Outcast

by Alex Douglas

  He longed to see snow on a mountain, hear the rush of a river, feel grass under his feet and between his toes. To see a landscape that was empty of people and noise, to smell some fresh air, to take a bath. The special feature sensory experience chamber in the Outcast II was pleasant, but it wasn't real. Some shore leave, that would definitely help. It wasn't at all that he was missing Lan more than he'd thought possible; he'd tried to send a message a few times but erased it after typing a couple of words. Lan had made his decision, Flack was back, and there didn't seem to be anything to say.

  He shook himself and looked at Flack. He'd lost his stomach for the argument, and felt guilty about shouting. The console bleeped; message received. "What is it now?" he said without enthusiasm. "Another tedious drag around Andran space with another weird passenger?"

  Flack frowned. "Wow. It's from Aldor," he said. "For you. Man, this guy's name is three pages long. Lanfellian blah blah blah... Senior. He says there's an object you might like to come and pick up."

  "What? What sort of object?"

  "I don't know. The translator's having a hard time with this, some of it's not even legible. Ah, here it is." There was a silence as he scanned the message, and whistled. "Oh boy."

  "What, oh boy."

  "Lan's dying."

  "What?"

  "Two, three days."

  Prez stared at Flack, stricken. His heartbeat was faint in his ears. "We'll never make it to Aldor in that time."

  "They're opening a jump gate for us from Andra. If we dump this diplomat now..." Flack entered some figures into the AutoNav and frowned. "We can get to Aldor in three, four days."

  "My God," Glitch clapped her hands over her mouth and stared at Prez with huge eyes.

  "Well," Prez said grimly. "Let's get a move on. It's about time this ship showed us what it can really do."

  Chapter Twelve

  Shore leave on the remote world of Aldor. Under any other circumstances, Prez would have enjoyed the prospect immensely. The Outcast II was docked in the orbiting space port above, and the crew emerged from the shuttle station on the planet itself, blinking in the glaring light of the twin suns which were high in the cloudless sky.

  Prez slipped on his sun filters and glanced around as the other passengers dispersed out toward waiting land cruisers that hovered inches above the dusty earth, a technology he'd never seen before. He'd been struck by the silence of the Aldorians in the shuttle and felt embarrassed to disturb it with conversation. Not that he felt much like talking anyway. He was too busy worrying about Lan, and hoped the delays caused by the Andran diplomat hadn't cost them too much time.

  "We're to be picked up by...someone," Flack said, mopping his brow with a grimy handkerchief. "Didn't get past the first hundred names or so."

  There were no roads, no artificial ground surfacing in the station or around it, no signal poles or wires. Apart from the flat-roofed stone buildings that hid among clumps of trees and tall spiky plants, there was little sign of any alteration to the environment. The earth was yellowish and the plains stretched as far as the mountains beyond. It looked like a desert, but then Prez realized that the yellow wasn't all sand, but a fine grass that grew just a few inches tall. Herds of beasts were grazing on it in the distance. The wind was hot but faint, and carried the farm smell of grain and the saw-saw noise of insects.

  Two shadows appeared at their feet, and Prez turned around.

  "Prez?" the two Aldorians said at the same time, then parted and gestured toward a hovering open-topped vehicle. Their expressions were bland, but all four eyes were fixed on Prez and his crew, drifting to their hands, their hair, their clothes. Perhaps they were curious; it was hard to tell. They both had long curly hair like Lan's, but the one on the left had decorated...his? hers? with little blue blossoms, and wore a shorter cream-colored robe than the other.

  The crew clambered into the vehicle and squeezed together in the back. It bounced slightly against whatever was holding it up and then settled. Prez was squeezed in between Vaxel and Flack, and his legs started to sweat against theirs. The two Aldorians sat together in the front and flashed their palms at a console. They moved in almost perfect unison, and when their hands touched, the purplish skin bloomed into a bright blue before fading back to normal.

  Prez remembered Lan's face blossoming into faint blue kisses and groaned into his hands. "Oh man," he said. "I've been so fucking blind."

  Glitch glanced at Vaxel and her lips formed a thin line as the vessel moved off. "Men are all so fucking blind."

  The Aldorians looked at each other, then the flowery-haired one turned around and gave a quick smile. "I apologize for our poor welcome. It is unusual for us to speak in words. And the circumstances are... unpleasant. For your convenience, you may address me as Deral. I am Lan's brother. This is Falgon, my mate. We will arrive at the house of my mother in fifteen minutes."

  The vehicle was almost soundless, zipping along quickly over the ground, raising a cloud of dust behind. Through the yellow haze, distant mountains became visible, and Prez could just make out a white structure half-hidden by trees, shining in the light of the suns. With a start, he realized he'd seen that building before. In his dreams, when he'd been sick from the vaccine. Lan's home.

  The building was made of slabs of cool white stone, three stories high with a flat roof. Smooth-trunked trees grew up around it and cast welcoming shadows onto the yellowish grass that was thick and moist from the sprinklers. Falgon parked the vehicle in the shadow and as the charge died down, it sank onto the ground and the doors shifted open.

  "Welcome to our home," she said.

  There were children playing at the bottom of the garden, one small and one tall, both naked with plump, smooth bellies and spindly limbs. When they saw the vehicle, they ran over to look at the visitors with bright black eyes. Prez felt their gaze on him and smiled, but they didn't speak. Deral motioned toward the door of the house. As they moved toward it, Prez saw Vaxel gesturing at the children and whispering something to Kris that sounded like no cocks or anything at all!

  The hallway was spacious and decorated with thick, brightly patterned rugs on the floor, pastel paintings of sunsets and shards of colored lights from a mosaic window in the ceiling. It was cool inside, a welcome relief from the heat of the suns. And all so silent. Copying Deral, they removed their footwear and followed him up a sweeping staircase. He paused at a door and pointed. "In there," he said. "Prez. Others may come up to the living area with us."

  Prez watched them ascending the staircase and sucked on the piercing in his lip, fearful of what awaited him inside. He pushed the door open and stepped into the semi-darkness of Lan's room, his feet sinking into the soft carpet. A slit of light filtered in through the drawn curtains, casting a slanted yellow line across the night-sky floor. There was a desk made of dark purple wood, an easel, some paints in a box. A case in the corner, still packed. Some thin sticks burned beside the bed on a small table, releasing a spicy smell into the air. Lan's satchel hung over the bedpost. There was something terribly sad about seeing it there, and Prez felt a knot start to form in his stomach.

  "Lan?" he whispered and crept forward.

  Lan was lying on the bed on his side, apparently sleeping. He was wrapped up in a soft blanket that was drawn up to his chest and tucked in under his arms. Prez was shocked to see how much weight Lan had lost. His skin was loose on his bones, his cheeks sunken, his breathing shallow. Prez sat on the edge of the bed. "My God, Lan." His voice was hoarse as he stretched out his hand and rested it on Lan's bony shoulder.

  The skin was neither warm nor cold, not damp nor dry. It felt like nothing more than a cover of some sort, unlived in. The only sign of life in the skeletal body was the slight movement of the chest. "Lan," he said again. "It's me, Prez. Are you awake?" When he took his hand away there was a faint blue blush on the skin; a perfect ku-tah handprint that was already fading.

  "So it is true," a voice behind said.

  Prez looked round.
Two figures -- presumably Lan's parents -- stood in the doorway, one slightly taller than the other. Both wearing identical robes, both with white curly hair that fell down to their waists. The one who had spoken had thin, blue ribbon braided through his hair. He drew his robes tighter and spoke again. "Very well. You may take this object. Or you may leave it here, as you wish."

  "What do you mean, object?"

  The two Aldorians looked at each other until Lan's father snorted and went upstairs. His footfalls were heavy on the carpet. A door banged, and there was silence.

  The remaining Aldorian stepped forward into the room and smiled. "I am Felia, Lan's mother." Her voice was quiet and slightly hoarse, as if she hadn't spoken in some time. She pulled the door shut with a soft click. "It is good to meet you. Please excuse my mate. His mind is traditional. But it will not remain so."

  There was a silence as Prez watched Lan's chest move, willing him to keep on breathing. He realized his fingernails were digging into his palms, and relaxed his hands. Felia had one eye on Prez's hands and one on her son. "What's wrong with him?" Prez asked.

  She stroked Lan's curly hair. "He loves you."

  "But... why is he dying?"

  She took Prez's hand in hers and made a line along his palm with her fingertip. It was an odd gesture, but nice. "You do not understand," she said. "The nature of the Binding. When you touch his skin, it blooms. He cannot stop it any more than he can stop the rise of the suns. Somehow, he has become bound to you. It is his destiny now, to die without you."

  Prez realized who Lan must have seen when he'd looked upon the face of the Belaari princess. "But it wasn't me."

  "In his mind it was you. It is the only thing that matters." She released Prez's hand and sighed. "I understand that this is a unique situation, and that you are an innocent party and may be unwilling to take him with you. My mate wishes to let him die so he can no longer bring disgrace to the family name." She paused for a moment, and wiped her eyes. "But he is my son. I cannot help but love him, even if he is... unusual."

  Lifting Lan's lifeless hand, Prez watched the blue blush rise in the skin and felt an ache in his chest. "I'm also quite unusual," he said. "Of course I want to take him. But will he be okay?"

  Felia smiled. "He will be. You are here. While he recovers, you may enjoy Aldor. Our capital city is not far from here. And ignore my mate, please. It is of no consequence to me if the members of the Salt Ball club will not connect with us." A wrinkle appeared between her eyes. "However, I am afraid that you will be a curiosity. People will stare."

  Prez smiled faintly. "I think I can handle that."

  ***

  For the next few days, there seemed to be no change in Lan's condition. Prez was exhausted. He didn't want to sleep or leave, scared that he would miss something, or that his absence would cause some sort of further deterioration in Lan's health. Felia brought tray after tray of steamy vegetable soup and savory cake that crumbled into the soup and melted away in the mouth. Real, fresh, homemade food. But he felt bad about enjoying it when Lan was still sleeping, so skinny it was painful to behold.

  And Lan's father was becoming unbearable. Hovering around the door, not coming close, but not going away either. The only words he spoke were occasional inquiries about the condition of the object, but Prez was sure there was a lot more going on behind those impassive black eyes than he knew.

  He stroked Lan's hand and watched faint streaks of blue appearing on the skin. Lan's eyes stayed closed. He had thick black eyelashes that Prez hadn't noticed before. I'm so sorry, I've been so stupid. Please understand this, I'm here now. Just wake up, don't go and leave me again. He formed the words in his mind over and over, hoping that somehow his thoughts would reach Lan, wherever he was.

  It was almost midday; the heat from the suns burned through the heavy curtains, and Prez felt a trickle of sweat run down his back. There was a noise at the door, and Felia appeared, carrying a bundle of robes and a towel. "Falgon and Deral are taking your crew to a pok-riding tournament," she said. "You should go. It will be good for you to wash and get some air." She held up the robes and smiled. "These garments are Deral's. They should fit adequately."

  Prez stretched. It was true; he smelled pretty bad. He scratched his scalp and yawned. "Pok?" he said. "Those are the beasts that throw you off?"

  "The goal is to remain seated." There was a clicking noise, and he realized she was chuckling. "I must confess I would like to go too. It has been a long time since I tried it. Your friend Flack has made a wager with Deral, that he will stay on the beast for longer than a minute. I do not think he realizes that we are much stronger than you, and one minute is very ambitious, even for us."

  "Flack's special," Prez said. "He can't be talked to."

  "I know one like that," she said and glanced back at the door, but Lan's father had gone.

  "But what about Lan? Won't he...?"

  "Look," she said and pointed at her son. Lan was still sleeping, but there was a ghost of a smile on his face. Just a faint movement in the mouth, then it was gone. His eyes were starting to dance under the lids and his breathing was more audible, deeper breaths than before. "He is traveling now," she said. "Soon, he will find his way back to us. It will not hurt him if you go out."

  The pok-riding tournament took place in an oval arena fenced by the same purple wood as the desk in Lan's bedroom, only ten minutes' drive away in the hover-vehicle. There were about fifty spectators, not a large event, and there was a smell in the air that Prez recognized -- pactishe. A group of older females were clustered near the barn, and it looked for all the world like they were having a crafty smoke. Most of the Aldorians were standing around in pairs; the singles were naked, and Prez tried not to stare. Flack and Vaxel had no such qualms.

  "The ones without robes are children?" Vaxel asked, watching a tall, naked figure stride across the grass to the refreshment stand.

  Deral made a clicking sound. "They are not exactly children. But they will remain naked until the Binding, when they will go through the Change."

  Glitch was taking photographs of the arena, the mountains beyond, the enormous red-feathered birds that circled above. "This is such a beautiful planet," she sighed. "What sort of birds are those?"

  "They are faloah birds. They gather where there are pok, to feed upon their..." Falgon looked at Deral for a second. "Faeces. And, here are the pok."

  From a large wooden building to the left, a procession of thick-backed beasts was being led in a line, their twisted horns decorated with ribbons and bells. The Aldorians beat their palms against the fence and smiled with opened mouths. The poks' hides were varying shades of yellowish brown, and they blew air from their nostrils and tossed their heads, jangling the bells. Most eyes were on the creatures, but quite a few were glancing over at the visitors too, bright and curious.

  "Man," Flack said. "Everyone's so silent. I don't think I'll ever get used to it."

  "Everyone is not silent," Falgon chuckled. "You are causing something of a sensation."

  A tall Aldorian male -- Prez had noticed that males decorated themselves more than females -- stood in the center of the arena, gesturing toward the creatures and bowing. The sound of palms slapping against wood got louder. His hair hung in long blue ringlets to his waist and he was dressed in silver robes that were dusty around the bottom. There were ribbons and bells in his hair, just like the ones tied to the horns of the pok.

  "He is the owner of the beasts," Deral explained. "He will speak in the Common Language, for your benefit."

  "Friends!" the man exclaimed. "We are blessed today with the presence of visitors from the far-off world of Akilia! May you be welcome, one and all!" He pressed his palms to his forehead and bowed again. "And one of our visitors has courageously put himself forward to be the first rider of the day. Please warm your palms for... Flack!"

  "What the...!"

  Flack's mouth hung open, and the Outcast crew fell about laughing. Prez wiped at his eyes and slapped Flack on
the back. "Go for it, big man!" he said, then switched back into the compound language for a second. "It'll be the only ride you'll get here!"

  The pok were grazing idly in the corner of the arena, twitching their tails, flicking their ears. One lifted its tail and released an arc of dark brown shit onto the ground. Flack gazed at them, his eyes wide. "Well," he said, rolling up his sleeves. "They look docile enough. How hard can this be?"

  The owner released the smallest pok from its rope and led it to the center of the arena, gesturing behind him to a helper, who rushed over with a wooden crate. The beast appeared to be female; a small udder swung between its back legs, and it tossed its head and nipped at the thin grass at its feet. Flack was helped up onto the crate, then without hesitation, they hoisted his bulky body onto the back of the creature and ran for cover.

  Prez watched the beast realize there was a weight on its back, and then its powerful back leg muscles bunched and it arched its back and bucked hard. Flack screeched and grabbed its horns, and all his weight fell forward onto its neck. It bellowed and charged about, over toward the corner it had come from, bucking again and finally lowering its head between its front feet so Flack tumbled off over its horns and landed face-first in the puddle of shit. Then it began to graze again, as if nothing had happened.

  Flack sat up and wiped the shit out of his eyes, gasping, as all around palms slapped and waves of clicking laughter rippled around the crowd. "Twelve seconds!" announced the owner, who was apparently struggling to keep the smile off his face. "Well done, Flack!"

  Prez was weak with laughter as Flack staggered back to the group, who were all in various states of near-hysteria. "A female chucked you into a pile of shit?" Vaxel said, guffawing loudly. "Is it Saturday night already?"

  As another volunteer took to the center of the arena, the owner approached with an apologetic look on his face. "There is a shower in the barn," he said. "And some fresh robes. You may clean yourself. You are a brave and noble man." His words made the crew laugh even more.