Beauty and the Alien Beast

Chapter One

Lautyr

I’ve been on a lot of different vessels, most of them military, and this is the first one where the mess hall has a wooden dining table. Not only that, it’s the first mess hall to feature tasteful green and white table cloths, and paintings of pastoral scenes from a number of worlds. Of course, my home world isn’t depicted as it’s a Coalition planet, but I don’t mind. I have no good memories of that place regardless.

When I say that the tablecloth is green and white, I must perhaps be more specific. It appears as those shades to human, Vakutan, or Pi’rell eyes but it is not so to mine. My vision is vastly superior by comparison, and I can detect different shades which to other eyes would be dominated by the prevailing green and white. Also, my third eye in the center of my forehead picks up infrared and ultraviolet light, as well as thermal imaging. So I can see the red spot on the table where our chef, Xana, accidentally placed a hot pan for a split second before realizing her error.

I’m sitting at the far end of the table, a spare seat between me and the next closest sapient being. My companion Jave sits in the seat opposite, acting as a bridge between us, the last of Goro’s old crew, and the Penetrators, whom we have unofficially joined.

Next to Jave sits Zylan, our crack Alzhon pilot with his garishly bright shirt. To other eyes it’s annoying, but to mine it’s almost painful to behold. I am told my crew mates suffer much the same but on a metaphysical level. His eyes glitter with open avarice as Xana places a plate full of bright purple Gerra berries in wine sauce. Zylan’s companion animal, Kleid, sits on his shoulder cleaning its antennae with serrated forelimbs.

Dr. Minvera Modine sits by his side, actively conversing with the hulking blue Odex seated next to her. I’m not comfortable around this Odex, whose name is Haru, because Goro was my friend and he bears a strong resemblance to his brother. The Odex’s massive paw delicately holds the much smaller hand of Victoria Santos, formerly a chief coder for the AMD corporation and now the Penetrator’s computer officer. She’s also engaged to Haru, and Modine herself is married to Zylan. It’s a real family affair on this ship, except of course for myself and Jave.

Next to Victoria Santos, is her half Pi’rell, half human sister Jyt’Lei. She’s a former spy and monk from a mysterious order on her planet. I’ve studied her fighting style intensely, because she is a true master. She also functions as Comm officer, but seems to fill a lot of other roles unofficially as well.

Next to Jyt, at the head of the table, sits the commander of the ship Gurtal. He reaches to grab one of the Gerra berries but Xana slaps his hand. You might wonder how a frail human woman would dare to slap the hand of a Vakutan, until you learn that she’s his wife and the mother of the cooing infant sitting in a booster chair next to his father.

“Wait until every dish is on the table before serving, Gurtal.”

He arches an eyebrow, not sure if he should be annoyed or amused but settling on amused. Xana, victorious, turns her attention to her task, setting some orange root vegetables on the table. I think they’re native to her planet but I’m not sure.

“Those look good.” Jave licks his lips as he beholds the orange vegetables.

“Have you ever had sweet potatoes, Jave?” Xana smiles sweetly as she asks, and even puts a hand on the Grolgath’s shoulder.

“I don’t know, maybe.” He shakes his head, brow furrowing in confusion.

“Don’t pester him, Xana.” Zylan points his fork at her. “You know he has amnesia.”

“Funny, I don’t remember having amnesia.”

The table erupts into laughter and Jave grins. It seems as if he’s beginning to get along with our new crew. Myself, I feel somewhat of an outsider.

This is familiar territory for me. I’ve always felt like an outsider, even among my own people.

No, especially among my own people.

The last dish is served and the crew gratefully digs into the feast. It’s a scrumptious meal, but I find myself picking at it like a petulant child. When Goro was alive, my life had direction. I was part of his crew, the weapons tech, the stalker who excelled at ‘roaching’, the art of moving without being seen. I had a purpose, though it was as a wretched exile living on the barbaric and violent world of Gur.

Now, though, I feel like a bit of flotsam moved by the solar winds, with no clear direction.

The sound of cutlery scraping over plates blends with the hum of conversation and the ever present throb of the ship’s engines powering the many devices which keep us alive while drifting through the vacuum of space. Much of the food is gone, with most of the crew taking second helpings, and I still have not finished my first portion when Gurtal gets a call on his comm device.

“Do you have to bring that thing to the table?” Xana purses her lips and frowns as Gurtal squints at the text on his display screen.

“It’s for work,” he mumbles. Suddenly Gurtal seems very intense. He stiffly stands up from the table and bangs his fork on the plate to get everyone’s attention.

“I need all my senior staff to the bridge, right now.”

“What?” Zylan looks sincerely hurt. “But we haven’t had the dessert course yet.”

“And it’s Karudian sack pie,” Jave adds.

Gurtal jabs a finger at the Grolgath and snarls.

“You’re a member of the Penetrators now. These are the sacrifices you have to make.”

Then he, Haru, Jyt, Zylan, and Jave march for the door. Zylan stops at the last moment and points at me.

“What about him? The low tear guy?”

“Forget him,” Gurtal snarls. “You can’t trust a Shorcu.”

Xana gasps and puts her hands on her hips, mouth open to begin a tongue lashing of her husband but the door slides shut behind him before she gets a chance. She comes to my side and sits down next to me and places her hand on my knee. I flinch at the contact, but she keeps her hand where it is.

“Lautyr, I’m so sorry about his behavior. Believe me, my husband and I are going to have a talk tonight and he’s going to apologize as well. Bank on it.”

“It’s all right, Miss Uurtu.” I awkwardly pat her hand in the manner I’ve seen the others do. Displays of affection of any kind are taboo on my home world. “Given our people’s history, I don’t blame Gurtal for his prejudices. Many of them are warranted.”

Xana nods and stands up to begin cleaning up dinner. I join her in the effort, which earns me a beaming smile.

“I will admit, the Shorcu I have met have all chilled me to the bone. Very cold, emotionless. But you’re not like the rest of them, are you? There’s something…different in your eyes.”

I carry a stack of plates to the sonic sink and place them under the emitter array. One twist of the dial and the low frequency waves scour the foodstuffs away like magic.

“There is. I am what is known in our tongue as Tariuh, a victim of a rare mutation.”

“Tariuh? What does that mean?”

I look her dead in the eye, deciding not to hide my shame from this kind woman.

“One who cries.”

“One who…I think I understand. I take it that your society doesn’t exactly put Tariuh up on pedestals?”

“That is an understatement. Those of us who are useful to the Ataxian machine are allowed to serve, those that are not are executed to avoid diluting our racial purity.”

“So because you have the capacity to feel emotions you’re an outcast?” Xana shakes her head. “That’s just crazy.”

“Perhaps by your own race’s standards, but to the Shorcu that is simply life.”

“Well, it’s not right. Not at all.”

She hands me another stack of plates and I place them in the sink with a clink.

“I should correct you a bit. It’s not that my people don’t feel emotions—they are quite selfish and care for their own pleasure—they simply are unable to feel sympathy or empathy for another sapient being.”

Xana’s eyes narrow.

“An entire planet of psychopaths? That doesn’t—what about family? Surely even the Shorcu care about their family, their mate and their children?”

I grin and turn on the sonic emitters to clean the plates.

“Shorcu care for their mates the least of all. It’s a business arrangement to provide heirs, with fertile females selling their services to the highest bidder. Once the children are born, there is little contact and no warmth between the sexes.”

“That’s terrible, Lautyr. I’m glad you got away from all that. You didn’t belong there.”

I pause with a pair of drinking vessels in my hands.

“I think that sometimes I don’t belong any where at all.”

Xana gasps and puts her hand on my shoulder.

“You belong here, Lautyr.”

I appreciate her sentiment, but I’m not certain I share it. Both of our gazes are drawn to the door when it slides open with a soft hiss. Gurtal sees her standing there close to me with a hand on my shoulder. His gaze narrows, but I can’t tell if he’s jealous—a foolhardy point of view given I have no interest sexually in his wife and she has none in me—or just prejudiced against me for my species.

“You.” He points his finger at me. “I need to talk to you. Now.”