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Cal lowered his headset mic, eyes tracking the head-up display. “Light freighter W409-X3, departed from Pyraxis. Requesting permission to dock.”
The radio crackled. “Permission granted. Descend straight ahead; lane 3 is free.”
“Thank you. Approaching now, landing in forty minutes.”
As their ship entered Meliora’s atmosphere, Roy craned his neck to see the view. Though a thick haze of pollen partially obscured it, the planet was mostly covered in greenery, dotted with a few cobalt-blue lakes. The gravity field slowly yielded, allowing them to adjust to the native conditions. It was slightly lighter than on Pyraxis, making Roy queasy as the vessel flew over the runway and finally landed on the docking platform.
When they hopped off the ship, an insectoid alien greeted them, flashing his ID card—or so Roy suspected, unable to read the alphabet.
Cal clicked his tongue, strange sounds spilling from his mouth. The alien perked up, antennae springing upward.
Roy crossed his arms and watched with awe, admiring how effortlessly Cal formed connections. Apparently, Cal’s chirping charmed the alien. His chitinous arm pressed on Cal’s shoulder, and he pointed outside.
“I’m afraid my companion doesn’t speak the language.” Cal flashed a smile—so perfect it must have been learned and rehearsed. “Would you mind slipping into the common galactic language?”
“Oh. Very well.” The antennae fell flat onto the alien’s head. “I wazz just telling Caelestian about our market guidezz. You can find them in the office on the right zzide of the dockzz.”
Roy nodded, resolving to learn at least a few polite phrases in the insect language. That couldn’t be too hard, right? Cal could probably teach him some words. “Thanks.”
In the traders’ office, they met Zrrn, a tall wasp-mosquito hybrid with a wide orange body and a long snout.
“What are you looking for?” he asked as they walked toward the market.
“Back home, I sell seaweed. Our planet is rather scarce on vegetation and spices. I’m looking to expand the portfolio a bit.” Roy explained, panting to keep pace with the long-legged insectoid. “Is there anything you’d recommend?”
“We have lotzz of choicezz! The mozzt popular choice is obviouzzly honey. We alzzo have dried herbzz and an exquizzite collection of nectar.”
Roy scratched his head. “Let’s maybe start with honey?”
“Right thizz way,” Zrrn pointed toward the row of booths. Cal led the way, stopping at a stall where a thick insectoid with a blue exoskeleton fumbled with glass jars filled with a viscous, amber liquid.
Chapter
Ten
After placing the orders, they found the export office had already closed for the day. With a whole night ahead, Cal dragged Roy to the heart of the city. The hives pulsed with music, loud bass notes vibrating through the membranes. One of them boasted on a banner, written in both insectoid and intergalactic standard symbols—it claimed to serve the best mead in the district.
Roy hesitated before the entrance, shifting from foot to foot. “Can’t we just go back to the ship?”
“Come on. Live a little,” Cal grinned and disappeared behind a flapping cloth.
Roy touched the leathery door and entered with a quiet sigh, the deafening music blasting through his body. A band of insectoids played on the stage. Giant crickets rubbed their spiky arms on their bellies, creating a throbbing bass line that echoed in Roy’s chest. A few ants played makeshift drums on fleshy green leaves spread over a wooden cone.
Cal found a seat at a nearby table and gestured for the waiter.
Rushing through the crowd, a tall, skinny insectoid came to take their order, flipping a notebook open. His jaws worked as he spoke, his buzzing words drowned by the music.
With his back straight, Cal chirped, clicking his tongue and pointing at the menu. Then he lifted two fingers into the air. The waiter nodded and disappeared.
“How are you fluent in insect?” Roy snorted.
“For your information, that was Khraael, the simplified language developed by scholars on the planet of Hive,” Cal smirked, patting Roy’s forearm. “I can teach you, if you want. I learned the basics in university.”
Roy sipped the warm mead, the sting of alcohol cracking his self-imposed filters. “Is that why your tongue is so prehensile?”
“Is it?” Cal leaned closer, his pointy chin resting on a curled fist, and stole a kiss full of the sticky sweetness.
One of the insectoid aliens approached, chitinous back claws scraping across the marble floor. Noting his wasp-like body and the distinctive scar on his right wing, Roy recognised him as Zrrn.
