Outcast (4 page)

And
then
...

With a big grin, Prez turned his thoughts to the Mission.

The next -- and final -- booking of the
Outcast
was the Big One, and he'd been putting off thinking about it because it was so exciting he almost choked every time it popped into his mind. The Big One at last, the mission every captain could only dream about, the one that would make him
rich
. He paused for a second and imagined the stupendous concept with a pounding heart. And it was all
legitimate
, that was the best thing about it. He still could scarcely believe that such a deal had fallen into his lap, and vowed to run the paperwork past Lan just to be sure he hadn't missed anything. He threw a blanket over the shivering couple and allowed himself a quick dance of excitement before heading up to the bridge.

Lan was already there, inspecting the cleaning android. Smoke was puffing from its left eye. He pulled out a laser screwdriver and made a few adjustments here and there. The smoke faded away, but the android was still saying in its tinny voice, "...is full, please empty..." over and over again.

"Right," Prez said in a businesslike tone, trying to ignore the sting of post-
mukkesh
embarrassment. "Send that infernal thing down to Vaxel and let's get going." He cracked his knuckles and sat down at the controls of the ship. A light was flashing; a message from Doc on his private channel.
Another couple interested in R -- message me on secured channel when you get back
. Frowning, he closed it and sent out the required communications to the Andran controllers in order for them to release the ship. It usually took a long time for them to go through their ridiculous procedures, so he sat back in his seat and pulled out a bag of Skits. He could feel Lan's eye on him and fidgeted.

"Stop staring at me. There's a recording of me on the computer, at last year's Pilots' Dinner giving a speech. You can watch that, if you want to gawk at the
ku-tah
freak show."

There was a sudden chill in the air. "I was merely wishing to inquire about your health," Lan said eventually, shifting in his seat. "But I was trying to find the correct phrases. It is unusual for me to speak in words."

Prez looked at the Aldorian's inoffensive expression, feeling stupid for a second. "My apologies then," he said. "And... welcome aboard."

"Thank you."

It appeared that Lan was getting to know the customized navigational console very quickly, and Prez was relieved. He got through three bags of Skits and half a chapter of
Flaha Maloha's Belaari for Imbeciles
before the Andran bureaucrats finally released the vessel, and he eased the
Outcast
out of the docking station and into orbit. The couple's ship was on the other side of the planet, so he programmed in the coordinates and sat back, licking the crumbs off his fingers and listening to the hum of the engines. Not for the first time, he missed Flack, the easy conversation and endless jokes and anecdotes that meant Prez didn't have to make much effort to talk. He wondered how he was going to get the couple off the ship without Flack or Doc to help, and the Aldorian's slim arms didn't look any stronger than his own.

Prez had never seen an Aldorian in the flesh before and glanced surreptitiously at his co-pilot's reflection in the window as the ship glided through space. Lan had a long, handsome face and slanted black eyes that moved independently of each other; one was studying the console, the other focused on the Tablet he was now reading with details of the
Outcast's
next mission. His purplish skin seemed almost translucent, changing color in blushes of dark and light. The ill-fitting robes gaped open as if he didn't know how to tie them together, revealing a nicely muscled chest. Apart from the thick ringlets that hung down to just below his shoulder, the same color as his skin, his body seemed completely hairless. Only his hands looked familiar, the three strong fingers and two opposable thumbs that every race seemed to have -- everyone except Prez and some of his friends, and the aliens from the blue planet so far away that still hadn't managed to pilot a spacecraft beyond their own moon.

Then he saw one of Lan's eyes meet his own, and he dropped his gaze back to the console, blood rushing into his cheeks.

Lan showed no reaction to being stared at. "The payment for this mission seems..." he said, looking at the Tablet and frowning as he searched for the word, "extreme."

"I can't find a thing wrong with the contracts. They're even opening a jump gate for us to get there in time to pick up the cargo, paid for courtesy of the Belaari
government
, no less. And jump gates aren't cheap."

"I have checked," Lan said. "But still."

"Well, it must be a valuable cargo. Honestly? I don't give a
sar-sal'
s fart what it is, as long as I get the gees." Prez rubbed his hands together and grinned. "Then I can get rid of this old box and finally get a ship that's fast enough to leave this system before I die of old age."

"Where is it you wish to go?"

Home
was the first response that sprung to mind, but he kept it to himself. "As long as I never have to do business with any Belaari ever again, any place is fine." Then he groaned. "That reminds me, I'll have to turn this thing on again." He reached under the console and jerked his hand back. "Ohay! He bit me."

"He?"

"Flack. Thought he was in the shuttle." Sucking his finger, Prez pulled out a small black electronic device with a blinking red light on the side and set it beside his seat. "I'll just leave it a while," he said. "We've got a day to go before we get to the jump gate coordinates, so feel free to have a look around, meet the others."

Lan picked up the device and turned it over in his hands. "What is this?"

Prez tapped his head. "It activates this translation chip. Got one implanted a while ago. Belaari don't lower themselves to speak in Common, and theirs is a beast of a language to learn. I keep it off, mostly. It doesn't really work, and it hurts."

"I found the language to be relatively simple." Lan said. "Once one is aware of the infixation and its relation to the subjunctive mood."

"Well, aren't
you
clever." Prez scowled. He maximized the AutoNav and squinted at the readings, then clicked to RealView. A small ship was floating directly ahead, lights dimmed. His hands flew over the console, flicking switches and brushing off the latest webs as the
Outcast's
connecting apparatus sucked onto the smaller ship like the embrace of a huge metal fish. There was a distant grinding then a clunk that reverberated all around the ship. They were locked; all that remained was to open the hatches and drag the couple back into their vessel. Prez stood up. "Come and help me?"

"What are we doing with this vessel?"

"Delivery," Prez said, and climbed down the access shaft into the main corridor of the vessel below. Lan followed, looking puzzled. Prez had the feeling that the Aldorian would react negatively if he were to be told that the
Outcast
ran illegal sex trips to Ralia, so he said nothing. The corridor was narrow and badly lit, and the metal slats across the walkway were corroded slightly and coming unbolted.

"It would appear that some repairs are necessary," Lan said, treading carefully over the bundles of wires that hung out of the panels on the wall. The door to the shuttlecraft shifted open with a screech. A gush of stale air lifted their hair, the smell of metal and empty containers.

"Essential upkeep only." Prez keyed the code into the shuttle door and stepped inside. "The
Outcast
is the last of its kind. Parts are expensive."

He looked down at the couple. They weren't writhing and moaning any more, but neither were they fully conscious, staring at the ceiling, eyes glazed, smiling faintly. Prez threw the blanket off and groaned. The bag had slipped off the male's still-erect penis and emptied its contents all over the floor.

"Kin-tah! Reach me a mop and bucket, will you?"

Lan was staring at the sticky mess, his mouth open. "Is that...?"

Prez made an impatient noise and clambered over the couple to the supply cabinet. As he unfolded the mop handle and clicked it into place, the male moaned faintly and his penis pulsed again, but only a couple of glowing pearls rolled from the tip onto his stomach. Lan edged back into the corridor. The room felt cold suddenly, and Prez shivered.

"Don't tell me the temperature control is going again." He rolled up his sleeves and emptied the contents of a water drum into the bucket then slopped it over the floor, mopping fast. The water foamed briefly and the smell of detergent was a welcome change from the whiff of old sex and stale underpants that seemed to hang about the place after the customers were deposited back to wherever they came from. As he worked, he realized that Lan still hadn't come back in. "If you're not going to help me, then go back to the bridge and get the programming done for the separation sequence," he said, exasperated.

"Help...you." Lan muttered. For a second, Prez thought the Aldorian was going to faint. The skin around his lips had turned a light shade of green. Prez wasn't sure what that meant, but it didn't look too healthy.

"Are you all right?"

"Mm."

"Yes?"

Lan seemed to shake himself. "Yes."

"Their clothes are in there." Prez nodded at a casket on the chair. "We get them dressed then put them in their ship, business concluded."

The door groaned behind Lan as he stepped back into the shuttle and took a breath. It didn't take long to dress the couple in their identical yellow silk robes; much more fashionable than Lan's, which were gaping apart at the front even more than before. When the shuttle was cleaned and the couple dressed, Prez hauled the male up into a sitting position and grunted. "He's heavy."

"Allow me," Lan said and hoisted the man into his arms.

Prez's mouth dropped open. "Mother of skies! You're strong."

"Yes."

"Well, you go through, and I'll take the female."

He watched the Aldorian's eyes fix on his arms and looked away, blushing. He'd only just met Lan and already he'd made himself look incompetent in a new and unusual number of ways: drunk and incoherent, incapable of learning Belaari, and now weak and feeble. Lan's impression of him would surely be getting worse and worse. The Aldorian was the first new crew member that Prez had ever hired and he'd desperately wanted to make himself look... at least
professional
.

Thankfully Lan was distracted by the male in his arms who was starting to moan faintly. "Oh!" he said. "Is he...?"

"Looks like it."

Lan turned to go. "If I may ask..." he began, then apparently thought better of it and made his way through the dim passageway to the connecting apparatus that joined the two crafts. Prez hauled the sighing female up and over his shoulder and staggered after his co-pilot, grunting with effort.

Soon the couple had been safely deposited on their own vessel and the
Outcast
was on its way to the jump gate coordinates. Prez had never been through one before and would have been excited, if the atmosphere on the bridge had been a bit more convivial. And it was cold, even though the gauge registered the correct temperature settings. He fiddled with the control panel and programmed in a system-wide error scan, just to be on the safe side. Lan's face had returned to its normal color, and he sat at the console, one eye on the Tablet and the other at the black void ahead. He made no effort to speak, and Prez sat back in his chair and pulled out another bag of Skits, sighing inwardly. It was going to be a long, long journey.

Chapter Two

The Elders had always told Lan that it started in the stomach. The feeling of attraction, the unfurling sensation that signaled the beginning of love. Then it would spread up the spine into the brain, where the dormant areas would fire up and cause dancing lights in the vision.
When you look upon the one true mate's face
, they said
, the sparkles will be like a shower of shooting stars. That is when you know your destiny.

Lan had looked upon the face of his mate and felt nothing at all.

Now, disgraced beyond measure and voluntarily exiled from his home, he began to wonder if he'd really felt nothing, or if
love
had just been a lot less powerful than he'd been led to believe. Why hadn't he just said the Words of Binding and waited to see what would happen? Life couldn't have ended up much worse than this -- having no currency, working for a strangely ambivalent creature whose moods were sometimes dark and hard to read, in a job that obviously involved illegal activity. He could think of no possible explanation for the drugged-looking couple in the shuttle, and the sensations from the jerking body he'd carried had been deeply disturbing.

The silence in the cockpit was like mental cave darkness. He could feel the faint sensation of Prez's feelings tickling uncomfortably at the front of his brain, but he did not know what the captain was thinking, or why. He knew he should fill the silence by
making conversation
-- an activity he'd read about in the
Aldorian Travellers' Guide to Belaar/Andra
-- but he could not think of a suitable topic to start with. And to top it all, there was a new web on the corner of his console stretching from a miniature plastic tree with colored lights all over, right over to the window. He brushed the web away, wondering what other horrors awaited him in this job, the first he'd had since piloting the shuttle between Aldor's capital city and the space port in orbit. His life seemed like such a long time ago.

To give himself something else to think about, he clicked on the Tablet and read through the list of Prez's skeleton crew to make sure he'd met them all. Doc's name was not among them. There was Kris, the engineer, who had a bald head with a stripe of spiked brown hair running from front to back. The one female, Glitch, was in charge of the computer systems and had a small, sweet face with sparkling blue eyes. A long-haired male with dark brown skin and thick arms named Vaxel was listed as "handyman." Flack's name was there too, noted to be "on vacation." Such short names, all of them
ku-tah
. A couple of androids completed the list, one marked as
semi
-
functional
. The word seemed to sum up the
Outcast
pretty well.

In the day it had taken to reach the coordinates sent by the Belaari contact, Lan had helped to fix a broken toilet, lent his linguistic expertise to the translation of some Belaari documentation Prez wasn't sure about, and listened to the sad story of Glitch and her unrequited love for Vaxel, who was "too blue-brained to see a sprinkling of sugar on his breakfast beans." Lan had little to say on the topic of love so he remained silent while Glitch talked, talked... and talked. He had never heard so many words all at once. However when the conversation was over, he was secretly pleased when Glitch hugged him and thanked him and said he was a "great listener."

Now he was sitting at his console, eating an Akilian breakfast pack with an odd, four-pronged instrument that proved inadequate for the task of spearing the beans. Perhaps all telepaths suffered as he did in the art of
making conversation
, and he wished he had paid more attention to the verbal articulation class in school. Perhaps Prez would provide some conversational stimulus instead, so that Lan could
listen greatly
and impress the captain as he had done his crew.

His gaze fell on the tree again and he reached out to touch it, feeling the spikes of the gray branches sharp under his thumbs.

Then a conversational topic leapt into his mind, and he spoke with relief. "What is the significance of this tree?"

"Ohay!" Prez exclaimed, checking the date on his Tablet. "It's
Kiz-Mah
. I forgot all about it."

"What is..." Lan allowed the alien word to rest on his tongue for a second. "
Kiz-mah?
"

Prez grinned. "Party time, that's what. It's a tradition, a special time of year we had back on the compounds. Like, celebrating family and friends, only we didn't know who our families were so... Anyway, you were supposed to give gifts, but we didn't have anything to exchange so we just made played it by ear, so to speak. Here, let me give you a present."

Lan was puzzled. "What gifts can you give if you have nothing?"

Prez rummaged in the storage compartment under his console for a second and pulled out a small leather pouch. He gestured to Lan's hair. "Can I?"

"Of course."

The pouch contained small polished stones with holes right through the middle, decorated with tiny scratch drawings in black ink, zigzag patterns and stick figures. Prez took a lock of Lan's hair from the top of his scalp and divided it into three, and began to make a thin braid. Lan could feel Prez's breath on his shoulder, and his skin began to tingle at the proximity. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Prez's odd little fingers deftly tie the bottom of the braid underneath one of the tiny stones, and then start again on another strand.

"I used to have mine long like yours," Prez flicked the piercing in his lip with his tongue as he pulled one of Lan's curls straight. "Chopped the lot off when one of Vix's friends told me I looked like an Andran tax official. What a terrible thing to say to a man."

Lan's skin prickled at the touch of Prez's fingertips against the nape of his neck as the captain wrapped up the final strand in a small bead with a carved diamond pattern around the middle. The stones were cool and reminded Lan of the beads that adult males often decorated their hair with back on Aldor. "Terrible," he echoed, feeling slightly hot. He had never sat so close to someone else before for such a sustained period of time, but it was not as unpleasant as he had imagined.

"There!" Prez grinned and stroked a strand of hair out of Lan's eyes. "What can you give when you've got nothing? Just your friendship. Happy
Kiz-Mah,
Lan."

Lan moved his head and felt the beads swing in his hair. "Thank you." It seemed an appropriate response and he sat back in his chair, pleased. "However, I have nothing to give you in return."

"Oh, don't worry about that. Glitch usually does mine, she'd be outraged if I let someone else get their hands on it." He chuckled. "She spends all year making thousands of beads. Wait ‘til she has a go at yours. You'll look like a spiked Damor beast."

"So it is not the aim to look pleasant," Lan mused, examining the artwork on the stones again.

But Prez didn't reply; he was busy reading a message that had arrived on his personal channel. As he watched the captain, Lan felt a very odd sensation at the back of his brain, and noticed that Prez's face was going pale. Lan didn't know what that meant, but it didn't feel good. "Is everything in order?" he said.

Prez stared at the message for another few seconds, then swung the screen around. "Read that," he said. His voice was tight.

It was a message from Doc, containing an extract from a news article written in Andran. The translation in Common was at the bottom, underneath a photo of the Akilian Premier, evidence of the planet's problems plain for all to see in the blind woman's milky eyes and lumpy, misshapen mouth.

Akilian Planetary Closure -- Resolution Passed

The Planetary Government of Akilia has unanimously passed the controversial Closure resolution, which will effectively cut the planet off from all communications, signal the recall of all Ambassadors, and the cessation of all trade with the outside universe. IPF medical staff predict the extinction of the race within the next fifty years, if further attempts are not made to combat the deadly genetic plague that has afflicted the planet for the last century. Akilia has been widely condemned for its genetic experiments on non-interstellar alien races in its efforts to find a cure, but any further measures the government plans to take are unknown, and unlikely to be made public.

An unexpected inclusion in the Resolution is sub-motion 34.A, which grants the ku-tah descendants of the aforementioned experiments full Citizen status after years of legal wranglings at the highest level. Because this group remains unaffected by the plague, the compounds have been opened and transports will be organized to remove the ku-tah from Akilia before the Closure comes into effect. There have been reports of celebrations in some of the compounds, which the Akilian government has described as "insensitive."

The Closure will come into effect at the end of Akilia's summer cycle, two months and three days from now.

Lan read the article quickly, and Doc's comment at the bottom --
Happy Kiz-Mah from one Citizen to another!
Prez still showed no reaction, just sat there staring at the RealViewer, at the black void ahead.

"Are you not..." Lan searched for the correct word. "Pleased?"

Prez murmured something that Lan couldn't understand. Then he seemed to shake himself, and a sudden grin transformed his face; a big, unfettered show of white teeth and pure happiness that looked like a sun rising in the sky. He sprang out of his seat and grabbed Lan in a hug, kissing him all over his face. "Mother of skies!" he shouted in Lan's ear then released him, laughing, and sat back down abruptly, covered his face with his hands and burst into tears.

Lan's body went rigid with panic. What was the appropriate reaction? His immediate impulse -- typically Aldorian -- was to leave, but from what he had read, Akilians were tactile, and Prez apparently even more so. Lan could feel his face tingling with the kisses it had just been covered in. Tentatively, he reached out and placed his palm on Prez's shoulder.

"I am sorry," he said. "I do not know how to make you feel better."

Prez wiped his eyes and sat back in his seat, his breath hitching in his chest. "Feel better?" he said. "I couldn't feel any better than this. I'm just so...
huh
..." his eyes watered again, and he turned away and forced the word out. "
Happy
."

 
"Oh," Lan said. "Perhaps I have read incorrect literature regarding the emotional reactions of... your people."

A burst of laughter, then some sniffles. "Oh, Lan," Prez said, wiping his nose on his sleeve. "You sound like a computer."

Lan raised an eyebrow. "Would...
hugging
... be appropriate?"

Prez laughed again. "It's a celebratory thing, where I come from. But you don't like touching, I've noticed. Sorry about before."

"It is necessary for me to become accustomed to the ways of other cultures if I am to function successfully in this system," Lan said. "If we are to celebrate, then let us...
hug
."

"Come here then," Prez said, and wrapped his arms around Lan, who settled his arms around Prez's shoulders in what he hoped was the correct manner. Prez's body was hard and warm, and the sensation of being squeezed was surprisingly pleasant. "Oh boy," Prez's voice was muffled. His fingertips stroked against the skin on Lan's neck for a second, then he pulled away. The tears had stopped, and he was smiling again, his eyes red but bright. "Sometimes you just need to touch someone, you know? To feel like you aren't alone." He ran his hands through his hair. "I'd better go and tell the others. This is a historic day, my friend."

Lan smiled tentatively. "It is."

"Will you be okay to get us to the jump gate? Should be there in less than an hour."

"I will be okay."

"Okay." Prez looked at the console. "Buzz if you need me."

"I will buzz."

"Okay." There was a silence. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"I don't know."

"Okay."

"Mother of skies!" Prez exclaimed again and bounded over to the access shaft. He slid down, and Lan could hear whooping noises echo around the metal walls of the corridor below, then the shut of the sliding doors that led to the underbelly of the ship, where he and his crew would -- no doubt -- soon be
hugging
. He remembered the glow of Prez's grin and smiled to himself, rubbing his belly. It began to flutter under his palm, and he frowned at the unfamiliar sensation. He re-read the surprisingly long list of ingredients on the Skits packet to see what could be causing it, but they were all IPF approved substances.

Shrugging, he settled into his seat and lifted his own personal Tablet. He'd been reading an electronic book on the modern political history of Belaar, leading up to the Treaty of Goodwill with the Andrans and the formation of the trade route between the neighboring systems. He brought up the page he'd left and started to read, hoping that the dry description of Belaari jump gate technology would make the feeling go away.

***

It was all Prez could do to stop his crew cracking out the
mukkesh
right there and then.

"We can't," he said, switching to the compound language they all spoke. "We're going through a jump gate soon, then I have to meet with the Belaari contact on arrival at the port. It won't look good if we all show up pissed out of our skulls."