Star Hookers Space Pirates

by David A Sizemore

  “Hello, sailor. I assume you sail among the stars, at least in some capacity, hmm? You are obliviously not Imperial Marines, but this looks like a uniform,” said the hooker rubbing his uniform’s sleeve between her fingers.

  “I'm a freighter captain,” Peter said impatiently. “Look, I'm in a hurry. Is there a Monica here?”

  “Maybe. Why do you ask? What does she have that I don't have?”

  Peter flipped up her skirt and pointed to the obvious bulge of a penis in her panties. The panties started to move. Little hands grasped the top of the lace panties, pulling the silk down and what looked like a penis with a face and mouth was revealed. It had a small mouth with pouty lips, two green eyes, and two short little arms.

  It smiled, blinked and said, “Lo dude.”

  Peter dropped the skirt in surprise. He hadn't seen that one before, a talking penis--that is.

  “Uh, a vagina for one! I saw the bulge the minute you sat down, but that's not why I'm here,” Peter said with a frown.

  “Mm, business? Buy a girl a drink while you’re waiting? I'm Oscar, and I am…was born female. I also still have a vagina. Some men really like the trouser snake. I know I do! No penis envy for me,” Oscar laughed, batting her eyelashes.

  “Sure, of course,” Peter signaled to the bartender and pointed to Oscar, figuring he could at least get some information out of, uh-- it? “Whatever err ...SHE wants? And don't get that fake expensive Champagne! I know that scam! I'll take a beer. Got Slekenhiemers’ ale?” Wordlessly the bartender nodded and turned to get the drinks.

  “I’ll take a shot of tequila, Charles.” She called out to the bartender, “So is that all you do is fly space freighters? Oscar said batting her eyelashes and leaning forward to expose her enormous fun pillows.

  “I also smuggle drugs... Well, I did, but I don't like to brag. Who knows, now I may have to turn to piracy to make ends meet,” Peter said with a laugh.

  “Ooooohhh, piracy! That sounds like fun! I always thought I would make a good pirate. Are there such things as real pirates? I thought that was just a holovid make-believe,” Oscar said wistfully.

  “Sorry, but I think that calls for swashbuckling, not swish buckling,” Peter joked.

  “Always men make with the gay jokes. I’m not gay, or transgender; I'm a woman. I just always liked penis so much, I got one made, is all. A girl doesn't have to suffer from penis envy in these modern times,” Oscar said cheerily.

  Peter eyed Oscar with more than a little bemusement, not quite sure what to make of her.

  Curtains from a doorway off the bar opened revealing Monica with an arm around a large furry alien that was crying as she patted him on the back.

  “There, there. OK, usually you guys are like a bull; I mean like, like boing, and everything,” she cooed and scrunched up her face while making an erect finger gesture. “Still, you are very sexy. I had a good time anyway. It happens to everyone sometime.” The furry guy cried harder.

  “Oh, shoot! I'm not helping, am I? Have a drink. I swear, I won’t say anything to the boys.” Monica looked toward his fellow furry friends at the bar and said loudly, “Woo! What a stud! My vagina is completely wrecked! I’m sure it will take at least a day to recover...” Then she ducked her head and whispered, “See ya.”

  She saw Peter and her eyes lit up, “Oh, yes! You came!” She rushed to him, pulled him from the bar stool, and threw her arms around him, kissing him profusely.

  “Get your stuff quickly; only what you can carry or wear. I assume we are being watched. Let’s scoot,” Peter said somewhat embarrassed and aroused as she continued rubbing her generous breasts against his chest.

  “Right!” Monica did a quick about face and casually strolled from the lounge.

  Peter gestured to Floyd. “Get ready for trouble, Floyd. I don't see any security cameras, or muscle, but I would bet money they’re here somewhere.” Peter got up and pretended to be studying an alien sex device on the wall. Out of his side vision he observed Oscar nonchalantly sidling closer to him.

  “Those were used by the Faloozian females to achieve longer sexual pleasure. They work by inserting the―take me with you too! Please! I'm in the same spot as Monica, a virtual prisoner,” Oscar whispered.

  “Not a chance,” Peter whispered back, “I’m not running a cruise-liner.”

  “I understand, but I did four years in the Imperial Marines before I got into this, and I've got fifty thousand credits in Ganymede diamonds and other jewels up my keister right now! I've been waiting months for an opportunity like this, to meet a pilot that can get me the hell out of here. I'd make a GREAT pirate!”

  “Uh, look, Oscar, I don't mean to be heartless, but I said no.”

  Monica walked back into the room wearing even more jewelry, carrying a small book-like reader object and her purse. She rolled her eyes at the door and inclined her head.

  “Let’s go!” Peter said. Along with Monica and Floyd, they casually started to stroll toward the front exit.Just as they were about to push the door open, a Vookin and two botyguards appeared like magic and surrounded them. The Vookin clamped a flipper around Monica's wrist.

  “Oh, hello Monica. What’s this? A hot-date-out call?” Looking at its wrist com it said, “Interesting, I don't see any entries for this in your bookings. Unlikely that you're giving it away for free. You wouldn't be trying to leave us, would you? My highest earner, hmm?” the Vookin squeezed her wrist hard making her wince.

  “Ah, see–Chang–I uh...” Monica grabbed a pen out of her diary, and stabbed the Vookins hand. It immediately stiffened, started to convulse and frothed at the mouth. Floyd did not hesitate, but leaped at the Vookins botyguards, grabbed the robot’s head in his hands, wrestled it under his arm, and wrenched it off. Blinded, the robot flailed around. The other botyguard made to raise a beamer at them, but Floyd, with one smooth motion, caved its head in with the other robot’s head, sending silicon and crystal circuit boards flying, hydraulic fluids spurting. He used one foot to push the first robot away. Peter palmed the door open, grabbed Monica, and propelled her out the door. As they started running down the corridor, Peter gave Monica a questioning look, glancing at the pen in her hand.

  “Xum poo.” Monica said with a grimace, “I coated the tip of my diary pen with it for just such an emergency, I knew it would poison him, I hope the bastard dies.”

  “I'm not going to ask how you got a hold of some Xum excrement.”

  “It wasn't easy! Do you know how hard it is to screw with a gas-mask on, and a partial containment suit? While we were doing it, it came to me that something toxic might come in handy someday. I probed his butt with my pen by my bed, he probably thought I was just being frisky and...”

  “Spare me,” Peter said quickly, puffing breath with every step. He was not fat, but he never worked out. Floyd, quicker than the eye could follow, flung a keychain, taking out something flying over their heads.

  “Spy drones, from the Boss, I’m sure,” Floyd said in response to Peter’s questioning look.

  “I was wondering what the keychains were for,” said Peter as they were nearing the loading docks and the bay for the Centennial Lunch Bucket. They slowed down to a brisk walk.

  “Sir, I believe that it is almost a certainty that the Boss will have beings posted by your ship hoping for an intercept, and I believe we have been followed.”

  “Crap! How many?”

  “Strangely enough, seems like only one, sir,” Floyd said.

  “Hmm, OK. We’ll go see what’s up, but take care of that first,” Peter said, stopping out of sight of the docks. Within moments Floyd reappeared escorting a struggling Oscar.

  “Oh, crap! Are you kidding me? Oscar, I might need some crew, but I need someone who can fight.”

  “Look, I told you, I spent four years in the Imperial Marines. Tarcacks! Weren’t you listening? Just because I have a nice rack, doesn't mean I can't fight! God, you would think after centuries of acceptance that people would not still be so—so
…”

  “OK! OK! Spare me the gay pride rant.” This time Peter really looked at Oscar, and saw that despite being female and pretty, she was solid, and rippling with muscle.

  "You want to enter a life of crime? Suit yourself. Alright, make yourself useful. Take Monica, here, and mince past the docks; see how many men are there.

  “I’m not gay, dammit! I just happen to have a thinking womans penis! I like men—of a certain kind,” Oscar said stamping her foot.

  “Alright, Oscar, fine, sorry.” Peter said sardonically, “Think that poop pen will work again, Monica?”

  “Sure, this shit is seriously toxic, a few molecules are all it takes,” she frowned, “no pun intended.”

  “Think you can take out beings with that keychain trick, if the others are distracted or dead, Floyd? Peter continued.

  “Sir, a small piece of hard plastic hurled at supersonic speed is just as effective as a bullet.

  “OK, let’s do it.” Peter said.

  Oscar reached under her skirt and removed her panties-- tucking them in her bra.

  “What the f---!” Peter started to say.

  Oscar held a finger to her lips, “Watch and learn.”

  The girls walked around the corner and went sashaying up to the guards. In the interior of the docking bay, and around the Centennial Lunch Bucket, robots were in the background bustling about, driving tractors out of the hold.

  “Hi, there, handsome,” Monica said to one of the guards. “Looking for some action?” She batted her eyelashes at the two guards and leaned forward.

  “Move it, sister. We are in the middle of something here,” one of the guards said with a scowl.

  “Oh, alright, spoilsports,” Monica said, petulantly pouting her lips at the guards.

  They turned to leave, and Oscar slipped a hand into her purse, rummaging around for a lipstick, which she then fumbled to the floor.

  “Oops!” she squeaked and bent over at the waist in front of the guards to pick it up.

  “Vookins balls! Is that a dick?” Heshe looked right at the guards from under Oscar’s skirt with both middle fingers extended toward them, and Monica quickly moved around them and stabbed both in the neck with her pen. Both guards convulsed and dropped to the floor, dead. At the same time, Floyd came around the corner and flung two keychains from both arms at the other guards at the end of the dock; burying a plastic corn and tomato fob keychain in their foreheads, whereupon they dropped silently to the floor.

  “Everyone come on!” Peter said hurrying past the robots unloading the tractors. Pointing at the prone bodies, “Floyd, gather their weapons,” Peter stopped, and stood in the front hold with his hands on his hips.

  “OK, Bots! Stop what you are doing! Emergency takeoff! Uh, my sister here needs an emergency hysterectomy to be performed—or something,” he ordered, shooing the robots out of the hold, and slapping the hatch-close button.

  “But, sir, we still have three tractors on the manifest to be unload―” one robot protested. The robot’s protests were cut off as the hatch slammed shut.

  “Shirley, prepare for immediate takeoff!”

  “Peter! I've barely finished refueling for in-system flight and the station computer is demanding immediate payment as your account hasn’t enough to cover it. Who are these floozies? Please don’t subject me to your sordid sex life!”

  “I'll explain later. Disengage from the station and get us the hell out of here!”

  “Well! I never!” Shirley said in a huff.

  “Should we strap in? Sit or something?” Monica asked nervously looking around for something to hold onto.

  “It’s OK. I have inertia dampers.”

  Peter looked at the weapons Floyd had collected and whistled, “Holy f---! Two beamer guns, a Faloozian machine pistol and a sonic Torpedo launcher! Tarcacks! Boss was pissed!”

  “Incoming message from Sarasota Station. Should I put it on speaker, Captain Shit-for-Brains?”

  “Yes, Shirley. I guess I was expecting to hear from someone. Put them on,” Peter said looking intense.

  A holograph of an elderly official appeared in the hold before Peter. “Lunch Bucket, respond. Captain Farlon, you are ordered to return to the station immediately. You are charged with murder, accessory to murder, harboring fugitives wanted for murder and destruction of private property. I'm sure you’ve probably spit on the sidewalk too!”

  “Hey, wait a minute! I never murdered anyone...” Peter sputtered.

  “You own a botyguard. We have the security recordings, and just watched you ordering several beings to be murdered. A certain Monica Beavertons did cause the cessation of three beings’ lives as well.”

  “Excuse me! They were trying to kill us! A good case could be made for self-defense. Technically it was Xum poo and a robot that did the dispatching. We just happened to be in the general vicinity,” he said, indignantly crossing his arms with a belligerent look on his face. Monica and Oscar just stood there looking scared.

  “Caption Farlon, you can let your lawyers wrangle your defense later. Now, we are ordering you to return to face these charges, or we will be forced to fire on you. There is a battle cruiser standing off your bow with weapons trained on your ship. Since you are so close to the station, you actually have a good chance of surviving, if you attempt to flee. Our rescue modules are standing by, ten seconds to comply,” the official said with some heat.

  “Shirley, shut the sound off for a minute, it off? Good! Do a micro hyper-jump! Now!”

  “Without a calculation, or flight plan, are you crazy? We could end up inside an asteroid or another ship, idiot! It's also going to take a big chunk of the station hull with us when I do, not to mention violate about a dozen statutes and laws besides running out on our fuel bill!” Shirley shouted from the air with her hands on her hips, looking very angry.

  “In another five seconds, we are going to be vaporized or hulled anyway, so I like the odds of a hyper-jump.”

  “You get us killed, asshole, I'll never speak to you again,” Shirley complained. She opened the channel to the station administrator again.

  “Captain Farlon, stand down at once. Our station sensors register that you are disengaging locks. You cannot outrun a hyperspace-needle beam AGB. Escape and we add resisting arrest to the charges. We will find you…”

  “Hold on to your butts! Here goes nothing...aaaaaaaaaaahh!” Shirley moaned.

  VRUUUMM and the Centennial Lunch Bucket catapulted into hyperspace taking a section of Sarasota Station’s hull with them.

  Chapter 4: Decisions and Feeling Just a Little Bit Piratey

  VRRRRUUUUMMM… slowly reality returned to the Lunch Bucket. To everyone present the room appeared slowly at first, everything just outlines, then looking smoky and translucent. Then, with a jar, reality slammed down.

  “God, I hate hyper-jumps. You two OK?” Peter asked groaning.

  “Whoa,” Oscar said holding her head,” it’s been a long time.”

  “I usually take the knockout drugs they handout,” said Monica.

  “Hello! What am I? Chopped liver? I'm fine in case anyone cares,” said Shirley the computer, appearing in mid-air with hands on her hips, and her patented scowl.

  “Oh, give me a break, Shirl. AIs are not affected by hyper-jumps, and you know it!” Peter shot back.

  “Sure, asshole, but I also know, to the hundredth decimal point, how dangerous it is to do an UN-CALCULATED hyper-jump! Are all my parts still here?” she mimed patting herself down.

  “It's hard enough doing a calculated jump!”

  Peter rolled his eyes at the others. “Yes, Shirley, I do understand the math involved. Mankind has been doing it for years without the help of computers. Well, without AIs at least, you know. I just unzip my fly to count to twenty-one and get out the slide-rule to calculate, unlike you. Now, we just have to figure out where to go from here. Come on, let’s go find some chairs and talk about what our options are!”

  Peter lead them through the sh
ip to his bedroom, where there were various couches and chairs. The room was utilitarian; clothes were scattered everywhere. It didn’t smell, but Peter was definitely a bit of a slob. Frantically, he picked clothes off the chair and bed. “Sorry about the mess; I wasn't expecting guests.” He looked a little sheepish as he dumped his clothes and most of the clutter in a corner.

  “Sit down everyone. Make yourselves comfortable. Drink?”

  “Sure!” Monica and Oscar chimed at the same time, exhibiting apprehensive but smiling faces. “

  “Got any tequila?” Oscar asked hopefully.

  “Sorry, no. Hope Pouklet-fruit liquor is fine with everyone. That's all I've got. I don't drink much, but the Boss gives me a bottle at Christmas every year.” After punching a latch on a hidden recessed panel, Peter grabbed a bottle, some glasses, and poured drinks all around.

  “So, what are your plans? We are all wanted for murder, except for you Oscar, you didn’t actually kill anyone although if they want to be assholes, they could name you an accessory to murder. Monica, I suppose you could get plastic surgery and a fake ID, but most of the major planets do DNA checks for buying anything major or getting a job. You'd have to stick to the outer colonies, or you chance getting picked up,” Peter informed Monica with a frown.

  “Couldn't I get m-m-my memories implanted in a new body?” She stammered as the reality of her situation sunk in.

  “Yeah, you could, but a cloned body wouldn't do you any good. Your DNA would still be the same. Or were you thinking to find a female body that conveniently had its memories wiped? I suppose there are planets and places where you might get a new body, no questions asked, but it’s expensive, you got a few million to spend? Are you alright with not caring about how the body was obtained? You pay for one, the chances are they will just go kidnap someone and brain wipe em for your money.”