Author's note: this story has been re-edited to bring it up to my current standards as part of an effort to make Ebooks. It features improved editing, grammar, punctuation, and also includes rewrites and expanded scenes where necessary. Please see my bio for more information.
CHAPTER 1: FRENEMIES
James downed his second shot of whiskey, trying to ignore the fumes from the cigarettes and cigars that clouded the air in the recreational facility. The haze of grey smoke swirled around the ceiling fans as they spun lazily, their dingy light illuminating rows of tables and booths, most of which were occupied. The sound of other UNN personnel and a few aliens socializing and playing pool behind him distracted him as he tried to enjoy his drink. He was new to the Pinwheel, and he had just shipped in with another two dozen recruits to undergo Marine training. After some basic orientation, he and the other recruits had been set loose into the massive space station to explore, and James had found himself alone at the bar. He'd had no direction besides for the colorful lines that were painted on the floor of the station, so he had followed the one that had promised recreation, and here he was.
It was all rather overwhelming. He had gone from the strict regimen of a planetside boot camp to being thrust into this new environment with no instructions other than to be present for roll call the next morning. This place had a different vibe, it was still a military installation by any measure, yet things felt more laid back. The people who were stationed here treated it as their home, that much was obvious from the way that they carried themselves, and the way that they interacted with each other. The fear of addressing a superior incorrectly, or doing something wrong seemed entirely absent. Marines, aliens, engineers, and even civilians mingled freely when they were off-duty. The recreational center was bustling with activity, and James felt like an outcast among them. He didn't know anybody yet, and without the structure that boot camp had provided, he felt lost.
He took another sip of his beverage and turned to watch his new colleagues, crowding their tables as they drank and ate, the murmur of a hundred overlapping conversations filling the room. Aliens and humans alike competed at games such as pool and poker, laughing riotously, or cursing at their bad luck. He watched a Marine pat the broad shoulder of his Krell companion in encouragement, the giant reptile puffing on a cigar as it lined up a shot with its pool cue, their cohorts around the table cheering as they watched the play.
Despite the mellow atmosphere in the facility, everyone wore their uniforms, variations of the same blue jumpsuits that denoted their positions in the hierarchy. There were a few standouts, engineers wearing yellow overalls, and civilians wearing casual clothes, but the room was a sea of Navy blue for the most part.
James did not yet understand the social dynamic here, people formed cliques and insular communities wherever you went, and he wasn't sure how to approach them. Logic dictated that he should make friends with some of the other recruits, there was safety in numbers, yet he seemed to be the only one who had made their way here so far.
He was alone at the bar, people came up to order drinks and food before departing, but nobody sat beside him on the vacant stools. Just as he was about to cut his losses and make his way back to the barracks, something large and heavy took up a seat to his right. He glanced up at the figure through the haze of smoke and was alarmed to see a Borealan sitting beside him.
The alien was huge, eight feet tall at least, and apparently female. Her weight was enough to depress the stool that she was sitting on, the large spring that coiled around the metal support compressing to sink her down level with the bar, apparently designed to accommodate multiple species. Her sandy-blonde hair was cut into a short bob, and a pair of round, furry ears protruded from the top of her head. She wore the same blue uniform as the other personnel, and he could make out more fur on her exposed hands, the same straw color as that of her hair. Her fingers were tipped with black claws, making her look like she was wearing novelty monster gloves. Her long, digitigrade legs gave her away as truly alien, however. They were furred like her hands, ending in paw-like feet, the alien foregoing shoes. From a hole in the back of her Navy uniform trailed a long, furry tail that flicked idly as she shifted her weight to get comfortable. There was no fur on her face, which was remarkably human in appearance, save for the flat brow and the pink, feline nose. Her skin was a healthy tan color, her eyes a striking amber, reflecting the light in the dimly-lit bar like those of a cat.
James had been informed about Borealans, or rather warned. They were members of the multi-species Coalition to which the UNN belonged, and they were allied with humanity in the war against the Bugs. They were notoriously ill-tempered, and there was a whole list of
do's
and
don'ts
when it came to interacting with them, unlike the Krell who were said to be friendly to a fault.
The alien lit an e-cigarette, taking a long draw, then exhaling another cloud of smoke to join the smog that lingered in the air. James averted his gaze, not wishing to anger her, turning his attention back to his beverage. She slammed her dinner-plate sized hand down on the counter, making him jump out of his skin, the wicked talons that tipped her fingers rapping on the imitation wood.
"Barkeep,
raises the hair
."
James didn't understand the request, but soon realized that it was a drink as the bartender slid an enormous glass across the counter and into her waiting hand. She lifted the pink beverage to her lips and took a sip, then noticed that he was looking at her. A few emotions crossed her face in sequence. At first, her flat brow furrowed, and she wrinkled her feline nose at him. Then, her expression turned more sly, and she placed her drink back on the counter as she examined him with her feline eyes.
"What's this?" she purred, "fresh meat? What are you staring at, you so muddy you've never met a Borealan before?"
Muddy, a term used by those in the service and the well-traveled to refer to people who had never left the surface of a planet before, in reference to the terrestrial dirt that they liked to imagine still caked their boots. He was indeed muddy, but he didn't want to admit to that, especially not to the first person who had engaged him in conversation so far. He fought against the instinctual desire to skulk out of view of the massive predator, choosing to assert himself instead. It was perhaps ill-advised, but she couldn't do much to harm him in this crowded venue if he messed up.
"I know what a Borealan is," he replied, trying to appear more confident than he really was.
Her ears twitched, swiveling to focus on him. He wasn't quite sure what her reaction would be, but then she laughed jovially and gave him a playful punch to the arm that almost knocked him off his seat. She took another draw from her beverage, drinking around her e-cigarette in a way that he found extremely loutish.
"And what are you doing here, little recruit?" she asked. She must have noticed the rank insignia on his lapel, or rather the lack of one. "You an alcoholic, or are you just lost? Drinking alone, has to be one of the two."
She had caught him out, and he couldn't think of a way to spin his situation positively.
"Well...I'm not an alcoholic."
She chuckled at that, he seemed to be making a good impression so far. The insignia on her considerable bust identified her as a PFC, a Private First Class, not dramatically more qualified than he was. She might not have been here for much longer than he had, though she was still his superior.
"How about you?" James asked. "You're drinking alone too."
"I'm not drinking alone, I'm drinking with you."
"And what are you drinking?"
She raised the glass so that he could see it, it looked like fruit juice, pink champagne maybe.
"Raises the hair, a drink from my home planet. I can't abide that poison humans make. I want to get buzzed, not black out, and have my liver shut down."
It sounded like Borealans couldn't handle their alcohol, maybe there was some biological reason for that, but he suspected that
raises the hair
was little more than fruit punch.
"So why did you come to the bar?" she continued, taking another puff of her cigarette. "Most of the new recruits end up in the tourist quarter, or they hang around the barracks because they're too scared to leave on their own."
"I followed the painted line on the floor, and it took me here," James replied with a shrug. "I didn't know that
