The Majestic 311

by Keith C. Blackmore

  “Mm-hm,” she said, her mouth rippling as if cutting the cutest snore. She placed an arm around his shoulders and drew him in affectionately, pressing one row of breasts up against his arm.

  Nathan wished he wasn’t wearing a winter coat.

  Mackenzie was standing before the bartender, who repeated the procedure. The face in the chest fished around in the box, pulled out something unseen, and seemingly only touched Mackenzie’s ears.

  “Blessed Sacred Heart of Mary,” Mackenzie said, and Nathan heard him over that thumping and the crowds.

  “You’re hearing me?” the face in the chest asked him.

  “I most certainly am,” Mackenzie answered.

  “All right. Next. I’ll do you all before I explain anything. Save me some time.”

  Which he did. Mackenzie stepped aside so the other men could have their ears twiddled upon. Jimmy stopped before the bar, warily so, but a smile broke out when the whole thing was over. Gilbert was next and looked every bit as inebriated as a cowpoke who’d downed far too much hooch. Eli Gallant was the last, every bit as cautious as Jimmy was.

  When the face finished with him, the gun runner actually cracked a smile.

  “All right, that’s done,” the face in the chest announced, putting the box away. “So, it’s like this. You may think I just touched your ears there, but no. What I just did was install, in each of you, a set of third-generation translator implants, known and used across the known galaxies.”

  “Third gen, Nex?” Channy asked with a trace of disapproval.

  “It’s all I had in the box.”

  “Third Gen?”

  “It’s all I had in the box, Channy,” Nex insisted. “This isn’t business, here, Channy. It’s free. Free. Compliments of the house, so we can communicate with these guys. Let them know the basics so they don’t go taking leaks or dumps in the corners or some other place they’re obviously not supposed too, right? Seriously. I’m doing this as a courtesy. I’m not having another repeat of what happened with those sloths from Klo-Seven. We were cleaning that shit up for days and the smell is still in some parts, no matter how much I sanitize. I’m not going to install any of the newer stuff and just stand back and hope their heads don’t explode. You weren’t around when that happened. Third gen is fine and, look…”

  He gestured at the men with a hand. “Working just fine.”

  “And you get to empty your junk box,” Channy said, her eyes narrowing.

  Nex was offended. “Hey, if it’s in that box, it ain’t junk. I keep it because it still has some measure of worth, you understand? Some measure of worth, and guess what? Just guess? Yeah, that’s right, those three-G dust bunnies finally have a home and we have new friends who can understand what we’re saying. You don’t want another fucking Mongloid incident. I sure as hell don’t.”

  Right then, a huge alien walked by the group. It wasn’t dressed at all, and it’s oddly milky, yet jellied flesh was translucent in places. It stopped at the bar, swaying on three legs and swinging four arms. It held out one of those limbs to Mackenzie, inserting itself into the conversation, and Mackenzie had no issues with extending a hand and shaking it.

  Channy lowered her head and shot a strained look in Nex’s direction.

  “This is… amazing.” Mackenzie said, shaking the arm.

  “Pleasure to meet you,” the alien said in a giddy voice.

  “Pleasure’s all mine,” Mackenzie said with a noble dip of his head and a broad smile.

  “Ah, yeah,” Nex said. “Listen, ah… that’s not his hand you’re shaking.”

  Mackenzie frowned.

  The alien, however, scowled at Nex.

  The upper part of the bartender, the guardian half, scowled back, releasing a frightening glare that far and away trumped the alien’s.

  “Get away from the guy,” Nex warned and shooed a hand at the alien. “All right? Before I get mad here. Should be ashamed of yourself, taking advantage of lifeforms like that.”

  Mackenzie jerked his hand away and inspected it, before studying the being before him.

  “I thought he knew!” the alien blurted at Nex.

  “Yeah, right,” the bartender scoffed. “Get outta here before I throw you out. Y’fuckin’ interspecies pervert.”

  That earned a black look from Channy.

  “Hey,” Nex said, quick to apologize. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean you. Only him. You’re obviously going slow. Making sure folks understand. That depraved pudding bastard? ‘Oh hi, how you doing, here, shake my dick. Shake my dick, you uneducated intergalactic monkey.’ Sickening. Right in front of the bar, too. Like I can’t see that shit. Or act like I’m okay with it. I swear.…”

  The upper part of Nex glowered, showing red eyes and more teeth.

  The alien—who was standing right there—finally backed off. It muttered “sorry” to Mackenzie, and disappeared among the other patrons.

  “Sorry, my ass,” Nex said after the alien had gone. “I’ll have to keep an eye on that one. Every week there’s one trying to fuck an unaware species. Or get a free hand job. I mean, the gall. No manners. None, I tell you.”

  A disbelieving Mackenzie wiped his palm on his pants leg, slowly at first, but with growing urgency.

  “Take it easy, partner, take it easy,” Nex soothed, while his upper half still tracked the offensive alien. “No fear of infection there. None of that shit. Everyone in here’s clean. They’re all scanned the moment they enter the bar. The door would slam shut on them and holograms would be recorded in case of any lawsuits. You’re good. Okay? Still with me? Look, forget about that guy. Forget about him. You didn’t know what you were grabbing there and that’s on him. He’ll try the same thing to the wrong biped one night and have his cock ripped off. Or worse. Like a Medusoloid, and I don’t even wanna think about that. So, don’t worry, he’ll get his. All right, so, about the translators. Right now, you’re able to understand pretty much anyone in this saloon. Got that? You can speak your language, and anyone not like you will hear the translation in their language, and so on. You’ll hear only the translated phrases in your heads, and the alien language will be filtered out. Well. Unless they’re screaming. That’ll overpower what you’re hearing, but you understand what I’m saying. They’d probably have to be screaming right in your ear anyway. So, yeah, third gen is good. Real good.”

  Nex said that without looking in Channy’s direction.

  The face in the chest continued. “You have access to most of the known languages as well as an extensive database for commonly, uncommonly, and even some obscure expressions, okay? You’re covered for analogies, similes, and metaphors, no worries there. So, you’re pretty much good to talk and understand just about everyone in here. Advance warning, though. Translators do nothing, and I mean nothing, to help you understand and scan alien organisms, okay? Nor do they help you interpret any body language or facial expressions—if applicable. No temperature readings, mannerisms, or customs.”

  “That’s twenty-first gen,” Channy slipped in without looking in Nex’s direction.

  “That’s twenty-first gen,” Nex resumed without missing a beat. “And, frankly, that’s out of your price range and probably detrimental to your overall health.”

  “Innuendos covered in those units?” Channy asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Pitch and intonation?”

  “Yes.”

  “Telepathy?”

  “Fuck off,” Nex warned her, his top half suddenly watching her closely. “That was uncalled for. You know that’s not in there.”

  “Just asking is all.”

  “You were mocking my attempts at helping them and it’s not appreciated. Hey, if you want, why not march them to the nearest shop and pick them up five sets of prime twenty-first gen. See how that works out. For them and you.”

  Smiling, Channy dipped her head and didn’t say word.

  Nex took a second to compose himself. “Okay. Like I was saying. What you got right now
was on hand. And from a features point of view? The safest for you. No hemorrhaging. No aneurisms. No strokes and no exploding heads. You got all that?”

  “Risk of any mental impairments or misfunctions?” Channy asked.

  Nex didn’t answer her right away. “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “Long-term effects?”

  The guardian above the face in the chest scowled again.

  Nathan raised a hand, and Nex’s smile return. “Y’know, I like you more and more. Plus, you’re not shaking every alien dick being stuck in your face. What’s your question, son?”

  Nathan exchanged looks with Mackenzie, who had slowed down his efforts to clean his hand on his coat.

  “Stop that,” Nex told him, glancing around a little uneasily. “Make him stop doing that. Seriously. Told you everyone’s clean in here. You’re gonna make everyone think something contagious got through screening.”

  “That ever happen, Nex?” Channy asked.

  “You’re really starting to get on my nerves here, Channy. Really starting to get on my nerves.”

  Channy lowered her head and hugged Nathan a little closer, pressing her exceptionally soft breasts further into him. Nathan didn’t mind the cuddle at all, considering how the rest of his day was going.

  “Anyway, what was your question?” Nex asked him.

  “Uh… I don’t rightly understand a lot of what you’re saying.”

  Perhaps it was the genuine innocence in that statement, or the absence of any guile. In any case, a warm smile spread across Nex’s alien features as his head went back into watchtower mode and scanned the room.

  “You really do resemble Faknahts,” the bartender told him. “Really. Skin tone is a little off, but, what’s that anyway, right? Seriously? Just packaging for the goods. We’re all green underneath.”

  Jimmy leaned into the bar, gaining Nex’s attention. “Where are we?”

  “Where are you?” Nex asked back. “You don’t know?”

  Jimmy shook his head.

  “You are standing on the main floor of the best intergalactic saloon this side of Om-Cent Five. And when I say the best, I mean the best. I have the best grok, the best hillak, the best legal Covike. The best illegal Covike. And between you and me, the Kravs come here all the time. Not today, mind you. But—” At this point Nex winked. “They come here.”

  He tapped one finger on the bar.

  Mackenzie stopped cleaning his hand and wanted to ask a question. Nex pointed at him.

  “Why are we feeling this way?” the man asked.

  “What way?”

  “Like we just downed a bottle or two of Albertan Rye,” Eli Gallant got out.

  Nex took a moment to process that. “You mean drunk?”

  Mackenzie pointed a you got it finger at him.

  Nex chuckled. “Because of the Vem, of course. In the atmosphere. Finest Vem around. The finest, I tell you. Much easier than, say, charging everyone coming into the bar and serving them individually. No fuss, no muss. No spills, no spray. Just spike the atmosphere. Not too much to make a mess, but enough to cause smiles all around. Much easier. And with this—” he jerked one lower arm free and, with a thumb, indicated the pipe organ at his back, “—I can change it anytime I want. Whenever the mood hits me. You name it, I got it on cylinder. Even got the Covike in there.”

  That piqued Channy’s interest.

  “Yeah, thought so,” Nex said, seeing her lift her head. “Not right now. Maybe later.”

  Jimmy raised a hand.

  “Yes?” Nex asked.

  “Who… or what are all these people?”

  That tickled Nex. “People. Ha! You know, if you weren’t three-parts fried on Vem right about now, I bet that question would have come out with a lot more hysterical energy. Anyway, all these people? All of these people? They are…”

  Nex thought about it and shrugged.

  “They’re most everybody. Everybody and anybody that you would want to meet in a saloon, that is. My saloon. With the exception of a few single-celled myclopic fuckers taking advantage of symbolic gestures of friendliness for a quick handjob! Yeah, I see you lookin’ over here you Ameboid piece of shit, I see you.”

  That turned a few heads, and the Ameboid alien from earlier immediately stepped back into the crowds.

  “I’m gonna have to kick that milky piss stain out of here. Ameboids. Fuckin’ hate them semi-protoplasmic bastards. Can’t trust them. Don’t trust them. Just a minute.”

  Nex pulled out a device from the counter. He thumbed one section, and a floating blue window appeared before him. His fingers rapped the surface, manipulating items in ways most mysterious to Nathan, until he abruptly ended with one decisive tap.

  “There,” Nex said. “Gone.”

  “Gone?” Mackenzie asked.

  “Yeah. ‘Ported his three-colon ass out into the street. Everyone who comes in here agrees to give up a little genetic code in case of situations like these. All I gotta do then, if I don’t like the guy, is look him up, find his code, and issue the commands to teleport him out of here. No fuss, no muss. No spills, no spray. Just gone. Exactly how I like it. Excuse me. Another customer.”

  With that, Nex turned to move… before facing the men with an afterthought. “And be on your best behavior here. That’s your first and only warning. Shit in my Vem-injected bubble and I will ‘port your single-colon asses into the street. Or into the Void if you really piss me off.” Then he lightened up. “But I truly hope you have a good time. You Faknaht-lookalikes, you.”

  With a smile (that did not extend to the head) the bartender moved to another part of the bar.

  *

  The teleported Ameboid materialized in an alley behind the saloon, which smelled of alien excrement. It took the Ameboid—whose name was Snut-Snut —to realize where he was. And he wasn’t happy about it.

  “Well, fuck!” Snut-Snut released in a fury, overpowering the Vem still in his simple system. Unlike several species, Ameboids had something of a tolerance to Vem, and several other euphoric-inducing chemicals. They didn’t reveal that immunity to other species, however, for reasons that were purely procreative in the worst predatory way.

  One his many limbs was actually Snut-Snut’s neck and head. And if one looked close enough, one could, in fact, see the same single pupil smack-dab in the center of the appendage. The eye resembled a saucer-sized indentation that blended in near-perfectly with the rest of the surrounding tissue. Ameboids were often mistaken for Echinoloids, who also resembled star-shaped, many-limbed creatures. And they were damn near identical in physical appearance. Echinoloids did not, however, share the same raging sexual appetites. Or the genetic urge for the propagation of their species.

  Didn’t matter what manner of organism an Ameboid mated with—as long as it was flesh, the game was on.

  In short, Ameboids would fuck pretty much anything.

  And since Snut-Snut was thrown out of the only place around for some serious infectious fun, he was notably pissed off.

  “Oh, no you didn’t,” Snut-Snut rumbled angrily, reaching into his chest and pulling for a communication device. “No you didn’t. No one drop ‘ports Snut-Snut into some back-alley shitter and gets away with it. No one.”

  The mitten tip of a limb manipulated the keypad, and he lifted the device to his mouth, which was covered by a permeable membrane.

  One ring went through.

  Two rings.

  “Drop ‘port me out into the cold,” Snut-Snut fumed, his milky flesh becoming a deep shade of pink. “Don’t know who you’re messing with. No sir. Wasn’t my fault the guy shook hands with my dick. I just put it out there. That’s all I did. Not my fault in the least.”

  Five rings now.

  Then a click.

  “Yeah,” Snut-Snut said, in a tone best described as tattle-tale bitter. “Um, is this the Vog Apparatus? Yeah? Excellent, excellent. I was ringing for a while there—what kept you? Oh. Sorry. I’m so sorry. My mistake. I mean, who has the ti
me, right? So, yeah, anyway, sorry to be bothering you with this but I have some information I think you’ll find interesting. I think there’s a saloon pumping uncut Vem into its ductwork. Yeah. Oh yeah. And I’m pretty sure I saw some hot Covike as well. Yeah. Huh? Sure, I’ll stay on the line.”

  One of his legs tapping impatiently, Snut-Snut looked around, sizing up the alley. It wasn’t a bad place, actually.

  Then, “Oh, yeah, hi. Yes, I did. Well, thank you. That’s me, responsible citizen. Just tying to keep the cosmos clean. Oh, and one more thing, I’d like to report some aliens that look like star-bleached Faknahts. What’s that? Oh yes, you heard me. Faknahts. Oh, I’m sure. Oh yeah, I got images.”

  Snut-Snut’s communication device was always on and recording when he was on the bar-circuit. That way, he could replay any successful mating attempts for personal stimulation and gratification at a later time. Or just show that shit off to other Ameboids.

  “Yeah, hold on a second,” Snut-Snut said, and uploaded whatever footage he had of his short encounter with the lesser Faknaht. Damn alien wasn’t really a Faknaht—the coloring was all wrong in his opinion, but Snut-Snut didn’t care about that. He was feeling spiteful, and he wanted spiteful revenge.

  And the best way to do that? Alert the Vog about the saloon. To be fair, the Vog probably didn’t care about one saloon and its shady activities, but—and at this point, Snut-Snut mentally shrugged—the Vog would be interested in Faknahts. Very much interested.

  Whether cloned or some undiscovered sub-species, the Ameboid didn’t think the Vog would be picky.

  35

  Channy pulled Nathan a tad closer, mashing her breasts into his side. In his drunken state, Nathan didn’t object.

  “You always this wet?” she asked him.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Water. Just coming out of you. You’re like a… deep-sea sponge.”

  Now, her mouth didn’t say deep-sea sponge—didn’t even come close to even forming those syllables—but that’s what Nathan’s Third-Gen translator provided.

  “Just my coat,” he said. “And my clothing.”

  Channy took that moment to feel his chest, her eyes flicking all over his body. Nathan didn’t object to the pat-down. Not one bit.