Outcast

by Alex Douglas

  The customs official looked mortified for a second, and he sat back down, blushing white like a moon. "Ikarber, Prez," he muttered, while Prez's companion dissolved into silent giggles and had to lean against the wall to catch his breath. Lan's sharp nose detected the scent of alcohol, and he was shocked. They were drunk? And yet... the clever shift from the Common language and manipulation of Andran politeness conventions had ensured that the disgraced official would speed things along nicely.

  When the paperwork was finally done, they linked arms again and staggered on, saluting the officials while their shoulders shook with mirth. Lan stepped forward.

  "Captain Prez of the Outcast?" he said, and then paused as the two sets of dark orange eyes turned to him. Should he offer his hand? Kiss some part of Prez's body? All he'd read about the common greetings of the inhabitants of the Belaar-Andra system went out of his mind, leaving it as blank as Prez's stare. He cleared his throat and kept his arms at his side. "I am Lanfellian Satal, son of Lanfellian of the houses of Filakor." After a brief hesitation, he opened his mouth to continue telling them his name, but then thought better of it. Perhaps they didn't want to wait two hours for him to finish; their eyes were already glazed.

  "Prez." The captain smiled, but his gaze was focusing on a spot that hovered somewhere over Lan's shoulder, and he didn't offer his hand. "And this is my good friend, Doctor Al-Mah."

  "Just call me Doc, everyone does." A gust of alcoholic giggles made Lan's nose wrinkle. "Must say, it's a pleasure to meet someone from Aldor at last. Fascinating place, by all accounts. Which continent?"

  Lan was surprised. "Southern." He felt the doctor's arm linking in his and forced himself not to recoil at the contact.

  "Fascinating," Doc said again. He spoke as if his tongue was too thick for his mouth. As they walked back toward security, he paused and drained the last drops from his flask. "Never pupped an Aldorian," he said. "Have you, Prez?"

  "Pupped?"

  Prez laughed. "Doc's obsessed with sex, Lan. Don't worry, you'll get used to it."

  His eyes boggling, Lan tried to snake his arm back out of Doc's grasp. "Sex?" he whispered, shocked to the core. So casually mentioned, a topic that no one on Aldor would dare talk about to even their closest relative, let alone a stranger.

  "Talking of sex," Prez rubbed his hands together, "let's hit Vix's! We've got..." He looked at his watch. "Three hours before we have to be back to drop off those -- er --tourists." He nodded in the general direction of the docks where the Outcast was being refueled.

  "But..." Lan said, following them through security as if in a daze. "Was there not to be some sort of induction procedure?"

  Prez slung an arm around Lan's shoulders, seemingly oblivious to the distress the gesture caused. "Play now, work later."

  Bewildered, Lan followed Prez and Doc through the main thoroughfare of the leisure area to a service door in a corner behind a large piece of ceramic Belaari art. The sculpture stretched its crooked branches to the ceiling and artificial bird noises piped out from some audio nodes on the blue and yellow buds. He watched Prez stumble against the door and then rap a knuckle against the metal in something that seemed like a code. A crack opened up and Doc whispered something into the darkness behind. Then the door -- which had a yellow Keep Out! sign on the front -- swung open and they pulled Lan inside. He took a breath and followed them, trailing his fingertips against the wall because his vision was poor in such darkness.

  The walkway downstairs was narrow and smelled of stale smoke and fresh urine. At the bottom of the steps they turned a corner into a cavernous area, lit only by the floor lights and neon signs. Afghat's Gambling Emporium, Belaar's Last Bar, various stalls selling all sorts of gadgets, and shifty characters hanging around in the darkness. In the corner flashed a pink sign announcing Vix's Pleasure Center. The front was boarded up, and a purple curtain hung over the door. It was open.

  Lan hesitated. "I shall wait here."

  "Nonsense," Prez said. "It's not safe to hang around out here. Come inside. If you don't want to pup, then you can sit at the bar."

  It looked as if the area had once been a large warehouse. Ancient crates were stacked in one corner under a tatty tarpaulin. In front of them, a short hairy creature, with a scar running from the top of its forehead right across one eye and down to its jaw, stood in front of a makeshift stand where cutting implements of all shapes and sizes lay glinting under the flashing neon. A hooded figure in black robes was perusing the goods, lifting one now and then and slashing viciously at the air.

  Lan shivered with fear and, against all his better judgment, went into a brothel for the first time in his life.

  It was bright inside, lit with hanging lamps of every color. Plump red candles flickered on small tables, emitting a soft light and the scent of berries. Faint music piped from the speakers in the corner, and beings of various races and genders sat around on the oddly luxurious cushions and expensive rugs, sipping exotic-looking purple drinks from fluted glasses. Lan's head began to throb. There was another telepath somewhere around; the headache was always a sign. A heavily tattooed Belaari bartender stood polishing glasses and glaring around the room as if daring someone to make her work.

  "Prez! Doc!" An Andran woman in a pink silk robe drifted over to where they stood, a huge grin on her face. Her head was bald and shone with scented oil. "Ikarber. What is your pleasure today, gentlemen?" She looked at Lan and frowned. "Where is Flack?"

  This time Prez did not get down on his hands and knees. "Vix, this is my new co-pilot, Lan. Flack's... well, incapable at the moment. But he'll be back, as soon as we can track down a Malaihan."

  Vix chuckled. "Rat, was it?"

  "Spider."

  "Vitzi's Tears! That fellow is such trouble! Actually, there was a Malaihan in here yesterday, left without paying, too. It may still be around the port, if you'd like me to ask around." She reached inside her robe and pulled out a Tablet. "Some new items on the menu, for your pleasure."

  Prez took the device and scanned the information. He blinked a few times and held the tablet at varying distances from his eyes.

  "Mukkesh!" cried Doc, and strode over to the bar.

  Vix turned to Lan. "Ikarber, Lan. What is your pleasure?"

  Lan couldn't speak. Images flashed in his head, a female's face contorted with concentration, sweat dripping from her brow, her hair a halo of silver around her blue skin. The squeeze of pleasure in his loins, something he had never felt before. But they weren't his own images or feelings. He tried to push them from his mind. "I have no pleasure," he managed to say. "I shall wait at the bar."

  Prez handed the Tablet back to Vix. "I'll have the Tibur."

  "The usual, then." Doc appeared at his side, balancing three glasses of red liquid on a small tray. "Always with the tentacles, Prez. I don't get it."

  Vix was staring at Lan. Then a smile of understanding spread across her face. "Aha!" she said. "We have a first timer here, I believe. Prez has brought you to the right place, my young beauty. We have many specialists here who are well-trained in the art of pleasure."

  Lan stared at the ground as all eyes focused on him, his skin almost vibrating with embarrassment. When Doc offered the tray to him, he took the mukkesh without protest even though he'd never had a drink in his life. Nothing could be worse than feeling this excruciating mix of mortification and the other telepath -- wherever it was -- reaching a shattering orgasm somewhere nearby.

  Mercifully, Vix seemed to sense his humiliation and looked away. Her expression became businesslike as she addressed Prez. "Red room," she said. "That's thirty gees up front for the first twenty and another thirty for every ten minutes after that. Doc, blue room. Your favorite Andran will join you there presently." Her left eyelid flicked down in a lecherous wink, and Doc giggled and gulped at his drink, his eyes bright.

  Vix put a comforting arm around Lan's shoulders, and he almost retched at the contact. "Vitzi's Tears, you're so cold! I know just the female to warm you u
p. Come."

  ***

  The Tibur was a male. Prez sat down on the cushioned floor, his head spinning from the mukkesh and the tiredness that was starting to seep into his bones. He knew it was a male from its dark coloring, but its soft, shapeless body bore the same line of breasts as the female. The room was dark, and he liked it that way. The Tibur would not speak, and he liked that even more. And even though he knew that most races in the system considered ku-tah to be -- at best -- aberrations against the natural order of the universe, the Tibur's black eyes held no judgment and he liked that best of all.

  It crept over to him, and he closed his eyes as he felt the buttons of his shirt popping slowly open. Two tentacles crept under the belt of his trousers and eased them down. Its breasts were resting on his eyes and he lost himself in the pressing darkness. When he was naked, the Tibur pressed its soft body on top of him and slid slowly up and down until he was rock hard, then its arms wrapped around him and lifted him slightly. His cock became wrapped in a slick, hard grip and he let out a groan as the tentacle started to move, the bumps from its retractable suckers rubbing all over the head of his cock, creating a friction that made his head swim. It gripped his lower back while its long tongue lapped at the erogenous zone at the bottom of the throat, just where the flower of his tattoo bloomed over the kel-mah gland, which remained dark, even as his head fell back onto the pillow, light with the delicious sensation spreading from his throat all over his skin. Then he felt one tentacle wrap around his shoulders, another stroking the insides of his thighs then pressing into his ass, slipping inside, stretching and probing until it found the pleasure center of his whole body.

  "Garlo," he moaned, borne away on a floating haze, all his hot spots lighting up at once, the thick probing inside bringing him to a luxuriously slow and yet sharp orgasm, and it felt just for a moment as if his eardrums would blow out with the force of it. The Tibur held him until he had settled, stroking and singing to him, and for one brief moment it felt like being loved, even though he knew that the sensation was just an echo of something long gone, that the kel-mah was too shriveled up with time and experience ever to glow again.

  He lay there, panting, eyes closed. Not wanting to look at the Tibur, knowing it didn't care. When it released him from its embrace, the loneliness in his belly stung just a bit harder than usual.

  A moment to rest and another drink; that would make it all go away.

  ***

  Inside the yellow room, Lan hovered by the curtain, wondering if he should just obey his instincts and bolt out of the door to safety. But Doc had paid for his "pleasure," so he felt a sense of duty, as if he had been bought. What would his father say if he could see him now, lurking in an illegal brothel and consuming alcohol? He would be disgraced even more, if that was even possible. He sipped at the mukkesh, and its bitter taste stung his mouth. The alcohol had little effect.

  The other telepath had left, it seemed; there were no more disturbing images to see. Sprawling across the cushions was an Andran female, naked except for the jeweled belt she wore. Unlike most of her race, she was plump and pale but her head was bald and gleaming with oils just like Vix's. He could see his face in the shine, and it disturbed him to observe visual evidence of himself in such dubious surroundings.

  She was looking at him expectantly; he realized then that he'd forgotten to talk.

  "I have no wish to..." he started, but had to search for the word.

  "Pup?" the woman said, raising an eyebrow.

  "Yes...do that." Another wave of mortification.

  The woman pulled a blanket from under the largest cushion and wrapped it around herself. "Aldorian?" Her voice was soft and calming. "Don't you usually travel in pairs? What happened to your mate?"

  Lan clenched his fists and made a conscious effort not to freeze. "I have no mate," he said. When he'd steadied his temperature, he blinked at her. She was the first being he'd met who seemed to know anything about Aldorian customs. Had some used the services of this... establishment? It seemed unlikely. More than unlikely -- impossible.

  "I read a great deal," she said, as if reading his mind, which he knew she couldn't. "I have a lot of time between clients. Tastes around here tend to the more exotic. Not just some plain old Andran girl." A bitter laugh.

  He turned and looked at her properly for the first time with both eyes. "But Andra is a wealthy and advanced society," he said. "How did you...?"

  She laughed again, and he saw her sharp teeth. "End up in a place like this? It's a long story, and you've only got twenty minutes. Let's just say I came here to meet a man, spent all I had on the passage. And I'm still waiting for him, may Vitzi rain her urine upon his head." She gestured around the room. "Welcome to my palace. I'm trying to save up enough gees to get out of this port, but it's not easy. Like I said..." she pointed down at her plump body. "Not exotic. No tentacles."

  He sat down beside her, feeling a tingling in the left side of his brain. Was it despair or hope? He concentrated a bit harder and picked up the scent of regret. The mixed sensations prickled at his spine and made him shiver again, but then he saw her breath start to cloud and forced himself to relax. "How many gramalite pieces would be required to release you?"

  "Twenty thousand." She shrugged. "Protection costs a lot. Vix is nice, but she's a businesswoman. Anyway, that's my story; what's yours? You're so far from home."

  "Far from home," he repeated. It was the first time someone had asked him anything personal, and he didn't know how to answer. How to describe the humiliation of the Binding Ceremony in mere words? He'd looked into the eyes of the female his parents had selected -- after a long and tedious process -- only to panic and run out of the ceremonial tent at the last minute, freezing the air all around him with his shame and fear.

  Sitting in the yellow room with this Andran, the full force of his isolation hit home. Even the erotic images from the other telepath had been a reminder of what he'd lost, the constant connection with others. To his horror he felt tears start to spill from his eyes. The woman looked away and didn't touch, and he felt so much pathetic gratitude toward her that he'd have given her every last gee he had, if he'd had even two to rub together.

  "What is your name?" he asked, when he'd got himself under control.

  She looked around and smiled. "Maki," she said. "Come and visit me the next time you're in the port. I won't charge."

  "Lan," he said and smiled back. "I wish I could help you."

  A wry look appeared on her face for a moment. Then she started chatting, about the port and the more exotic clients she sometimes had, the disgusting food served up in the staff restaurants. When she'd finished describing the leaping travesty that passed for Andran Clam Soup, he found himself laughing, and relaxed.

  "You know," she said. "I would love to visit Aldor one day, when I'm free. I hear the sunsets are wonderful." She looked at him, her eyes full of hope. "Maybe you can show me?"

  He reached out his hands and placed them on either side of her face. "I will try. Close your eyes." He touched his forehead against hers and thought of the last sunset he had watched from the roof of his family home. The twin suns glowed dark and red as they looked over the black silhouette of the mountains like sleepy eyes. The sky streaked with clouds of pink and blue. The trees dotted around the plains, their branches heavy with yellow fruit. A distant herd of pok, grazing in the long grass of the plains as the shadows grew longer and the scent of the night flowers bloomed on the air. He transmitted it all: the sight, the warmth, the sounds and smells, hoping she would see at least a piece of it, his home.

  When he released her face, there were tears in her eyes. "Thank you," she whispered, and rolled over on the cushions with the blanket over her body, giving him her back. He got up and went outside, pulling the curtain across behind him, thankful that the encounter had not been quite as horrifying as he'd expected.

  Emerging from the room to his right was an Andran male, still fastening the front of his robes, face flushe
d with an orange glow that made his black eyes look like coals in a fire. His hair was pulled into the high ponytail officials wore and he tugged it back into shape, turning back toward whoever was in the room and pulling in close for a big sloppy kiss. The worker was another Andran male, naked except for some chains that hung around his neck and wrists. He hooked the chain around his client's neck and whispered something in his ear, then they both laughed and kissed again with a flash of darting black tongues.

  A sudden hot feeling rose in Lan's chest, and he gaped at the couple open-mouthed, momentarily forgetting where he was. The worker caught Lan's eye and broke the kiss, smiling lazily and cupping his hands around his substantial genitalia. "Holograms cost ten gee each. Twenty for the molds."

  Lan dropped his gaze and scurried back into the waiting area, breathing hard. His hands formed fists as he tried to push the image from his mind. It wasn't natural, it couldn't be, the Elders always warned of the consequences when nature was defied. He knew he should force his mind to open, to let the outside universe in, but he couldn't, not yet. Choking down another urge to flee the place, he looked around wildly, hoping Prez and Doc would be ready to leave soon.

  Thankfully, Prez had already finished; he was slumped in a corner on his own, apparently asleep, clutching an almost-empty glass of mukkesh in his hand.

  Forcing his thumping heart to slow down, Lan sat beside Prez and took the opportunity to stare with both eyes and bury the prickles of discomfort under some healthy speculation instead. The captain was not what he had expected at all. Prez let out a snore, and the glass fell from his hand and rolled across the floor. Lan had never seen anyone so drunk before. Perhaps ku--tah often went around in this state of intoxication, distasteful and baffling as it was. There were so few of them around to test any hypothesis; not much literature existed on their ways. Even the few texts written on the subject were derisory; one Akilian academic had penned a journal entitled Can beasts have a culture? and with it lambasted the music the ku-tah made in the compounds.