Outcast (6 page)

Ignoring the others' cries of
no, stay!,
he went out and wandered blindly through the recreation section which was crowded with the chatter of the miners as they sipped colorful drinks and munched on bowls of Skits at their little tables under the false sun. The recording of the violence was playing all over the corridors and he felt the miners' gazes fall on him, not just curious or contemptuous as usual, but with a hint of sympathy that almost made him retch.

At the end of the walkway, there was a garden with a fountain shaped like a huge fish vomiting up emerald water, shining green metal under the bright lights. Not knowing what to do, he sat on a bench and looked at his hands. There was a smell of roasted
baba
beans, the hum of conversation. The chip in his head was buzzing and he groaned. He'd forgotten the device to turn it off; now he would be tortured with its chattering of stupid words and phrases, the sort of thing that had made him a laughing stock that afternoon. He needed to be away from people, he needed more
mukkesh
, he needed a fuck. Anything to forget about Akilia, the memories the footage of the compounds was stirring up. And then there was Garlo...

The bench shifted as someone settled beside him. "
Ku-tah
," an oily voice said in the common language. "You look like one who could use some company."

It was one of the Belaari miners, her thick arms covered in tattoos, violet eyes blackened with eye paint. Prez looked away. "Thanks," he said. "But I'm not into Belaari, no offense."

A low chuckle. "I didn't mean me," she said. "I know a
laar
who runs a place. You'll like it. Come with me."

Prez hesitated for a moment. No Lan, no Flack, no Doc. No one to watch his back and make sure he didn't get into any shit. What did it matter? He was an adult, he didn't need looking after. He was
always
responsible, for the crew, the ship, finding work and the constant paperwork; why the fuck shouldn't he cut loose now and then? The gnawing loneliness suddenly bloomed sour in his belly, and he followed the
laar
, drunk and reckless and numb to the soul and trying hard to put one foot in front of the other without falling down.

Chapter Four

Lan woke up to the piped tinkle of Belaari birdsong and stretched out, refreshed. With the permanent darkness outside, he had no idea of the time, and they had not yet turned on the artificial daylight generator inside the room. When his eye fell on the clock, he froze. He was late.

He sprang out of bed and almost dashed from the room naked when he remembered that he should dress. The robes he'd been wearing smelled a little, but he put them on anyway, making sure to tie them up correctly. He'd been aware of Prez's amused glances earlier, and vowed to purchase something more appropriate that very evening.

The temperature of the port was set at Belaari standards, nice and warm. Whistling, he made his way down the carpeted corridor of the guest quarters and out into the brightness of the artificially lit leisure area. His eyes cast about, taking in the hydroponic garden where a wall of climbing
kosoa
released their spicy perfume into the air, the neon lights of the shops and restaurants, the blue-clad Belaari miners sitting around in large groups. Lan checked an InfoCon screen for the location of the restaurant and frowned. It was the most remote restaurant in the whole area.

Prez wouldn't mind that he was late; the others would be there to keep the party going and Lan was glad he wouldn't be expected to consume alcohol, or waste his little remaining money on card games and whatever else the
ku-tah
did for pleasure. The port had a well-equipped library where he meant to spend some time, to read up more on Belaari culture and traditions in preparation for meeting with Kai. She seemed to hold a position of some importance in the Belaari government, judging by the tone of the correspondence and the deference in the Belaari captain's voice when she'd mentioned Kai's name.

He found the restaurant, a nondescript place decorated with false
flaris
trees outside and a black chalk board covered in child-like writing advertising the dish of the day. Andran Clam Soup. He thought of Maki and smiled. Maybe he'd try some to
be
adventurous
, another un-Aldorian activity recommended by the
Guide
. He'd have two days to recover anyway, if it proved to be of poor quality.

Glitch and Vaxel were sitting in a booth in the corner. Glitch's head was resting on Vaxel's huge shoulder, and she appeared to be in tears. Vaxel was staring into space with glazed eyes, one meaty hand clutching an empty glass. And there was Kris, whom he had not been able to see over the partition, curled up and snoring on the leather seat of the booth. Lan paused before sitting down, trying to gauge their mood, but he felt nothing except a faint pulse of pain in the center of his brain. There was an empty jug on the table and four empty glasses; no sign of Prez.

"What has occurred?" he asked as Glitch sniffled and blew her nose into a napkin.

Vaxel nodded toward the images on the screen. "That."

Lan watched the footage, shocked. "I do not understand," he said, when it was over. "They are free to leave, yet they do not wish it?"

"I don't think
free to leave
was part of the deal," Vaxel said, his words slurring faintly. "The transports were ready, but they didn't want to go. So the Akilians fired on them. And then they fired on
each other
. I was right." He groaned and put his hands over his face. "I was
right
."

"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 inside 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
.