Rescue From Planet Pleasure

by Mario Acevedo

  Moots glided through the doorway and once she had passed, it shrank to its previous dimensions. She waved her skinny arms and slid toward us. Her head tendrils fluttered, and her translator/cap said, “Well …”

  “Well, what?” Carmen asked.

  Moots pointed at Jolie and me. “We’re waiting.”

  None of us moved.

  “Oh, reeeallyy …” Moots said, the translator/cap doing a good job of relaying her sarcasm. “You humans can be so difficult. Too difficult for your own good.” She stabbed her fingers in all directions. “The committee is watching.”

  “What committee?” I asked.

  “The Erection Analysis Committee. In the control room, which you know all about, thanks to Carmen.” Moots pointed at my crotch. “We’re waiting for the boom, boom.”

  “I’m flattered by the attention, but I’m not in the mood.”

  Moots dropped her arms and approached close to tower over me. “Not in the mood? Not in the mood!” Her tendrils shook like tree branches in a wind, and the translator blared so loud the air trembled around me. “Not in the fuckin’ mood!” She twisted her torso to face Carmen. Her voice softened. “How was that?”

  Carmen nodded. “Good.”

  “Thanks. I have been paying attention to your human mannerisms.” Moots faced me again. “Then Felix, what is the problem?” She touched her chest and waved her hand. The glowing outline of a human female materialized before me. “Explain something. As a sexual anthropologist specializing in the most bizarre of extraterrestrial forms,” she tipped her head toward me, “I’ve learned that the human females here fall into the ninety-eighth percentile of what you human males find desirable. What I named the Booty-Call Index.” A full-body image of a naked Cassie rotated inside the outline. The number 98.45% flashed above. That image was replaced by one of Juanita. 98.72% Jolie. 99.05% Carmen. 99.99% “Unless …” Moots wiggled her finger. The outline broadened to depict a rather plump, busty woman. “Maybe you prefer BMWs?”

  “That’s BBWs,” corrected Carmen.

  “No? Yes?” Moots asked, waiting for me.

  Actually, I liked most women, and a chunky gal could smother you with warm, sweaty love. But I thought it best to keep quiet because I didn’t want the Nancharm to kidnap yet another chalice. Besides the lack of shag-worthy women wasn’t the problem.

  “Oh!” Moots exclaimed. “You are gay.”

  “No,” I protested. “I’m just not in the mood.”

  Moots’ tendrils fell limp, and I could feel the pressure of her glare through those cold, blank eyes. Her tendrils puffed once, and she sighed, “Men.”

  She slid over the patio back toward the door. I watched how the bottom segment of her body skirted against the ground, hiding her feet or whatever it was that propelled her so smoothly.

  “Carmen,” she said, “he is your responsibility. I want to see a Felix erection, and I want to see it go pop.”

  Normally, not a problem.

  Moots spun in place and looked at me. “If you’re going to make me wait this long, it had better be good.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Do better than try.”

  Jolie elbowed me and whispered, “How’s that for pressure?”

  I whispered back, “Thanks for your support.”

  Moots continued for the building. “Carmen, I brought supplies for your kitchen. In my study of human-mating rituals, a good meal helps set the right mood.” Moots twisted to stare at me again. “And we want the right mood, don’t we?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Otherwise,” Moots said, “well …” Her tendrils dropped, and her voice trailed off. “Carmen can explain.”

  Carmen shook her head. “It’s not a good thing. You’d be mulched for the plants.”

  My dilemma pinched like the jaws of a vice. If I performed, they’d open me up for study. If I didn’t perform, I’d be turned into fertilizer.

  When Moots drew close to the door, it opened, and the doorframe grew to let her pass. Carmen, Jolie, and I followed her through. I glanced warily at the frame, not convinced it wouldn’t snap tight around us. But it returned to its safe, human size. Moots led us through the salon, the dining room, and to the kitchen. At each threshold, the doors stretched open to let Moots pass, and I wondered why the doors hadn’t been made large enough to begin with.

  The chalices were all in the kitchen. They were dressed in jeans and t-shirts and were busy picking through metal containers stacked on a hover platform. Juanita was giving orders, and Cassie and the two men sorted through sacks, packages, and small boxes they’d retrieved from the containers. Everything was decorated with pictures of food. Most were labeled in languages I didn’t understand, but a few were in English, complete with bar codes. Baking soda. Salt. Sugar.

  Moots motioned to the door that led back to the main room. “Carmen, I need to speak with you alone.”

  Carmen’s eyes flashed now what?

  She and Moots left through the door and it shut behind them. Juanita put Jolie and me to work. She asked Jolie to help her and the two men store the packages in the cupboards and to replenish the cabinet bins with tea, coffee beans, and grain from the sacks. I was to help Cassie make bread. We washed our hands in the counter sink, then scooped flour from a bin and into a large ceramic bowl. She added salt, yeast, and water and folded the ingredients with a big spoon.

  “I’m surprised the Nancharm don’t provide ready-to-eat food,” I said.

  “They prefer not to,” Cassie answered, her voice thick with a Dutch accent. “Boredom can be a problem. Having us make our own food is busy work, but it is a good busy.” She pushed the bowl across the counter toward me. “Now, you knead the dough.”

  I jammed my fingers into the damp lump and began to squeeze. “You guys make everything?”

  “What we can. We once tried cheese and chocolate, but they were terrible.” She grimaced. “The Nancharm import the food.” Cassie opened one of the refrigerators. The shelves were stacked with meats and fish in vacuum-packed wrapping.

  “Import from where?” I imagined a farm of octo-cows or an aquarium of wooly fish.

  “Earth … mostly,” her voice trailed off. “But it’s all tasty and nutritious.”

  I studied a package of meaty rings. Might have been calamari, or alien bung sliced into imitation calamari.

  Cassie kicked the refrigerator door closed.

  I kept kneading the dough. “How did you get here?”

  “Much like the others. One foggy night I was minding my business, riding my bicycle along the Rhine near Schuytgraaf-Noord.” Cassie raised her head and stared at the wall. “There was a bright light.” Her eyes widened. “And a blink later.” She blinked. “I was awakened and sliding from a silver tube far, far from earth.”

  “That was how long ago?”

  She shrugged. “Many, many months. A year. Perhaps two. I had no calendar. Then I was brought here to help Carmen.” She nudged me aside and plunged her hands into the dough. Her fingers dug angrily as if she wanted to strangle the lump.

  I asked, “You miss home?”

  “That’s a stupid question.” Cassie pressed down hard and the dough pushed between her fingers. “Of course I miss home. I’m grateful that Carmen tries as best as she can to make life here tolerable and—”

  I glanced at our sumptuous five-star surroundings. “Seems more than tolerable.”

  “A prison is still a prison.” Cassie lifted a shoulder and blotted a teary eye. “I have children. Two boys, and I miss them very much.”

  “And your husband?”

  She gave a brittle chuckle. “You don’t need a husband to have children.” She kept her face down to hide her despair.

  I looked to see what the others were doing. Juanita and Jolie pulled fresh produce from another container on the hover platform. They inspected cauliflower and heads of lettuce that they placed in the sink. Irsan and Toby were busy chopping tomatoes and bell peppers.

  Cassie presse
d against me, and her cheek brushed my ear. She whispered, “You’re expecting to return home?”

  I whispered back, “That’s my plan.”

  “How?”

  “That’s still a little unclear.”

  She leaned back so that her eyes locked with mine. I realized that my gaze had no effect on her. Not only could I no longer see auras, I had apparently lost my powers of hypnosis.

  Cassie grasped handfuls of my t-shirt and pulled close. “Take me with you.”

  We were close enough to kiss, but her expression was far from amorous. Her blue eyes were pools of cold hate. “The Nancharm have good reason to fear us humans. Sooner or later we’ll adopt their technology, and when we do, we’ll return and grind them into dust.”

  “Provided they’re still around.”

  “If they all dropped dead this instant, it wouldn’t be too soon.”

  I whispered, “Aren’t you afraid they can hear you?”

  “I hope they can. And fuck them!” Cassie’s bitterness unsettled me, and I pulled loose from her grip. Did the other chalices feel the same way? How much were they willing to sacrifice to escape?

  I had to sort through my thoughts, so I excused myself and went outside to the pond.

  I stood on the patio and looked up. I could detect the spinning motion of the ring circling the planet. The sky darkened directly above, and the veil of twilight seeped evenly toward the horizons, instead of moving from east to west like on earth. Stars glittered faintly in the gathering darkness. One of the tiny ones might be the earth’s sun.

  I had to avoid the Nancharm’s experiments, but my priority had to be fleeing this planet with Carmen and Jolie. And with the chalices.

  Then how to escape? I had no idea how to find a portal.

  A silvery craft cruised along the lower sky. One of the Nancharm’s flying saucers.

  I watched it glide past when an idea blossomed.

  Our ticket home.

  ***

  Chapter Twenty-three

  The flying saucer disappeared behind the trees.

  I stared at the spot where I’d last seen the ship, my imagination racing ahead to where I saw myself sitting at the saucer’s controls as it raced to earth: Carmen, Jolie and the chalices safely onboard. I was missing a lot of the details in this plan, but at least it was a plan.

  I went back inside and returned to the kitchen. Jolie and the chalices were at the counter making dinner, chopping cuts of beef and vegetables before dropping them into a stockpot. Cassie threw a glance over her shoulder at me and scooted over.

  I wasn’t in the mood to help. My mind tingled with excitement as it sorted through the question of how to steal a flying saucer. First, how to get one? Next, how to fly it? Could it make the journey to Earth? Wouldn’t the Nancharm try to stop me?

  The missing details piled on top of each other like pieces of a 3-D puzzle too enormous and intricate to fit together. An impossible task. I might as well be wishing for a pair of magic ruby slippers.

  But I was a vampire, which meant my existence alone was an example that the impossible was quite possible. Plus we had arrived on D-Galtha. The New Agey transcendental astral physics and quantum mechanics sleight-of-hand we used would make any rocket scientist bang his head on the floor in a conniption of disbelief.

  I wandered to the other end of the kitchen, toward the bar, and decided on a vodka martini. Reaching for the Belvedere, I noticed the seal on the bottle hadn’t been broken. A cursory appraisal of the other bottles told me most of them hadn’t been opened either. Couldn’t understand why. I hadn’t been here longer than a few hours and already I needed a stiff drink to cope. If I’d been stuck here as long as the chalices, I probably would’ve crippled myself with liver failure.

  Thankfully, the bar was stocked with the other necessities for civilization: ice, olives, and a cocktail shaker. I cracked open the vodka, poured a measure into the shaker, added ice and a splash of vermouth. The rhythmic sound of ice sloshing in the shaker prompted the chalices to turn and look at me, eyebrows lifted in surprise.

  I emptied the drink into a martini glass and dropped in an olive. Cupping the glass, I raised it to salute my fellow prisoners. I sipped, and the alcohol made the idea of stealing a flying saucer more plausible.

  I leaned on the bar and meditated, confident that little by little the details of commandeering a flying saucer would present themselves. It was a matter of time. If I could stall the Nancharm from Nurse-Ratcheting my brain, then eventually, we could escape.

  The door into the kitchen opened. The doorway stretched to accommodate Moots as she glided through. Carmen trailed behind, her face pinched with what I was sure had to be troubling news.

  The Carmen I preferred was the upbeat snarky bloodsucker with a reputation for gaming any situation to her pervy advantage. Here, she carried herself like the captain of a doomed ship striving to save her crew.

  Moots entered the kitchen and swiveled her head to take in the busy work. “Excellent. I love to see you all gainfully occupied and happy. Happy! Happy! Perhaps, we should sing!”

  Carmen groaned. Her eyes rolled in my direction. Have mercy.

  Moots reached up and touched the side of her translator/cap. It emitted a single tone that played steady for a moment. Carmen and the chalices hummed to match the note. The cap next produced a cacophony of chirps and grunts that barely followed a melody. A metallic crashing, like garbage can lids used as cymbals, accompanied the noise. Carmen and the chalices joined Moots in a chorus of atonal confusion. Jolie winced.

  Thank goodness for the alcohol. Everything—even this din—sounded better when filtered through booze.

  Moots waved her hands. “Aren’t we all happy!” She hesitated and her head jerked from side to side. The song kept blaring from her cap, and Carmen and the chalices kept making noises. Moots faced me and shot across the floor to within an inch of my nose. “What are you doing?”

  “Getting happy.”

  Her arm lashed out and smacked the glass from my hand. What was left of an acceptable cocktail spattered on the bar. The glass bounced off the counter and shattered against the floor.

  “No drinking for you,” Moots exclaimed. She reached up to her hat again, touched the side, and the music stopped. Carmen and the rest closed their eyes and sighed in gratitude.

  Moots aimed one long slender finger at me. “You already said that you haven’t been in the mood. I’m not going to let you come down with a case of whiskey dick.”

  “I was drinking vodka.”

  She extended an arm and her fingers grasped my face. Her touch was firm, warm and leathery. “You want to drink?” Her other hand pointed at my crotch. “Then first some magic from your wand.” She let go and glared.

  Carmen stepped around her. “I’ll handle this.”

  It looked as if Moots had drooped her shoulders in resignation. She turned, patted Carmen on the head, and glided out of the kitchen.

  I grasped a towel from the bar and began to clean up the spilled booze. The martini dripped from the edge of the counter like tears.

  “You’ll have to cut Moots some slack,” Carmen said.

  Little chance of that. Besides ruining my impromptu happy hour, I saw Moots as my number-one obstacle in escaping.

  “She’s under a lot of pressure,” Carmen explained, her voice low. “Her boss expected a breakthrough by now. She’s getting a lot of heat from their higher-ups. Even among the Nancharm, shit rolls downhill.”

  She continued, “Moots is disappointed in you. She was excited to have a male vampire to study. Convinced that surely, you’d deliver the macho goods.”

  “Wouldn’t be my first time to disappoint a woman.” I blotted the last of the spilled cocktail from my shirt and dropped the towel in the bar sink. “Tell Moots that if she guarantees I won’t be sliced open, then I’ll do my best to put on a good show.” I slid my arm around Carmen’s waist to signal I could be coaxed into performing.

  She pulled away. A surpr
ise because her libido was always spring-loaded into the sex-me-now position. But I didn’t take her rejection personally. She had priorities slamming her from all directions.

  “Moots has been given a deadline,” Carmen said. “Either produce results—and soon—or the project is done.”

  Jolie stepped between us and asked, “What does that mean?”

  “Nothing good,” Carmen replied. “No matter the results, the Nancharm will auction us to recoup the expense of the research.”

  “Then we better hurry,” I said.

  “With our experiments?” Carmen asked.

  “No,” I replied. “With an escape.”

  Jolie blinked. Carmen’s head rocked back in surprise. Her eyes slid back and forth and then fixed on me. I waited for her to smile in approval and ask for more details, but instead she whispered, “Later.”

  The chalices resumed chopping at their cutting boards.

  Carmen whispered to Jolie, and I leaned in to listen. “I need you to distract the Nancharm. Get frisky with the chalices.”

  “Which one?”

  “Take your pick. Any or all of them. Dealer’s choice.” Carmen grasped my arm. “Meanwhile, Felix is going to explain how he intends for us to make a break for it.”

  Jolie saluted. “Aye, aye, captain. I’m prepared to shiver some timbers.” She spun on her heels and retreated to the kitchen counter. She swatted Irsan and Toby on their butts and pulled them close.

  Carmen led me from the kitchen to the bedroom. She slipped out of her cloak and gathered it in her hands. Naked—and I mean NAKED! If you had only one woman to see in the buff, it had to be Carmen—she opened the dresser, stuffed in the cloak and unfolded blue yoga pants and a yellow tank top. She slithered into the pants and top, and the image of her choice bits—and the way they were packaged—lingered in my retinas.

  I lowered my gaze and cleared my throat.

  Carmen chuckled and when I brought my head up, she was smiling mischievously, quite aware of the effect she had on me. Her eyes slid from a second door to the bed as if teasing me with the choice. She started for the door, and I stepped beside her, promising myself that when the time was right, I’d show Carmen who was boss in the sack. We entered a hall.