Thanks as always to my beta readers 29wordsforsnow and Mal_Bey.
Ensign Fisher slammed down the shot as Crewmen Barnett and Strumm egged him on.
"Christ!" he splutted. "What the fuck is this?"
"Ethanol plus water," said Barnett, with a shrug.
"I didn't come a hundred light-years just to drink hobo juice. No offence to our hosts, but this bar sucks."
"Quit your blethering. This'll get us intoxicated without killing us. You'll soon learn that's a win on any alien planet, believe me." said Strumm. "There's not enough of us coming through here for it to be worth the locals' while to learn how to brew for humans properly."
Barnett piled on as well. "If it was fine spirits you were after, you should have signed onto a ship bound for the Isle of Islay, not Grangesia Prime. Besides, we didn't come here for its drinks menu. Get an eyeful of the talent. They've got girls from every corner of the galaxy."
The ensign turned his attention back to the stage. There were about twenty girls on it, dancing around poles, though the definition of dancing and the definition of girl varied wildly depending on which planet they were from. He'd done extensive research on his bunk during his off-duty hours and he regarded the ladies with the eye of the amateur but enthusiastic bird-watcher out to identify every species by its markings and its call. He was so engrossed that he was only vaguely aware of an argument starting up behind him.
("Quadrant...Not corner...It's a double spiral, it doesn't have corners...Girls from every quadrant of the galaxy...yes, people used to talk about the four corners of the Earth and that was a sphere, but they were wrong then just as you're wrong now...Well it well may be pedantic, but I think someone who's taking an advanced astro-navigation exam next week should strive to get these things correct...yes, I am going to look at the titties now, thank you.")
He started with the easiest. The Grangesians themselves had flaps of skin that made even their most nubile women look like strip-tease night at a retirement home for the formerly super-obese. Instead of the hour-glass, they'd always seen the pyramid as the ideal female form. They didn't so much dance around the pole as tap out a warning in Morse code against it. They were a hard pass obviously.
"I think the tall one is giving you the eye," said Barnett, joining him and giving the rookie a nudge. It was Fisher's first tour and this was the first real alien planet they'd stopped at. Everything else had been colony worlds or Remura science outposts. He'd managed to hook up with a Remuran girl at one of their cultural events. P'Nia had been cute and fun, but she was also not substantially different from a human woman once he'd gotten over the nose and the laugh. Tonight was his chance to sail in more exotic oceans.
Next to the lone Grangesians were the Tallians, who were out in force. That made sense this close to the border. They were a fierce warrior people. Denizens of the 'dating' forums he'd gone to for his information about shore leave had stressed two important tips. The first was that it was vital when engaging their services to always pay for the cheapest, most basic service. That way you merely got an exhausting workout rather than a battle to the death. On the stage, two Tallians were engaging in a ritualized bout, thrusting and clashing their blades together while keeping the other hand on the pole at all times. It was intended to be a playful display, but the smaller of the two women was already bleeding in several places across her arms. That was the other piece of advice -- watch these fights carefully and always pick up the loser. If they started tired and injured, you stood a better chance of walking out of the bedroom afterwards.
"If you're fancy your chances," said Strumm indicating the pair of combatants, "Remember how I told you about that time me and Peterson from the Tailwind teamed up two against one and we still ended up in the Medilab. Runt like you? Forget about it."
Fisher snorted. That's how they got you. The more experienced crew members were always trying to make the newbie look a fool and insulting your masculinity was often the fastest way to goad you into doing something stupid.
Near the back of the dance floor, more enveloping a pole than dancing around was a Wenther - her skin gyrating like a whirlpool. The Wenther were interesting because, although they were always basically humanoid in shape, they had no bones and instead were kept together by some kind of bizarre force at the cellular level. This meant that they could create new holes and appendages of any size and shape anywhere on their bodies. This sounded amazing on paper. The downsides were they didn't really understand passion or fun as other species did and every part of their skin tasted slightly of spicy ear-wax. As a result, they had a dedicated, but decidedly niche set of followers. The comments Fisher had read had tended to use the word 'gloopy' a lot.
"Is the Captain going to get us some replacement grav-plates? We must have been running at 0.85 at best all the way since Lanstar. I told him - we should be lighter on Grangsia than on the ship, not heavier. He claims not to feel it..." His more galaxy-weary colleagues continued talking shop next to him as he soaked in the atmosphere.
There were even some human girls - former slave girls, no doubt. Their ancestors would had been abducted by the Grangesians decades maybe even centuries before mankind had mastered interstellar travel and made official first contact themselves. Ancient history now, of course, but as the most senior member of the party, Barnett would be duty bound to slip them a digital contact card later in case they wanted to be repatriated. It was unlikely. Their skin already had that golden sheen that spending generations in the Grangesia atmosphere produced. Earth meant nothing to them. It meant something to Ensign Fisher and their bare breasts and barely covered asses still looked like a hell of a lot like home to him. If they'd told him they could also bake his mom's apple pie, he'd have been ready to marry one or both of them on the spot. He sighed. It was unlikely that either of them even knew what an apple was.
Barnett and Strumm wouldn't let him off the hook so easily anyway. He was here to have an out-of-world experience. It was all they'd talked about for the last three weeks. He'd kind of just assumed an Yvanit would be working tonight. Alien enough but not too alien and female in all the right ways. He'd even spent a couple of evening memorizing Yvany chat-up lines and could competently complement seven distinct shades of plumage without relying on the translation pin too much. It looked like that had been a complete waste of his time. His comfort zone was going to have to be expanded several thousand parsecs.
He turned back to his comrades and indicated his empty glass. "How much of this lab-produced hooch do you need to go blind?"
"Another two or three shots should do it," replied Barnett.
"Great. I'm buying," replied Fisher. Like males of all species throughout known space and time, he assumed his options would look better after a few more drinks. He flashed a note at the bartender and got another round lined up. The Grangesians mostly used digital payments like most advanced societies, but they still had a highly-specialized entertainment industry that valued the non-tracability that paper money provided and their government still kept some of it around.
It was as he downed the third shot of paint stripper that he saw her. The office door was ajar and she was back there arguing with the manager about something. It wasn't till she stormed out on stage that he got a good look at her. He liked what he saw, but he had absolutely no idea what he was looking at. That wasn't surprising, maybe. The Remura claimed to have documented over ten thousand sentient species in the parts of the galaxy their ships had reached and even they had only begun to scratch the surface.
She was about five-foot five, a reassuringly human height. She was bald, but Fisher was quickly realizing that alien hair on an alien species was often more off-putting than it was attractive, so that wasn't necessarily a negative. No ears either, at least not the protruding type on the side of her head. There were a set of ridges around her forehead, as though it were dough and someone had pressed their thumb into it every couple of centimetres. She was topless and the skin around her chest was of a slightly different shade, reddish brown rather than purple, but otherwise she had no indication of breasts or indeed nipples anywhere. Still, Fisher was sure she was female. It was the walk. Or rather the sashay.
He nudged Barnett and indicate the newcomer. Barnett whistled under his breath. "A Balaxian. What's one of those doing this far rimward?"
"Looking to make Fisher's night," said Strumm. "Grab her quick before someone else does."
Before Fisher could speak, Barnett stood up and head over to the edge of the stage, called the girl over and started a conversation. Somehow their enthusiasm blunted his. It would be wise to be cautious. It didn't look like initial negations were going to last long, so he'd better find out fast what the deal was.
"What's a Balaxian?" he asked Strumm.
"You'll find out." said his crew mate, leaning back in his chair.
"No, seriously! I've never even seen one in a picture before. You trying to set me up with some freaky alien, I need to know at least some basics. What am I in for?"
"I told you. A good time," said Strumm. Fisher's eyes didn't move off him. "A genuinely good time," he continued. "But one that will be better with no spoilers."
"She's got a penis, hasn't she? Or something worse than a penis? A collection of penises in jars which she's bitten off unsuspecting junior crewmen with the teeth in her vagina? Come on, I can see you trying not to burst out laughing."
"You'll be fine. Look, it's lower deck traditions. You might not know it yet, but an evening with a Balaxian is the reason you ventured into space. All you need to know that no-one makes the senior bridge crew without this rite of passage. So it's time for you to bravely go where we've all gone before. Look, they're heading over here. Try not to embarrass us by being so nervous you throw up will you?"
