Outcast

by Alex Douglas

  "Where is Prez?"

  Glitch looked up, her eyes red. "He went off," she said, waving vaguely at the door. "Isn't he in his quarters?"

  "No."

  She bit her lip. "Find him then. He shouldn't be alone."

  "I will find him," Lan said, forgetting about the Clam Soup and everything else he'd been planning to do that evening. He walked out of the restaurant, light-headed and fearful, remembering how drunk Prez had got himself at Vix's place. Surely he would have more sense than that, with no one there to take care of him? It wouldn't be difficult to find a ku-tah among all the Belaari miners, surely.

  He looked around, and his eyes settled on a particularly tough-looking bunch of miners hanging around the front of what appeared to be a money-wasting establishment. It was as good a place as any to start.

  ***

  The Belaari -- her name was Joha or Loha, Prez couldn't quite remember -- led him to a service door just across from the restaurant where they'd gone to celebrate earlier, and typed in a code. The door opened a crack, and she barked out a password. He followed her down the dark stairs and into the underbelly of the station. Of course, he should have known that was the place to go; Belaari ports had mostly the same design. When the corridor opened into what had once been a storage area, he half-expected to see Vix's place in the corner, with its purple curtains flapping under the fan.

  But it wasn't nearly as welcoming. He felt hidden gazes crawling over his skin, hushed voices and movements. There were no neon lights, no legitimate signs of business taking place. Just a couple of makeshift buildings, with darkened windows and huge, black-clad Belaari bouncers standing at the first door on the right. "If you got the gees," Joha whispered, "this is where you'll find the ride of your life."

  She led him past the bouncers into a small reception, which smelled of stale alcohol and spice. There were no scented candles, just a bare bulb overhead that cast a sickly yellow light over the face of the thick-set Belaari receptionist who was oddly professional, given the grotty surroundings. "Welcome to our establishment," she said and smiled, revealing pointy teeth. She pushed a menu Tablet and a small shot of complimentary mukkesh across at Prez, and smiled at Joha. "The usual cut, of course," she said. "For our favorite scout."

  Prez sipped the drink and looked down the inhabitants of the various rooms, and the price list. The mukkesh was tepid and watered down, and he frowned. At the bottom of the list there was a room with no worker listed, just a gold star and a higher price than all the others. He tapped the Tablet. "What's this one?"

  The receptionist smiled again. "That is our Special," she said. "A stowaway from the last intergalactic mission, a female like no other. If you are interested, payment will be in full and up front. Ten minutes is the maximum time allowed."

  "Four hundred gees." Prez whistled. He reached in his pocket. The coins rattled in his hand -- just enough. He'd been meaning to spend the cash on the crew's celebration, but Kai had beaten him to it. What did it matter, when such a big payment was coming his way? He dropped the money on the desk, his head spinning. "There. This had better be good. I don't normally go for females."

  "A female like no other," repeated the receptionist, briskly counting the coins before gesturing at the stairs. "Golden door, last on the right. She will give you exactly what you are looking for."

  And what's that, indeed? Prez thought as he stumbled up the rickety stairs. The corridor above smelled dank and musty and there was a wilted plant in the corner. Nothing on the bare walls except some half-hearted strokes of red paint against the gray. Despite his misgivings, he pushed the golden door open and went inside. It slammed shut behind him with an echoing clunk. The room was pitch dark. He could not see even his hands in front of his face. He stood for a second, disorientated, listening to the rush of blood in his ears.

  Then he heard the noise. A snarling, slavering moan in the corner, and the thud of a heavy body jumping to its feet. He froze in momentary terror. A female like no other, they'd said. It sounded like a beast of some kind, a hungry, dangerous beast. "Shit," he muttered, backing up against the door. This is what you get for going off on your own, you stupid.... Groping around the surface, he could find no handle. He thumped on the metal and shouted. "Let me out! I don't want any animals, thank you!"

  The slavering noise stopped. "I am no animal," it said. "You will get what you came for. Exactly what you want."

  Husky and heavily accented words, but flawless speech all the same. It certainly didn't sound like any female he'd ever spoken to. His eyes felt stretched in the dark; trying to see, but failing to make out even the slightest movement.

  Then suddenly he got backhanded across the face, so hard it sent him crashing across the room into the wall. He slid down and lay there, panting, feeling the warmth of coppery blood flood his mouth. "Exactly what I wanted?" He struggled to his feet and turned in the direction of the harsh breathing. "Fuck you." Adrenaline was coursing through his body. Holding his breath, he reached behind to get an idea of where the wall was, and backed up against it, waiting.

  When he heard the air move he ducked, and the fist of the attacker bashed against the wall. He lunged forward, using the wall to give himself more leverage, and thudded against a naked torso that was as solid as a tree trunk. There was a satisfying oof before the creature -- whatever it was -- grabbed him by the shoulders and with one swipe ripped his shirt down the middle. He felt the graze of sharp fingernails and a hot chuckle in his face before it backhanded him again. There was an explosion of pain as his lip split against his bottom teeth. His knees buckled and he fell to the floor, knocked senseless for a second.

  "Feisty little man." The creature laughed and hurled him through the air. He landed face down on what felt like a mattress and lay there, gasping, the fog clearing from his brain while the blood flowed from the cut onto the soft sheets. The mattress shifted with the weight of the creature and he felt a thick finger hook itself into the waistband of his trousers and with one swipe, it ripped them right off. What remained of his shirt followed.

  It rested its heavy knees at either side of Prez's legs and leaned over his naked body until he felt hot breath on his ear. "You don't like animals," it whispered, "but I will fuck you like one. It's exactly what you want, isn't it? To remember that you had no control, and to punish your body for liking it."

  It was speaking his compound language, he realized briefly, before he felt the sting of its teeth against his skin, nipping at his ear then licking at the point of pain until he didn't know what he was feeling. Despite the beating and the pain, his cock was hard as a rock, pulsing with blood. The creature flipped him onto his back and did the same to his nipples, and when it fastened its mouth on the nerve center at the base of his throat, he bit his lip to stop himself from crying out.

  "The room is soundproof," it said, laughing again. He felt rough hands at his throat, rubbing over his neck and chest, stimulating all the points it had nipped with its teeth until he writhed underneath it, no longer able to hold in his groans. The rough palms on his cock, his balls, then the powerful hands flipped him again onto his belly. The creature's weight shifted again, its knee pushing his legs apart. Then he heard the click of a jar being opened, and those thick fingers began to circle at his asshole, smearing something over it and in, stretching and probing until it found the hard little bundle of nerves inside, wrenching an involuntary moan from his throat.

  He grabbed the sheet in his fists as the creature -- how could it be a female? -- pressed its penis against his entrance, rubbing and teasing, then sinking inside his helpless body, inch by inch, until it was in to the root. His asshole felt stretched almost beyond endurance. The rough hands massaged his shoulders until he relaxed slightly, then the creature began to move. It lifted him up a little and stabbed its thick cock into him until it hit the spot it was looking for.

  "There you go," it said as he moaned and sighed, and it held the position for a second. Slowly, unbelievably, he felt the pressure insi
de him lessen slightly, and...was the shape of the creature's penis changing? He only knew that when it pushed forward again, there were bumps on the shaft that hadn't been there before; small, soft bumps that sawed across his prostate with every single motion. He saw bright spots in his vision for a second, felt an excruciatingly delicious tensing inside, and just as he felt the squeeze of impending orgasm, the creature scraped a fingernail from the cleft of his ass right up his spine. His back straightened involuntarily and the creature held him against its chest, impaled on that thick pulsing cock until he screamed aloud and his penis bounced up against his belly, shooting blasts of sperm out into the darkness.

  The creature released him and he sagged forward onto his elbows, feeling the rough palms against his buttocks, the trail of the creature's fingernail tingling like a scorch mark on his back. It pumped harder, long steady strokes that left him gurgling and senseless and he came again, unbelievably, almost unable to utter a sound.

  The creature's breath was getting harsher and harsher and then its fingers dug into his buttocks, and he felt it letting go inside him, the warm flood of... whatever it was. The sensation forced another feeble spurt from his cock but he was too dazed even to grunt. The creature gasped and fell forward on top of him until he was crushed by its warm body, but it did not pull out. Instead, it was surprisingly gentle, holding him tight in its arms until both of them were starting to breathe normally again.

  Then it moved off him and lay on its back. There was a flare from a match and the sound of a jar slipping onto a table. The light from the candle was dim, but it hurt Prez's eyes. Or the one eye that was opened fully; his left eyelid was swollen, and now that the numbing afterglow of his orgasms had died down his lip was starting to sing with pain. He rolled onto his side and looked at the bruises blooming on his ribs, his knees. The mess on the bed, spatters of sperm, smears of blood. His ass was stinging and he scratched his head and turned to look at this female like no other who had, remarkably, given him exactly what he wanted.

  She was pale skinned, her hard body covered in ropes of muscle with thick thighs and a substantial cock and balls resting in a thick black bush of hair. Softening, the penis still looked larger than what he'd felt. No breasts. Only her hair was particularly feminine, a long mass of shiny black curls, some of which were plastered to her face and neck with sweat. Catching his eye, she smiled, revealing blunt teeth a bit like his own.

  "What are you?" Prez asked, when he could talk again. "And how do you know my language?"

  "Let us say I am a Traveller," she said. "You are unlikely to encounter another of my kind. We are long lived, and I have come a great distance. And I have been to your world, many years ago."

  "What, Akilia?"

  "No," she said. "The other. Your... home."

  He stared at her, open-mouthed. There was a banging on the door. "Time's up," the receptionist shouted. "Cleaner's coming in one minute, and another client is waiting."

  So many things he wanted to ask, but no time. He looked at her penis. "You're a female...how?"

  "You define female as one who produces eggs. Eggs are what I produce." She let out a chuckle that sounded like rocks grinding together. "You would not enjoy the males of my species."

  Her ejaculate was starting to trickle out of his stinging ass and onto the sheet. Then he realized he had no clothes to wear. Scraps of his uniform lay around the floor. There was no point being embarrassed. "Sorry about the mess," he said and stood up. His knee was sore and his ribs and face ached.

  "Everyone makes a mess." She chuckled and moved across the bed, wrapped the messy sheet around Prez's shoulders, and ruffled his hair as if he was a child. Then she opened the door with a remote control gadget that sat on the bedside table. In the dim light, Prez saw other substances spattered on the walls, but he didn't want to know what they were. The Traveller was looking at him with suddenly sorrowful eyes, and it felt as if she was staring right into his soul.

  "There are many like you on the blue planet, little man," she said. "You are not as alone as you think."

  The cleaner bustled in with a new set of sheets, not even looking at Prez as she picked up the tatters of his uniform and yanked the bedclothes off into a plastic bag, all the time grumbling about so much laundry. He considered the female's words for a moment. "Thank you," he said and limped back to reception, where the Belaari glanced up at him and pointed to a heap of folded robes in the corner.

  "I forgot to mention that you should remove your clothes," she said. "Choose whatever you like from that pile."

  He picked a soft summer robe that wouldn't scratch too much against his prickling skin, the ghost of the Traveller's bites still nipping at his chest and ear. Just as he turned to leave there was a commotion outside the door, the sound of shouting and grunting and thumping, then the door swing open and Lan strode in. Behind him, the bouncers were on their knees, clutching their stomachs and groaning.

  "You!" Prez exclaimed, hugging the robe around his body with a sudden rush of shame.

  Lan looked at him. His expression darkened for a moment, then his features settled once more into the indifferent mask he always seemed to wear. "Yes. I -- we -- were..." he searched for the word. "Concerned."

  "Don't be." Prez licked at the cut on his swollen lip. "I can take care of myself."

  They stared at each other for a moment, and in the dim light he forgot briefly about the Traveller as Lan's gaze travelled over his aching body. Then the Aldorian stroked a gentle finger down the side of Prez's cheek, avoiding the swollen eye, the cut lip. "I will attend to your injuries, if you wish. I am your co-pilot. It is my duty to take care of you."

  Lan was standing so close Prez could smell the faint hint of the chemical shower on his hair. He pressed his hand to his cheek and watched Lan step back toward the door. Duty. If only Lan had said something else. Suddenly the familiar self-loathing began crawling over his skin; he felt dark and empty inside, like space itself. He looked into Lan's black eyes and saw what he imagined the Aldorian was seeing; a pathetic, beaten-up, drunken mess. Clearing his throat, he stood up as straight as he could and tried to appear nonchalant. "That's okay. I'm just going to go to sleep, I think."

  "As you wish," Lan said and opened the door.

  ***

  The next morning, Lan decided to be adventurous again and lie in bed past sunrise. Of course, it was an artificial light, but the principle remained the same. He had observed the lack of urgency that other races demonstrated when it came to getting up in the morning and lay there on his side, waiting for something interesting to happen that would justify staying in bed. His eyes fell on the snoring lump under the covers on the other side of the room, and he sighed.

  Prez had not spoken since their conversation at the brothel. Lan had accompanied him back to their quarters in case he went off to any more unsavory locations, secretly horrified at the condition Prez had got himself into. His body was bruised and scratched, and his mind full of a darkness that Lan couldn't understand. It was more than just shock at the news of the events on Akilia, he was sure. Mixed in with the dark feelings was a kind of grim resignation that shocked Lan even more.

  When he'd seen Prez standing there, his bruised skin darkening in contrast to the yellows of that summer robe, Lan had felt an unusual impulse to hug. He'd managed to resist it, but barely. He squashed the temptation to analyze his abnormal behavior. Perhaps he was getting used to the ways of the ku-tah, after all.

  Sitting up, he watched Prez sleep for a few minutes, his gaze drifting to the swollen eye, the cut lip, the bruises on his ribs. Prez was lying on his belly, the sheet barely covering his ass. He was snoring softly, drool spreading across the pillow, his hair messy and sticking out all over the place. Not a pretty sight, but still...

  The click of the clock chipped some more seconds off the day. Lan forced his attention away from the sleeping captain and decided that he'd had enough of being adventurous. It was boring to lie in bed awake when there was a vast library
out there to be explored, and only one day to do it. He swung his legs out of bed and reached for his robes. They smelled even worse after the fight with the Belaari bouncers, and he made a note to go shopping at some point that day. Maybe Prez would also like some new clothes, since he appeared to have lost his own.

  It was a pleasant morning. He went first to sample the roasted baba juice in a café on the main promenade. There were not many miners about, and he was pleased. He watched the news and sipped the hot, bitter liquid. There were no updates on the situation on Akilia. Some allegations of financial backhanders in the world of Belaari politics. The results of the annual Belaar-Andra AirBall tournament. A new microscopic life form discovered on the ice moon of Andra. Normally he would have been intrigued by the last story, but the roasted baba juice was making his stomach feel even odder, which reminded him that he had a doctor's appointment to attend before he could unleash himself on the library, so he paid up, leaving his cup half-full on the shiny table.

  The doctors' surgery was a bright and well-lit office just a short stroll away from the café. A Belaari miner was sitting in the corner, nursing a burnt hand and looking sorry for herself. The receptionist stared at Lan as if he was an interesting specimen in a laboratory. "Aldorian," she said. "We don't get many of your kind around here. Never mind. Doctor Gerha is ready for you. Third room on the left."

  "Thank you," Lan said and went to the door, slightly nervous. He had never been to a doctor before, and doubted that it would prove fruitful. Still, it would be good to rid himself of this feeling of nausea, so he knocked and went in.

  "Oh yes, the Aldorian!" The doctor seemed beside herself with excitement, grinning widely and revealing her sharp teeth. "We don't get many of your kind around here."