Outcast

by Alex Douglas

  The jump was very much like the last one Lan had experienced, dizzying and anti-climactic. Only this time, his mind was focused on the task of keeping the ship steady, not miserably recounting his last days on Aldor and worrying about what lay out there in the void beyond everything he'd ever known. He'd arrived at the space port near Belaar and hung around there for weeks until it became apparent that he would soon have to seek employment or starve.

  In his time at the port, he'd learned Belaari to an almost flawless level, and it was amusing to hear Prez mangling the language with his poor pronunciation and literal translations of alien phrases that rendered the Belaari captain helpless with laughter. He wondered if he should translate and save Prez the obvious discomfort of using the chip -- not to mention the derision of the Belaari -- but it was not in his nature to put himself forward so he remained silent as the Outcast was escorted beyond the exit gate and over to the docking section of the huge port.

  It looked much like the one Lan had stayed in before; bright lights blazing out from the semi-organic transparency that formed the elliptical windows, which blinked out from the slowly-revolving metal segments of the enormous structure. As they approached, a hatch opened up like a huge glowing eyelid. The three vessels docked together, and there was a thudding noise as vibrations shuddered though the Outcast. They had arrived.

  Lan switched the RealView off, and the Belaari captain's face appeared on the screen. She had deep violet eyes that she fixed on Prez, a smirk playing at the edge of her mouth. Behind her, her crew were gathering in small groups, apparently busy but clearly trying to eavesdrop.

  She began in a monotone voice as if rhyming off a price list. "Kai instructs me to inform you that she will meet you at the office you will rent in this dock two standard days from now at 06:00. During that time, you and your crew will be free to enjoy the facilities on the port while your ship undergoes a routine decontamination procedure -- and some repairs -- before the loading of the cargo. Do you have any questions?"

  Prez looked tired. "No, thank you. Kai's communication contained a lengthy..." He winced briefly before continuing. "Sucking feature. It explained everything."

  Attachment. Lan chuckled inwardly as the captain burst out laughing again, and the shoulders of her crew started bobbing up and down behind her. "In that case," she said, wiping tears from her eyes, "Welcome to Melaarah XV, Prez. On behalf of the Belaari government, we wish you an enjoyable stay."

  Prez clicked the communication off and groaned. "This kin-tah chip!" he said. "Why did I let Flack talk me into it? Talking of whom..." He got down on his knees and looked around the underside of the console and smoothed his hands all over the floor. "Flack! Come out."

  "If they are going to decontaminate the ship, it may be wise to catch him." Lan watched the shirt pull out of Prez's trousers with one eye.

  "I may not speak perfect Belaari, but I'm not stupid. Get me a box or something. He's under your seat."

  Some minutes later, they managed to catch the spider with a half-eaten Skit, a box, and a lot of coaxing. Lan wondered how much language Flack could understand in his current condition. The feeling of the spider's furry legs beating against his cupped hands was scratchy and unpleasant. When Flack was safely in the box, Lan sealed it up with some tape and punched some holes in the lid with a pen so the spider could breathe. "How did this occur?" he said. "I hope it is not a hazard of the job."

  Prez chuckled. "Don't play poker with a Malaihan." He patted the box affectionately and spoke loudly to the spider. "Don't worry, my friend, we'll get you back to drinking and pupping and card games in no time. Talking of which...two days leisure! Let's go!"

  Lan slipped his satchel around his neck. "I would prefer not to visit any..." he thought for a moment, before continuing, "... pleasure establishments."

  "You, my friend, can spend your leisure time however you like." Prez gestured through the window to the brightly-lit dock. "It would be nice if you'd join us for dinner later, though. Get to know the others a bit before we're trapped in a tin can together for three weeks."

  "I will join you."

  Prez grinned again, and Lan felt his mouth form a matching shape.

  "You look different when you smile," Prez said. They looked at each other for a second, then Prez's Tablet bleeped from somewhere in his satchel and he went off around the corner to read the message. Lan glanced at his own reflection in the shiny panel, surprised at how a real smile transformed his face. Telepaths rarely needed facial expressions, so he made a mental note to practice looking different when he got to his quarters and could avail himself of a proper mirror.

  Once the necessary bureaucracy was completed, one of the Belaari crew showed them to their quarters. There were only two available rooms, she explained, so they would have to share. One of the exploration vessels was due to refuel there; as well as that, there was a large group of miners visiting for the last few days of their break. But the rooms were spacious and more plush than anything Lan had imagined possible in a space port. His last room had been little more than a cell without a window; this one had a grand view of the nearby moon and the glittering black of the void beyond.

  "Me and Lan will share, the rest of you bunk up," Prez said. "I'm going to check some things out, so see you all later for dinner. And... mukkesh!"

  The others saluted cheerfully and went into their quarters. Through the wall, Lan could hear them jumping on the beds and talking loudly in their compound language. He sat on the bed and rubbed his stomach, wondering why he still had that feeling -- it was almost like nausea, but not quite. Perhaps he was getting sick. He checked the InfoCon screen and discovered that there was a doctor on the third level of the trade area. He made an appointment for the following day and lay down on the bed, pondering what it was that Prez had to check out. The bedcovers looked inviting, and Lan threw off his robes and slipped in between them, rubbing his belly until he drifted off to sleep.

  ***

  The restaurant was dimly lit inside, the metal walls adorned with Belaari trinkets and artwork. Triangular paintings, brightly colored and abstract. The tables were wooden like the snugs that surrounded them, giving the diners -- and there weren't many -- some privacy. There was a large jug of mukkesh waiting on the table and a card that read "Compliments of Kai".

  Prez eased himself into the seat and looked at the display screen on the wall ahead. It was muted, showing some boring fashion show with bald-headed Andran females modeling the latest in swimwear. He rested his head against the partition and closed his eyes, listening to the piped music, a melancholy Belaari operatic aria -- the usual dreadful screeching.

  There'd been no record of any Malaihans on the station for at least three months, so Flack would have to wait. He'd also looked up the sports facilities, but they were all built to fit the Belaari physique. He didn't fancy making a fool of himself in the gym again, getting flung off treadmills and struggling to lift weights that the Belaari could pick up with one hand. Then a name on the list of business had caught his eye -- Vartis' Massage Salon. He smiled to himself. Maybe that was the place to get some exercise instead.

  Glitch, Kris and Vaxel arrived not long after. Judging by their glassy eyes and euphoric state, they had not waited for him to buy their first drinks. They sat down, talking all at once. Glitch had changed her hair from yellow to various stripes of blue and silver, and she smelled of summer fruit shampoo. "Like it?" she said, patting the spikes. "Kris did it for me, for Kiz-Mah."

  "A Citizen's haircut," Prez said, grinning, and poured four glasses of mukkesh. "First round is on Kai, apparently. Cheers."

  They clinked the glasses together. "Cheers!" Kris said. "Man, I could get used to this Belaari hospitality. Makes a change from them treating us like shit."

  "Indeed," Vaxel gulped at his drink and let out a hearty belch. "This is how the other half live, my friends."

  "I doubt if the other half live quite like you do," Glitch said, fanning Vaxel's burp away from her face. "Whe
re's Lan? I was looking forward to a chat, and I've got a ton of beads for him. He's a great listener, you know. Great guy."

  Prez looked at his watch. "He said he was coming. Still, let's order. I'm starving."

  The menu was the usual fusion Belaari dishes with an Andran twist with a grill that offered many types of exotic fish and meats ranging from bloody to burnt. There was a mouth-watering smell floating around, sweet and nutty. "I'll have whatever that smell is," Prez said to the sour-faced waitress, and the others followed suit. Then they polished off the mukkesh and ordered another jug. Lan had still not arrived and Prez felt slightly disappointed through the haze of alcohol that was starting to cloud his vision.

  "So what's he like to work with?" Vaxel said.

  "Lan? He's very competent."

  "I think it's creepy the way their eyes move around separately," Kris said. "Like one's on you all the time."

  Vaxel drained his glass and took the jug, topping everyone else's up in the process. "Telepaths, the Aldorians. Pretty interesting race, actually. Did you know, for instance, that the males..." He looked around and even though no one was listening, he dropped his voice down low. "The males have no penis."

  "Oh my God!" Kris exclaimed. "How do they fuck?"

  Vaxel shrugged. "Didn't get that far. But the article did say that they're usually seen in pairs. I wonder why Lan's on his own."

  "If he's got no cock, then..." Kris said and laughed.

  Prez felt a prickle of annoyance. "We should be the last to laugh at other races' physical differences."

  "For God's sake, Prez," Glitch said, chuckling. "Stop being so red-brained. We're just having a laugh."

  "Mukkesh!" Vaxel cried and downed the last of his drink.

  There was soon another jug, but then their meals arrived and that put an end to all speculation about the existence -- or not -- of Lan's penis. Prez shoveled the food into his mouth, thinking about what it would be like to live without one. The meat was melt-in-the-mouth soft and the sauce spicy and nutty and he sighed with contentment. Then the fashion show cut off with a red warning flashing on the screen, and a switch to the newscaster. He set down his cutlery as a recording began to play, a dim gray landscape that could only be one place. "Look, it's Akilia." He squinted at the screen, and then his eyes widened with shock. The breaking news banner across the bottom of the screen was flashing the same headline, repeated over and over again.

  Breaking News -- Unrest in Ku-tah Compounds -- many dead.

  A hot feeling spread in his chest as he sat open-mouthed, watching the grainy footage -- which looked as if it was filmed on the run -- of smoke rising from the buildings, broken trees, scorched grass and the white smoke of the Akilian army's chemical anti-riot gas. People screaming and running around in panic, diving behind boulders, writhing in agony on the hard dirt roads. Children hiding in hastily-dug trenches, clutching each other and crying.

  But...the gates were barricaded from the inside. Then the camera flashed at the ground, at the feet of whoever was recording, and jostled for a second before focusing on a group of ku-tah with shoulder launchers, bracing themselves and firing over the fence. With no sound, it seemed unreal.

  "What are they doing?" Kris whispered. "And where did they get the weapons?"

  The camera flashed to a group of women carrying a torn sheet, on which words were painted in the language of the compounds -- and Akilian -- No to forced removal! They waved the sheet and shook their fists, chanting and shouting while people all around joined in and surged forward toward the gate. It was a second before Prez was able to recognize the words from their lip movements, and what he saw he could barely believe. They were shouting over and over again, "We are Akilian! We will not leave our homes! Akilia is our home!"

  The film ended with a black screen, and then started over again as if it was on a loop. They watched again, frozen, disbelieving. Prez felt sick and reached for a drink, barely tasting it. It was the first time he'd seen a compound for years, and he was shocked to the core. They had changed a lot since he was young. The buildings looked more solid, almost pretty with their different colored bricks arranged in mosaic patterns, the shine of polished windows. The people looked healthy and well-fed. Not so many sick, tortured or mutated, as there had been in the beginning. Beyond the smoke of the bombs and the gunfire, there was evidence of tended gardens and crops, even pet animals.

  He felt a sudden sense of detachment as if the universe had shifted and cast him out of his place in it. Who were these people on the screen calling themselves Akilians? He stood up, swaying slightly.

  "I'm out of here," he said and gulped the last of the mukkesh. For a brief, painful moment, he longed for Flack. Only Flack knew what it had really been like, and the price they'd paid to escape. Flack was the only other one old enough to remember the wearying pain of the constant experiments, and he'd been there to see the piece of Prez's soul that had splintered off in the process and left the gaping loneliness that no amount of drinking or mindless sex would ever fill.

  Ignoring the others' cries of no, stay!, he went out and wandered blindly through the recreation section which was crowded with the chatter of the miners as they sipped colorful drinks and munched on bowls of Skits at their little tables under the false sun. The recording of the violence was playing all over the corridors and he felt the miners' gazes fall on him, not just curious or contemptuous as usual, but with a hint of sympathy that almost made him retch.

  At the end of the walkway, there was a garden with a fountain shaped like a huge fish vomiting up emerald water, shining green metal under the bright lights. Not knowing what to do, he sat on a bench and looked at his hands. There was a smell of roasted baba beans, the hum of conversation. The chip in his head was buzzing and he groaned. He'd forgotten the device to turn it off; now he would be tortured with its chattering of stupid words and phrases, the sort of thing that had made him a laughing stock that afternoon. He needed to be away from people, he needed more mukkesh, he needed a fuck. Anything to forget about Akilia, the memories the footage of the compounds was stirring up. And then there was Garlo...

  The bench shifted as someone settled beside him. "Ku-tah," an oily voice said in the common language. "You look like one who could use some company."

  It was one of the Belaari miners, her thick arms covered in tattoos, violet eyes blackened with eye paint. Prez looked away. "Thanks," he said. "But I'm not into Belaari, no offense."

  A low chuckle. "I didn't mean me," she said. "I know a laar who runs a place. You'll like it. Come with me."

  Prez hesitated for a moment. No Lan, no Flack, no Doc. No one to watch his back and make sure he didn't get into any shit. What did it matter? He was an adult, he didn't need looking after. He was always responsible, for the crew, the ship, finding work and the constant paperwork; why the fuck shouldn't he cut loose now and then? The gnawing loneliness suddenly bloomed sour in his belly, and he followed the laar, drunk and reckless and numb to the soul and trying hard to put one foot in front of the other without falling down.

  Chapter Four

  Lan woke up to the piped tinkle of Belaari birdsong and stretched out, refreshed. With the permanent darkness outside, he had no idea of the time, and they had not yet turned on the artificial daylight generator inside the room. When his eye fell on the clock, he froze. He was late.

  He sprang out of bed and almost dashed from the room naked when he remembered that he should dress. The robes he'd been wearing smelled a little, but he put them on anyway, making sure to tie them up correctly. He'd been aware of Prez's amused glances earlier, and vowed to purchase something more appropriate that very evening.

  The temperature of the port was set at Belaari standards, nice and warm. Whistling, he made his way down the carpeted corridor of the guest quarters and out into the brightness of the artificially lit leisure area. His eyes cast about, taking in the hydroponic garden where a wall of climbing kosoa released their spicy perfume into the air, the neon lights of the shop
s and restaurants, the blue-clad Belaari miners sitting around in large groups. Lan checked an InfoCon screen for the location of the restaurant and frowned. It was the most remote restaurant in the whole area.

  Prez wouldn't mind that he was late; the others would be there to keep the party going and Lan was glad he wouldn't be expected to consume alcohol, or waste his little remaining money on card games and whatever else the ku-tah did for pleasure. The port had a well-equipped library where he meant to spend some time, to read up more on Belaari culture and traditions in preparation for meeting with Kai. She seemed to hold a position of some importance in the Belaari government, judging by the tone of the correspondence and the deference in the Belaari captain's voice when she'd mentioned Kai's name.

  He found the restaurant, a nondescript place decorated with false flaris trees outside and a black chalk board covered in child-like writing advertising the dish of the day. Andran Clam Soup. He thought of Maki and smiled. Maybe he'd try some to be adventurous, another un-Aldorian activity recommended by the Guide. He'd have two days to recover anyway, if it proved to be of poor quality.

  Glitch and Vaxel were sitting in a booth in the corner. Glitch's head was resting on Vaxel's huge shoulder, and she appeared to be in tears. Vaxel was staring into space with glazed eyes, one meaty hand clutching an empty glass. And there was Kris, whom he had not been able to see over the partition, curled up and snoring on the leather seat of the booth. Lan paused before sitting down, trying to gauge their mood, but he felt nothing except a faint pulse of pain in the center of his brain. There was an empty jug on the table and four empty glasses; no sign of Prez.

  "What has occurred?" he asked as Glitch sniffled and blew her nose into a napkin.

  Vaxel nodded toward the images on the screen. "That."

  Lan watched the footage, shocked. "I do not understand," he said, when it was over. "They are free to leave, yet they do not wish it?"

  "I don't think free to leave was part of the deal," Vaxel said, his words slurring faintly. "The transports were ready, but they didn't want to go. So the Akilians fired on them. And then they fired on each other. I was right." He groaned and put his hands over his face. "I was right."