The man watched as the flames danced about the rim of the cup. They glowed an eerie green due to the high copper content and the burning helped to separate the metal from the strong alien liquor, penny-colored globules sinking to the bottom of the tall silica glass. Buyers of 'Aldarian Sunrise' were advised to not consume the last third of the drink to avoid heavy metal poisoning that would take years off one's life. Most chose to ignore the warning due to how many creds the drink cost but Gabriel Proudstar was not one of them. Lord knows he'd had enough years taken off his life already.
When the flames had died to but a thin band, he puffed them out and sat back to wait for the heated rim to cool. No sense adding to the scars already present around the right side of his mouth, hidden beneath the thick beard he sported.
"Heads up, Skip."
The Terran turned his head toward the shadows at the end of the table, feeling the scarred skin tug at the muscles of his neck. The only telltale sign of the presence of Krone, his felinoid navigator, were a set of slitted yellow eyes, the rest of his massive bulk hidden by jet black fur. There was a flicker of green iridescence as the eyes panned toward the bar area. He followed the inhuman gaze and spotted her almost immediately.
It was a native Huks girl and judging by her attire, a working one, her barely there dress leaving little to the imagination. Her hair was a near platinum dye job that clashed heavily with the emerald green of so much exposed skin. She flitted from table to table like a verdant hummingbird in search of nectar, the nectar in this case being cheap Huksian wine and perhaps a trick or two. And as she fluttered up to their table, Proudstar could tell she had indulged in both recently, the stench of boozed up sex wafting over him.
"Care to buy me a drink, Spaceman?" she asked in a husky voice, her breasts hanging before him like a pair of tightly packed green mangoes. She spoke Huksian, a language that for some reason his subdermal translator always picked up as heavy Cockney English.
"Scram, Dollface. Private party," he replied in Galactic, though the translator was still able to carry over his strong Welsh accent into the alien tongue.
The girl shrugged her bare shoulders and turned to the next table to parrot her request. And despite not being interested, Proudstar couldn't help but admire her shapely ass as she sauntered off. From across the table came a gurgling sound and it took his translator a few extra seconds to decipher the much more complex language of his gelinoid engineer, Eugene.
"Nice ass."
Proudstar turned to look at the gelatinous blue mass across from him, watching as it took a sip of its drink. Though perhaps sip wasn't the word for it. Absorbed was more like, a thin pseudopod stretching into the glass to slurp up the liquid like some translucent elephant's trunk. The rest of Eugene was equally as translucent, looking for all the world like a giant man-sized gelatin mold. Proudstar stared at the two orbs he always thought of as eyes even though they floated near what would have been his chest as he addressed the blob's comment.
"How would you know? Your people don't have asses."
"I've been around you solids long enough to know a nice hindquarter when my receptors perceive one," replied the blob with a quivering of his head mass to indicate amusement. The solidly built human managed a half smile as he raised his glass.
"A toast. To nice asses. May they be forever nice to look at but stay the hell away from our ugly mugs."
They clinked glasses and downed their respective drinks, the tinkle of copper pellets reminding Proudstar not to take too deep a draft of his. The crew had reason to celebrate. They had just completed a successful delivery of Nordian sea slugs aboard their freighter, The Miranda. The payment had barely been worth the near month it had taken to complete. Nordian sea slugs are notoriously sensitive to subspace fields so they had had to stick to gravitic drive for most of the journey. Then the tariffs and fees has eaten further into the profits. But in the end, they had been left with a few creds lining their pockets, a better state than they had started out in.
As they sat back to let the gut rot settle in, Proudstar had a glance about the lounge. The Star Dust was your typical dive masquerading as a reputable establishment that one could find just about anywhere on the planet Huks, their current port of call. Criminals, outlaws and refugees from dozens of worlds crowded the dimly lit booths and tables. The clinking of glasses mingled with the occasional grumble of aggression, hands and claws never too far away from a blaster or knife. Call girls from nearly as many races helped to keep the peace but only so long as the creds kept flowing freely.
The Huks girl was among them, now seated next to a fresh faced Terran in the crisp silver uniform of the Galactic Space Service, a rare sight this far into the outer rim. As Proudstar watched out of the corner of his eye, the man whispered something into the girl's ear and with a sly smile, her platinum head disappeared into his lap. Judging by the look on the man's face, she was quite talented and Proudstar frowned thinking that perhaps he should have offered her that drink. At least then he'd be able to get some long overdue action that didn't involve the use of a cortical stimulator. But then the sight of the GSS uniform only sought to remind him of why he couldn't partake of such indulgences and he took another sip of his drink.
The lights in the lounge dimmed at that moment. All eyes, both stalked and non, turned as a reddish light illuminated the far stage. A small, dark cloaked figure parted the curtains and hovered to center stage. After a beat, a small and slender hand emerged from beneath the heavy drape, reaching for the clasp at the neck. And when with musically accompanied flourish, the heavy cloak dropped away. Proudstar felt his pulse began to throb the gnarled skin of his neck as he eyed the revealed beauty.
Even in the red of the spotlight, she was unmistakably Terran or at least from that system, perhaps Mars or Ganymede judging by her facial structure and shoulder to hip ratio. He watched as her slight but well-proportioned frame began to shift about the stage, undulating to the slow throbbing undertones of some alien music.
Her hair was long and black, almost whiplike about her bare shoulders. Her dark eyes smoldered as they scanned the front row, her face an inscrutable mask, a muted smile on her dark red lips. The two-piece dress she wore was made of metal cloth but so finely spun as to be almost gauzelike. The strapless halter clung to her creamy white breasts as if held up by some force unknown to science while the vee shaped skirt accentuated a slender waist that spread into sensual, generous hips. Her arms were bare save for a fine filigree of wire that followed the contours of muscle and glinted wildly in the light as she wove intricate patterns to the beat of the music.
The tempo at once increased and she alighted from the stage, the light following her as she moved from table to table. Her body twisted, hands twirled, brushing against but barely touching one patron after another. Proudstar felt the rising sexual tension of the crowd as they watched her prowl through their midst, her dark eyes intent upon searching out something or perhaps someone.
At last, they seemed to find their quarry: him. Those smokey eyes pinned him to his seat as she wove her way towards him, her movements lithe as a cat. He fought to look away but found that he could not, the motions almost a hypnotic lure.
The music swelled now to a near tribal beat as she came to stand before him. Her body writhed in an erotic display; her eyes locked with his. She was no longer dancing for the crowd but for him, her movements enticing, sultry and provocative. Proudstar's hands began to shake, his breathing became laborious as his eyes remained transfixed upon her.
All at once the music reached a cymbal accompanied crescendo. The girl spun, falling back into his lap, his hands catching her supple frame. She lifted her head under his lips as if seeking a kiss, a hand running through his dark hair. And just before contact, the spotlight cut out.
Swiftly the girl stood, turning to him with her face once unreadable. Without another word, she swung away, disappearing into the crowd as the lights came back up, leaving the spacer with a throbbing in both his chest and groin.
Proudstar felt eyes upon him, some of them envious, some with recognition. As he scanned the faces, many turned away. He had a reputation here from his time with the GSS and he wondered how many grudges were seated around him just waiting for an excuse to collect.
But what really bothered him was the girl. She had for sure recognized him, though he had never met her before. He would certainly have remembered a body like that. He'd always had a nose for trouble and the way the girl had eyed him made his skin crawl more than it usually did. He shot a mental blast at the telepathic Krone to be alert for trouble. And as if on cue, up she walked.
It was the raven-haired girl again. She now wore street clothes though even these showed a healthy amount of skin. The clear plastic half jacket did little to hide the blue satin corset that now hugged her curves, her hips covered by a matching, split-thigh mini skirt. Her hair was now up, the long strands curled into tight coils about her scalp in a style popular this side of the colonies. But it was the eyes that dominated. For instead of those dark eyes that had peered into his soul moments before, they were now an invitingly vivid blue and as she blinked, he could detect the shimmer of multi-chromatic lenses.
"Mind if I join you gentlemen?" she asked in a voice that flowed like warm honey even through the din of the translator circuits. Not that he had had need of it, for she had spoken English, a language he had not heard uttered in a long time.
