A Whore at Dread Harbor Ch. 04

Author's Note: This is the latest choice for Dread Harbor's CYOA. As such, moving forward Literotica readers will also have the ability to vote on what happens next! Vote in the comments section below!

Previous Choice:

Agree to help Her

Deckard sighed, staring at his thumbs for a long moment. How had he managed to get himself roped into this mess? He had a quiet life, a peaceful job and his own starship. A smarter man might have declined, or told Corani to find a better solution.

But Deckard couldn't bring himself to say no to Corani. The same empathy that had made him intervene ten years ago to save her from chemical mind-death now prevented him from backing down.

Still, the decision was agonizing.

At last the old soldier glanced up from his distant reverie. Corani's modified eyes were fixed to him, the Catian waiting with bated breath for his answer to her impossible question. He flashed his friend a grim smile.

"Just like old times, little mouse." He said, popping open his thumb to light a second cigarette. He took a heavy drag and snapped his finger closed, wafting away the smoke that hung about his face like budding storm clouds.

Corani was thrilled. "Deckard... you have no idea what this means to me."

"Of course I do." Deckard said. "Yeh-Aji-Tah." Alone, we are prey.

Corani beamed, flashing her fangs at him. "Sho-Aji-Jin." Together, we are one.

"Never thought I'd have to say those words to you again in my lifetime." Deckard said, stretching out in the chair as he resolved himself to this foolish pursuit.

"I never forgot them, Lieutenant." Corani said in an earnest tone. "It's like you always used to say: Soldiers need a mantra."

Deckard sad smile gave voice to the bleak feeling in his chest. "We're not soldiers anymore, little mouse. No cavalry is coming to the rescue if we fuck it up this time."

"We won't need it." She responded. "You're the cavalry."

Deckard chuckled at the notion, "Goddess, it really is that bad, isn't it?" Now that he had accepted his fate, he felt a strange lightness with his movements. He took a short drag from his cigarette and held the breath in, thinking for a moment.

"What kind of facility are we walking into?" He asked.

Corani's smile fell. "An old moonbase outpost. Likely Human in origin, though we're talking several hundred years in the past. The old Triumvirate government used to use these things as rest and refueling stations for long-distance exploration missions, before the Civil War."

"...So the Gobbos took over an intergalactic truck stop?" Deckard chuckled.

Corani nodded. "Essentially. The layout has clearly been modified and added onto by the Goblins. We have no idea how long they've been there, nor how deep underground it goes."

"Old station means old technology." Deckard grunted, "No shielding, probably a lot more blast doors too. It's gonna be tricky navigating down there with anything approaching stealth."

"The Geneticist's team mentioned something to that effect." Corani said. "The surface of the base itself is divided into three main hubs separated by automated tram systems, with a number of tertiary buildings and hab-blocks scattered on the periphery."

"Can you get me a schematic?" Deckard asked.

"Not a precise one." Corani said, shrugging. "Like I said, the structure is old. Half a millennia at least. I'm not exactly brushed up on my ancient architecture."

"Send me what you can, and get me a crew manifest of your salvage team as well." Deckard let out a contemplative hum. "If things have gone south on that base, we'll need to leave immediately if we want to find any survivors. Tonight, if we can manage it. Tomorrow at the latest."

He took another hit off his cigarette. "We'll need weaponry. Breach charges, tactical armor, light-visors, and whatever firearms you are comfortable with. At least a carbine and two sidearms, preferably."

Corani's eyes flashed a devious orange, "I can get you what you need... assuming you don't care where it comes from."

"I don't." Deckard said. "Forward the monthly reports the salvage team sent you to my ship as well, I'm going to try to pin down where in the base they'd have likely made it to before they went dark."

"Of course, Deckard."

Deckard took another drag, his mind racing from the nicotine rush. "...Get me everything you have about your 'geneticist' too while you're at it. That includes the wanted poster - I know you have it. I want to look over her files to see if we can figure out what her plan was moving into the facility."

"Do you intend to make a citizen's arrest, Lieutenant?" Corani asked, perching a leg upon her knee with coquettish flair. She smirked at him.

Deckard expelled the air from his lungs, "No. I'm planning for eventualities. We don't know what made your team go silent; only that they did. A rogue gene-splicer going off the reservation is just one possibility."

"I'll make the necessary arrangements." Corani said, letting out a sigh. "Goddess, just hearing you talk makes me feel ten times better about all of this."

"It shouldn't." Deckard said, "The last time I was allowed to make the call, a lot of good people died."

Corani's face softened, her modified body profiled like a ghost in front of the flickering light of the security cameras. "It wasn't your fault, Deckard."

"A choice is still a choice, Corani." Deckard responded, glancing away from her. "I'll never know one way or another if I made the right one when I called in the assault teams, but I know that a lot of good friends died because of it."

"You saved this station, Deckard." She said.

"No one ever really 'saves' anything, little mouse." Deckard retorted, putting out his cigarette and standing to his feet. "Now come on: we don't have much time."

"Hold on," Corani said, standing to her feet. "The Loupians think I'm chewing you out in here. We can't just leave without it looking like you got the message."

Deckard smirked, raising an eyebrow. "...Do you intend to take a swing at me? I'm ugly enough without adding a fresh shiner on my eye."

Corani rolled her eyes, "You're such a grunt, Deckard. Not every lock needs to be smashed to get it open."

Corani furrowed her brow, letting out a small gasp of pain as her body warped once more. Her hair lengthened, shifting back to snow white with a red streak. her ears shrank into dainty tips while her body filled out, her waist narrowing into almost doll-like proportions. She was back to playing the busty temptress.

Corani opened her eyes, her irises rippling with color. She smirked, circling the table with a seductive sway. She brushed up against Deckard, running a finger along his shoulder line. Her eyes followed the trail of her wandering fingertip for a moment, before her gaze flicked up to meet his.

"We just had a frank discussion, you and I. I made it clear that you were a troublemaker, and you made it clear you didn't care. After a lively little debate, you realized I wasn't going to back down, that if you pushed me any further I would bring in my boys to beat you senseless and heave you naked and penniless into the lower levels of Dread Harbor, along with the rest of the drek."

She circled him, drawing her finger across the back of Deckard's duster coat. "...You were intrigued by me, this exotic creature who dared to challenge the deadly gunslinger. You reconsidered, and asked me how much I cost for the night. I gave you a high number." Corani flashed her fangs at him, "-It wasn't high enough to deter you."

Corani extended her arm. Deckard stiffened. She indicated with her head, her eyes flashing a sly, green color. "Shall we?"

Deckard chuckled, taking her by the arm like a would-be suitor. Corani opened the door, and together the two walked out, arm in arm headed for the front of the bar.

"All's good boss?" Rez the Loupian bouncer asked as he fell in behind them. Corani cast a cool glance back over her shoulder at her hulking minion.

"All good, Rez. I straightened him up quick enough." Corani's eyes trailed to Deckard and her lips curled into a condescending smile. "He even 'volunteered' to buy the deluxe package with me tonight. Seems this cutie was looking for more action than the Wellion Crusaders could offer, hm?"

She reached out and stroked a line down Deckard's cheek with her finger, the tip of her claw curling across his stubble. "I'll be on the clock for the rest of the evening. Keep an eye on things till I'm back, will you Rez?"

"Will do, Ma'am." The bulky Loupian growled. His cold gaze turned to Deckard. "Did you want an escort?" He asked, glaring at the gunslinger with a look of undisguised dislike.

"Oh, I don't think I'll need one with this big, strong fellow watching my back..." Corani's voice took on a sultry coo. She leaned her lips up to Deckard's ear, making a great show of pursing her lips as if going for a kiss.

"You'll keep me safe, won't you sweetheart?" She whispered, loud enough for Rez to hear.

"I think I can manage." Deckard replied, reaching his arm around her waspish waist and pulling her tight against him. Corani giggled with glee, slipping a hand into the back pocket of his pants. Her white tail wrapped around his waist. She winked at Rez.

"We'll be fine. I'll keep the comms open so you can listen in on our... deep conversations."

Rez shifted back and forth on his heels, suddenly hesitant to look either of them in the eyes. "That - won't be necessary, Ma'am. Have a good evening."

Corani chuckled in a bedroom voice. She wiggled her fingers as she waved him goodbye. "See you tomorrow, Rez. Tell your boys they fuck half price tonight."

Rez grinned with a mouth full of canines. "Thank you, Ma'am!"

"I'm feeling generous." She purred, pulling Deckard along in her wake as they headed out the bar together. She waited till they were out in the thoroughfare, surrounded by the bustle of the crowd before glancing up in Deckard's direction.

"Well done." Corani murmured, leaning close and settling against Deckard's side. She did not let go of his arm. They looked for all the world like a whore and her customer taking an intimate stroll. "You don't mind if we keep this up a little while longer? Eyes are watching us."

Deckard cast a cocky smile down at her. "...Who's pretending?"

Corani's eyes swirled with green and yellow. "Careful, Lieutenant. A girl like me might take that as a come-on."

"Judging from your prices, I can't even afford a come-on." Deckard joked.

Corani quirked an eyebrow, steering them towards the elevator system leading deeper into Dread Harbor. "I owe you much more than a night of fun, Deckard. If you want it, just ask. You never have to pay when you're with me."

* * *

The ambiance of Corani's nightclub Abyss was everything Deckard hated about nightclubs. The incessant, thumping beat, the pulsing strobe lights, the manic music mixed with the sound of a thousand voices talking all at once. The stench of sweat and sex and drugs permeated the air like a growing sickness of the soul.

Swaying, holographic dancers lined the walls and strutted across wide screens that stretched the length and breadth of the nightclub. Their appearances shifted back and forth between race, gender and body type to suit particular customer's preferences, like some whorish version of digital roulette.

Half naked women (and more than a few men) prowled the dance floors in flashy leather uniforms, a direct parody of the skintight bodysuits the Elves wore, only skimpier, made to accentuate the curves of those who wore them. The servers busied themselves handing out drinks and dodging gropes from patrons in this nine-story ode to greed and decadence.

The nightclub itself was shaped like an inverted skyscraper, barnacled to the bottom of Dread Harbor like a vestigial growth off it's undercarriage. The central tower was hollow, ringed with booths and private suites that looked down on the central pit like some strange parody of the nine circles of hell in the ancient Human reckoning.

The place was a riot of color and noise and heat. Varkhan Dust, Megacorp-brand synthetics and Alm-No-Jai Love Flowers littered the tables of booths. Had this been Tasitov, Deckard could have arrested everyone in the building ten times over for the drug paraphernalia alone. Everywhere he looked, aliens of all shapes and sizes participated in debauched sin with one another. Humans, Dwarves, Catians, Loupians, dozens of different species of the Fae.

This was a criminal's refuge. This was where the rats went to count their guilty earnings. If there was such a thing as an origin point for all the scum of the station, this was it.

Corani lounged in her seat next to him, looking like a Queen holding court in an amorous kingdom. They sat together in her private booth on the top story, looking down on the lurid pageantry beneath as a half dozen strippers of several races danced on poles next to them, or draped themselves in lazy lines across the long couch.

One of the strippers was practically in Deckard's lap, a comely Loupian lass with long ears and a wolfish grin. She had thin fur, her blue tail a bushy bristle that whipped the floor every so often from its absent movements. She was one of the more human-looking breeds, and had been trying to get his attention for the better part of an hour. Given Deckard's Catian background, having a Loupian come onto him made him profoundly uneasy.

Corani, on the other hand, paid little attention to him at all besides a few casual gestures for the sake of optics. She kept him close, but made it seem as if she was half-bored with his presence, as if this was far from the first time she had brought a stranger to her private lounge.

They should have left for the facility already, but even a man as goal-oriented as Deckard understood the need to keep up appearances. If Corani simply disappeared with Deckard right off the bat, a number of uncomfortable questions would be asked. So, he played the part of the would-be suitor, partaking in the pleasures that his "buying" of Corani afforded him.

He did his best to blend in, relaxing on the couch, taking shots of whiskey and staring absentmindedly at the nude bodies gyrating around him. Truth be told, his thoughts were far away, drifting on a sea of memory that flowed backwards nearly a decade.

This nightclub itself hadn't existed back then, but these walls were just as caked in blood as anywhere else on the station. All this sin, all this revelry... it felt wrong. His body tensed up, old reflexes shifting his mind into fight-or-flight mode.

Corani glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes. "...This place is a safe zone, you know?" She yelled to him over the distant roar of the music. Her face was covered in blue light from the neon fixtures above. Deckard was quietly relieved to have something to distract him.

"How so?" Deckard asked, cupping his hand around his mouth so she could hear him through the din.

Corani pointed down at the dance floor in the bottommost pit of the structure. The holographic panels beneath the revelers' feet were projecting an image of the vacuum of space outside. It was unnerving to watch so many bodies dancing atop what looked like a bottomless void.

"You see that crowd of cliquey bitches down there?" Corani said. Deckard looked, spotting a large crowd of Catian women dancing in their own segregated section on a raised platform with hoverskids. Corani flicked her index finger upwards like she was trying to hit a bug, the Catian equivalent of giving the middle finger. She rolled her eyes. "That's a good portion of the family prydes that run the Aidagi Cartel."

"...And?" Deckard asked, confused.

"-And, if I were to take one step onto their turf, I'm a dead woman." Corani gave a humorless smile, acting for all the world as if that morbid fact didn't bother her. "Yet here they are: dancing and drinking - and probably fucking - in my club, at my expense. And they're doing it not a hundred feet away from a Loupian underboss who'd love nothing more than to skin the lot of them."

She gestured casually to a booth on the eighth story below them to her right, where a large, heavyset Loupian with a huge red mane lounged alongside a few snappily-dressed Loupians In suits. "His name's Otho, if you're wondering. He's in charge of the protection racket for the Loupians. The man I pay to keep my businesses running. Nice guy; he'd snap your neck if he knew what you were to me."

"Quite the colorful characters." Deckard shouted over the music.

Corani's lips twisted into a sneer. "They're pieces of shit, Deckard. But here on Dread Harbor they make the world go 'round. And the Abyss is where they all meet and greet to make sure everything keeps spinning on its proper axis."

A small red light began flashing on the corner of Corani's seat. Her head pivoted to look at it. "Well, well, well," she said, pressing the button. "Speaking of meetings..."

"Who is it?" Deckard asked.

"One of the Goverian Conglomerate's middle-management reps asking for a sit down. Probably here to chew me out for kicking the Wellion Crusaders out of my bar after your little 'incident.'" Corani smiled. "I'll take the tongue lashing, it was worth it just to see the look on Gordon's dumb face."

"...The Goverian Conglomerate?" Deckard's heart tightened. That was the same Megacorporation that had sent him running for his life after his failed tenure as a Sheriff on Tasitov. He still had a two thousand credit bounty on his head, one he'd refused on principle to ever pay off. "They a big deal on this station, then?"

"You could say that. They own the biggest share." Corani said, nodding. "Despite their... shall we say 'aggressive' asset takeover schemes, they're doing everything they can to keep the peace between the other two Megacorps. They stand to lose the most if an actual war breaks out between the factions."

"Odds are they're here to try to talk me down from kicking out the Crusaders." Corani rolled her eyes. "Their rep is an asshole. Little worm by the name of Ararat. Typical corporate PR: they think just cause he's a Catian, I'll take a liking to him." She made a face.

Deckard's blood ran cold. Ararat... he knew that name.

Ararat. The former head of the shell company responsible for the slaving ring on Tasitov. The company liaison who had used the funding, resources and manpower of an entire Megacorporation to ship off living beings into the clutches of the Goblins.

Ararat, a being so profoundly bankrupt of morals or even token bravery that he surrendered without a fight after Deckard slaughtered his bodyguards, whom Ararat had sicced on him in a futile effort to escape. This was a man who, when justice was finally about to be righteously served, was spirited away by a greedy conglomerate more concerned with their corporate image than the awful truth.

He was here, on the station.

That fucking snake.

"...Deckard?" Corani asked, her voice growing hesitant. But Deckard was miles away in his head. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." He said, clenching his fist against his knee. His gun hand began to tremble. Not from fear, but from barely repressed rage.

Corani stared at him, confused.. "This... won't take long. He's already headed up the elevator to the suite as we speak."

Deckard's head snapped around, watching with sudden horror at the number above the elevator door behind the couch ticking upward.

He had mere seconds to decide what to do. Ararat would almost certainly recognize Deckard as the man who nearly ruined him. And there was no way out of the suite save the elevator itself.