4. AHANE

Ahane straightened his bandoliers and wrung out his tail, scales sparkling red and almost purple.

He clenched and unclenched his fists to try to drain the rest of the blood away from his cock. He could not be walking around this place with an obvious erection. Walking around the insides of the tiny ship was bad enough. Thalia had turned her back to him.

His hands burned with what her bare ass had felt like. His mind rang with her demand to grab her. No partner had ever commanded he touch her.

The flesh of her private area was a variety of shades darker than the rest of her skin, arranged in a complex gradient of subtle color. The delicate folds of skin were petals of luxurious blooms, inviting him to explore deeper. Her scent was salty under the less pleasant scents they’d both acquired in the escape. Not like brine, but expensive culinary salts that dusted the finest dishes and tasted of starlight and morning.

He’d bitten his tongue for fear he’d try to steal a lick and sample her taste. His tongue still bled from it.

He’d felt every movement of her throat and jaw while she’d been face-down and ass-up. Her impacting his crotch had not hurt. It had felt like a firm, demanding grab. She’d felt impossibly heavy and exquisite dragging her body along his erection, the pressure of her on his balls, then commanding him to take hold of her…

His cock had even started to leak first honey, but thank the gods he’d also been distracted with docking the ship and his utter disgust with his base instincts, or else he might have exploded under her. He had never been so close and so far from an orgasm.

His brain had tormented him with the sensation of her throat, daydreaming those motions had been her gulping down his honey.

Except those motions had been her fucking gasping for air.

No wonder she wanted nothing to do with him. Bad enough the physical evidence of his erection, but a Human psy would have sensed every sordid, disgusting urge he’d had. And he’d had just about every disgusting, sordid urge he could have, all at once.

Then having to close his hands over her hips… so delicate, yet the swell fit his hands so perfectly, and lifting her?—

He grit his teeth.

You are absolutely disgusting and should be ashamed of yourself. Taidc and Keiron would feed you to the worms. Then set the worms on fire as unfit to even mulch.

He smacked a panel by the door. It dropped open. Empty.

He smacked a second panel. Empty.

He punched the third. It dropped open, and inside were half a dozen breathers in different sizes and configurations. The readings indicated the asteroid had a whisper of an atmosphere. Enough a 25XA would not immediately suffocate like a Human, but he’d only have about five minutes before he was overtaken. And given the dusty haze that hung over the asteroid, many lung-having species like his would struggle to breathe in the rocky dust and particulate matter of assorted origins.

There were many species that would not be affected by this atmosphere. The Greys had apparently not counted on always having one of those fly their ships.

There appeared to be a breather that would be suitable for Thalia—or at least enough until he could get her inside. Hopefully the atmosphere in there would be Universal Matrix.

Stroke of luck that this place was in need of a new cook. It spared him the half-baked plan of him claiming he’d been hired as the new cook, then going into the kitchen and fighting the existing cook.

He still had to get past the Site Master, then he had to smuggle Thalia in and disguise her while he fixed the ship. And even if he could fix the ship, what then? He couldn’t abandon her, and he couldn’t take her to 25XA.

What had happened to his brother, Chess, and the other Humans they’d rescued? Had the Captain ultimately spaced the Humans? Was everyone rotting in a Gestalt prison?

Was his brother dead? Had they gotten away at all?

His claws closed around a breather while his scales rushed a dark, scabbed red.

Focus.

He pulled the breather over his head, tightened the straps, and took a breath. Fully functional. The Greys didn’t want their pilots to die before the cargo had been unloaded.

He yanked open the interior door and crammed himself into the tiny airlock. Air flowed out of the lock, and with it, sounds became muffled.

Cold snapped the lust right off his scales. The hazy, desolate outpost did the rest.

The ship had docked on a narrow, rickety slip of grated metal that gave him a perfect view of the utter darkness waiting under his boots.

Not even railing or hooks or tie-lines.

One wrong move and he’d break the magnetic grip of his boots and go floating off into the abyss.

He’d done his Provisional at several shipyards and fab shops, so he’d spent plenty of time on precarious scaffolds and crawling up things on remote outposts bolted to asteroids a lot like this one.

His scales thickened in response to the extreme cold. There was plenty of bleed heat from the structures, energy generators, and engines of other docked ships, but he would not be able to survive out here for very long, and Thalia would not be able to survive at all.

The rumble coming through his feet indicated the energy generators were on the underside of the asteroid, along with the stabilization systems that counteracted its natural rotation and held it in a relatively stable position. The topside of the asteroid had four rickety docking slips. The other docked ships were an assortment of makes. Nothing too slick. At least from outward appearances.

He walked down the fragile slip to the main walkway: a rusty grate strip clinging to the surface of the powdery surface of the asteroid. The sound was muffled in the thin, hazy atmosphere. A constant haze clung around all the lights strung along the useless, brittle railings, and the colorful lights that adorned the exterior of the assorted structures and the blinking GAMES signpost sticking out of the far end of the asteroid while being surrounded by absolutely nothing else but darkness did make him wonder if he’d actually just arrived in the afterlife.

He had docked at the edge of the farthest slip, but he wasn’t the only person on the dock—there were easily a dozen other people moving around in the haze, and even more moving between the assorted structures that lined the dockside of the asteroid. Most everyone also wore breathers and some sort of head covering and outer garment. Fortunately, his scales had minimal gleam in the dim light. Only the tips of his scales washed a fiery orange-red in the blinking, rotating light show. He would not immediately be recognized as High House.

He stepped off the metal grate dock to a more substantial path that extended from the actual permanent buildings. Colorful lights hung on strands along all the buildings and they slowly ticked in a never-ending display.

The lights made no sense. This was the only waypoint out this way. Not like it was competing for passing business, and it did not want to be found with its weak beacon signal. There were no Gestalt-network relay towers rising above the surface. This place didn’t even aspire to be a remote outpost. It only existed to people who knew where to find it.

Closer to the buildings, the gravity, atmosphere, and temperature were more survivable. Up ahead, an illuminated sign with text and a colorful blue arrow indicated OFFICE.

He stomped up to the sealed door and kicked it with his boot.

A 384A lurking around the corner scurried into the shadows, frills sharpening into points in a fear response. 384A always looked so dangerous with their sharp points and flashy colors. They also squished faster than a bloated worm. Assuming they didn’t launch one of their teeth at you, which was risky, because you never could be sure where a 384A had teeth.

The 384A peaked one eyeball stalk around the corner.

Ahane swished his tail, and it disappeared again.

Office-kisser. Same as in the military—always one office-kisser lurking around to “bump into” the Site Sergeants and make themselves “useful.” Tail-licking gossip-haulers. Would have to be wary of that one. Or might just have to stab it a few times.

The battered panel on the sealed door flicked with a sequence of lights. Ahane put his palm on it. A jolt went up his arm and snapped into his translator.

Bad wiring. Another thing to keep Thalia away from.

A chirping, grating whisper slid into his brain. “What?”

Hell. Was he dealing with a 384B? Same system as the office-kisser, different planet. And a very different proposition. “I’m your new cook.”

The light sequence disappeared. The door opened.

Ahane stepped into the airlock. The door closed behind him, and then the next door opened. He stepped into a small, dingy, yellow office outfitted with one desk, a screen on the desk, and the walls layered with screens all showing feeds throughout the site.

The smell coming through his breather did not motivate him to remove it, even though the breather indicated the atmosphere was fully safe.

The Site Master came around the desk, pointed feet making a disconcerting ssh-clk-ssh tap-tap sound as the four little points moved in unison. Little bits of bleached debris littered the polished metal floor. One of the bits of debris looked like a taproot-type tooth.

The Site Master”s smaller stature and the shape of their mandibles indicated that the Site Master was male, and had not been born as or changed into a drone. He was missing a couple of eyes, and six of his articulated body plates had been carved with intricate designs that had not had their dye maintained. Confirmation that whatever this place was, Keiron would never accept a contract for it, no matter the price.

The Site Master sized Ahane up with some quick moves of the long, slender feelers emerging from both sides of his oblong head, while his front four legs tapped together.

Ahane swished his tail. His scales had settled to a sullen maroon.

The Site Master gave a final tap of his upper front four legs. “Didn’t budget for you to bring an assistant. No extra air or water.”

“We have always shared.” Technically, he and Thalia had always shared air and water. For the extremely brief period they’d known each other.

“25XA.”

“Obviously.”

“Military.”

Ahane stretched his lips back over his teeth while his scales rushed with a jolt of anger. “Provisional only.”

The Site Master rubbed two smaller scale plates together in a knowing chuckle. “We don’t get a lot of 25XA through here. None, in fact.”

Good. No one would recognize him.

“School. Completed?”

“Engineering and practical mechanics. Why, you need me to fix something? Because I’m here to cook. Wrenching costs extra.”

The Site Master moved two larger plates to indicate his own shrug.

“I need a place to put my ship where I can work on it,” Ahane added. “Saw you’ve got a junk heap out back.”

“And your ship will blend right in?” The Site Master rolled his four front legs one over the other, his littlest scales making an ominous chirping noise. “Someone might get confused and think it was scrap.”

“Then I will leave the engines primed so no one can mistake the heat signature,” Ahane said flatly, the sullen color of his scales not even twitching.

The Site Master”s chirp became an annoyed rattle. “Nothing is free. All prices not stated are negotiated, no matter how strong you covet nor how small the piece.”

Covetwas a strong word. The translator may have been off on that. He switched to High Dialect. “I am not a thief.”

The Site Master”s plates abruptly stopped moving. His remaining eyes focused on Ahane and his feelers and little forelegs stopped moving as well. In the sudden silence, the Site Master”s chirps had an ominous hiss. “What is your assistant’s name, Cook?”

He almost said her name, but stopped short—her name, even thinking it, reminded him so much of the High Dialect word for the now-dead flower. His scales flushed a darker shade of red. It was her name, and it was precious. “I don’t care enough to tell you.”

Now the Site Master”s medium plates jiggled in a grating sound the translator informed him was [AMUSEMENT. EQUIVALENT TO CHUCKLE.] “What House are you from, Cook?”

“House? You’re easily impressed.”

“The first thing you didn’t discuss was your pay.”

Ahane folded his arms across his chest and shifted his weight to one foot. “The pay hadn’t been mentioned.”

“Further mark of a high-bred 25XA. You don’t like to discuss money first.”

Ahane twirled his tail. “Tell me the vast riches that slinging re-processed sludge of indeterminate origin into something edible will bring.”

The Site Master twirled his forelegs—just three of them—while gesturing with the fourth and told him the pay. It was, as expected, terrible pay.

“Accommodations for one.” The Site Master jabbed the fourth leg at him. “Air for one. Water for one. Room for one. Food for one. Facilities for one.”

Ahane swished his tail to indicate the combined forces of an eye roll, shrug, and bored sigh.

“If you get any tips, I take eighty percent.”

Who tipped in a shithole like this? Eighty percent of nothing was still nothing.

“But you can keep any gaming winnings.” The Site Master made that disconcerting shck-shck-shck noise again.

“That how you lost your last Cook?”

“It was not me who lost, Cook.” He moved the little pincers on the side of his slit-like mouth.

Ahane shrugged again, bored with the entire attempt at intimidation. The Site Master needed a cook because hungry smugglers, pirates, thieves, and haulers came here for games, drinks, probably sexual release, and food. Not having any of those at hand—especially food—was more than just a hazard to future business prospects.

“Do you wish to make a deposit?” the Site Master inquired.

Deposit? Whatever that was, he didn’t want it. “Fuck you, no.”

The Site Master tap-tap-tap’d back to his desk. His legs glided over the console for several minutes. He beckoned Ahane with one leg. “Talon here, please.”

Ahane pressed his talon to the pad the Site Master indicated. A painful jolt snapped across the nerves right up to his ear and translator.

[SECONDARY FUNCTION: CURRENCY WALLET CREATED]

“Do not lose your translator, Cook,” the Site Master said. “You will need to come down to be paid. Do not miss a pay interval. And today, you start from zero.”

“Obviously,” Ahane said dryly.

“Are you certain you do not wish to make a deposit?” the Site Master inquired again.

Why would he be giving his employer a deposit?

It didn’t matter: if he had to use an off-network ledger, he was holding it. Most in the Gestalt didn’t use wallets or only kept trivial amounts in them. If the wallet was lost, stolen, damaged, or compromised, the money was impossible to recover. But when traveling somewhere with limited or no network access, the wallets were the only real option to exchange payments.

Keiron dealt exclusively with them because he went to areas of the Gestalt that were far from network terminals, and accessing the network to perform a financial transaction was either impossible or expensive.

Using a translator for the ledger was a bad idea, but he did not have a proper alternative.

The Site Master pointed towards the door.

Ahane stepped to the side.

The Site Master tap-tap-tapped past him and exited the office. The Site Master seemed to glide, and the rapid tempo of his legs did not match the resulting speed.

The office-kisser disappeared around the corner again. The Site Master”s legs made no audible noise in the hazy exterior atmosphere, but the tap tap tap tap sent a trilling reverberation through the metal grates and up Ahane’s lower legs. The nerves in his legs tingled and the coursing sensations felt like he’d had his legs knocked out from under him and couldn’t trust them to bear his weight.

The Site Master did not bother to drop to all his legs and instead walked only on his lower legs, his carapaced flattened-tube body bent in the middle while twisting his upper four legs around and around each other as if they were having a conversation. He did not wear nor need a breather—his species did not have lungs and did not need to breathe as a taproot species did. He was an articulated species, and they usually had an air exchange system under their plates and could shift their plates to “hold” their breath for long periods of time by trapping air and maximizing gas exchange.

They were best killed by drowning. It was not quick, but it was inevitable for almost all articulated.

The flickering, colorful lights slid off the carved valleys of the Site Master”s telltale markings. One marking, however, appeared to be missing.

The Site Master swerved between two buildings into a dark alley. Ahane caught himself before he hesitated. Some patrons moved in the shadows, and the Site Master”s tap-tap-tap tempo changed to a quicker trill.

The shadows faded.

Another narrow, short alley opened up onto a loading dock and a large metal door illuminated by a single bar light. Beyond that was the back of the site, where ships in varying states of repair waited. Some of the ships looked intact and flyable. Others, farther out, seemed to be carcasses that had been picked clean of everything useful.

The Site Master tapped a quick sequence on the door’s panel, then gestured with his forelegs to Ahane.

Ahane pressed his claw to it. Another jolt from faulty wiring.

The door ground open, and they stepped into a large airlock.

Hissssssss.

The interior door slid open onto a small, dark kitchen that stank of dirty oil, a dozen different molds and fungus, rotting vegetable matter, and other scents a kitchen should never have. His boots stuck to whatever thin, mysterious substance coated the floor.

The kitchen opened via a horizontal opening behind one counter to the small eatery, which was a counter with several stools and a few tables along windows so covered in yellow oil-grime that it diffused the already hazy exterior light.

The kitchen, aside from being small and dirty, did appear to have everything he’d expect: griddle, oven, large boiling stand, washing station, counter for preparing food, implements hanging from hooks along the ceiling, and a walk-in unit that had a mixture of good and rotting food.

“You will cook what is shipped in.” The Site Master”s silky chittering made the hide under his scales itch. “I hope you are sufficiently versatile.”

Translation: you will cook whatever I am able to procure. “Given the condition of the dining room, I don’t need to be versatile to please your patrons.”

Chittering laughter. “I look forward to seeing how long you survive, 25XA. Perhaps you will even earn your first pay. Shower facilities are,” he swung his legs in one direction, “they are shared and timed. Your assistant will share your time. Sleeping arrangements are there,” another swing of his legs, this time towards a small door behind the dry goods shelf. “The rest I am certain you can figure out on your own.”

The Site Master tapped away.

“Wait,” Ahane said.

A trill of inquiry.

“My assistant,” Ahane said, “how will she get in or out?”

“I was expecting one, Cook. I will only accommodate one.”