Outcast (3 page)

"Garlo," he moaned, borne away on a floating haze, all his hot spots lighting up at once, the thick probing inside bringing him to a luxuriously slow and yet sharp orgasm, and it felt just for a moment as if his eardrums would blow out with the force of it. The Tibur held him until he had settled, stroking and singing to him, and for one brief moment it felt like being loved, even though he knew that the sensation was just an echo of something long gone, that the
kel-mah
was too shriveled up with time and experience ever to glow again.

He lay there, panting, eyes closed. Not wanting to look at the Tibur, knowing it didn't care. When it released him from its embrace, the loneliness in his belly stung just a bit harder than usual.

A moment to rest and another drink; that would make it all go away.

***

Inside the yellow room, Lan hovered by the curtain, wondering if he should just obey his instincts and bolt out of the door to safety. But Doc had paid for his "pleasure," so he felt a sense of duty, as if he had been bought. What would his father say if he could see him now, lurking in an illegal brothel and consuming alcohol? He would be disgraced even more, if that was even possible. He sipped at the
mukkesh,
and its bitter taste stung his mouth. The alcohol had little effect.

The other telepath had left, it seemed; there were no more disturbing images to see. Sprawling across the cushions was an Andran female, naked except for the jeweled belt she wore. Unlike most of her race, she was plump and pale but her head was bald and gleaming with oils just like Vix's. He could see his face in the shine, and it disturbed him to observe visual evidence of himself in such dubious surroundings.

She was looking at him expectantly; he realized then that he'd forgotten to talk.

"I have no wish to..." he started, but had to search for the word.

"Pup?" the woman said, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes...do
that
." Another wave of mortification.

The woman pulled a blanket from under the largest cushion and wrapped it around herself. "Aldorian?" Her voice was soft and calming. "Don't you usually travel in pairs? What happened to your mate?"

Lan clenched his fists and made a conscious effort not to freeze. "I have no mate," he said. When he'd steadied his temperature, he blinked at her. She was the first being he'd met who seemed to know anything about Aldorian customs. Had some used the services of this...
establishment
? It seemed unlikely. More than unlikely -- impossible.

"I read a great deal," she said, as if reading his mind, which he knew she couldn't. "I have a lot of time between clients. Tastes around here tend to the more exotic. Not just some plain old Andran girl." A bitter laugh.

He turned and looked at her properly for the first time with both eyes. "But Andra is a wealthy and advanced society," he said. "How did you...?"

She laughed again, and he saw her sharp teeth. "End up in a place like this? It's a long story, and you've only got twenty minutes. Let's just say I came here to meet a man, spent all I had on the passage. And I'm still waiting for him, may Vitzi rain her urine upon his head." She gestured around the room. "Welcome to my palace. I'm trying to save up enough gees to get out of this port, but it's not easy. Like I said..." she pointed down at her plump body. "Not exotic. No tentacles."

He sat down beside her, feeling a tingling in the left side of his brain. Was it despair or hope? He concentrated a bit harder and picked up the scent of regret. The mixed sensations prickled at his spine and made him shiver again, but then he saw her breath start to cloud and forced himself to relax. "How many gramalite pieces would be required to release you?"

"Twenty thousand." She shrugged. "Protection costs a lot. Vix is nice, but she's a businesswoman. Anyway, that's my story; what's yours? You're so far from home."

"Far from home," he repeated. It was the first time someone had asked him anything personal, and he didn't know how to answer. How to describe the humiliation of the Binding Ceremony in mere words? He'd looked into the eyes of the female his parents had selected -- after a long and tedious process -- only to panic and run out of the ceremonial tent at the last minute, freezing the air all around him with his shame and fear.

Sitting in the yellow room with this Andran, the full force of his isolation hit home. Even the erotic images from the other telepath had been a reminder of what he'd lost, the constant connection with others. To his horror he felt tears start to spill from his eyes. The woman looked away and didn't touch, and he felt so much pathetic gratitude toward her that he'd have given her every last gee he had, if he'd had even two to rub together.

"What is your name?" he asked, when he'd got himself under control.

She looked around and smiled. "Maki," she said. "Come and visit me the next time you're in the port. I won't charge."

"Lan," he said and smiled back. "I wish I could help you."

A wry
look appeared on her face for a moment. Then she started chatting, about the port and the more exotic clients she sometimes had, the disgusting food served up in the staff restaurants. When she'd finished describing the leaping travesty that passed for Andran Clam Soup, he found himself laughing, and relaxed.

"You know," she said. "I would love to visit Aldor one day, when I'm free. I hear the sunsets are wonderful." She looked at him, her eyes full of hope. "Maybe you can show me?"

He reached out his hands and placed them on either side of her face. "I will try. Close your eyes." He touched his forehead against hers and thought of the last sunset he had watched from the roof of his family home. The twin suns glowed dark and red as they looked over the black silhouette of the mountains like sleepy eyes. The sky streaked with clouds of pink and blue. The trees dotted around the plains, their branches heavy with yellow fruit. A distant herd of
pok
, grazing in the long grass of the plains as the shadows grew longer and the scent of the night flowers bloomed on the air. He transmitted it all: the sight, the warmth, the sounds and smells, hoping she would see at least a piece of it, his home.

When he released her face, there were tears in her eyes. "Thank you," she whispered, and rolled over on the cushions with the blanket over her body, giving him her back. He got up and went outside, pulling the curtain across behind him, thankful that the encounter had not been quite as horrifying as he'd expected.

Emerging from the room to his right was an Andran male, still fastening the front of his robes, face flushed with an orange glow that made his black eyes look like coals in a fire. His hair was pulled into the high ponytail officials wore and he tugged it back into shape, turning back toward whoever was in the room and pulling in close for a big sloppy kiss. The worker was another Andran male, naked except for some chains that hung around his neck and wrists. He hooked the chain around his client's neck and whispered something in his ear, then they both laughed and kissed again with a flash of darting black tongues.

A sudden hot feeling rose in Lan's chest, and he gaped at the couple open-mouthed, momentarily forgetting where he was. The worker caught Lan's eye and broke the kiss, smiling lazily and cupping his hands around his substantial genitalia. "Holograms cost ten gee each. Twenty for the molds."

Lan dropped his gaze and scurried back into the waiting area, breathing hard. His hands formed fists as he tried to push the image from his mind. It wasn't natural, it couldn't be, the Elders always warned of the consequences when nature was defied. He knew he should force his mind to open, to let the outside universe in, but he couldn't, not yet. Choking down another urge to flee the place, he looked around wildly, hoping Prez and Doc would be ready to leave soon.

Thankfully, Prez had already finished; he was slumped in a corner on his own, apparently asleep, clutching an almost-empty glass of
mukkesh
in his hand.

Forcing his thumping heart to slow down, Lan sat beside Prez and took the opportunity to stare with both eyes and bury the prickles of discomfort under some healthy speculation instead. The captain was not what he had expected at all. Prez let out a snore, and the glass fell from his hand and rolled across the floor. Lan had never seen anyone so drunk before. Perhaps
ku--tah
often went around in this state of intoxication, distasteful and baffling as it was. There were so few of them around to test any hypothesis; not much literature existed on their ways. Even the few texts written on the subject were derisory; one Akilian academic had penned a journal entitled
Can beasts have a culture?
and with it lambasted the music the
ku-tah
made in the compounds.

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.