It Doesn't Translate

Pirate Invasion

MAX WELCH GRABBED ONTO the counter as the sound of metal soles clinking against the titanium walkway on the arcades of The Luna Terminal reached him. They shouldn’t be here yet. It had only been two days since the last time.

With a deep breath, he forced himself to relax his shoulders. When opening the Hamburger bar, Max had figured they’d be kind to him since he was the only restaurant for at least a light year—days’ worth of travelling in the fastest high-speed ships—but of course, the fucking pirates didn’t care.

Maybe they’d only come here to fuel up... Yeah, right.

Maybe they’d come to the floating city to do some grocery shopping. Pirates probably needed to stock up on necessities too, right? They couldn’t steal everything they needed.

He held on to his hope as he glanced over to where Quam sat and sipped on his coffee. Max was proud of his coffee; not many were able to get it on their menu and Max had managed to land a deal with one of the top brands. It was the real thing, not the bland laboratory-grown kind you could pick up at any space colony.

When the hollers of men jostling and laughing came close enough to make the one customer who had been enjoying a cup hurry out of his—her?—seat, Quam sighed and put down the tablet. “They’re early.”

Max swallowed and gave him a terse nod. He hated when Bair and his crew came, but he’d be damned if he was to give them the satisfaction of showing it.

“Why don’t you go to the office? It isn’t Friday; you could be occupied elsewhere.”

Max snorted out a laugh. Yeah right. He appreciated Quam’s offer though, he really did, but there was no way around it.

“He knows I’m here; there’s no use in hiding.” Bair had insisted on Max serving him every Friday, the threat of things going bad if he didn’t hung in the air. Bair was capable of ruining his business at a whim. Max, like everyone else in this small port, wouldn’t survive for long without the deliveries coming from the mainland—from whichever mainland they ordered. The Luna Terminal was one tiny floating fake city—his restaurant, one grocery shop, one barber, one fuel station, a bathhouse of all things, and the health centre. They were close enough to Earth for Max to get deliveries, had he been farther away they'd refused his orders.

He was proud of his burger joint, all his products came from Earth, and he suspected a good part of his customer came only to have a look at the only human they’d likely ever see.

Smoothing out the wrinkles on his half-apron, he looked into Quam’s black eyes—the entire shape of them was black, no whites. At first, they had freaked Max out, but he didn’t notice it anymore. Quam was about seven feet tall, black eyes, and the texture of his skin reminded Max of a snake he’d once patted—apart from that he looked mostly human.

He wasn’t though; there weren’t many humans left. The population on Earth had dwindled rapidly due to wars, infertility, and environmental issues. Max hadn’t seen a human since he’d left, and that was four years ago. On lonely nights, it was hard to remember he wasn’t the only one left. People still lived on Earth, fewer and fewer, but they did exist. Sadly, most of them were deranged.

With a shrug, he went into the kitchen to prepare the fryer. It was still early in the day, but so much could go wrong in a blink of an eye, and not being ready to receive lunch orders would be just one more thing that could set off Bair’s temper. No one ate cheeseburgers and fries like Bair and his crew.

“I’m serious, Max. He can’t know for certain you’re here. For this once, spare yourself the trouble.”

Max wanted to, his only consolation in the whole situation was that Bair and his crew only came once a week. Why the hell couldn’t they stick to their schedule? He breathed out a sigh, hoping Quam wouldn’t notice how his body wanted to tense up.

“They know I’d never leave.” Humans didn’t cope well with the high-speed vessels other species used to travel. With human transportation, it took years to get somewhere. Bair knew nothing short of a life-threatening illness or injury would make Max leave. He bet the giant puffer fish liked those odds.

Quam clenched his teeth together, making the overlapping scales on his jaw stand out like little horns.

“You getting irritated won’t help.” The snapping wouldn’t help either, but Quam could read him easily by now and wouldn’t take offence...probably.

Max paid Quam to take offence, sure he manned the grill on occasion too, but his contract stated his occupation was doorman/bouncer, and if you read between the lines, bodyguard was on the list. He had worked for Max for four years and their relationship, in Max’s opinion, was perfect. Quam sipped coffee as if his life depended on it and he did so while reading on his tablet, if things got busy he helped out, and if things turned hostile, he dealt with it. They didn’t talk much, no one bothered the other with unnecessary questions or made any claims of wanting to spend more time together than they needed to, but Max trusted Quam to keep him safe—even from Bair and his crew.