Page 22 of Space Daddy and a Boy Called Twink

How could he know how fast my heart was beating? Could he really be an alien? No, that couldn’t be true!

“So at least I know you believe what you’re saying about Chelsea,” he added.

Was he really still on about my damn phone?

“There isn’t even just Chelsea,” I said. “There’s Siri, and Google, and God knows what else.”

“Warring technologies within the same group?”

“No? Yes?” That wasn’t too far off. “But again, not in the way you’re talking about. Just fun devices we use to make our lives easier, and maybe sometimes harder, but it doesn’t control us.”

“Oh…” He searched around the room. “Well, if that is true, then this all seems like a lot of fuss over nothing.”

“That’s a fucking understatement.”

His brow creased. “So you use this device because it makes your life easier? It’s a convenience?”

“Sometimes it’s an annoying way for Mom to get ahold of me.” It wasn’t the time to crack a joke, but it was like some part of me wanted to convince me this situation wasn’t as dangerous as it so obviously was.

He turned around, reached into a space in the wall, and retrieved a strange-looking cup—almost like a child’s version of an amoeba mug. As he approached, I realized it was the water I’d asked for. He passed it to me, and I stared at the water, uncertain if I could trust it after the guy already drugged me. Although at this point, maybe it would have been better for me to have been unconscious.

I braved a sip, the water soothing as it slid down my throat. Then I set the cup on the table where I’d been restrained only minutes earlier.

He didn’t seem nearly as threatening as he had in the alley. If anything, the way he glanced around, it seemed he was…maybe embarrassed about his conclusion.

And maybe I was falling for this delusion, but what if it wasn’t that? What if he really was an alien?

Oh, what the hell had I gotten myself into?

9

DADDY

Iknew betterthan to entirely trust Twink’s assertions about his phone, not when there was a possibility Chelsea’s method to control his mind had safeguards in place in case someone tried to influence him. Yet there was also my awareness of the many deficits in my own reasoning abilities that could have easily led me to misunderstand the situation. Even worse than the embarrassment, it seemed this body suffered as a result of my possible misstep—I feared I had lost Twink’s trust.

He continued to assure me about his phone, explaining this mysterious piece of equipment. He also gave me an update on the state of technology on his planet, including AI capabilities, which were so primitive, it seemed unlikely for society to have evolved to the point I’d initially feared. Once I was satisfied it was unlikely he was in harm’s way, I made his comfort my priority. I showed him into another room, demonstrating how to use the reorienter, which he operated to shift the main room of my ship into something he was more comfortable with—a living area with a big plush sofa, love seat, and fireplace. A wall-length window overlooked a simulation of a lake, adding to the cozy atmosphere I could tell had at once made a difference in Twink’s vitals.

After he drank some more water, he settled on the sofa, taking a breath. “Okay, this is a lot to absorb.” He looked around at the furniture he’d made manifest and bobbed up and down on the sofa, as though waiting for it to give under him.

“The atoms stabilize after it picks up the image from your mind.”

His forehead creased, but then he shrugged. “Well, if I’m losing my mind, nice to know it’s in a comfortable setting.”

“I’m sorry,” I apologized, not for the first time since my blunder. It was the best I could think to say, and I didn’t know what I could do to make up for what I’d done.

“Sorry for what? Attacking me with tentacles in an alley? Oh, no. That’s like the third time that’s happened to me this week.”

“You were attacked this week?” I asked, my anxiety increasing, but I didn’t sense concern from him. Maybe amusement. “A joke?”

“Yeah, big guy. Sorry, it’s not the best situation for jokes, but it’s what I do when I get nervous.” He continued searching the room before he said, “So…I’m not saying that I buy any of this alien stuff. I mean, I believe aliens exist, and maybe I’ve watched one too many UFO documentaries—can’t really be Roger’s friend without getting into that stuff—so I should say I don’t necessarily believe thatyou’rean alien. But it would explain a lot.”

“For instance?”

“The first night in the bar, you didn’t really speak.”

“I hadn’t learned your language,” I explained. “My translator system had to reboot, which it didn’t do until later that night.”

“Which is why you could talk to me in the morning,” he observed. “And then there was that weird noise you made when I scared you.”