Chapter 2

The clinking sounds of metal soles against the titanium gangway right outside the door made Max want to scurry away and hide in the back. Instead, he double-checked that his apron was clean and got ready with a pen and paper.

Despite the door already being open, they managed to bang it against the wall. There was no overhead light, but Max saw Bair’s shadow fall over the doorstep anyway. Shoes were clinking as more of his men gathered behind him.

Max didn’t look up—some aliens interpreted eye contact as a challenge, so Max made sure never to look at any of them. He probably should make more of an effort to learn about different species and their customs, but he didn’t have the time—okay, maybe he was lazy.

Quam was some form of Reptoid, which was enough for him. What Bair was he didn’t know. His face reminded Max of a blowfish, thankfully without the spines some of them had. His jowl wobbled as he turned his head, his round eyes sat close together, and his mouth resembled a fish’s. It was too small for the round face, and there weren’t any real lips, just hard-looking edges. His best feature was his skin, a beautiful mocha-colour with small white dots all over, not that Max would think any better of him because of it. Bair was scum, a nasty pirate, and nothing would change that.

He steeled himself as the men, or whatever he should call them, spilt into his restaurant.

With a deep breath and a quick glance at Quam, he clutched his pen and paper and went to take their orders. Hopefully, none of them had keen enough hearing to pick up on his heartbeats.

“Are you ready to order, gentlemen?” Max kept his voice welcoming, his gaze glued to the grey tiles on the floor, and made sure to keep his distance from Bair who sat at the end of the table as usual. Max noticed they were fewer than they normally were. Maybe they’d been out raiding some poor unknowing merchant ship or something. The idea scared him more than he wanted to acknowledge—Bair on an adrenaline high was worse than Bair in his normal mood.

“We’ll have dessert today.”

Max didn’t have time to react before he was pulled down onto Bair’s lap, large hands roamed his body, and his skin burned when Bair nuzzled his neck. The scorching heat was too much.

With a strangled cry, Max fought his way out of Bair’s hold, hitting and kicking, his heart hammering while Bair chuckled.

Quam was by his side before he managed to regain his balance. His hand—three fingers and a thumb—gently gripped Max’s elbow to help steady him. Max almost jerked away; he was not used to being touched and with Bair’s burning contact fresh in mind he wanted nothing more than to lash out. But he didn’t. Instead, he took a calming breath, and when Quam let go of him, Max took a half-step in behind him.

“I have to ask you to leave if you can’t refrain from harassing the staff.” Quam’s voice was tight with anger, something Max wasn’t used to hearing. He looked up, saw the protruding little horns on his jaw and to his surprise Quam’s skin had taken a bluish hue, gone was his usual light yellow colour.

Bair chuckled again, and Max tasted bile at the back of his mouth. Welts were starting to form on his neck where he’d been in contact with Bair’s skin. He tried to ignore them but they itched and stung, and he was turning dizzy.

“He is mine, and everybody knows it. Why don’t you go back to your quiet corner to read your book and let me have a little fun?”

Max looked at the floor, hating the fear splashing around in his gut.

“I’ll be your server today, gentlemen.” Quam nudged Max and nodded towards the counter before turning back to the party. “If you find that unacceptable you know where the door is.”

Max waited for a second or two to see if anyone would object. When no one did—though Bair did grumble—he walked away. He liked to think his gait was relaxed but the only one he was fooling was himself.

With shaking hands, he put on another pot of coffee in case Bair had been serious about the dessert.

It didn’t take long before Quam was back by his side.

“How are you faring?”

Max frowned, sometimes the wording was a bit strange, he guessed it was a slight translation problem. All the races approved by the Allied Species Federation (ASF) had language implants to make communication possible. “I’m good.”

“No queasiness?”

Well, he always was a bit queasy when Bair and his gang were here. “No, I’m fine.”

“Good, it’s illegal for Daector species to touch anyone without first making sure they don’t react to their poison or have their permission to touch them despite it.” Quam made a face Max guessed was disgusted—reading alien facial expressions was hard, but Quam he usually understood.

Max touched his neck, the welts had started to weep, and his hand came away slightly sticky. “Even humans?” Humans didn’t have much sway in the ASF—too few, too weak, too insubstantial.

“There are no specific species listed; it should be the same for everyone.”

Max snorted and took the piece of paper Quam held in his hand. They both knew that was far from reality.