Outcast Read Free

highs.
    There was nowhere to sit, so Lan leaned against the wall, watching the gates for Prez. The picture and bio supplied by the agency were obviously out of date. The captain looked no older than a teenager even though he was listed as thirty-eight years old; brown-faced and grinning with a dimple in his left cheek and a thick mop of ink black hair. He wore jewelry too -- a tiny ring in his ear and another in his eyebrow. A diamond glinted on the side of his nose, and it looked as if some exotic flowering plant was blooming at the base of his throat. Lan had heard that some races liked to decorate their skin with pictures and wondered what it felt like to touch one. Prez's Akilian genes manifested solely in the burnt orange irises that stared out of the photograph, his eyes the only part of his face that the smile didn't touch. Lan had stared at the picture for a long time, forced to admit that the captain's alien appearance was... engaging.
    Just above the piped music, there came the sound of bawdy singing and laughter. The automatic doors shifted aside and two figures emerged, arm in arm, almost incapable of walking. He recognized Prez instantly. His first impression of the other was that he was Akilian, but when he threw back his head and laughed Lan noticed that his tongue was smooth and rounded at the end, not forked as it should have been. The two of them clutched their bellies and laughed helplessly, and even the Andran customs officials looked confused for a moment. Then the tallest official stood up, tossed his ponytail over his shoulder and glared at the laughing men.
    "Hey there, ku-tah ! Papers please."
    Prez's grin faded for a moment. He hauled a pack off his back and dumped a thick wad of papers onto the table, then got on his knees and kissed the floor at the Andran's feet. " Blit an Ikarber !" he cried, then repeated the salutation two more times.
    The customs official looked mortified for a second, and he sat back down, blushing white like a moon. " Ikarber , Prez," he muttered, while Prez's companion dissolved into silent giggles and had to lean against the wall to catch his breath. Lan's sharp nose detected the scent of alcohol, and he was shocked. They were drunk? And yet... the clever shift from the Common language and manipulation of Andran politeness conventions had ensured that the disgraced official would speed things along nicely.
    When the paperwork was finally done, they linked arms again and staggered on, saluting the officials while their shoulders shook with mirth. Lan stepped forward.
    "Captain Prez of the Outcast ?" he said, and then paused as the two sets of dark orange eyes turned to him. Should he offer his hand? Kiss some part of Prez's body? All he'd read about the common greetings of the inhabitants of the Belaar-Andra system went out of his mind, leaving it as blank as Prez's stare. He cleared his throat and kept his arms at his side. "I am Lanfellian Satal, son of Lanfellian of the houses of Filakor." After a brief hesitation, he opened his mouth to continue telling them his name, but then thought better of it. Perhaps they didn't want to wait two hours for him to finish; their eyes were already glazed.
    "Prez." The captain smiled, but his gaze was focusing on a spot that hovered somewhere over Lan's shoulder, and he didn't offer his hand. "And this is my good friend, Doctor Al-Mah."
    "Just call me Doc, everyone does." A gust of alcoholic giggles made Lan's nose wrinkle. "Must say, it's a pleasure to meet someone from Aldor at last. Fascinating place, by all accounts. Which continent?"
    Lan was surprised. "Southern." He felt the doctor's arm linking in his and forced himself not to recoil at the contact.
    "Fascinating," Doc said again. He spoke as if his tongue was too thick for his mouth. As they walked back toward security, he paused and drained the last drops from his flask. "Never pupped an Aldorian," he said. "Have you, Prez?"
    "Pupped?"
    Prez laughed. "Doc's obsessed with sex,