Rescue From Planet Pleasure

by Mario Acevedo

  Blossom climbed into her couch and strapped in. Her hands grasped controls and her trunk raked across the front console, pushing buttons. Strange symbols flashed on the screen. The saucer lifted.

  This close-up study of flying saucer controls made me realize how naive my idea had been to steal one of these spaceships. I’d be like a monkey trying to pilot a 747.

  A plastic bottle sprang up in one of my cup holders. A thick drinking straw wobbled from the top. Carmen received a similar bottle, and without hesitating, she lifted the bottle and sucked from the straw.

  I followed her example. The drink was sweet, pulpy, and carried a welcome kick—a wheatgrass Mojito would be a good description.

  Unshelled, salted peanuts filled my second cup holder. Music wafted from my seat’s headrest. I couldn’t recognize the words, but the tune was soothing and melodic, unlike that tin-can-in-a-washing-machine-noise the Nancharm were so proud of.

  A square hologram appeared before Moots. Her tendrils swaying in silent conversation, she tapped at the virtual screen, appearing much like a human road warrior clicking earnestly at a laptop while on a commuter flight.

  I relaxed in the seat, munching on peanuts, tossing the shells, getting buzzed on my cocktail, and enjoying this unexpected interlude. Carmen barely sipped at her drink and didn’t touch her stash of peanuts. Her eyes glazed over with faraway concerns.

  Maybe she was considering the same thing I was thinking. It was no coincidence that Blossom was piloting this ship. I sensed that the opportunity for an escape was brewing. Carmen and I had better be ready.

  ***

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Blossom and her co-pilot touched switches and adjusted the control levers along the instrument console. A bell chimed inside the bridge. The interior lights dimmed. Moots’ hologram vanished. My bottle and the peanuts disappeared into the cup holders. The commotion alerted me that we were about to land, and I expected a flight attendant to announce: Please make sure your seat backs and folding trays are locked in their full upright position.

  We swayed left and right. My stomach rose in my throat and then settled back down. The saucer cushioned to a halt. The lights brightened. Blossom unsnapped her safety harness and sauntered on all fours toward Carmen and me. Moots’ basket chair sank back into the floor, and she scooted free.

  My safety belts released and retracted. My chair pushed me up and forward until I stood upright. Peanut shells crunched beneath my feet.

  Blossom stared at the mess around my seat. She snorted.

  “What did she say?” I asked.

  Moots translated. “Men.”

  Blossom opened a cabinet in the bulkhead and withdrew a whiskbroom and a dustpan that she pushed into my hands. I figured the ship had one of those spider Roombas to tidy up, but apparently not. Under the glare of three women from different home planets, I dropped to my knees and swept up the shells.

  Minutes later, I trailed after Moots and Carmen. Blossom and her co-pilot remained on the bridge. We returned to the central hold. The tube holding Toby tipped from the wall, and he was puffed free with a gust of air. He spilled onto the floor, and Carmen and I helped him to his feet. His horn-dog jitters for Carmen had worn off, and he stood slump-shouldered and dull-eyed. Moots pointed to the ramp.

  The saucer had landed outside Facility Two-Four. It was still night. Carmen, Toby, and I started for the ramp and the instant we set foot on the incline, it collapsed and sent us tumbling. We fell three feet and landed in a heap on the hard red pavement.

  Moots floated beside us on a hover scooter. With a goodbye wave, she zipped down a door that opened in the apron.

  Above us, the ramp closed. A wave of static electricity fluffed our hair, and tiny sparks crackled in our clothing. The saucer lifted from us and whooshed toward the sky.

  Carmen and I had to lift Toby again, and we started back to the facility. The main bay door was closed so we headed toward a smaller door at the far end, near the living quarters. She flattened her hand against the door. A blue outline glowed around her fingers. A lock snapped and the door slid into a recess. She called out in jest, “Honey, I’m home.”

  We didn’t expect an answer and proceeded inside. The interior was gloomy as a cave, and I regretted not having vampire vision. A single light flickered on above us, hovering like Tinker Bell, and followed us to the first bedroom. Carmen touched the wall beside the door. The ceiling began to glow and our fairy light disappeared. Toby staggered to the bed and toppled onto the mattress.

  “Seems too quiet,” I noted. “Where is everybody?”

  Carmen shrugged and continued past the bedroom. The kitchen was empty, as was the dining room.

  We entered the den. Jolie and the rest of the chalices were sitting on the floor, looking worried and dejected. Jolie rose to her feet. “How is Toby?”

  Carmen answered, “He’s in the front bedroom, resting. He’ll be okay.”

  “Just okay?” Cassie asked, her eyes red.

  “Considering what the Nancharm put him through, I’d say that’s the best we can expect.” Carmen winged a thumb to the dining room. Jolie and I trailed after her and when she gestured at the table, we took seats.

  Carmen rummaged through a hutch drawer and retrieved a notepad and a pen. She sat between Jolie and me and said, “Jolie, I need you to help Moots with her research. Tonight was a good start.” But as she spoke, Carmen wrote:

  distract the nancharm. Felix and I have to work on an escape plan.

  Even if the Nancharm weren’t eavesdropping for anything except for sex, I appreciated Carmen’s regard for secrecy. I reflected to the moment back on the space ship when Blossom seemed to have whispered something to Carmen. I took the pen and wrote:

  Blossom?

  Carmen nodded once. Jolie squinted at the note and looked at Carmen, then me.

  Carmen added, “It’s important that we cooperate with Moots and Fastid.”

  Jolie replied, “I’ll do what I can.” She took the pen and scribbled:

  what’s the plan?

  Carmen drew a flying saucer.

  Jolie kept a poker face and wrote:

  how?

  Carmen circled Blossom’s name. She wrote:

  just be ready.

  Jolie drew a smiley face.

  Carmen scooped the note, crumpling it. “Jolie, go mind the kids. Felix and I need time alone.”

  Jolie returned to the den. Carmen and I walked to the kitchen. Once there, she fed the note through a slot in a cabinet beneath the sink. A red bar on the cabinet lit up. Incinerator activated. The bar turned green. Incineration Complete.

  Carmen hooked her arm into mine. “Remember how Toby got all randy after his surgery?” Her body pressed against me, and my blood rushed to all the right places.

  I wrapped my arms around her taut waist. “Is this what you meant by time alone?”

  “Not quite.” She pushed me away. “But hold that thought. And save your strength.”

  “For what?”

  “For Moots.”

  ***

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Carmen led me out of the living quarters to an abandoned fabrication shop off the main bay. She explained that most of the original equipment had been left in place when this facility was hastily converted to a sex research lab.

  Once in the shop, Carmen began rummaging through boxes and shelves and when she couldn’t find what she wanted, she asked me to make a soldering gun. She didn’t explain why.

  Jolie’s part in our plan was more straightforward. She had to misdirect the Nancharm’s attention from Carmen and me by orchestrating an orgy with the chalices. Taking the long view in this arrangement, Jolie was getting the shaft (two of them, if Toby came around), but she was having more fun and I’d trade places—on the giving end, of course.

  Everything in the shop was sized for the Nancharm so Carmen and I had to improvise step stools to plunder the upper cabinets and shelves. After an hour, we managed to scrounge a heap of t
ools and parts. While a lot of the gizmos were undecipherable in their function, surprisingly, many weren’t. Though we were billions of miles from Earth, a hammer still looked like a hammer.

  I constructed a soldering gun by taking apart several devices and fitting the parts into what I hoped would work without blowing up. Who knew, but what I thought was a heating element might actually be an Illudium Pu-36 detonator.

  The busy work kept me distracted from what Carmen had said last night: That I was to save my strength for sex with Moots.

  The idea was as appealing as sliding my johnson into a toaster. I remembered my earlier thoughts about Doña Marina getting it on with El Cucuy. But if this was my sacrifice to assure our escape, then so be it. Close your eyes and do it for God and country.

  Carmen and I were soon surrounded by gutted and disassembled appliances. She collected batteries, the Nancharm equivalent of the D-cell. I hooked up a pair of wires from the soldering gun to a battery. The gun’s tip heated and glowed. “How’s this?”

  Carmen hitched her shoulders. Good enough. She was handling a combo power tool and had just finished boring holes into a flat plastic bar the length of her forearm. She twisted the bar onto a pole so the two sections formed a T. After fitting identical thumb-sized doohickeys through the holes, she used the soldering gun to connect wires from each doohickey to a battery pack.

  She tore a length from a roll of Nancharm duct tape and secured the wires and the battery pack to the pole. With a twist of the switch on the battery pack, the doohickeys vibrated. She rotated the switch to its stop and the bar about shook to pieces. “W-w-we shouldn’t n-need th-this s-s-setting,” the trembling made her stutter, “b-b-but just in c-c-case.” She turned the power off.

  With a proud flourish, she raised the pole like a battle standard. “This is what a Nancharm penis looks like.”

  So we were making a sex toy. I was amused rather than impressed. It looked like a cross between a short-tined pitchfork and a rake. “Seems complicated.”

  Carmen’s smirk reflected my skepticism. “The Nancharm are complicated. The women have six vaginas, all of which must be stimulated simultaneously to induce ovulation.”

  “Six vaginas? Their monthly cycles must be murder.”

  “Actually, they don’t menstruate. Ovulation doesn’t occur until the men deposit ootz in all six of the women’s hoo-hahs.”

  I realized the Nancharm’s dilemma. “If their men don’t perform to task, the women can’t even provide eggs for artificial insemination.”

  Carmen elaborated on the thought. “They’ve tried to harvest eggs using synthetic hormones, but the results didn’t produce healthy babies.”

  “How am I supposed to ‘do’ Moots?”

  “You’ll see that the Nancharm vagina is very accommodating.”

  “The vagina,” I replied. “As in one. You’re not balancing the equation.”

  “Work with me, okay? When it’s time for the nitty-gritty, go with the flow.” She gave the toy a spin. “A perv like you will figure it out.”

  I watched the six units go round and round. “The Nancharm men walk around with junk like that in their pants?”

  Carmen measured the pole about three inches from the bar. “It’s this long.”

  Nancharm coitus sounded bizarre and outlandish and was even more unsettling because soon I’d be putting Mister Mushroom Head where no man has gone before.

  We searched for material to coat the “business” end of the toy. We opened cans and jars and tested the liquids inside. Soon we had left spatter and graffiti all over the lab and settled on a purple rubbery paint. When the bar and doohickeys were painted a uniform color, the device looked like something you’d buy at a fetish store.

  I cast a paranoid look about the lab. “Is it safe to talk?”

  “Trust me.” Carmen smirked. “If Jolie is doing what I asked her to, every Nancharm eyeball and sensor is glued to the sexual shindig she’s orchestrating.”

  “How is doing the nasty with Moots going to help us?”

  “Up until now, she’s has maintained a clinical distance from me.” Carmen spun the toy. “I aim to change that. With a three way. You, me and her.”

  “Why me?”

  “To spice the offer. None of the Nancharm have had sex with a human male. You’ll be the first.”

  I tried to imagine the scenario. To access Moots’ matched set of vaginas, we had to get under her carapace. “The first man to have sex with a Nancharm.” I gulped. “That’s an honor I’d rather not have. Why not Irsan or Toby?”

  “They might be a little too delicate.”

  My penis turtled tight into my crotch. “What exactly is Moots going to do?”

  “She might start by giving you a hummer.”

  I didn’t need that visual. Sticking my fingers in my ears, I began to sing, “La, la, la.”

  Carman jabbed me in the belly with the end of the toy. “Now you have standards. I’ve seen some of the skanks you’ve porked. Moots would be a step up.”

  I needed a tall, stiff drink of ninety-proof to cleanse my mind.

  Carmen twirled the toy overhead like a baton. “Don’t know when or how, but something is going to happen,” She added, “When it does we have to be ready. To do that we need to play head games with the Nancharm. Make them drop their guard until you-know-who makes her move.” Carmen wagged her hand in front of her nose like a trunk in case I didn’t get that she was referring to Blossom.

  “Seems you’re counting on a lot of chickens before you even get eggs in your basket.”

  Carmen jabbed the toy toward my crotch. “You got a better idea, Mr. I-prefer-to-keep-my-dick-in-my-pants?”

  Sadly, I didn’t.

  ***

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Carmen and I returned to the living quarters through a back way that took us first to the pond. Discarded clothes, dildos, vibrators, and empty bottles of lube and wine lay strewn about.

  “Looks like we missed a hell of a party,” I said.

  Carmen stashed the Nancharm sex toy by the patio table. We entered the den. Wall sconces illuminated the room with a faint, amber light. Jolie and crew sat cross-legged on the floor. They wore fluffy robes and their hair remained wet, no doubt from a group shower that followed their orgy. They smelled of soap, shampoo, and satisfaction.

  Cassie brushed Juanita’s hair. Irsan sipped languidly from a glass of wine and appeared as if he needed a cigarette to polish his aura of contentment. Toby leaned against Jolie, one arm draped across her shoulders.

  A pair of panties and rumpled towels lay across the coffee table. Who had been the main course in that exchange?

  Carmen and I were still in our paint-spattered jeans and t-shirts. I felt like a nerd pressing his snotty nose against the window of the cool kids’ playhouse. For me, this place wasn’t Planet Pleasure but Planet Frustration.

  Jolie raised her head, blinked, and offered a sleepy, “Welcome back.”

  Carmen toed a pair of swimming trunks. “When did the clothes come off?”

  “Sometime between the second and third bottle.” Jolie stood and padded about, the ambient light outlining the robe where it hugged her sleek body. “By the way, positions 17 through 34 of the Kama Sutra leave your lady parts really sore.”

  Carmen allowed a smile. “In a good way, for sure.”

  A wall chime announced that Moots was on the way and we gathered in the dining room.

  She arrived, oblivious to our scheme to seduce her. When? Soon, I imagined. And then what?

  A translucent wall panel projected a life-sized hologram of Dr. Fastid into the middle of the room. He clapped his hands. “Bravo. Bravo. Finally you’re back on the ball. On the ball.” He pointed at Toby. “Subject 39172 …”

  Toby hitched his shoulders and touched his chest. “Me?”

  “Yes, you,” replied Fastid. “Is there another 39172 on the premises? You have really thrown yourself into this research. Perhaps you should try to kill yourself mo
re often!”

  Toby lowered his head. He pressed his wrists, wound-side down, against his lap. Jolie gave him a side hug and shot a dirty look at Fastid. Moots’ tendrils shivered and she pointed a scolding finger at him.

  “Moots, I’m just kidding,” Fastid exclaimed with a laugh. “I’m well aware that our overhead doesn’t cover attempted suicides.”

  Carmen poked me in the ribs. I knew what she was thinking. Toby tried to kill himself and what irked Fastid was the impact to his budget.

  “Keep up the good work,” Fastid continued. “While the information we’re getting is a little marginal, my staff and I are enjoying the show. Enjoying the show.” He paused, then asked, “Subject 41866?”

  We looked at each other to see who he referred to and gave a collective shrug.

  “Jolie,” Moots said.

  She let go of Toby and pushed from the floor.

  Fastid gestured that she remained seated. “We especially appreciate your enthusiasm, 41866. You choreographed some exceptionally intriguing positions.”

  “It’s a gift,” Jolie demurred.

  He looped his arms and rested his balled fists against his middle carapace. “Keep up the good work. Make me proud.”

  The wall panel pulsed. His hologram fuzzed over and vanished. We looked at each other and then at Moots.

  Her tendrils puffed. “What?”

  “This is good, no?” I asked.

  “For him.”

  “It’s your project.”

  “Your sudden outburst of activity attracted the attention of the Most High Research Council,” Moots explained. “Dr. Fastid is making sure he gets the credit.”

  “That’s not fair,” Cassie blurted.

  “Tell me what’s fair about anything.” Moots cocked her head and seemed to have squared her shoulders. “But that’s my problem.”

  Carmen stood and clapped her hands. “Recess is over. Jolie, have these kiddos tidy up and get started with dinner.”

  Jolie rose to her feet, and in a drill sergeant’s voice, barked orders to the chalices.

  Carmen grasped my arm and led me to the den. “Moots,” she added, “join us. We need to discuss something.”