by Alex Douglas
Wake up. With all the strength he had left, Prez pushed the hand away. "Please," he said, shaking his head, his refusal unconvincing even to his own ears. "Don't."
Garlo looked at him and frowned slightly. He reached into the basket again and before Prez could react, the Doctor jabbed a needle into his thigh. "I didn't want to do this," Garlo said as Prez's body sagged into his arms. "But I haven't got time to let you get to know the inner me, or wait until you realize that you want this just as much as I do. This drug is a muscle relaxant." He laid Prez down on the blanket and stroked his face. "It'll wear off very soon... after."
Prez stared at the dim sky, barely able to move, yet his mind was sharp and aware. He felt the fumble of fingers at the ties around his waist, Garlo's hot breath on his belly as his T-shirt was pushed up over his nipples, the double trail of the forked tongue dipping into his belly button and heading up past the constricting band of his T-shirt... Fingers slick with saliva, rubbing his nipples into aching little points, then the tongue again on that hollow at the base of his throat...
Prez tried to keep his focus on the clouds. He was so painfully aroused, and yet so weak from the injection that he could barely catch a breath. It was wrong to be so hot inside, he was sick, there had to be something else in that injection because it wasn't right how his cock was starting to throb, no matter how much he willed it to stop. His vision blurred with sudden tears, and he watched a distant buzzard swoop in the skies, so far away from the tree in the countryside where any shred of self-respect he had left was being slowly stripped away.
"Breathe!" Garlo said, and fell upon Prez's body, kissing him all the way back down to the waistband of his loose lab trousers where he paused for a moment to lick and nip at the skin around his belly. When he'd pulled Prez's trousers down round his ankles and exposed his body to the warm breeze, Garlo sat back on his knees and pulled out his own cock, which was dark and rigid. Prez could see it out of the corner of his eye and tried to say something but it came out as a helpless moan that made Garlo smile. The doctor took a jar from the basket and dipped two fingers into it, idly slicking the substance around the head of his penis, the hard shaft, rubbing and sighing, all the time his eyes fixed on Prez's. Prez could not look away from those amber eyes. Even though the tears were leaking down the side of his face, he still held the doctor's gaze. He was used to his body being used for purposes out of his control; now his heart was betraying him too.
"Your body talks to me all the time," Garlo whispered, and drew his fingertip lightly along the vein on the underside of Prez's cock right up to the tip, chuckling at the involuntary shivers and twitches that his touch elicited. Then he grasped it lightly in his hand and slowly massaged it up and down, barely any contact but enough to wrench another moan from his helpless captive. "And I think you know what it's telling me." He stroked the kel-mah at the base of Prez's throat and smiled. "You're glowing."
Prez's muscles were starting to tingle with the seeping return of strength. There had to be more in the injection than just a relaxant; it surely couldn't be his hands that were starting to clutch at the Doctor's head as Garlo descended once again on his tortured nipples; it couldn't be his breath that was rasping in and out of his lungs. It couldn't be his voice that was crying out in pleasure and uttering semi-coherent words of encouragement.
Then Garlo smiled and kissed him, and with those first touches of real tenderness, Prez felt a part of himself start to drown.
Garlo flipped Prez onto his front and slid a cushion underneath his belly. Prez felt his legs thrust apart, forceful fingers rubbing something around his asshole, dipping inside, stretching and probing against the knot of nerves inside until Prez had almost lost his mind. His fingers scratched against the rug as the swooping buzzards caught his eye again. Or perhaps they were carrion birds, waiting to feed on the bloodied remains of his pride, he couldn't tell.
He felt Garlo on top of him, pushing inside him, grazing his teeth against the back of his neck. The birds rose and fell on the soaring winds and another tear escaped the corner of his eye. He tried to control his treacherous body but Garlo was merciless, pounding on that spot until Prez's body stiffened and clenched and finally, he gasped out his surrender, his cock spurting hard against the cushion. Then Garlo froze suddenly, crying out his own release to the sky. He collapsed forward onto Prez, his breathing harsh while his body trembled and stilled.
"Mother of skies," he muttered, brushing his lips against Prez's ear. "You have no idea how much I've wanted you."
Prez flexed his hands as the last of the drug wore off. His blood was swimming with a pleasurable afterglow, tainted with a burning shame. He looked at Garlo and bit his lip. "You never talk to me."
"We're forbidden to talk to the test subjects."
Test subjects. A sudden wave of disgust. "Don't fucking touch me!" he shouted suddenly, scrambling up into a sitting position and out of the embrace of the Doctor. He scratched at his skin where he could smell the Doctor's saliva and then hugged his knees to his chest and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes so hard that it hurt. He knew that when he looked at the gray world of Akilia, it would never be the same again.
For the next few days back at the labs, he didn't speak. Speaking required thought and effort, and it was so much easier to lie on his bunk bed and stare at the wall than to think about what had happened. Every day, the same routine -- injection in the morning, scratch tests, blood tests, IV bags containing mysterious fluids hooked into his arm. Small patches of skin grafted onto his back once a week. He went through it all without a murmur, barely feeling the sickness that was starting to creep over him.
The others were puzzled by his behavior, but Flack was the only one who knew that Garlo had taken him out of the compound and he didn't say anything. Prez knew that Flack assumed he'd been raped, and said nothing. Better to let Flack believe that than the even more disgusting alternative, that if Garlo had just tried a little harder, he wouldn't have needed to give the injection at all.
The sickness passed, and Garlo took him to the tree again. Again, a picnic basket; this time Garlo allowed him to eat the contents. Pink aska fruit that squirted sweet juice all over his face and hands, soft bread filled with cuts of smoked meat and savory jellies, a whole packet of Skits. Even a tiny shot of something called mukkesh, the first time Prez had ever tasted alcohol, and it left him with a pleasant buzz, once his belly was full and the wind gusted the scent of the summer flowers around them and Garlo was stroking his hair... he was almost happy.
That was the day Garlo told him that the tests were due to stop soon, that the government was finally about to recognize ku-tah as sentient beings. Then the Doctors would be withdrawn, and the Wardens would take over. And life would be... whatever it would be. There was even talk of building better homes for the ku-tah so that the compounds would cause less of an inconvenient stench for those on the outside unfortunate enough to live near one.
"Madness," Garlo said and gave a bitter laugh. "When we're so close. For the last few months... Can you believe this? We've been injecting you with tiny plague tumors, Prez, and your beautiful, amazing body is just swallowing them up and killing them. They can't catch hold, anywhere, not for long." He stroked his finger down the side of Prez's face. "All the answers, they're in here. We need more time, but that's the one thing none of us have."
Prez stared at him. "You do this..." he waved his hand at the remains of the picnic, "and yet you're injecting me with the plague?"
Garlo sighed. "I want to live," he said and lifted his shirt. Prez saw the redness of tell-tale scarring running down his side, probably from where the first of the tumors had been removed. Garlo took Prez's hands in his and planted little kisses all over his fingers. "It's getting harder and harder to leave you in that place," he murmured. "Don't you see, this is madness for me too? To the powers that be, you are nothing more than those beasts in that field, and this resolution won't change that. But to me..." He paused for a moment and swal
lowed. "I want us all to live, to cure this terrible disease. It doesn't mean that I don't..."
Love you. He didn't say it then, but Prez saw it in his eyes, and the last of his resistance melted away. He saw the same look the next day when Garlo came to do the skin tests. He sat on the cold stool while Garlo scratched his back with one needle after another and told the results to the other doctor in a monotone voice. All the time, Prez could feel Garlo's breath faint on his back, the soft touch of his fingers contrasting with the sharp scrape of the needles, the warmth of his body so close. When it was done, Prez slipped the robe back on and looked Garlo in the eye, and the Doctor's gaze was so full of love and misery, it was all Prez could do to stop himself from hugging him tight and trying to tell him that everything would be all right, even though he knew it wouldn't.
The third time he took Prez out of the compound was the last one. When they got to the tree, Prez took Garlo's hands in his. "You don't need to give me any more muscle relaxants," he said, and the look in Garlo's eyes took his breath away. Then Garlo kissed him, and all thoughts flew out of his head. "I love you." Neither of them ever knew who had said it first.
Garlo didn't take him back to the compound. Instead, he steered the vehicle toward the nearby city and Prez gazed out of the window at the cone-shaped homes, some of which had spirals of smoke curling from the top. Most were empty; gardens were spilling over with tendrils of climbing plants that had overgrown the fences, waist-high grass and broken children's toys lying around, already relics because there were few children left alive who were able to play with them. The trees were growing huge and smashing the pavements slowly with their thick roots. Few people were in the streets but there was a pack of slavering dogs roaming around, tearing at garbage and howling. A couple of restaurants were open and a brightly-lit bar pumped out music but only two customers were dancing -- a slow, jerky dance that didn't match the music at all.
"Where are we going?" Prez asked, slightly overwhelmed.
Garlo turned to him and smiled. "Home."
Chapter Sixteen
The sun was starting to set. Prez could see the light emitted by the amberflies intensifying as they buzzed around the tree like glowing leaves, the occasional green flashes of curious rodent eyes from the grass, the fading glow of life from the distant city where Garlo had taken him to live, all those years ago.
"He bought me," he went on. "And then when he got really sick, I did my best to take care of him. But he knew when it got too much, he'd just..." He mimed an injection into the arm. "And he did. Incidentally, that's how I got to know Doc, the family physician... only Garlo had no family left. When he died, he left me everything. It was quite funny, actually, to see these lawyers scrabbling around with the legalities of beasts inheriting money and property. Or it would have been funny, if..."
The lawyer's office had smelled of stale alcohol and smoke, the carpet scattered with safa nut shells, the desk untidy as if the man had given up and was just going through the motions. Garlo's lawyer had placed the pen in his ku-tah hand and covered it with his own, sighing impatiently as he helped Prez to sign his own name in written Akilian for the first and last time. He'd been numb to the core after Garlo's death, barely able to understand what people were saying, that he didn't have to go back to the compound. That he was free to leave, to go into space, away from Akilia for good.
He'd never felt so alone in all his life.
"Anyway," he went on, "Garlo's money allowed me to buy Flack and the others out of the compound. Everything I have, it's because of him. And the worst thing? They think he bought me as a pet, and maybe it started like that -- the Akilians would tolerate that but not -- anyway, the others, they don't know that I..." Loved him. Even now, he couldn't find the strength to admit it to another person. He turned and looked at Lan, hugging his knees to his chest. "Do you think it was sick? What I did? Sometimes I think it was."
Lan was silent for a moment and stroked the bark of the tree. "What genus of tree is this?"
Prez stood up suddenly, his eyes flashing with anger. "Is that all you can say? I'm sitting here telling you I fell in love with someone who was basically a torturer, and you're thinking about the kin-tah tree?"
"You were not telling me that," Lan said. "But you have told me now."
"Oh," Prez said, and the anger died as fast as it had flared. He flopped down and put his head in his hands. "So now you know," he said in a muffled voice. "All these years, I couldn't fix it in my head, how to feel about everything. I loved him, but it was never an equal relationship. Even Akilia itself, it's ugly but all the same, I can see how beautiful it is underneath the grays. It was a prison, but still... it's the only home I've ever had. I thought coming here would make it clear, but it's not helping."
Then he felt Lan's strong arms wrapped around him, a whisper of breath at his ear. "Now I understand," Lan said. "This darkness in your mind. If you loved him, then you should allow yourself to grieve for him. It will be... helpful."
Prez swallowed against the growing lump in his throat. "Maybe," he said. The pollen was making his eyes stream. He sneezed again and wiped his eyes, but there shouldn't have been so many tears -- it was only grass after all -- but they kept on coming anyway. He thought of Garlo's ashes, scattered around the tree. Garlo's ship that had been to all the places its owner hadn't lived to see. Garlo's last coherent words. You have to let go.
"I know," he whispered, but then the tears flooded his vision and the pain in his throat spread to his heart. His breath hitched suddenly then raw, painful cries began to force themselves out between gasps for air; all the time Lan held onto him and stroked his hair and whispered to him in his own language, soothing vowels and hushed sibilant sounds like a breeze through trees. Eventually the wave of long-buried sorrow passed, and he fell asleep with his head on Lan's shoulder. Still, Lan did not let go.
***
It was Lan who piloted the shuttle back to the Outcast II. Prez sat slumped on the floor, but even then, Lan could sense the darkness in his mind starting to recede. When the craft landed safely back in the belly of its parent ship, Prez was asleep again. Lan stroked his hair out of his eyes and scooped him into his arms. The light from the shuttle bay was dazzling after the dim light of Akilia's evening, and it was a moment before he saw Flack waiting there, arms folded.
"Is he okay?"
"He will be okay. I will put him in his quarters. It has been a long day."
"Okay." But Flack didn't go away; instead, he followed Lan into the elevator and along the corridor to Prez's quarters. He typed in the access code to the door and it swished open, and he waved Lan ahead. Prez's bed was unmade from the night before, his uniform scattered on the floor, and the room smelled faintly of pactishe. Lan eased the sleeping body onto the mattress and pulled the covers around him.
"Did he tell you about Doctor Garlo?"
Lan wondered what he should say. "Yes."
"Good. It's about time he told someone about that." Flack shook his head. "All these years, and he still thinks I don't know they were lovers."
"You knew?"
Flack's expression was surprisingly tender. "Of course I did," he said. "When he bought us out of that compound, you didn't need any telepathic ability to see that he was upset. Anyway," he said as he clicked off the light, "I'll take us back to the port at Andra. We can stay there for a few days while we figure out what we're going to do on this holiday, maybe pay Vix a visit." He gave a dirty chuckle and rubbed his hands together. "And Lan... I'm glad you're here. Never got a chance to really introduce myself, although I gather you weren't a fan of my webs."
"I wondered why you expended such energy building them, considering that there were no flies to catch."
"Indeed! I guess it's not very exciting, being a spider." Flack chuckled and went out, whistling to himself. Lan stared at the closed door through the darkness and was glad he had not followed Doc's advice to crush the spider. It was still a challenge to work out the dynamics of ku-tah rela
tionships, but he was learning, albeit slowly. Perhaps Doc had his reasons for disliking Flack, which made it all the more bizarre that he'd been the one to save Flack from a lifetime of webs and dark places. We all have our stories. Vaxel had said that, the day they'd watched the news on Aldor. Maybe one day Lan would hear theirs too.
Chapter Seventeen
The Andran port was busy with the arrival of an intergalactic cruiser, full of officials and tourists from far and wide, the occasional pet animal scampering around, chased by irate customs officials brandishing documents and laser stunners with equal voracity. The crew of the Outcast II went their separate ways for a few days, making a few purchases for their upcoming holiday and doing bits and pieces they'd been putting off for a while. Glitch bought more shoes and a two-piece swimming costume that looked as if it was made of fruit. Flack spent most of his time drunk and squandering his money at Vix's place, and returned from two days in the port's underbelly with bags under his eyes, messed-up hair, and a beatific grin on his face. One by one, they returned to the Outcast II, to wait for Prez to emerge from his quarters.
Lan's nose wrinkled at the smell of stale mukkesh that seemed to be oozing from Flack's pores. "I understand you enjoyed your stay," he said as they sat all together around the table in the small dining space. The walls were alive with an undersea scene, brightly-colored holographic fish and thick green ribbons of plant life, a relaxing visual that Lan knew was designed to reduce the chances of cockpit fever.
"Oh yes," Flack said dreamily. "Worked my way through the menu. I need my exercise, you know." He patted his fat belly and sighed.
Kris sipped at his cup of baba bean juice. "Wish I had your stamina," he said. "The Tibur was enough for me. Pretty expensive for a hand job, mind you. And I didn't appreciate what it did with its other tentacles."
