I had no inkling about farming when I applied for the job on Aquarius 7. Honesty, working a kelp farm didn't sound like a dream job. But I'd learned the hard way most dream jobs turn into nightmares faster than ice melts in a high-powered drink. And that happens pretty fast on Berill. Or, more precisely, in Southern Sunset, the bar I'd been tending these last months—another thing that turned from heaven to hell in the blink of an eye.

So, presented with the opportunity to leave the embarrassment of a lifetime behind, I jumped it. No use trying to argue with the boss after I'd hit on his daughter's fiancé by accident. Or explain the malfunction of a tap was to blame I drenched the young man with Berillian squint. How could I know the unfortunate victim of the alcoholic shower would take this as a marriage proposal?

When I emerged after several days from the drunken state of bliss I'd shared with the groom, I found the prospective bride in tears and her father fuming. And myself in need of a new job. He proved to be one boss who cannot draw a line between his employees' private life and the job.

Freshly fired, I didn't wait for my accidental partner in crime to wake up. He looked like he needed more time to recover, despite his bulk and impressive height. I found him adorable, with the golden glowing skin and the stubby horns on his brow, still covered in juvenile bast. But Ani was Tacturnian. Aside from interesting mating rituals and low tolerance of alcohol, his people are renowned for a strict code of honour. I decided I could do without the backlash our little adventure would cause.

Meanwhile, the pangalactic job market still lacked choices for a major in human literature and history. I swallowed my pride and signed the contract for Aquarius 7.

~ ~ ~

Three days later, I found myself and my single suitcase on the shuttle. I'd packed everything I valued and left behind the rest. Including a bunch of memories, not all of them bad. Problem was, I'd enjoyed Ani's company, even if I doubted he'd gathered as much as my gender. Probably he was glad I left when he sobered up.

I spent the flight in hibernation. It was the easiest way to escape the reality of being stuffed into a shuttle with dozens of perspiring prospective farmhands like sardines into a tin can. Only luxury liners offer enough room and entertainment to keep passengers happy. I lacked the cash to travel legally on one of those. The best deal was cryopods, stacked in the cargo bay of a freighter for the transfer.

~ ~ ~

Aquarius wasn't as bad as it seemed at first sight. The job was boring, but things brightened when I found the local pub. Eight hours conducting the kelp harvester, four hours in the Swordfish, and a solid eight hours' sleep in my habitation bubble floating in the artificial atoll made up my day.

True, the farm didn't offer much entertainment. I found time to catch up on reading. Every worker earned the right to a week off in the capital after a three-month shift. My first holiday was still a distant dream when we got an interesting new arrival. Her presence dominated the pub, purple scales gleaming in the low light and silver eyes rapidly blinking. I'd never encountered this species before. Don, the barkeep, called me over.

"Hey Bo, meet Samantha, our new assistant agricultural researcher."

For an alien, she was attractive. But I wasn't really in the mood for another fling: my last one still haunted my dreams. Yes, it sounds stupid, but it's the way it was. I blamed the Tacturnian pheromones, ordered a beer, and sat down two seats away from Samantha.

"Welcome to Aquarius, home to outcasts and the heartbroken. Samantha is quite a human name for a... whatever species you claim to be."

Her laughter sounded like coarse sandpaper on wood. A sound I'd have remembered if I'd heard it before.

"I'm from Shalimed, out on the rim. My true name isn't pronounceable for mammal larynxes, so I chose a suitable human one." Her blinking increased in frequency to the point of being hypnotic. "Human culture is fascinating, and I'm glad I finally get the chance to meet one in person."

I shrugged. Was she flirting? I sure wasn't in the mood for it. Being human often felt like a vast disadvantage in a universe where most species were faster, stronger, more intelligent, or had cool talents like telepathy. But Samantha insisted she saw this differently, and, before I realised, we were deep in conversation.

It came as a pleasant surprise she didn't show interest in romantic relationships or, in fact, any kind of close relationships. With growing respect, I observed her fending off all advances of other guests with a firm, cool attitude.

Over the next weeks, she became a regular at the Swordfish. I related her interest in the farm gossip to her job. She had a true talent for pulling stories from the hands. Each night, she singled out another one. Each night, we got to hear a new tale.

Most turned around the reasons that drove a decent bloke—or gal, I'm not biased, as you might have gathered—to become a labourer on the kelp farms. Some stories dealt with love unrequited, others with escaping an unbearable situation. War was mentioned, famine, parental prejudice, and, my favourite, boredom born out of luxury.

Samantha was a gifted listener. Her gentle questions guided the storyteller, probed deeper, milked the most of every mundane event. The evenings at the Swordfish became famous, and Don made a real buck or two.

Despite knowing Samantha from the beginning, I remained an observer for weeks. It didn't bother me—to the contrary. I enjoyed the entertainment, jokes on someone else's expense, and free-flowing beverages. With a drink to nurse, I kept to my corner and listened. Until one life-changing night, Samantha singled me out.

"Bob, you have been quiet these last nights. Don't you want to share your story?"

By this time, I should have been prepared. I'd had enough time to think of something to tell. But I shunned, wary of the spotlight, remembering my stunt on Berill. Yet Samantha was persistent and urged me to accept a shot. Caught in the centre of attention, I accepted the drink and defeat. "What would you like to hear, sweetie?"

"Any good story about a world you visited. Have you been anywhere special, Tacturnus for example?"

I laughed. It was common knowledge the famous central world was off-limits for tourists. But my inebriated self might have dropped something about a certain golden-horned Tacturnian, the other night. Word spreads fast in a small community. It shouldn't have surprised me Samantha collected the rumours. But spilling the embarrassing beans was out of the question.

I sighed. "Hm, Tacturnus, the pearl of the Galaxy, the Garden of Eden, the promised land." I'd never been to the famous central world. But neither had the others in this impromptu assembly. It occurred to me this was the perfect opportunity to spin a colourful yarn. "Few visited the forbidden world, and fewer lived to tell the tale."

The audience was quiet, putty in the palm of my hand. Right, Ani, I thought. That's for breaking my heart, you big Tacturnian oaf.

"All right. I'll tell you about my trip to hell and back." I paused, sipping my drink. "It's an ugly tale, one I barely survived. So best order another round and make sure you have something to hold on to."

That night, fuelled by Don's best import lager, I told the tallest tale I could invent. The public was enraptured. I painted a picture of Tacturnus fit to hold its place against any depiction of a medieval hell.

My story contained everything from locals entertaining themselves by exhibiting sentient aliens in zoos to Roman-style gladiator fights. I hinted at whispered rumours about sapient meat being served in speciality restaurants. A detailed description of experiments conducted on the force-bred descendants of war prisoners made my audience gasp. To wrap up my masterpiece, I invented a wild escape that led me straight from this nightmare to Aquarius.

~ ~ ~

The next day, Samantha didn't turn up—without saying goodbye or leaving a note. Don was devastated. Without her, his income dropped dramatically. He tried to blame me for his star's unadvertised disappearance, but everyone agreed it was a coincidence and told him to back off. To appease him, I ordered a round of drinks for the gang and considered the case settled.

But it wasn't, not for me.

When the black, overstretched limousine-shuttle pulled up outside of my rental home five weeks later, I considered pretending to be absent. Unfortunately, the transparent walls rendered my strategy useless. The uniformed escort banged on my porch, threatened to hook my bubble and pull it straight out through the atmosphere. Afraid of the trouble with my locator, I gave in and let myself be escorted into the ship.

~ ~ ~

The next thing I remember is waking up in a fancy sitting room. The interior was kept in pure white, the furniture distinctly alien-shaped, flowing forms and rounded edges. Huge glassed windows offered a magnificent view over a broad bay and a purple ocean. The apricot-tinted sky dotted with golden clouds told me without a doubt I was on Tacturnus.

I sighed. Seemed my imaginative outburst in the Swordfish had been reported. But to whom? Fortunately, I didn't have to wait long to find out. Before I'd finished exploring the room, a sliding door opened, and a Tacturnian female entered at a stately pace.

She wore a long black robe underlining her golden complexion. Four fancy horns curled on her high brow, their exquisite elegance spelling out her high stature in society. Despite or perhaps because of my recent adventure with one of her compatriots, I didn't dare to speak and stood in the middle of the room like the idiot I felt.

My host walked around me in a slow circle, never leaving me out of her sight. "Bo Walker, if my information is correct?" Her English was excellent, her accent exotic. "Welcome to Tacturnus."

"Er. Thanks, I guess. How did I earn the invitation?" It wasn't easy to play the innocent while waiting for a low blow to follow. But it didn't.

"Please forgive the unusual approach. We feared you wouldn't join an official invitation by the Ministry of External Affairs." She settled on a stark white sofa and invited me with a gesture to join her. "But I wished to talk to our saviour in person. So I pulled some ministerial privileges."

I forgot to close my mouth as truth sneaked its slow way through the convolutions of my brain. "Um... right. You are the minister, then?"

She smiled, a broadening of the cheeks and rippling of the nose that reminded me so much of Ani. Renewed pain of loss constricted my heart. Why couldn't I get over him? It was time to move on and find a new object of compassion.

My host's golden eyes never left my face. "Yes, I am the minister, Majan ak Dalinn. And in this function, I was involved in assessing the Shalimedian treat."

Now, this tore me out of my unhealthy obsession with Ani. "What treat?"

"Ah. I wondered if you knew. Well, if not, then you happened to be at the right place at the right time." Her smile broadened. "In this case, congratulations. You are like the proverbial blind snail finding a golden coin."

I was tempted to tell her to get her proverbs straight. But who was I to correct a Tacturnian high minister? "Would you mind enlightening this blind snail, then, madam Majan?"

Her low chuckle came as a surprise. "Our resources claim without a doubt your astonishing tale about Tacturnian—what shall I call them, practices?—dealing with alien visitors caused the retreat of the Shalimedian invasion fleet." She rearranged her robes although they didn't require rearranging.

Was she waiting for my reply? I had to disappoint her. My thoughts were racing, and the only conclusion I could come up with was disturbing. I cleared my throat. "Are you implying Samantha's people were planning an invasion?"

"Not only planning. Their ships gathered in the cover of a few uncharted nebulae." Her gaze held mine. "The attack on the outer worlds was imminent. We'd already assembled our defence forces on the ring."

My mouth felt dry. Earth was one of the planets furthest out. Not that I cared much about it, still, it felt good to have a place to call home. Questions pounded in my skull, demanding to be verbalised. But I had a hard time expressing myself. "You're telling me... what exactly are you telling me?"

"I'm sorry I can't offer you a full explanation." The chuckle was back. "Be it enough to say you delivered your misinformation to a certain Shalimedian spy at the perfect moment."

"And you took the time out of your undoubtedly tight ministerial schedule to thank me for accidentally feeding lies to an alien spy?" I shook my head. "I didn't even suspect her to be a spy. Besides, what did she do on Aquarius of all hell-holes of the galaxy?"

"We don't know. It's a relatively new community with a commingled population. They might have used it as a validation point for information gathering. Your story was reported straight back to the Shalimedian command. Our own network supported it with a few hints and faked data, of course. Shortly after, the invasion fleet retreated."

Wow. I hadn't expected this. How did the ministry even know about Samantha and my imaginative story? "Are you sure there is a connection? This seems too much of a coincidence."

"We have our sources. Your belligerent depiction of our species was confusing enough to buy us a delay. Our future defence strategy will incorporate the seeds you planted." Her smile faltered. "So, Bo, do you have a wish I can grant you?"

I frowned. At this point, I only wished I'd never left Berill. Not something she'd be able to grant. "Not really. Can you ship me back to Aquarius?"

"Why do you want to return to that water-ball?" The minister's brow furrowed. "Your creative talents are wasted on a kelp farm."

"Perhaps. But I have a nice floating bubble there, right by the pub, where my mean tales are appreciated."

She wrinkled her nose. "Is the pub any good?"

"At least it's got decent booze." My statement came straight from the heart.

Majan nodded, a distant look clouding her eyes. "My sources tell me about a certain unfortunate encounter on Berill."

"What?" I frowned, taken by surprise and not liking this turn of things one little bit. "You can't hold this against me. That blasted fitting of the tap broke and the pressure..."

She interrupted me with a raised hand. "Stop. I've heard the story straight from the goose's mouth, as you humans say."

Again, I itched to correct her, but perhaps this wasn't the best moment. Goose or horse, what did it matter in the end? Both were extinct. I waited for her to continue, lips pressed together to save me from stumbling into another mess. The hiss of the door behind my back made me itch to turn around, but I resisted, concentrating on the minister's words.

"Well, at first, I didn't want to believe what I was told. But I do believe in destiny, and it seems you are an extraordinary person, Bo. Thanks for saving the alliance. And..." She smiled at someone approaching silently from behind me. "You have my blessings, Anion, even if you didn't invite your old mum to the ceremonies. A pleasure to meet you, Bo."

The well-remembered bear hug spared me the obligation to reply. Ani's breath tickled the hair on my neck and I became aware it must be well past the happy hour. As far as I was concerned, there was hardly ever a reason to break a good tradition. Especially since I'd found the perfect company to introduce me to its undoubtedly interesting local variants.