Outcast (19 page)

Then he realized that Lan had fallen asleep. He smiled to himself and pulled the covers up around them and snuggled in close. There would be plenty of time for more research.

Chapter Eighteen

The blue planet.
For so long it had been just an idea, a place where the first abductees had once lived, a place talked of in stories and songs. Prez had been very young when the last of the originals had died, from a disease caused by some harmless microbes in the water. Their bodies had withstood the experiments of the Doctors in the sterile labs, but once out in the compounds, it was living on Akilia that had killed them in the end.

Without hope of ever seeing their homes again, they'd kept the memories alive in stories and songs, and it was one of those songs that came back to Prez then, as he and the others sat on the beach, feeling the heat of the sun on their skin, breathing in the salt smell of the sea and unfamiliar dishes being cooked nearby, and listening to the people all around them.

He hummed the tune and Vaxel joined in, and they looked at each other, and Prez knew that the others were just as overwhelmed as he was.

Lan had been able to work miracles from his station on board the
Outcast II
, making reservations in a hotel right in the middle of a place called Miami South Beach, finding a suitable location to hide the shuttle and securing some currency that Prez realized could keep them living in luxury for a good few months. The sand was white, the sea a sparkling blue, and there was barely a space to sit close to the water. There were bodies
everywhere
. Prez had to force himself to remember that these weren't
ku-tah,
but just... people. And so many of them. He stared at a man whose skin was the color of burnt
baba
beans, striding over to a garbage receptacle with a bag in his hand, his buttocks on display with a string disappearing down his crack and barely holding the material in front around his considerable package.

"This is fucking weird," Flack said. "No one's looking at us."

"Look what that man's wearing."

Flack peered over, shielding his eyes with his hand. "Oh man. Call that
wearing
? Looks more like dissection to me. Think I'd look good in something like that?"

"No!"

"I don't know about you," Glitch said, examining her legs. "But I'm getting burnt. Let's get a drink."

"That's the best idea I've ever heard." Flack rubbed his hands together.

They wandered along the promenade, staring at the tanned bodies of the passers-by, the extreme variety of hairstyles and skin colors, the flip-flop sandals that seemed very common. Prez's feet were roasting inside his boots, and sweat was running down his back, soaking into his shirt. "I don't know what century Lan researched, but our clothes are all wrong."

Glitch smiled and slipped off the ankle-length smock she'd been wearing to reveal a tiny two-piece swimsuit decorated with artificial Belaari fruits. "That's better." She adjusted the wide-brimmed straw hat she'd bought in the hotel lobby and struck a flirty pose.

"You go, girl!" a passing man shouted, grinning, sticking his thumbs in the air.

"Okay, that's one of us who doesn't look like they're dressed for a polar region," Prez said. "Come on, that bar looks cool inside. I'm boiling alive here."

The bar was called
CoCo @ Sobe
, and had tables and chairs outside under large, colored umbrellas. Inside, the walls were pale blue and adorned with some paintings of trees with a bunch of long leaves fanning out above what looked like hairy brown nuts growing at the top of the tall, thin trunk.

"Hey," Flack nudged Prez. "A testicle tree, you'd like that."

Prez laughed and threw an arm around Flack's shoulders. They sat at a booth far away from the open front, under a machine that blew out a cool breeze. There were some posters on the wall, all showing variants on a theme; white faces with sharp incisors, green faced monsters with pointed ears, people with scars and bolts on either side of their necks. A menu sat propped up on the table beside some shakers. Prez had discovered that they contained salt and pepper, after sprinkling them liberally onto his breakfast pancakes and almost making himself sick.

A couple of men sat at a nearby table, sipping blue drinks with little umbrellas in. Flack pointed over at the blue drinks. "I'll have two of those," he said when the waiter came over. He was a tall, thin man dressed in a crisp white shirt with a funny-looking tie at his neck, dark skin the same tone as Vaxel's and a huge dimpled grin that he flashed all around the table.

"Two Blue Lagoons? Coming right up!"

"Me too," Vaxel said.

Glitch looked at the menu and then at the waiter. "What do you recommend?"

"Honey, everyone comes here for the CoCo Special. How about it? You guys look like you're from out of town. Welcome to Miami!"

"Specials for everyone then," Prez said. "And two of those blue things for me too. Can you recommend any place to buy nice clothes?"

The waiter whistled. "That's a lot of drinks! You guys got something to celebrate? Anyway sure, there's a few stores nearby, I'll just draw you a map. You want designer or something for a smaller budget?"

"Anything."

One of the men from the other table got up and put some coins into a machine at the wall, then sat down again. He was wearing a T-shirt with some words scrawled across the top of a drawing of a beach. The little people in the picture weren't wearing any clothes. The cold air from the machine was drying the sweat on Prez's back and making him shiver, but it was nice after the scorching heat outside. He watched the pen move in the waiter's hand and spread his hands out on the table.
Same
. It was the oddest feeling.

The waiter finished his drawing and passed the slip of paper across the table. "There," he said. "Ask for Sophia. She has an eye for style, and you sure could use some of that around here! But you know tonight's the biggest costume party in town?" He gestured at the posters on the wall. "Anything goes, supernatural, alien, Disney... make up your own, but it'll be a blast!"

"Alien?" Glitch gasped, and Prez kicked her under the table. Then music started pumping out of the machine, and they gaped at each other for a second.

"The King!"

"This is the most surreal moment of my life," Flack said, watching Glitch hauling Vaxel up to dance, squealing and clapping. The rubber fruit bounced on her costume as she wiggled her ass in time to the familiar song. Vaxel got right into the music, eyes closed, ass jerking from side to side, pumping his fists in front of him as if he was beating an exercise bag.

"It's crap not being able to read," Kris moaned.

"Yeah," Prez said, taking his Tablet out and setting it on the table. Lan hadn't messaged for at least two hours. The shock of anonymity was starting to wear off. He wished Lan had been able to come, but there was no hiding those eyes or hands no matter how proficient Glitch claimed she was with makeup. Anyway, Lan was happy to examine the planet remotely, having established access to various libraries through the computer system. He imagined Lan reading dryly fascinating facts about the planet's technology and smiled to himself.

The waiter brought the drinks back and set them on small square coasters. The Specials required a second trip to the bar -- two halves of the testicle-tree fruit each brimming with a milky liquid, ice, and pink straws bent at the neck. Flack let out a dirty laugh at the sight of the drinks.

"Enjoy your Specials!" the waiter said. "I see you guys are a fan of the King. Will you be paying a visit to Graceland?"

"Where?" Prez lifted the Special into both hands and felt the solid shell and the fibers scratching his palms. Dubious, he took a sip, but it was surprisingly tasty, with a good kick of alcohol following the sweetness. Ralian testicles, that was what the -- fruit? nut? -- reminded him of, and he chuckled to himself.

"Why, Elvis's home!"

"My God!" Flack exclaimed. "You can
go
there?" He turned to Prez and spoke in Common. "I don't remember him ever saying it was a tourist attraction."

The waiter was starting to look puzzled. "Of course you can," he said. "Where is it you guys are from?"

Prez looked at Flack, trying frantically to remember what Lan had told them to say.

"We're...
Europeans
," Kris said, and the waiter's face relaxed back into a friendly smile. A group of women entered the bar, fanning themselves and carrying a lot of bags, and there was the scrape of metal against the floor as they sat down and waved at the waiter as if he was their best friend.

"Well... have a great holiday! My name's Bobby, by the way, shout if you need anything more!" He gave Glitch a little wave with his fingertips and went over to the new customers.

The drinks were sweet and strong, and some hours later, Prez had figured out how to use the music machine and "A Little Less Conversation" -- an odd version with dance beats added on -- was starting to pump out of the machine when the first of the guests arrived for the costume party. The bar had filled up, and Glitch was hogging the dance floor, surrounded by clapping males. The "aliens" were plastered in green make up and had some sort of false hair on their heads, tight green curls, dressed in shiny black suits that clung tight to their bodies. Then came another group, long black capes and white faces just like the ones on the posters, with what looked like blood over their mouths and chins. Prez watched the people milling around with idle interest, tapping his fingers against the music machine, holding it because the world was spinning, and he thought if he let go, he'd fall right through the floor.

"Oh man." Bobby paused at his shoulder, holding a tray of drinks. "Enough of the Elvis already."

"Hey! It's because of this great man that I got my name." Prez held up a finger and smiled. The other kids in the compound had chosen it for him, on account of his black hair. His heart softened at the memory of simple pleasures: getting a name. The first step to identity, being an individual in the eyes of others.

"Your name's Elvis?"

"No it's..." Too late Prez remembered the forged passports. "Er...
John Smith
."

Bobby looked at him incredulously. "Whatever, dude," he said and pushed his way into the crowd.

Prez put his hand back on the machine because his stomach had suddenly given an odd lurch. He had a few songs left to buy with the coins he'd put in, so he pressed buttons randomly, hoping something good would come on. The alcohol in the drinks seemed to work differently from that in
mukkesh
; his limbs were starting to go floppy and numb and hard to control.

Glitch appeared at his elbow, sweaty from dancing. "Come quick," she said. "Flack's getting us in a fight."

Not again.
Prez blundered his way through the crowd to the booth they'd been sitting in all day. Kris was sleeping in the corner, and Vaxel was trying to mediate between Flack and one of the green-faced party guests. He gave Prez a look that said
help!
and sat down, draining the last of his Special.

"We
are
fucking aliens," Flack slurred, laughing as the not-so-little green man clenched his fists and squared his huge shoulders.

"Yeah? Well you're
shit aliens
! You're a fat motherfucker, she's a tart in a funny bikini,
he
is a drunk, and...
he
," he turned and glared at Prez, "he's just wearin' dumbass clothes and contacts! And you're dissin'
my
costume?"

"People," Prez said, holding up his hands. "You must excuse my fat friend here. He's recently recovered from a very traumatic event and has lost control of his mouth. We've been enjoying the Specials all day, and I'd be happy to buy some for you too. We're on holiday on this wonderful planet of yours, we don't want to fight." He gave them his most winning smile. "Anyway, your costume is almost perfect."

The large man appeared to be slightly mollified, and his fists relaxed. One of his friends muttered something in his ear and headed in the direction of the toilets. "Well," he said. "Okay, then. What do you mean,
almost
perfect?"

Prez turned to Flack. "Don't you remember those Glatian students who visited Andra, the ones you wanted a foursome with? He looks a bit like one of those, without the spines, of course."

Flack squinted at the man for a second and smiled. "Yeah, you're right," he said. "Just a different shade of green, and they had nice tits too, six each, oh yes!"

The man looked at them as if they were crazy, then shrugged. When the drinks had been bought and the offended aliens had moved away to the other side of the bar, Prez collapsed forward onto the table in a fit of helpless laughter. "Did you hear that?" he gasped, clutching his stomach. "We're
shit aliens
! Oh man, that's the best thing I've ever heard."

"We should get Lan and Doc down here right now," Flack said when they'd all stopped chuckling, looking around at all the weird and wonderful costumes of the customers. "Who'd notice another couple of aliens around here?"

***

They spent the last days of their holiday exploring an uninhabited island in the middle of the huge ocean that had got the blue planet its name. Lan and Doc had been persuaded to disregard interplanetary ethics and come down for a look around. The island was tiny and rocky, but there was a white sand beach on the south side and the wind was fresh in their faces as they sat on a rug gazing out to sea. A heap of soft pillows, some more blankets and a basket containing the remains of their picnic lay beside them. The shuttle was parked in a wide-mouthed cave, out of sight of any aerial vehicles, as Lan had insisted.