Outcast (5 page)

Glitch cradled the bottle in her hands, beaming. "Only one?"

"There's never
only one
. We'll hit the bars at the port, don't worry."

Vaxel was sitting cross-legged on the floor. "I wish we could help transport them out of that plague-infested shithole," he said. "Instead of getting another load of old cargo to haul around."

"Well," Prez said. "This
old cargo
is the job we've been waiting for all these years. We're going to be
rich
, my friend!" Then a thought struck him and he held up a finger. "And as
Citizens
, we're entitled to full payment now. Holy fuck, that's something, isn't it?"

"Citizens," Glitch murmured.

They sat in silence for a moment, thinking about the tremendous concept.

"We're citizens of nowhere," Kris said glumly. "If the planet's closed, then we've got no fucking home at all."

Glitch frowned. "The
Outcast
is our home," she said and gestured around the engineering section, at her workstation where a miniature tree -- decorated with tiny red baubles for
Kiz-Mah
-- bloomed in a pot beside the three monitors, at her photos that were stuck all around the wall behind her chair. "And after this, we can make a home wherever we like. We're Citizens now, not refugees with limited status. We can't be turned away, from
anywhere
."

"I dunno. I know I'm being a dick, but I spent all those years hoping to leave, and now... we can never go back. It's just a funny feeling, that's all." Kris bit his thumbnail and stared at the floor.

Vaxel got up and stretched, his shirt pulling free of his workman's trousers to reveal a plump belly. "Why the fuck would you want to go back
there
?" he said. "They're gonna die out because they didn't -- and still don't -- have the sense to fuck outside their own families. You wanna go there to watch them rot? And make no mistake, my friend, this is no
grand gesture
. Twenty years ago they didn't even consider us to be sentient beings. They're just getting rid of us now because they don't want us to have their miserable little planet when they're all dead."

Prez held up his hand. "Enough," he said. "Our people are free, let's think about that for a while. Get back to your stations and get ready for the jump. Vaxel, try and sort out that blasted android. When we get to the port, then we can bitch and moan all we like, but personally I'd prefer to party. Until then,
work
, people!"

"Yes, sir."

He paused at the door. "First round's on me."

Three big grins. "Yes
sir
!"

"That's more like it," he said and went out into the corridor. The door swished shut behind him, and he permitted himself another dance of excitement before climbing the access shaft back to the bridge.

Rich!
And officially free. It didn't get much better.

It would be wonderful to have a new ship; much as he loved the
Outcast
, it had long since served its purpose. The living quarters were cramped and the bridge only big enough for two pilots. Most of the space, logically enough, was for cargo. He sat down and lifted his Tablet, bringing up the list of requests that the Belaari contact --
Kai no Heh
-- had sent. At least it didn't appear to be another consignment of livestock like the last job he'd taken from a Belaari, when the crew had been pushed to near-mutiny by the constant bellowing of the miserable creatures and the ship had stunk of piss for days after delivery. No wonder the cleaning android had gone on the blink.

The destination beyond the jump gate was Melaarah XV, a Belaari space port that hung in orbit around a small moon in an uninhabited but mineral-rich system two sectors away. The port was huge and rumored to have excellent leisure facilities, largely because the Belaari had a mining operation on the third planet and the workers needed frequent breaks from the semi-toxic atmosphere there. It also served as a refueling center for the enormous intergalactic exploration ships which Belaar often sent out into the far reaches of space. One of
those
ships, now that would be very nice indeed. But they were far out of Prez's price range. They'd be rich after the mission, but not
that
rich.

Lan's voice shook him from his thoughts. "We will arrive at the jump gate in approximately three minutes."

"Roger that," he said and buzzed the crew to make sure they were ready. He turned to Lan, who was reading his Tablet and sucking on a Skit. Lan's expression was inscrutable. "Aren't you excited?" Prez asked, feeling his heart start to pound with anticipation and just a touch of nerves. Jump gates weren't a hundred per cent reliable; every now and then a ship would simply disappear inside them. Extremely rare, but still...

"I have been through a jump gate before," Lan said. "It was... unremarkable."

Prez's grin faded a little. He could just make out on the RealView the lights of two Belaari transports ahead. Trying to kill the nerves with some chat, he turned to Lan and gave him a curious look. "So tell me all about it then, was it when you left Aldor? As a matter of interest, why come so far? There are nearer systems than this one where you could've worked, probably more exciting too. All there is here is trade, and
paperwork
."

Lan set his Tablet down on the console and looked out at the two vessels. "Aldor is far from this sector," he said. There was a silence then he pointed ahead at the emerging jump gate, one eye on Prez. "The development of construct engineers made a substantial contribution to the creation of the new XT32 version. Note the vertical positioning of the external rupturing barriers as opposed to the previous circular models. It meant that the Belaari repair engineers would no longer be sucked into the rupture accidentally."

"Are you changing the subject?" Prez was amused.

Lan seemed to consider the question carefully. "Yes."

"Well, make it a bit more interesting then. I'm a pilot, not a scientist."

"You have no interest in the technology?"

Prez shrugged. "I like Skits, but I don't need to know how they're made to enjoy them."

Lan's eyes focused together on the transports ahead. "Curious," he said, but offered no more insights on the jump gate technology.

Prez studied his co-pilot's impregnable expression for a moment, intrigued. A shady past perhaps? His gaze travelled down Lan's chest to the slight gape in the robes, the shadowy dip at the base of his throat. He remembered the silky feel of Lan's hair between his fingers and sighed. It had been difficult to hold off the customary kisses at the end, only to forget himself when the good news came from Doc, the best present anyone could have wished for. He watched Lan touching the beads again and a warm feeling crept into his heart, just for a second.

Then he shook himself from those silly thoughts and looked back at the screen. No one in the universe wanted a
ku-tah
for a partner unless money and a twenty-minute time limit were involved. It was just the way things were; accepting the facts and embracing what he had instead of missing what he didn't have, that was how he'd always tried to live. It made the loneliness easier to bear when he thought of his friends, his ship, his freedom.

The
Outcast
drew up beside the Belaari transports. Prez lifted the little square device and sighed. "Here goes, then." He clicked a button on the side and groaned as the chip activated and the start-up hum lanced through his brain and ears. The pain subsided quickly and he rubbed at his temples, then he opened a communication channel to the bigger Belaari transport and cleared his throat.

"
Outcast
reporting for duty."

Chapter Three

The jump was very much like the last one Lan had experienced, dizzying and anti-climactic. Only this time, his mind was focused on the task of keeping the ship steady, not miserably recounting his last days on Aldor and worrying about what lay out there in the void beyond everything he'd ever known. He'd arrived at the space port near Belaar and hung around there for weeks until it became apparent that he would soon have to seek employment or starve.

In his time at the port, he'd learned Belaari to an almost flawless level, and it was amusing to hear Prez mangling the language with his poor pronunciation and literal translations of alien phrases that rendered the Belaari captain helpless with laughter. He wondered if he should translate and save Prez the obvious discomfort of using the chip -- not to mention the derision of the Belaari -- but it was not in his nature to put himself forward so he remained silent as the
Outcast
was escorted beyond the exit gate and over to the docking section of the huge port.

It looked much like the one Lan had stayed in before; bright lights blazing out from the semi-organic transparency that formed the elliptical windows, which blinked out from the slowly-revolving metal segments of the enormous structure. As they approached, a hatch opened up like a huge glowing eyelid. The three vessels docked together, and there was a thudding noise as vibrations shuddered though the
Outcast
. They had arrived.

Lan switched the RealView off, and the Belaari captain's face appeared on the screen. She had deep violet eyes that she fixed on Prez, a smirk playing at the edge of her mouth. Behind her, her crew were gathering in small groups, apparently busy but clearly trying to eavesdrop.

She began in a monotone voice as if rhyming off a price list. "Kai instructs me to inform you that she will meet you at the office you will rent in this dock two standard days from now at 06:00. During that time, you and your crew will be free to enjoy the facilities on the port while your ship undergoes a routine decontamination procedure -- and some repairs -- before the loading of the cargo. Do you have any questions?"

Prez looked tired. "No, thank you. Kai's communication contained a lengthy..." He winced briefly before continuing. "
Sucking feature
. It explained everything."

Attachment
. Lan chuckled inwardly as the captain burst out laughing again, and the shoulders of her crew started bobbing up and down behind her. "In that case," she said, wiping tears from her eyes, "Welcome to Melaarah XV, Prez. On behalf of the Belaari government, we wish you an enjoyable stay."

Prez clicked the communication off and groaned. "This kin-tah chip!" he said. "Why did I let Flack talk me into it? Talking of whom..." He got down on his knees and looked around the underside of the console and smoothed his hands all over the floor. "Flack! Come out."

"If they are going to decontaminate the ship, it may be wise to catch him." Lan watched the shirt pull out of Prez's trousers with one eye.

"I may not speak perfect Belaari, but I'm not
stupid
. Get me a box or something. He's under your seat."

Some minutes later, they managed to catch the spider with a half-eaten Skit, a box, and a lot of coaxing. Lan wondered how much language Flack could understand in his current condition. The feeling of the spider's furry legs beating against his cupped hands was scratchy and unpleasant. When Flack was safely in the box, Lan sealed it up with some tape and punched some holes in the lid with a pen so the spider could breathe. "How did this occur?" he said. "I hope it is not a hazard of the job."

Prez chuckled. "Don't play poker with a Malaihan." He patted the box affectionately and spoke loudly to the spider. "Don't worry, my friend, we'll get you back to drinking and pupping and card games in no time. Talking of which...two days leisure! Let's go!"

Lan slipped his satchel around his neck. "I would prefer not to visit any..." he thought for a moment, before continuing, "... pleasure establishments."

"You, my friend, can spend your leisure time however you like." Prez gestured through the window to the brightly-lit dock. "It would be nice if you'd join us for dinner later, though. Get to know the others a bit before we're trapped in a tin can together for three weeks."

"I will join you."

Prez grinned again, and Lan felt his mouth form a matching shape.

"You look different when you smile," Prez said. They looked at each other for a second, then Prez's Tablet bleeped from somewhere in his satchel and he went off around the corner to read the message. Lan glanced at his own reflection in the shiny panel, surprised at how a real smile transformed his face. Telepaths rarely needed facial expressions, so he made a mental note to practice
looking different
when he got to his quarters and could avail himself of a proper mirror.

Once the necessary bureaucracy was completed, one of the Belaari crew showed them to their quarters. There were only two available rooms, she explained, so they would have to share. One of the exploration vessels was due to refuel there; as well as that, there was a large group of miners visiting for the last few days of their break. But the rooms were spacious and more plush than anything Lan had imagined possible in a space port. His last room had been little more than a cell without a window; this one had a grand view of the nearby moon and the glittering black of the void beyond.

"Me and Lan will share, the rest of you bunk up," Prez said. "I'm going to check some things out, so see you all later for dinner. And...
mukkesh
!"

The others saluted cheerfully and went into their quarters. Through the wall, Lan could hear them jumping on the beds and talking loudly in their compound language. He sat on the bed and rubbed his stomach, wondering why he still had that feeling -- it was almost like nausea, but not quite. Perhaps he was getting sick. He checked the InfoCon screen and discovered that there was a doctor on the third level of the trade area. He made an appointment for the following day and lay down on the bed, pondering what it was that Prez had to check out. The bedcovers looked inviting, and Lan threw off his robes and slipped in between them, rubbing his belly until he drifted off to sleep.

***

The restaurant was dimly lit inside, the metal walls adorned with Belaari trinkets and artwork. Triangular paintings, brightly colored and abstract. The tables were wooden like the snugs that surrounded them, giving the diners -- and there weren't many -- some privacy. There was a large jug of
mukkesh
waiting on the table and a card that read "Compliments of Kai".

Prez eased himself into the seat and looked at the display screen on the wall ahead. It was muted, showing some boring fashion show with bald-headed Andran females modeling the latest in swimwear. He rested his head against the partition and closed his eyes, listening to the piped music, a melancholy Belaari operatic aria -- the usual dreadful screeching.

There'd been no record of any Malaihans on the station for at least three months, so Flack would have to wait. He'd also looked up the sports facilities, but they were all built to fit the Belaari physique. He didn't fancy making a fool of himself in the gym again, getting flung off treadmills and struggling to lift weights that the Belaari could pick up with one hand. Then a name on the list of business had caught his eye --
Vartis' Massage Salon
. He smiled to himself. Maybe that was the place to get some exercise instead.

Glitch, Kris and Vaxel arrived not long after. Judging by their glassy eyes and euphoric state, they had not waited for him to buy their first drinks. They sat down, talking all at once. Glitch had changed her hair from yellow to various stripes of blue and silver, and she smelled of summer fruit shampoo. "Like it?" she said, patting the spikes. "Kris did it for me, for
Kiz-Mah
."

"A Citizen's haircut," Prez said, grinning, and poured four glasses of
mukkesh
. "First round is on Kai, apparently. Cheers."

They clinked the glasses together. "Cheers!" Kris said. "Man, I could get used to this Belaari hospitality. Makes a change from them treating us like shit."

"Indeed," Vaxel gulped at his drink and let out a hearty belch. "This is how the other half live, my friends."

"I doubt if
the other half
live quite like you do," Glitch said, fanning Vaxel's burp away from her face. "Where's Lan? I was looking forward to a chat, and I've got a ton of beads for him. He's a great listener, you know. Great guy."

Prez looked at his watch. "He said he was coming. Still, let's order. I'm starving."

The menu was the usual fusion Belaari dishes with an Andran twist with a grill that offered many types of exotic fish and meats ranging from bloody to burnt. There was a mouth-watering smell floating around, sweet and nutty. "I'll have whatever that smell is," Prez said to the sour-faced waitress, and the others followed suit. Then they polished off the
mukkesh
and ordered another jug. Lan had still not arrived and Prez felt slightly disappointed through the haze of alcohol that was starting to cloud his vision.

"So what's he like to work with?" Vaxel said.

"Lan? He's very competent."

"I think it's creepy the way their eyes move around separately," Kris said. "Like one's on you all the time."

Vaxel drained his glass and took the jug, topping everyone else's up in the process. "Telepaths, the Aldorians. Pretty interesting race, actually. Did you know, for instance, that the males..." He looked around and even though no one was listening, he dropped his voice down low. "The males have
no penis
."

"Oh my God!" Kris exclaimed. "How do they fuck?"

Vaxel shrugged. "Didn't get that far. But the article did say that they're usually seen in pairs. I wonder why Lan's on his own."

"If he's got no cock, then..." Kris said and laughed.

Prez felt a prickle of annoyance. "We should be the last to laugh at other races' physical differences."

"For God's sake, Prez," Glitch said, chuckling. "Stop being so red-brained. We're just having a laugh."

"
Mukkesh
!" Vaxel cried and downed the last of his drink.

There was soon another jug, but then their meals arrived and that put an end to all speculation about the existence -- or not -- of Lan's penis. Prez shoveled the food into his mouth, thinking about what it would be like to live without one. The meat was melt-in-the-mouth soft and the sauce spicy and nutty and he sighed with contentment. Then the fashion show cut off with a red warning flashing on the screen, and a switch to the newscaster. He set down his cutlery as a recording began to play, a dim gray landscape that could only be one place. "Look, it's Akilia." He squinted at the screen, and then his eyes widened with shock. The breaking news banner across the bottom of the screen was flashing the same headline, repeated over and over again.

Breaking News -- Unrest in Ku-tah Compounds -- many dead.

A hot feeling spread in his chest as he sat open-mouthed, watching the grainy footage -- which looked as if it was filmed on the run -- of smoke rising from the buildings, broken trees, scorched grass and the white smoke of the Akilian army's chemical anti-riot gas. People screaming and running around in panic, diving behind boulders, writhing in agony on the hard dirt roads. Children hiding in hastily-dug trenches, clutching each other and crying.

But...the gates were barricaded from the
inside
. Then the camera flashed at the ground, at the feet of whoever was recording, and jostled for a second before focusing on a group of
ku-tah
with shoulder launchers, bracing themselves and firing over the fence. With no sound, it seemed unreal.

"What are they doing?" Kris whispered. "And where did they get the weapons?"

The camera flashed to a group of women carrying a torn sheet, on which words were painted in the language of the compounds -- and Akilian --
No to forced removal!
They waved the sheet and shook their fists, chanting and shouting while people all around joined in and surged forward toward the gate. It was a second before Prez was able to recognize the words from their lip movements, and what he saw he could barely believe. They were shouting over and over again, "
We are Akilian! We will not leave our homes! Akilia is our home!
"

The film ended with a black screen, and then started over again as if it was on a loop. They watched again, frozen, disbelieving. Prez felt sick and reached for a drink, barely tasting it. It was the first time he'd seen a compound for years, and he was shocked to the core. They had changed a lot since he was young. The buildings looked more solid, almost pretty with their different colored bricks arranged in mosaic patterns, the shine of polished windows. The people looked healthy and well-fed. Not so many sick, tortured or mutated, as there had been in the beginning. Beyond the smoke of the bombs and the gunfire, there was evidence of tended gardens and crops, even pet animals.

He felt a sudden sense of detachment as if the universe had shifted and cast him out of his place in it. Who were these people on the screen calling themselves
Akilians
? He stood up, swaying slightly.

"I'm out of here," he said and gulped the last of the
mukkesh
. For a brief, painful moment, he longed for Flack. Only Flack knew what it had
really
been like, and the price they'd paid to escape. Flack was the only other one old enough to remember the wearying pain of the constant experiments, and he'd been there to see the piece of Prez's soul that had splintered off in the process and left the gaping loneliness that no amount of drinking or mindless sex would ever fill.