by Alex Douglas
It was interesting that Prez and Doc came from the same background, and yet looked so different. Apart from his tongue, Doc looked like a typical Akilian; their sun was so dim that they were a colorless race, with gray hair and skin. Only the burning orange eyes showed any obvious pigmentation. Prez's black hair was thick and shiny and fell forward over his face. His skin was a pale shade of brown, like the juice of roasted baba beans. And his hands, four fingers and only one opposable thumb. Lan studied the smallest finger; it looked so weak and useless, but he resisted the impulse to touch it.
Doc emerged from the small corridor behind, his arm around Vix. He kissed her on the cheek, and she squirmed and giggled as his hand found her ass and gripped her buttock. Then he pressed some currency into her hand, and Lan looked away as they said their goodbyes, trying to ignore the feeling of faint revulsion that filled him at the slurping sounds of their kisses.
"Kin-tah!" Doc cried, frowning at Prez's slumped figure. "Not again. Come on Lan, we've got to get him sobered up fast. Time to work some magic medicine, my friend." He took one of Prez's arms and put it around his shoulder, struggling with the effort of keeping his friend vertical. "If you take his other arm..."
"Allow me," Lan said and scooped Prez into his arms as if he was a child.
Doc gaped. "Mother of skies, you're strong!"
"Yes," Lan said. Prez smelled of mukkesh and something odd that Lan didn't want to think about. They walked back through the underbelly of the station, back up the stinking stairs and out of the door into the freshly-scented air of the main port. The whole time, Prez's head bumped against Lan's shoulder, and he was mumbling something in an alien language. Its sounds were mellow and interesting, and he seemed to be repeating the same word. Garlo. "What language is he speaking?" Lan asked.
"I don't know what it's called," Doc said. "All those who grew up in the compounds speak it. It's the language of the aliens they brought there for the experiments."
"But you are also..." Lan searched for a suitably inoffensive term and came up with nothing.
"Ku-tah?" Doc smiled. "Oh yes. But I can pass. He can't."
Rounding a corner, they approached the security section on the way to the dock. Some burly Belaari guards were already nudging each other and pointing at Prez, their lips pressing together in thin lines. Doc groaned. "Oh no! I hope they don't make a scene. They don't take kindly to drunken pilots."
Lan strode forward. "This man has been taken ill," he announced in a commanding tone. "I suggest that the contents of the Clam Soup be investigated immediately."
The guards relaxed back into their chairs. "He's not the first," one said. She glanced at the identification Doc produced and waved them through, still smirking.
Back on board the Outcast, Doc led Lan to Prez's quarters and they deposited the sleeping captain onto his bed. He jabbed a syringe into Prez's buttock and stood back. "Back to normal in a few minutes," he said. He looked at Lan. "You know, I think you're going to get on just fine on this ship. You'll be good for him, not like that sewer-dweller Flack. If you see a spider around, crush it. Trust me, you'll be doing the universe a favor."
***
Prez woke up suddenly, his heart thumping. He looked wildly around for a second, then relaxed. Back in his quarters. Then he remembered the colors of the candles fading to black in the brothel, and groaned into his hands. He hadn't meant to get so drunk. It was all Doc's fault, him and his damn home brew. What a first impression for the new co-pilot, his new boss off his head and dragging him to a brothel.
He stood up and looked at his watch, surprised at how little time had passed. Then he felt the pain in his buttock from the injection and sighed. Maybe Doc wasn't so bad after all. He stepped into the shower and scrubbed the slime of the Tibur and the stale mukkesh off his body. When he was dry, he pulled on a fresh uniform and made his way to the shuttle bay, his boots clanging on the loose floor panels. Just a quick look in to make sure the couple hadn't come round unexpectedly like the two Glatian males he'd accepted for the first Ralia trip. They hadn't taken kindly to waking up drenched in their own semen, strapped to a cold metal floor while Flack drank mukkesh and jerked off idly to some holographic Andran porn. Customer care, Flack-style. At least he could do little harm in his current condition.
The couple were shivering but still staring at the ceiling with glazed eyes. No signs of coming back to reality yet. The bag around the male's penis was bulging full and leaking all over the floor. Prez frowned and looked at his watch. They'd have to get moving if he was to deliver the couple back to their craft before the APs gave them an Orbiting Ticket. He changed the bag quickly and incinerated the full one. His nose wrinkled at the smell of burnt plastic and semen that puffed out of the machine.
And then...
With a big grin, Prez turned his thoughts to the Mission.
The next -- and final -- booking of the Outcast was the Big One, and he'd been putting off thinking about it because it was so exciting he almost choked every time it popped into his mind. The Big One at last, the mission every captain could only dream about, the one that would make him rich. He paused for a second and imagined the stupendous concept with a pounding heart. And it was all legitimate, that was the best thing about it. He still could scarcely believe that such a deal had fallen into his lap, and vowed to run the paperwork past Lan just to be sure he hadn't missed anything. He threw a blanket over the shivering couple and allowed himself a quick dance of excitement before heading up to the bridge.
Lan was already there, inspecting the cleaning android. Smoke was puffing from its left eye. He pulled out a laser screwdriver and made a few adjustments here and there. The smoke faded away, but the android was still saying in its tinny voice, "...is full, please empty..." over and over again.
"Right," Prez said in a businesslike tone, trying to ignore the sting of post-mukkesh embarrassment. "Send that infernal thing down to Vaxel and let's get going." He cracked his knuckles and sat down at the controls of the ship. A light was flashing; a message from Doc on his private channel. Another couple interested in R -- message me on secured channel when you get back. Frowning, he closed it and sent out the required communications to the Andran controllers in order for them to release the ship. It usually took a long time for them to go through their ridiculous procedures, so he sat back in his seat and pulled out a bag of Skits. He could feel Lan's eye on him and fidgeted.
"Stop staring at me. There's a recording of me on the computer, at last year's Pilots' Dinner giving a speech. You can watch that, if you want to gawk at the ku-tah freak show."
There was a sudden chill in the air. "I was merely wishing to inquire about your health," Lan said eventually, shifting in his seat. "But I was trying to find the correct phrases. It is unusual for me to speak in words."
Prez looked at the Aldorian's inoffensive expression, feeling stupid for a second. "My apologies then," he said. "And... welcome aboard."
"Thank you."
It appeared that Lan was getting to know the customized navigational console very quickly, and Prez was relieved. He got through three bags of Skits and half a chapter of Flaha Maloha's Belaari for Imbeciles before the Andran bureaucrats finally released the vessel, and he eased the Outcast out of the docking station and into orbit. The couple's ship was on the other side of the planet, so he programmed in the coordinates and sat back, licking the crumbs off his fingers and listening to the hum of the engines. Not for the first time, he missed Flack, the easy conversation and endless jokes and anecdotes that meant Prez didn't have to make much effort to talk. He wondered how he was going to get the couple off the ship without Flack or Doc to help, and the Aldorian's slim arms didn't look any stronger than his own.
Prez had never seen an Aldorian in the flesh before and glanced surreptitiously at his co-pilot's reflection in the window as the ship glided through space. Lan had a long, handsome face and slanted black eyes that moved independently of each other; one was studying the console, the other focused
on the Tablet he was now reading with details of the Outcast's next mission. His purplish skin seemed almost translucent, changing color in blushes of dark and light. The ill-fitting robes gaped open as if he didn't know how to tie them together, revealing a nicely muscled chest. Apart from the thick ringlets that hung down to just below his shoulder, the same color as his skin, his body seemed completely hairless. Only his hands looked familiar, the three strong fingers and two opposable thumbs that every race seemed to have -- everyone except Prez and some of his friends, and the aliens from the blue planet so far away that still hadn't managed to pilot a spacecraft beyond their own moon.
Then he saw one of Lan's eyes meet his own, and he dropped his gaze back to the console, blood rushing into his cheeks.
Lan showed no reaction to being stared at. "The payment for this mission seems..." he said, looking at the Tablet and frowning as he searched for the word, "extreme."
"I can't find a thing wrong with the contracts. They're even opening a jump gate for us to get there in time to pick up the cargo, paid for courtesy of the Belaari government, no less. And jump gates aren't cheap."
"I have checked," Lan said. "But still."
"Well, it must be a valuable cargo. Honestly? I don't give a sar-sal's fart what it is, as long as I get the gees." Prez rubbed his hands together and grinned. "Then I can get rid of this old box and finally get a ship that's fast enough to leave this system before I die of old age."
"Where is it you wish to go?"
Home was the first response that sprung to mind, but he kept it to himself. "As long as I never have to do business with any Belaari ever again, any place is fine." Then he groaned. "That reminds me, I'll have to turn this thing on again." He reached under the console and jerked his hand back. "Ohay! He bit me."
"He?"
"Flack. Thought he was in the shuttle." Sucking his finger, Prez pulled out a small black electronic device with a blinking red light on the side and set it beside his seat. "I'll just leave it a while," he said. "We've got a day to go before we get to the jump gate coordinates, so feel free to have a look around, meet the others."
Lan picked up the device and turned it over in his hands. "What is this?"
Prez tapped his head. "It activates this translation chip. Got one implanted a while ago. Belaari don't lower themselves to speak in Common, and theirs is a beast of a language to learn. I keep it off, mostly. It doesn't really work, and it hurts."
"I found the language to be relatively simple." Lan said. "Once one is aware of the infixation and its relation to the subjunctive mood."
"Well, aren't you clever." Prez scowled. He maximized the AutoNav and squinted at the readings, then clicked to RealView. A small ship was floating directly ahead, lights dimmed. His hands flew over the console, flicking switches and brushing off the latest webs as the Outcast's connecting apparatus sucked onto the smaller ship like the embrace of a huge metal fish. There was a distant grinding then a clunk that reverberated all around the ship. They were locked; all that remained was to open the hatches and drag the couple back into their vessel. Prez stood up. "Come and help me?"
"What are we doing with this vessel?"
"Delivery," Prez said, and climbed down the access shaft into the main corridor of the vessel below. Lan followed, looking puzzled. Prez had the feeling that the Aldorian would react negatively if he were to be told that the Outcast ran illegal sex trips to Ralia, so he said nothing. The corridor was narrow and badly lit, and the metal slats across the walkway were corroded slightly and coming unbolted.
"It would appear that some repairs are necessary," Lan said, treading carefully over the bundles of wires that hung out of the panels on the wall. The door to the shuttlecraft shifted open with a screech. A gush of stale air lifted their hair, the smell of metal and empty containers.
"Essential upkeep only." Prez keyed the code into the shuttle door and stepped inside. "The Outcast is the last of its kind. Parts are expensive."
He looked down at the couple. They weren't writhing and moaning any more, but neither were they fully conscious, staring at the ceiling, eyes glazed, smiling faintly. Prez threw the blanket off and groaned. The bag had slipped off the male's still-erect penis and emptied its contents all over the floor.
"Kin-tah! Reach me a mop and bucket, will you?"
Lan was staring at the sticky mess, his mouth open. "Is that...?"
Prez made an impatient noise and clambered over the couple to the supply cabinet. As he unfolded the mop handle and clicked it into place, the male moaned faintly and his penis pulsed again, but only a couple of glowing pearls rolled from the tip onto his stomach. Lan edged back into the corridor. The room felt cold suddenly, and Prez shivered.
"Don't tell me the temperature control is going again." He rolled up his sleeves and emptied the contents of a water drum into the bucket then slopped it over the floor, mopping fast. The water foamed briefly and the smell of detergent was a welcome change from the whiff of old sex and stale underpants that seemed to hang about the place after the customers were deposited back to wherever they came from. As he worked, he realized that Lan still hadn't come back in. "If you're not going to help me, then go back to the bridge and get the programming done for the separation sequence," he said, exasperated.
"Help...you." Lan muttered. For a second, Prez thought the Aldorian was going to faint. The skin around his lips had turned a light shade of green. Prez wasn't sure what that meant, but it didn't look too healthy.
"Are you all right?"
"Mm."
"Yes?"
Lan seemed to shake himself. "Yes."
"Their clothes are in there." Prez nodded at a casket on the chair. "We get them dressed then put them in their ship, business concluded."
The door groaned behind Lan as he stepped back into the shuttle and took a breath. It didn't take long to dress the couple in their identical yellow silk robes; much more fashionable than Lan's, which were gaping apart at the front even more than before. When the shuttle was cleaned and the couple dressed, Prez hauled the male up into a sitting position and grunted. "He's heavy."
"Allow me," Lan said and hoisted the man into his arms.
Prez's mouth dropped open. "Mother of skies! You're strong."
"Yes."
"Well, you go through, and I'll take the female."
He watched the Aldorian's eyes fix on his arms and looked away, blushing. He'd only just met Lan and already he'd made himself look incompetent in a new and unusual number of ways: drunk and incoherent, incapable of learning Belaari, and now weak and feeble. Lan's impression of him would surely be getting worse and worse. The Aldorian was the first new crew member that Prez had ever hired and he'd desperately wanted to make himself look... at least professional.
Thankfully Lan was distracted by the male in his arms who was starting to moan faintly. "Oh!" he said. "Is he...?"
"Looks like it."
Lan turned to go. "If I may ask..." he began, then apparently thought better of it and made his way through the dim passageway to the connecting apparatus that joined the two crafts. Prez hauled the sighing female up and over his shoulder and staggered after his co-pilot, grunting with effort.
Soon the couple had been safely deposited on their own vessel and the Outcast was on its way to the jump gate coordinates. Prez had never been through one before and would have been excited, if the atmosphere on the bridge had been a bit more convivial. And it was cold, even though the gauge registered the correct temperature settings. He fiddled with the control panel and programmed in a system-wide error scan, just to be on the safe side. Lan's face had returned to its normal color, and he sat at the console, one eye on the Tablet and the other at the black void ahead. He made no effort to speak, and Prez sat back in his chair and pulled out another bag of Skits, sighing inwardly. It was going to be a long, long journey.
Chapter Two
The Elders had always told Lan that it started in the stomach. The feeling of attraction, the unfurling
sensation that signaled the beginning of love. Then it would spread up the spine into the brain, where the dormant areas would fire up and cause dancing lights in the vision. When you look upon the one true mate's face, they said, the sparkles will be like a shower of shooting stars. That is when you know your destiny.
Lan had looked upon the face of his mate and felt nothing at all.
Now, disgraced beyond measure and voluntarily exiled from his home, he began to wonder if he'd really felt nothing, or if love had just been a lot less powerful than he'd been led to believe. Why hadn't he just said the Words of Binding and waited to see what would happen? Life couldn't have ended up much worse than this -- having no currency, working for a strangely ambivalent creature whose moods were sometimes dark and hard to read, in a job that obviously involved illegal activity. He could think of no possible explanation for the drugged-looking couple in the shuttle, and the sensations from the jerking body he'd carried had been deeply disturbing.
The silence in the cockpit was like mental cave darkness. He could feel the faint sensation of Prez's feelings tickling uncomfortably at the front of his brain, but he did not know what the captain was thinking, or why. He knew he should fill the silence by making conversation -- an activity he'd read about in the Aldorian Travellers' Guide to Belaar/Andra -- but he could not think of a suitable topic to start with. And to top it all, there was a new web on the corner of his console stretching from a miniature plastic tree with colored lights all over, right over to the window. He brushed the web away, wondering what other horrors awaited him in this job, the first he'd had since piloting the shuttle between Aldor's capital city and the space port in orbit. His life seemed like such a long time ago.
To give himself something else to think about, he clicked on the Tablet and read through the list of Prez's skeleton crew to make sure he'd met them all. Doc's name was not among them. There was Kris, the engineer, who had a bald head with a stripe of spiked brown hair running from front to back. The one female, Glitch, was in charge of the computer systems and had a small, sweet face with sparkling blue eyes. A long-haired male with dark brown skin and thick arms named Vaxel was listed as "handyman." Flack's name was there too, noted to be "on vacation." Such short names, all of them ku-tah. A couple of androids completed the list, one marked as semi-functional. The word seemed to sum up the Outcast pretty well.
