Sal waited, hand pressed against the control panel for the Torcher’s lounge, dreading what was to come next. Would G9 be sore with him? Would they be cold, no longer wanting his involvement in the Partner Program? Damn it, damn it all. Inhaling a deep breath, Sal could delay no longer and opened the door.

  Striding in, acting as calm as possible, he looked around the room for signs of G9. He was surprised when they skittered up to him excitedly. For one, he hadn’t expected them to be so affable, considering his earlier tone, secondly, he did not expect their appearance. They wore an oversized shirt, dark in colour that hung down to below their equivalent of a pelvis.

  “Hello Sal!” G9 said happily.

  “Um, hey G9. Listen, sorry about earlier. I stand by some of what I said, but the way I said it was not right. So…”

  “Don’t even worry about it!” G9 fidgeted with the shirt before gesturing towards the couches. “Would you like to… sit? How is your head?”

  Making their way over to the couch, Sal could see the pillows had been rumpled from earlier use. Marcus perhaps? Sitting down, and feeling the stitches in his forehead, wincing, Sal flicked on the projector screen for relaxing music. G9 hopped up next to him gently, turning their head to face him.

  “Well, the head’s mostly fine, bit dizzy though. Has a report been sent out yet?”

  “Not the full report, but Xin did get a personal one from Titus about you.”

  Ah, Xin. That explained the couches. Sal initially wanted to joke that Xin wasn’t a good influence on G9 but considered whether he was positive one himself. “Titus? What was he doing reporting on me?”

  “I am uncertain. He did seem to pay special attention to you on our first day, didn’t he?”

  “I… guess so,” Sal said. “So, what’s with the shirt?”

  “I was investigating some parts of human culture, such music, art, and the like. Fashion seems to be a big aspect that Cambiar have very little experience with. And, well… I wanted to show a way of respecting boundaries between us. I am sorry about earlier, Sal.”

  Sal shook his head. “Please, G9, don’t worry. Forget about what I-“

  “Please, I insist. And besides, doesn’t it look good on me?” G9 stuck their chest out, proudly displaying the writing in spikey, white lettering ‘Insert Hard-To-Read Nu-Metal Band Name Here’.

  Sal was a little taken aback. What had Xin been telling G9 whilst he’d been dodging goreskins on Ruby Eye? Still, he didn’t want to dimmish his Cambiar’s confidence, even if the garishly designed shirt was oversized on their slim frame.

  “It looks good! I mean, there’s lots of different clothes out there, so go ahead and try them. I have to ask, where did you get that one from?” Sal didn’t remember having a shirt like that, but…

  “The Cambiar have been trying to make some human clothes the past few days. A Onusian who owes me a favour gave me this from the workshops. Made with real Cambiar silk!”

  Sal wasn’t sure he wanted to visualize an alien spinning silk from themselves whilst simultaneously weaving it into clothes. He assumed anything the Cambiar made was manufactured or processed by their own bodies, a role mostly constrained to the worker caste G9 had mentioned. Maybe all of the furniture in this room came from a Cambiar growing cotton buds on their skin shooting webs out from a spinneret. Gross.

  “You’re making a face. Do you not like alien-made clothes?”

  “Its fine, I just don’t want to see it happening in real time… I think.”

  G9 giggled. Sal cocked an eyebrow, and G9 froze up. They brushed off some dust from their shirt and gestured towards the computer.

  “S-shall we watch some more material? Anything you have in mind?” G9 stammered out.

  “Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. We were talking about some heavy stuff earlier, so maybe something a bit more relaxed. Do Cambiar have performance art, like theatre and movies?”

  G9 clicked their claws together in thought, elbow to fingertips still stained black. After a few moments humming, they replied. “Not really. The other factions of the shattered Cambiar empire may have some basic stylized performances to demonstrate past events, but the Out-Han are less interested in that sort of thing. Or were, I suppose. Already, I have heard rumours of groups practicing scenes from famous human works to display for the crew once they are ready.”

  “Huh, I can’t wait to see a new production of Cambiar doing Shakespeare or, hell, any musical for that matter.”

  G9 giggled. Again. Huh. “So, about that movie?”

  “Oh, right. Let’s see… drama?” Sal said as he scrolled through the list of films on the archive.

  “Hmm… Humans dealing with humans in human ways. That could be fun. Do you like dramas?”

  “Kind of, I like them best when they’re mixed with something else, to increase the tension. For most people, a straight drama is fine though. How about crime?”

  “Crime? That might be interesting, but I fear I lack a deeper understanding of all human laws… and etiquette.” G9 looked down, their groping incident still apparently shadowing the back of their mind. Sal caught on, and switched genres.

  “Alright, that’s fair. Let’s see. Ah, well there they are – musicals. Want to see some people dance about whilst a plot vaguely happens?”

  “You don’t sound the biggest fan, Sal. Disappointed by a poorly done production in the past?” Sal swore he heard a smugness in their tone, and, deciding to bite, went along with it.

  “No, no. In fact, I’ll have you know that I have such good taste in musicals, that I’ve never seen one where I don’t know all the words!”

  “Oh yeah? What’s your favourite song?”

  Shit, G9 had trapped him in a flash.

  “Uh, you know, the one that goes… um…”

  Sal cleared his throat, mind racing for the lyrics. He recalled one that he and Citra had watched as children, an old proto-wave film adaptation of a musical. It was one of the last positive memories he had of her, from before his family moved to Titanlock. Pushing back the other memories, he did his best to remember and sing.

  “? Oh yeah, oh yeah, We both… uh went for the

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  uh… got the gun, got the gun…

  we both… uh… got the gun. ?”

  Sal’s discordant singing would make a dying bird sound like an angel.

  Silence clutched the room for a moment and a beat passed. Then, G9 hissed with laughter, holding their stomach. “Wow, Sal. You nailed it.”

  “Oh, screw you. I bet you couldn’t do much better, especially without that translator. That’s kind of cheating. It’s like autotune or whatever Goldheart uses.”

  “Watch me. That was the proto-wave one about criminal women, right? I’ve done some reading in the time you’ve been out.”

  Clapping their hands together, G9 stood and delicately removed the translator from their throat. Sal was worried they was overdoing it and asked them to stop. Instead, G9 continued and removed both the speaker box and the wires from the back of their head. Exaggeratedly clearing their throat, in clear mockery of Sal, G9 made eye contact. Whilst doing a small sway with their legs and tail in time to the rhythm, G9 sung,

  “? Oh, yes, oh, yes, oh, yes, we both

  Oh, yes, we both, oh, yes, we both reached for

  The gun, the gun, the gun, the gun, oh, yes

  We both reached for the gun, for the gun

  Oh, yes, oh, yes, oh, yes, they both

  Oh, yes, they both, oh, yes, they both reached for

  The gun, the gun, the gun, the gun, oh, yes

  They both reached for the gun, for the gun! ?”

  G9’s voice was hissy, raw and breathy. And yet, their voice was clearly far more melodic than Sal’s, matching tempo and pitch with ease. Moreover, Sal was convinced that the wire part of the translator fed the actual context and information for speaking English, not just the vocal mechanisms, back to the Cambiar. Without it, G9 shouldn’t have been able to understand the meaning behind the words they said. That was, unless, somehow in less than a week G9 had learnt English, albeit as if a snake was doing a great impression.

  Seeing Sal’s genuine shock, G9 bowed dramatically as he applauded.

  “Holy shit G9, that was… that was amazing!”

  “I try,” G9’s natural voice contrasted against the mechanical, almost sing-song tones of the artificial speaker, expressing far more life. Before he could say anything, G9 retrieved the translator and affixed it in place, much to Sal’s disappointment. Sensing his mood, G9 said “Fear not, Salvador. You will hear my dulcet tones soon. I just… I would like my voice to sound more delicate before I do away with it for good.”

  Sal disagreed but would honour their wishes. Feeling like he had gotten a showing already, they eventually decided on any sci-fi movie, which felt more familiar than any of the previous films. Many of those, especially proto-wave flicks, were set on Earth, now just a planet in a history book for most of mankind. After scrolling through a long list, G9 stopped on one with a distinct poster. Not only in imagery, but because Sal had seen it before.

  Cast against a midnight black backdrop, an underlit alien egg stood in the darkness. Below it, a simple tagline read ‘In space no one can hear you scream.’

  “Um, Alien?” Sal queried, a bit concerned.

  “Yes?” G9 looked over, head tilted. “Oh. Right, that’s the name of the movie. What’s wrong, it sounds perfect?”

  “I mean, the movie does have an alien in it but… well they aren’t exactly friendly.”

  “Oh? Wouldn’t that help give me some tips if humanity ends up fighting us?”

  “Well, in that case, go ahead! See what happens to the alien for a reminder about trying to stop us!” Sal mimed out using the flamethrower. “I’ll warn you though - the monster in this one is real scary stuff, it’ll traumatize you. You Cambiar are just too innocent for your own good.”

  “We are not! I promise you I will not make a sound.”

  “Oh, you’re on. If you lose, you’ll have to treat me to some of the best food the Cambiar can make.”

  “And if I win?” G9 squinted her orbs at Sal.

  “Uh, well then you can cosplay, or adapt I guess, as the xenomorph and scare the hell of out me someday.”

  Taking it as a challenge, they put it on and dimmed the lights. As they were getting settled, a head poked out from one of the bedroom doors. Marcus’ hair covered his eyes, but even from a distance Sal could see him squinting at the sight.

  “Did I hear Chicago a bit ago?” Marcus apparently knew the name of centuries old musicals. Huh.

  “Yes, G9 was giving a seriously good showing for me.”

  “Huh. Cool. Watching a movie?” the long-fringed engineer approached and took a seat.

  “Yeah, proto-wave sci-fi. Alien slasher flick, want in?”

  “Oh, this one. Hell yeah.” Marcus kicked his feet up.

  Sal wanted to ask about how the new partner was going but would let sleeping dogs lie until later. The trio got comfy and settled in. After an introduction and one unlucky exposure to an alien egg, the first gory scene of a poor crewmate getting his chest torn inside out by a baby alien started. Watching G9’s reaction all the while, he saw their eyes as wide as plates staring in horror as the actor on screen writhed in pain on a dining table. The instant the pale, eyeless creature tore its way out of its host, G9 yelped, much to Sal’s amusement and joy at winning the bet. It was only after the chestburster crawled away, deep into the Nostromo, that he felt a small, clawed hand clutching his own. Looking down, G9’s digits were wrapped around his own, shaking lightly in tension. Sal considered moving but decided against it. Besides, the feeling of someone’s hand on his own was rather pleasant.

  Following a dramatic moment later on when an android’s head was knocked off, and revealed the corporation in charge of the mission made the crew expendable, G9 shuffled a bit closer.

  “Sal,” they whispered. “Why don’t you have any robots like that walking around? Without it actually being a human inside, I mean.” G9 and Sal had seen Keeper Tom during his arrival on Fifth Spoke. He had revealed to the rest of the crew there that the fusion engine and S-Drive of Ruby Eye were being stored on the Cambiar ship for safe keeping. G9’s reaction to the mostly mechanical man had been one of utter confusion. The idea of a man not only replacing a just limb with metal and wires, but everything was completely, in a word, alien to the Cambiar way of regrowing and transplanting organic material. Though such biological technology was possible for humans, it was prohibitively expensive, and in the case of Thomas the augmentations were necessary.

  “Well, AI has been something humanity has toyed with, but it never came out quite right.” Sal whispered back. “Also, S-Jumps tend to mess with advanced AIs, since it makes them function badly afterwards. Something about the protections we use for living things not working for them or something. You can reboot a simpler AI to run just fine after a jump, but you generally can’t bring advanced ones with you.”

  “Huh.” G9 quieted down, but didn’t move away.

  As the credits rolled nearly two hours after starting, G9 was left clapping with enthusiasm.

  “That was awesome! The way it moved, the way it ate their faces! Sal, we must watch the rest!”

  “Ok, ok, fine. But word of warning, I think they get a bit crappy after the second one.”

  “Eh, the fourth remake of the seventh movie a decade back wasn’t half bad.” Marcus interjected.

  “Wasn’t that the one Paradise made as propaganda?”

  “Yeah, well half of it. It got leaked to Glass Tip Productions, who then made it into a real movie. Turns out propaganda about the fears of space makes for good horror. At least, once you cut out the part about all non Paradisians being useful only as alt-protein. Ugh.” The thought of prisoners being broken down into food for indoctrinated slaves sent a shiver down Sal’s spine. That was the real horror of the universe, not some alien with a fondness for hiding in vents and killing people.

  “So, G9, what do you think of the alien?”

  “Well, it looked cool for one, a bit like a spikier Jherl. Its reproductive cycle is a bit unclear though. Were those guys being turned into eggs near the end?” Sal had weighed up playing the theatrical version, but Marcus had insisted on the director’s cut.

  “The sequel explains that. Pretty much, something lays the eggs.”

  “Ooh! Still, the whole ‘killing the host’ thing sucks. Would be better if they split off from one another, like us! Or you know… did some genome exchanging with the humans….” Sal gave a judgmental gaze as G9 rubbed the back of their neck. “J-just for the sake of making and adapting more! Think about it – if they caught a single human, the alien could make a dozen more offspring, instead of laying an egg and killing a host for a single chest-burster-thingy.” Sal remained unconvinced it was purely for movie theory reasons.

  “I think the later movies toyed with alternative cycles for the aliens, but never quite diverged too much from the original two.” Marcus seemed non-plussed by the weird human-reproduction discussion on the other couch, instead looking through the trivia section for the movie.

  Awkwardly sliding out from G9, who had slowly adjusted their position so that they were nearly laying on Sal, he stood up and stretched. “Well, that was a lot of fun. But it’s been a long day, so I’ll see both tomorrow.”

  “Cheers Sal, sleep well sir.” Marcus gave a wave.

  “Thank you Sal, I… I had a great time tonight. Sorry about earlier but... thank you for forgiving me. So… thank you, a lot. I mean it.” A faint smile graced G9’s lips.

  “Thank you, G9. Don’t even worry about that. You owe me a nice meal though. See you soon.” Sal, still feeling the latent warmth from G9’s body, made his way to his bedroom and sat, pondering on G9’s behaviour. It was less that he was uncomfortable with how they now spoke and act, but more how much he enjoyed their company. Gods, he needed a cold shower.