Friendly Competition

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A human moderates a drinking competition between two aliens.
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Snekguy
Snekguy
2,746 Followers

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 recreation meant a bar. Well, it's not just a bar, but I don't know anyone yet, and I'm not about to intrude on card games played between Marines and Krell."

"Those big dumb lizards love their games," she grumbled, turning to get a look at the expansive room behind them. "Most Borealans spend their free time at the gym, we're not used to downtime, and this low gravity plays hell with our muscle mass."

Now that she brought it up, she really was huge. He could make out the outline of her biceps through the sleeves of her uniform, and her thighs were similarly packed with muscle. Her physique wasn't quite as pronounced as that of a bodybuilder, but she was certainly in very good shape, a product of the high gravity of her home planet if what she said was true. She was large in other ways, too. Her bosom strained against her jumpsuit, appropriately sized for someone of her stature, but each one must have been larger than his head. He quickly averted his gaze, and requested a refill from the bartender, handing over some more UN currency as the man poured his drink.

"So...what is there to do on this station?" he asked.

She scoffed and blew a cloud of cigarette smoke into his face, James waving his hand to clear the air as he coughed.

"What am I, a tour guide? Go check it out for yourself, pretty sure that's what you're supposed to be doing right now, not sulking at the bar. You're not going to make any friends if you don't talk to people."

"I'm talking to you," he shot back, and she exposed her sharp teeth in a grin.

"I think technically I'm talking to you, but it's a start. You're pretty feisty, what's your name?"

"It's James."

"Well, James, didn't they brief you on how to interact with Borealans, or do you just not care?"

"You don't seem too ill-tempered to me," he replied, taking another drink from his glass. "I figure if you've not clawed my face off so far, I'm probably in the clear."

"Hey, I'm a civilized Borealan," she replied. "I don't make a point of clawing up humans." She leaned in closer to whisper to him, her pink lips an inch from his ear. "Not unless they ask me to."

He wasn't sure what she meant by that, choking on the drink he had been in the process of sipping as she laughed at his reaction.

"Datz, have you found a new human to torment?"

Her expression turned sour, and she spun around on the bar stool to look over her shoulder, her fuzzy ears swiveling to track the source of the voice. Another Borealan was walking towards them from the entrance, this one a head taller than his drinking companion. She was covered in a thick coat of snow-white fur from head to toe, patterned with circular, black markings. Her hair was shoulder-length, slate-grey in color. James wasn't sure what to make of it, all of the Borealans he had seen so far had been mostly naked, much in the same way that humans were. They had fur on their forearms and lower legs, along with their tails, but their skin was smooth save for that. It was another female, even more endowed than Datz was, she might have been downright fat if her weight hadn't been distributed so...attractively. She looked like she was built for cold weather, with wide hips and a paunchy belly that protruded beneath her civilian clothing. This one wasn't military, her abundant chest was stuffed into a white lab coat, and she wore a black skirt that was riding up on her round thighs. Perhaps she was medical or science staff?

She passed by Datz, who scowled at her as she took up a seat on the stool to James' left, the spring creaking under her bulk as her ample rear spilled over the sides of the cushion. James had never seen a creature with such sheer mass before, besides the reptilian Krell, who were used as living tanks and battering rams.

He found himself sandwiched between the two giant Borealans, pressing down on him from both sides as the bartender looked on sympathetically, drying a glass with a rag.

"What are you doing down here, Railha?" Datz spat.

"I'm off-duty, just the same as you. Now, who is this human that I've just rescued from your boorish company?"

Her accent sounded odd, almost Russian to his ears.

"I'm James," he replied sheepishly. The alien called Railha shook her giant head and turned her attention back to Datz.

"Still preying on the new recruits, Datz? I would have thought you might have set your sights a little higher by now."

"What business is it of yours?" Datz replied, taking a long draw of her e-cigarette before continuing. "This one doesn't need a tetanus shot...at least not yet."

Railha must be some kind of doctor then, and the two knew each other? James suddenly felt as if he was sitting between two angry dogs who were about to go at it, but they had involved him in their conversation now, and he was unable to slink away without them noticing.

"Are you lost, little one?" Railha asked. She looked down at him with her sapphire-blue eyes, framed by the dark patterning on her fur, spots and rings like coffee stains that must have been camouflage. It gave the impression that she was wearing some kind of mask, like a raccoon, or something that one might wear to a masquerade ball.

"He's fine," Datz blurted before he could reply. "He knows where he is, ain't that right, James?"

He looked back and forth between them, unsure of how to respond, nursing his drink uncomfortably.

"Oh, we're overwhelming the poor thing," Railha crooned. "He might never have seen an alien before today if he's come straight from Earth."

"You're the one overwhelming him, puffball," Datz grumbled over another mouthful of her pink beverage. "We were getting along just fine before you showed up."

"Datz and I are good friends," Railha clarified. "And by that, I mean she hates me, and we spend all of our time together arguing."

"Maybe I should go," James said apologetically, beginning to rise from his seat. He felt two heavy hands on his shoulders, the aliens to his left and right preventing him from leaving. He sank back into his seat, and Datz patted him on the back with a little too much force, knocking the wind out of him.

"Stick around kid, we're having a good time," she said as she blew another cloud of acrid smoke in his direction.

"Now now, let's not be too hasty," Railha chuckled. "You're new to the Pinwheel, and we should be making you feel at home. Isn't that right, Datz?"

"You only want him because I want him," the dark-skinned Borealan replied bitterly. This situation was rapidly spiraling out of control. James was out of his element, he had to find a way to turn this around before he ended up in the middle of a literal cat fight.

"So...how do you two know each other?" he volunteered. "Are you from the same city, maybe?"

Datz laughed at that, then realized that he wasn't joking.

"Fuck no. I'm from Elysia, and she's a Polar, are you really that muddy?"

"Calm down, Datz," Railha cooed. "Maybe he doesn't know the difference. He's new here, we should be teaching him the ropes, not berating him for being uninformed." She puffed her chest out proudly, very nearly concussing him with her breasts as he leaned out of her way to avoid them. "I'm a Polar, our bodies are furred because we come from the polar region of Borealis, which has a very cold climate. Humans consider my people friendly and sophisticated, and we pride ourselves on our social prowess. Datz is an Equatorial...the other race," she said dismissively. "Don't worry, she's gone through the integration program, so she isn't quite feral."

"Keep it up, and I'll show ya feral," Datz snarled. James leaned back towards Railha, alarmed.

"Don't make threats that you can't deliver on, Datz," Railha chuckled. "I've had to patch you up enough times to know that you're all hiss and no claw."

The Equatorial grumbled and took another draw from her massive glass, downing what must have been half a liter of the pink liquid in one go. James wasn't sure if getting drunk would make her more or less sociable.

"Elysians are warriors," she muttered, "Polars think they can solve all of their problems by talking. Cowardly, if you ask me."

"I don't believe that he did," Railha replied. James felt as if he was going to melt into the floor. It was hard to tell if this was banter between friends or genuine aggression, he had no idea how to read Borealan social cues. Datz's ears were flicking, and her tail was winding along the floor behind her stool, a sign of irritation perhaps.

"A-a round on me," he blurted, trying to diffuse the tension. "What are you having?"

"Now that's more like it," Datz said, "I'll have another one of these." She tapped her glass with her black claws and leaned across the counter to wave over the bartender.

James looked to Railha, who seemed to be considering as she scratched her furry chin pensively.

"Well, I won't refuse, it would be ill-mannered of me. I'll have the same."

The bartender poured two more glasses of the pink liquid and passed them to the aliens, James ordering another shot of whiskey, at this point just to steady his nerves.

"So, James," Railha began as she took a conservative sip of her drink. "Are you from Earth, or one of the colonies?"

"I'm from Earth."

"And how long have you been on the station?"

"Just one day, I'm still getting my bearings."

"Sounds like you need somebody to show you around, what do you say I give you the tour?"

Before he could reply, Datz slammed her furry fist on the counter, making her glass of pink liquid jump.

"I saw this one first," she growled, "go find your own."

Railha smirked, leaning on the bar and resting her head in her hand as she batted her long lashes at the snarling Equatorial. Her chest spilled across the counter from within the confines of her lab coat, James struggling to keep his eyes off the furry cleavage that was visible through her open collar.

"If you're not able to keep it, then it doesn't belong to you, isn't that the Elysian philosophy?"

James was growing increasingly nervous, he wasn't sure what they were implying exactly, but he didn't particularly want to leave with either of them. It felt as if they were about to come to blows, and one misplaced claw swipe could probably sever his head from his shoulders. A plan was forming, however. Datz had let on that her species couldn't handle much alcohol, and judging by the way that Railha was sipping at her drink, the same must be true for her too. If he could get them both wasted, then he might be able to slip away. It was worth a shot.

"I have an idea," he said, and the aliens turned their attention to him. "When humans want to resolve an argument, they have a competition. If they're in a bar, then a drinking competition is customary. Whoever can drink the most alcohol wins."

"I don't know if you're aware," Railha began, "but Borealans can't metabolize alcohol very well. Anything much stronger than traditional drinks from the homeworld will floor us pretty quickly."

Snekguy
Snekguy
2,746 Followers