Mandy and the Tentacle Monster (Urf Oomons #1)
Mandy and the Tentacle Monster: Chapter 13

I’m setting up a few easels in our storage hanger in preparation for my first paying patron. If I had been told a year ago that the artwork I make as a hobby would become an intergalactic phenomenon, I would have laughed myself silly. But that’s what has happened in the weeks since Salhuteck, Shawn’s lizardy keeper, started marketing all of those appliances that were etched with my “Earth-Human Art.”

Now I’m trying to capitalize on the “Earth-Human Art” phenomena.

I’ve thought up and discarded quite a few schemes, but it’s almost impossible to make money on art in any traditional way out here. Selling prints or paintings wasn’t going to do it because it’s super easy to scan and print your own. It turns out most of these aliens have ocular implants. they are recording pretty much everything. So they only have to see something to be able to print it up themselves. I have a profile set up on the intergalactic equivalent of social media. Kinda like alien Insta. Anyway, I looked into it and there are no ads or anything so there’s no way to make money that way. Then I came across the “Earth Human Art Fan Forum” and “The Real Earth Human Art Fan Forum.” I tried to join both, but one of the criteria to join is that you “must own at least one original piece of Earth Human art.” and submit a video to prove it. I own plenty of Earth Human stuff, but I didn’t want to out myself as a Human in a video. After thinking about it for a second though, I realized that there isn’t any “original” human art for these aliens to own. Earth still hadn’t been found by anyone except the Sereechees, and they focus on stealing people, not art. And those people are usually sold at secret slave markets. They are unlikely to end up in situations where they have downtime to be creative.

I had to shake off this line of thinking. I can’t keep dwelling on captive humans and what might be happening to them and how utterly powerless I am to help anyone. It feels like I sink into a pit of hopelessness that I can’t pull myself out of. And then it’s hard to get anything done.

Anyway, all the original Earth Human art these aliens are bragging about in their forums are copies and fakes. So, I could make money selling original art. Obviously, there’s a market for it. It took a lot of planning to come up with a way to certify human art though. Ken thought I should have a hair or some other piece of DNA on it to certify it. But Lu pointed out that they could try to use my DNA for some sinister purpose like growing a clone or something. Or, in a well-equipped lab, they could use my DNA to make more hair to fraudulently certify more paintings. All this talk of clones and labs freaked me out. But Seven assured me that anything I sell can be scrubbed and that that removes all viruses, bacteria, and any other organic material.

A stamp or signature would not do. So we came up with a tentative plan. Instead of trying to sell individual pieces, I’ll sell interviews. If some alien pays a huge amount of credits, they are invited onto our ship for an afternoon. I’ll hang out with them, answer any questions they have about Earth, Humans, or myself. While we’re talking, I have a few blank canvases and paints set up so I can doodle. And anything I paint in that time belongs to the customer. I assume their ocular implants are running the whole time. Then they’ll have a video that establishes authenticity. From then on they have rights to copy and sell anything I paint during the session. We called up Sal, to see what he thought of the idea and he was pretty excited about it and helped us set up our first client.

So that’s what I’m set up for now. My first customer is a trader like Seven, but not a tentacle alien. They all know him and can vouch for him that he’s not some crazy person. The guys aren’t sure what he is, but he doesn’t have tentacles. Lu says that he is concealing his identity and origin. Ken says that they have never asked him about either, so how could they accuse him of concealing anything? Just because they don’t know what he is or where he comes from, doesn’t mean he’s concealing the information. Lu stands by his assessment though. He likes the guy. He’s friendly, courteous and his dealings with them have been fair. But Lu is sure that he is concealing something.

His name is Baht. Pronounced Baa-het.

The corridor I’m setting up in has a mural I painted quite a while ago. It was one of the original ones the guys copied and etched onto the appliances they sold to Sal. It’s a reimagining of Charlotte’s Web. In it, a nighttime scene of a farmyard is depicted. A Wilbur-Esque pig is asleep on a pile of hay in the background and in the distance, there is an orchard and a full moon. In focus in the foreground is a huge spider’s web. Instead of Charlotte being a fuzzy grey spider, she’s a striped orb-weaver spider. They’re really big, black with yellow stripes. I gave her a seductive, human-ish face with big eyes and plump red lips with dainty fangs. She’s reaching her foreleg toward a moth that’s stuck in her web. The moth is as big as she is with grey powdery wings. But his upper torso is that of a muscular guy. His well-defined shoulders supporting and melding into his great wings. He has underwear model good looks, a strong jaw, and chiseled features. And curly grey hair atop his head from which two long antennas stand. He’s stuck to the web, but he is staring lustfully at the spider; straining toward her with hungry longing in his eyes. He knows that she is about to devour him, and he’s offering himself up to her. He needs her touch even if it kills him, which he knows it will.

This mural was inspired by Charlotte of course, but also by a song I had seen performed called, “The Spider Suite.” I also saw a nature show once about spiders and learned that the orb-weaver emits pheromones to attract male moths. The moths struggle to mate with the spider – even as they’re dying, they can’t help themselves. Anyway, it’s one of my more creepy pictures, but Baht had asked to see it at our appointment so I set up here.

I’m assuming Baht saw Earth Human Art in Sal’s store. I wonder though about what attracted him to this particular one.

The easels were super easy to make with the help of our industrial fabricator. After Lu showed me the step by step process, I have a few pieces of furniture I’m going to be making soon. Like a bed. And a love seat and side tables. Anyway, for now, I have half a dozen easels in a few different sizes.

So I’m all set up and just waiting for Seven to bring my client aboard. It’s nerve-wracking. I want this to work out and go well so that I can work toward supporting myself. Lu, Ken, and Seven have been great and kind and supportive toward me, but I shouldn’t rely on them to take care of me forever. I need to work toward independence and try and replace Earth. That will take time and credits that I don’t feel comfortable asking the guys for. They have planned out trades months and months in advance. Mapping their course to time everything so that they maximize profits and minimize expenses. I wouldn’t feel right asking them to take the time to search for my planet instead. Not that they would. The more I think about how we were stolen from Earth by those creepy Sereechees, the more I feel like I need to replace my way back and warn somebody. I don’t know who yet, but somebody should know. Something should be done to put a stop to it.

My best bet is to hire a bounty hunter to steal a whole Sereechee hive. If I kidnap one, it’s cut off from their hive-mind and can’t answer any questions. So I need to detain a whole hive and try to bribe them or threaten them into giving me information on how to get back to earth. Bounty hunters are expensive and it’s a big job. That’s why I need this to go well and I need to start earning and saving credits.

I also need to figure out a way to do it without inviting clients onto Seven’s ship. Baht is fine; he’s been here before. They’ve known him and traded with him for nearly a decade. For any future clients though, I need a secure place. Somewhere that is not our home but is convenient and safe. I need to talk with the guys more about it. I’ve heard them mention a trader’s guild that hosts intergalactic markets on space stations. Something like that would be ideal. But if it’s so great, then why aren’t the guys making use of it already?

I’m thinking about all these issues and touching up a few things on the spider/moth mural. Making her little fangs shine with venom and blurring the paint at the edge of his wings to convey rapid motion. Then I hear Seven.

“Yes, she is a newly discovered species. Earth Humans have not ventured out of their planetary system yet. Nobody can figure out where Earth is though. Only those dishonorable Sereechees know and you know how they are.”

I hear a *snick* that my translator interprets as agreement. Lu told me that Baht speaks Urglassi, the language of the planet Urglashish. But he is not an Urglassi native. They are teeny tiny little feathered fairy looking beings that are hummingbird sized. And so light that you wouldn’t even feel it if one landed on your hand. Baht is as tall as any Homeworlder. This is the main reason Lu thinks he is concealing something. Obviously, he went through a lot of trouble to learn and speak Urglassi as fluently as a native. No one knows what his first language is.

They both come around the bend in the corridor, Seven gliding along on his tentacles. Keeping them to the side to give Baht room to move. Baht is wearing a cloak. It’s black and touches the floor covering his feet, legs, arms, and everything else. The arms of the cloak hang down past his hands and the hood covers his head, casting a shadow over his face. His outfit brings to mind a grim reaper. Except his eyes are a glowing orange and red. His pupils are a kind of wavy vertical line over his brightly colored cornea. This is one scary alien and I can’t even see most of him. But Seven is a pretty terrifying being himself and I’ve gotten used to him.

“Hello, Tiny.” Seven stops in front of me baring his fangs in a friendly smile. “This is Baht, the trader I told you about. He has transferred the agreed upon credits and so now he is here to converse with you about your art.”

“Good greetings, small one.” Baht intones and then performs an elegant bow. “I am honored to make the acquaintance of such a renowned artist.”

My cheeks warm at his effusive praise. I’m starting to feel like a con. I’m a total hack. Back on earth, I might get a few likes for my amateurish work. But these aliens praise me like I’m Frieda Kahlo and Leonardo DaVinci rolled into one. Lord help me if Earth is ever tracked down, and the real “Earth Human” artists come to light. This alien would be so pissed.