In any case, he was glad to have a supply onboard his ship. He took one and, by the next morning, realized he could understand and speak a language called American English. He was quite grateful to the pill — he’d never have been able to muddle his way through learning it organically. Not with eightdifferent sounds for the letters “ough” alone. Rough, couch, through, thorough, plough, cough, brought, and hiccough. It was mindboggling and quite unnecessary if one asked him, which no one had.
However, learning the language helped him decipher the satellite transmissions, and the first thing he learned was that in North America, it was what they called the “holiday season.” Not justoneholiday — an entireseasonof them! He saw images of white, frozen water called snowflakes, with many of them molded together to make snowmen, or swept into snow angels that looked like the imprint of big birds, small round ones called snowballs, snow forts that he doubted would survive a siege but were interesting, nonetheless. There were beautiful, colorful, twinkling lights hanging on houses, trees decorated with lights, brightly colored balls, and strands of metallic silver. He learned that every time a bell rang, an angel — whatever that was — got its wings and so much more; it was overwhelming. One particular station broadcasted nothing but holiday documentaries. Hallmark, it was called. It seemed everyone fell in love during the holiday season, which made him believe it must be synonymous with mating season, what they called Renewal Season on his planet. It was all quite enlightening.
He quickly checked his charts and found he’d had the luck to crash land in California, a part of North America where people spoke American English. He wouldn’t even need to waste another sleep cycle learning another language! California was on the coast, which explained the ocean and the sand.
He climbed out of the craft and was immediately disappointed to see there was no snow anywhere, just sand. He descended to the sandy dunes. The sand here was white and soft, but when he tasted it, he found it grainy and inedible, not at all like the white, sweet sand at the Great Purple Inland Seaback home. He spat it out and went to wash his mouth out with seawater.
And almost choked on the salt. Ugh! Someone had definitely over-seasoned this planet.
Where could he go to get something to wash the sand and salt out of his mouth? All he had left in the ship were emergency supplies and he’d be foolish to dip into those reserves yet. Especially if his father sent one of his egg-brothers for him, who would, no doubt, take his sweet ass time getting there.
The structure! The residence, if that’s what it was. Maybe he’d find something in there. Despite what he’d learned watching the transmissions from Earth, he refused to believe anything with as many tentacles as octopi could not be masterful teachers. If the octopi had coached humans to build it, surely they would have stocked it with supplies. The octopi would’ve instructed them on preparing for interstellar visitors.
He stood on his two legs and gathered his eight tentacles closer, holding them up in delicate swirls and curls. They were so sensitive, and the sand was prickly. He felt stupid not to have packed long tentacle sleeves for the trip. But he’d opted for short sleeves because it had been warm in the ship. Perhaps they sold long sleeves somewhere on the planet. He felt confident the octopi would’ve thought of telling humans to stock them.
He found a wooden walkway leading up from the beach to the grassier knoll on which the house was situated. The house was built on stilts, and a long flight of wooden stairs led up to a porch where a door awaited.
Gorg negotiated the stairs easily — they had them on Jizm, too — but paused at the door.
He didn’t know the protocol.
Should he walk right in? Knock? Utter a secret password? Was there some sort of interpretive dance that needed to be done to gain entry?
He settled on walking in.
Maybe he should have chosen to do the interpretive dance because the Earthling inside screamed when he saw Gorg and fainted dead away.
Chapter 3
The first thing Ebenezer realized when his eyes blinked open was that he was staring at the kitchen ceiling. What was he doing on his back on the floor?
The second thing he noticed was the six-foot-two-inch creature standing over him. The creature looked semi-human, and quite handsome if it wasn’t for the eight tentacles swirling around him. They were iridescent, which made them pretty, but…tentacles!
Ebenezer was dreaming. That was it. Except it wasn’t. He was wide awake – he could feel the floor beneath him, and smell the tuna he’d left on the counter for lunch. Then he must’ve somehow slipped, fallen, cracked his skull, and was now having a hallucination or a flat-out delusion. That was the answer.
“I am Gorg,” the creature said in a deep voice that rumbled in Ebenezer’s bones and tickled at his balls. He pronounced it “gorge” as if it were short for gorgeous, whichEbenezer had to admit was appropriate, except for the tentacles. They were a bit much, even for a hallucination.
He closed his eyes and tried to wish them away, leaving only the half-naked, buff, iridescent guy in his kitchen.Thathe could work with. But, when he opened his eyes, the tentacles were still there.
“Who are you?” Ebenezer asked. “Whatare you?”
The creature — because it couldn’t rightfully be called amanwith all those sinuous tentacles attached to it, nor could it be called anoctopus,not with that handsome face, broad chest, and shapely legs, not to mention the thick cock it was displaying — smiled widely. “Oh, I’m so glad you asked! As I said, I am Gorg,” he repeated. “From the planet Jizm in the Bloob Galaxy. Have you heard of it? It’s just past the JADES-GS-z14-0 galaxy. No? I suppose there’s no reason you should know it — your people haven’t mastered interplanetary travel yet, have they? I’m sure the octopi are working on it. Oh, I am so excited to meet an Earthling! You’re a human, yes? I can tell by your lack of tentacles.”
“O-octopi?” Out of everything the creature — Gorg — said, that was what Ebenezer’s mind latched on to.
“Yes, the masters of this galaxy. The great tentacled ones that live in your seas. I simply must meet one before I leave here.”
“So, you’re not an invasion force here to take over our planet?”
Gorg laughed. “No! Of course not. I’m a tourist. Tell me, do you have any products that might wash away the salt water from the ocean? There really should be signs warning of its sodium content.”
“Water. Um, sure.” Ebenezer wondered how long he would be having this particular delusion. Maybe he should pop a couple of Tylenol and call his shrink. But Gorg really did lookthirsty, and what harm could it do to give one’s delusion a sip or two of water?
He got to his feet, feeling a bit sore but really, no worse for the wear, and went to the refrigerator. He opened it and took out a bottle of water. After twisting off the cap, he handed it to Gorg, careful not to brush against any of the slowly undulating tentacles.
Gorg examined the bottle, then tipped it to his lips. The moment he realized it was tasteless water was evident when he sucked it down so hard he collapsed the bottle. He handed the decimated bottle back to Ebenezer. “Thank you. I have learned it is appropriate to say those words when someone does you a kindness here.”
“You’re welcome.” Ebenezer considered Gorg, looking him over, even walking around him to see the back. Gorg was…gorgeous if one ignored the tentacles. Which, Ebenezer had to admit, had a certain beauty and charm of their own. All Gorg wore was a short sleeved t-shirt, with eight extra sleeves for his tentacles. “Perhaps I should’ve been a writer instead of an actor if I could dream up someone as perfect as you.”
