. If we kept up a brisk pace, we’d get there well before the client started to grumble. And in this chill there was no reason to dawdle.

Sudden voices echoed off the walls: laughter from a few people at once. Distinctly human laughter. The locals were Frillians, so who were these?

Paint craned her neck to pinpoint the source of the voices, looking just as curious as I was. Then we walked around a corner and met a cluster of humans in blue jackets with a logo that I recognized immediately.

“Hey, it’s the crew of the good ship Hold My Beer!” I said in greeting. “How’s the droid jousting business?”

Keep reading

There’s a poster I saw once, back on Earth, that had a silhouette of a bear with deer antlers, and it was labeled “Beer.” I had forgotten about it completely until I met our newest client, who by that logic was definitely a beer.

I’d already done my part of the interaction by carrying out one of the heavier boxes, so while the captain went over the delivery fees with her, I was free to stare politely and decide which other Earth animals she resembled. (Fur coloring more like a red fox, and semi-upright posture that was less bear and more extinct giant ground sloth.)

I was so focused on watching the client handle the datapad with her giant paws that I completely missed it when the hovercar behind her sprung a fuel leak.

Paint saw it, though. “Oh! Your car!” she yelped, pointing. “I’ll get Mimi!” She was off in a flash of orange scales, back into the ship in search of our mechanic.

The client growled a swear word that didn’t translate, shoved the datapad back at Captain Sunlight, then galloped over to her car. While I expected her to throw open the hood in search of the part that was leaking, she instead made a beeline for the back seat.

When she threw open that door, I saw why.

Keep reading

“Before you go,” said Captain Sunlight, stopping us at the open door. “The client sent a last-minute warning.”

“Oh boy.” I gripped the small delivery package a little tighter, braced for bad news.

Zhee was less tactful. “Those are never good,” he said, waving a pincher arm about. The package he was carrying was strapped to his bug-alien back, so his pinchers were free to gesture with. “Is this a hazard that they should have mentioned up front? Something we might have charged extra for?”

“Possibly. Hopefully not.” Captain Sunlight didn’t have eyebrows exactly, but her scaly browridges were frowning anyway. “If anything seems hazardous and you feel like you should return to the ship, please do. The client hasn’t answered any of my messages for further details. All we know is that this continent has something called ‘screamers,’ which come out at sunset, and are dangerously loud. The warning was not to get close to them if you can help it.”

“Screamers,” I repeated. “And they didn’t think to explain that a little?”

Keep reading

Human A: “Holding the finger and thumb like this is the sign of a heart!”

Human B: “What are you talking about? That’s the sign of money, like rubbing two coins together!”

Alien A: “Hahahaha, you two are both saying that you have small genitals, and are seeking another who is similarly poorly-endowed!”

Alien B, whispering: “You made that up.”

Alien A: “Yes I did. Their argument was annoying. And everybody knows that’s the sign for ‘time to eat’ anyway.”

My Patreon is almost live!

I’m pushing all the buttons now. Can’t wait. It’s gonna be great.