Galaxy A-Go-Go

Thanks as always to my beta readers 29wordsforsnow and Mal_Bey.

Ensign Fisher slammed down the shot as Crewmen Barnett and Strumm egged him on.

"Christ!" he splutted. "What the fuck is this?"

"Ethanol plus water," said Barnett, with a shrug.

"I didn't come a hundred light-years just to drink hobo juice. No offence to our hosts, but this bar sucks."

"Quit your blethering. This'll get us intoxicated without killing us. You'll soon learn that's a win on any alien planet, believe me." said Strumm. "There's not enough of us coming through here for it to be worth the locals' while to learn how to brew for humans properly."

Barnett piled on as well. "If it was fine spirits you were after, you should have signed onto a ship bound for the Isle of Islay, not Grangesia Prime. Besides, we didn't come here for its drinks menu. Get an eyeful of the talent. They've got girls from every corner of the galaxy."

The ensign turned his attention back to the stage. There were about twenty girls on it, dancing around poles, though the definition of dancing and the definition of girl varied wildly depending on which planet they were from. He'd done extensive research on his bunk during his off-duty hours and he regarded the ladies with the eye of the amateur but enthusiastic bird-watcher out to identify every species by its markings and its call. He was so engrossed that he was only vaguely aware of an argument starting up behind him.

("Quadrant...Not corner...It's a double spiral, it doesn't have corners...Girls from every quadrant of the galaxy...yes, people used to talk about the four corners of the Earth and that was a sphere, but they were wrong then just as you're wrong now...Well it well may be pedantic, but I think someone who's taking an advanced astro-navigation exam next week should strive to get these things correct...yes, I am going to look at the titties now, thank you.")

He started with the easiest. The Grangesians themselves had flaps of skin that made even their most nubile women look like strip-tease night at a retirement home for the formerly super-obese. Instead of the hour-glass, they'd always seen the pyramid as the ideal female form. They didn't so much dance around the pole as tap out a warning in Morse code against it. They were a hard pass obviously.

"I think the tall one is giving you the eye," said Barnett, joining him and giving the rookie a nudge. It was Fisher's first tour and this was the first real alien planet they'd stopped at. Everything else had been colony worlds or Remura science outposts. He'd managed to hook up with a Remuran girl at one of their cultural events. P'Nia had been cute and fun, but she was also not substantially different from a human woman once he'd gotten over the nose and the laugh. Tonight was his chance to sail in more exotic oceans.

Next to the lone Grangesians were the Tallians, who were out in force. That made sense this close to the border. They were a fierce warrior people. Denizens of the 'dating' forums he'd gone to for his information about shore leave had stressed two important tips. The first was that it was vital when engaging their services to always pay for the cheapest, most basic service. That way you merely got an exhausting workout rather than a battle to the death. On the stage, two Tallians were engaging in a ritualized bout, thrusting and clashing their blades together while keeping the other hand on the pole at all times. It was intended to be a playful display, but the smaller of the two women was already bleeding in several places across her arms. That was the other piece of advice -- watch these fights carefully and always pick up the loser. If they started tired and injured, you stood a better chance of walking out of the bedroom afterwards.

"If you're fancy your chances," said Strumm indicating the pair of combatants, "Remember how I told you about that time me and Peterson from the Tailwind teamed up two against one and we still ended up in the Medilab. Runt like you? Forget about it."

Fisher snorted. That's how they got you. The more experienced crew members were always trying to make the newbie look a fool and insulting your masculinity was often the fastest way to goad you into doing something stupid.

Near the back of the dance floor, more enveloping a pole than dancing around was a Wenther - her skin gyrating like a whirlpool. The Wenther were interesting because, although they were always basically humanoid in shape, they had no bones and instead were kept together by some kind of bizarre force at the cellular level. This meant that they could create new holes and appendages of any size and shape anywhere on their bodies. This sounded amazing on paper. The downsides were they didn't really understand passion or fun as other species did and every part of their skin tasted slightly of spicy ear-wax. As a result, they had a dedicated, but decidedly niche set of followers. The comments Fisher had read had tended to use the word 'gloopy' a lot.

"Is the Captain going to get us some replacement grav-plates? We must have been running at 0.85 at best all the way since Lanstar. I told him - we should be lighter on Grangsia than on the ship, not heavier. He claims not to feel it..." His more galaxy-weary colleagues continued talking shop next to him as he soaked in the atmosphere.

There were even some human girls - former slave girls, no doubt. Their ancestors would had been abducted by the Grangesians decades maybe even centuries before mankind had mastered interstellar travel and made official first contact themselves. Ancient history now, of course, but as the most senior member of the party, Barnett would be duty bound to slip them a digital contact card later in case they wanted to be repatriated. It was unlikely. Their skin already had that golden sheen that spending generations in the Grangesia atmosphere produced. Earth meant nothing to them. It meant something to Ensign Fisher and their bare breasts and barely covered asses still looked like a hell of a lot like home to him. If they'd told him they could also bake his mom's apple pie, he'd have been ready to marry one or both of them on the spot. He sighed. It was unlikely that either of them even knew what an apple was.

Barnett and Strumm wouldn't let him off the hook so easily anyway. He was here to have an out-of-world experience. It was all they'd talked about for the last three weeks. He'd kind of just assumed an Yvanit would be working tonight. Alien enough but not too alien and female in all the right ways. He'd even spent a couple of evening memorizing Yvany chat-up lines and could competently complement seven distinct shades of plumage without relying on the translation pin too much. It looked like that had been a complete waste of his time. His comfort zone was going to have to be expanded several thousand parsecs.

He turned back to his comrades and indicated his empty glass. "How much of this lab-produced hooch do you need to go blind?"

"Another two or three shots should do it," replied Barnett.

"Great. I'm buying," replied Fisher. Like males of all species throughout known space and time, he assumed his options would look better after a few more drinks. He flashed a note at the bartender and got another round lined up. The Grangesians mostly used digital payments like most advanced societies, but they still had a highly-specialized entertainment industry that valued the non-tracability that paper money provided and their government still kept some of it around.

It was as he downed the third shot of paint stripper that he saw her. The office door was ajar and she was back there arguing with the manager about something. It wasn't till she stormed out on stage that he got a good look at her. He liked what he saw, but he had absolutely no idea what he was looking at. That wasn't surprising, maybe. The Remura claimed to have documented over ten thousand sentient species in the parts of the galaxy their ships had reached and even they had only begun to scratch the surface.

She was about five-foot five, a reassuringly human height. She was bald, but Fisher was quickly realizing that alien hair on an alien species was often more off-putting than it was attractive, so that wasn't necessarily a negative. No ears either, at least not the protruding type on the side of her head. There were a set of ridges around her forehead, as though it were dough and someone had pressed their thumb into it every couple of centimetres. She was topless and the skin around her chest was of a slightly different shade, reddish brown rather than purple, but otherwise she had no indication of breasts or indeed nipples anywhere. Still, Fisher was sure she was female. It was the walk. Or rather the sashay.

He nudged Barnett and indicate the newcomer. Barnett whistled under his breath. "A Balaxian. What's one of those doing this far rimward?"

"Looking to make Fisher's night," said Strumm. "Grab her quick before someone else does."

Before Fisher could speak, Barnett stood up and head over to the edge of the stage, called the girl over and started a conversation. Somehow their enthusiasm blunted his. It would be wise to be cautious. It didn't look like initial negations were going to last long, so he'd better find out fast what the deal was.

"What's a Balaxian?" he asked Strumm.

"You'll find out." said his crew mate, leaning back in his chair.

"No, seriously! I've never even seen one in a picture before. You trying to set me up with some freaky alien, I need to know at least some basics. What am I in for?"

"I told you. A good time," said Strumm. Fisher's eyes didn't move off him. "A genuinely good time," he continued. "But one that will be better with no spoilers."

"She's got a penis, hasn't she? Or something worse than a penis? A collection of penises in jars which she's bitten off unsuspecting junior crewmen with the teeth in her vagina? Come on, I can see you trying not to burst out laughing."

"You'll be fine. Look, it's lower deck traditions. You might not know it yet, but an evening with a Balaxian is the reason you ventured into space. All you need to know that no-one makes the senior bridge crew without this rite of passage. So it's time for you to bravely go where we've all gone before. Look, they're heading over here. Try not to embarrass us by being so nervous you throw up will you?"

Barnett returned with the girl, introduced his two colleagues and then immediately sought out the barman.

"Hi," said Fisher through his translation pin. "What's your name?"

"My name is all but unpronounceable in your language," she said.

"Try me," said Fisher.

She told him her name.

"Vivianta," he repeated. "That's very beautiful. We have a similar sounding name on Earth."

"Wow," said Vivianta breaking into a smile. "You made the 'vee' sounds perfectly. Most races struggle with those."

"Yeah, we have that sound in our language too," said Fisher. "Though we don't get much use from it, if I'm honest."

"So Earthlings," she stated, fluttering her eyelids at Fisher. "My girlfriends back there have talked a lot about you, but I've never actually gone with an Earth man. You'll go easy on me, won't you?"

"Well, I'm not sure I'm..." started Fisher.

"What my friend here means," said Barnett interrupting, "is that he is happy to put himself entirely in your hands for the evening and let you set the tempo. A dance to the traditional Balaxian waltz if you will. "

"Very wise," said Vivianta. "I am the professional after all. So what's it to be? The full experience?"

"Of course," said Barnett quickly. "Nothing but the best for the newest member of our team."

"Okay," said Fisher. "Just so we're clear, what exactly does the full Balaxian experience involve? If you don't mind, I'd like to just list things one by one."

That had been another common piece of advice he'd gleaned. Never let yourself be sold the full anything experience. Always clarify exactly what was on offer. For some reason Barnett and Strumm were holding their heads in their hands. What had he done wrong, now?

"Ok, sweetie. Would you like oral?" said Vivianta, clearly humouring him.

"Yes please," said Fisher.

"Full sex?"

"Obviously."

"Kissing?"

"With tongues," Fisher added. His crew-mates burst into laughter.

"It wouldn't be any kind of Balaxian experience at all without tongues," said Vivianta calmly. "Boob-job?" she queried.

Fisher said nothing but looked rather pointedly at her flat chest. As he did so, it started to expand -- one moment there were two grapes, then two oranges and then no sooner were there two watermelons than it started to deflate again, passing oranges and grapes again on its way back.

"I'll take that as a yes," Vivianta said to the still stunned young novice.

"Anal?" asked Fisher.

"Trust me, you don't want anal," said Strumm.

Fisher looked at Vivianta. "He's right. Balaxians never offer anal. Most planets have strict regulations against it, in fact," she said.

"Anything else on offer?" Fisher asked. Actually, what had already been covered seemed like more than enough, but he was still looking for any clue as to what was so special about Balaxians. The species that offered the 'thorax-job' or 'annential sex' were ones he was happy to avoid for the moment. Hopefully her unique selling point was just the expanding chest. That looked like fun.

"No rush service. Pair-bonded mate experience."

He was intrigued by this beautiful alien but still wary of surprises. "Cum twice?"

"You will cum as many times as I demand of you within the allotted twenty minutes."

"Only twenty minutes?" asked Fisher.

"That's standard," said Barnett. "No one needs more than twenty minutes with a Balaxian."

"Eight-hundred credits," said Vivianta.

"Seven-hundred," said Barnett clearly only going through the motions.

"Eight-hundred and that does not include the fifty credit bar-fine and the cost of the room."

Fisher looked shocked. That was already four times the rip-off price his research suggested the more desirable species would start at. Barnett saw his face. "Don't worry. We'll cover the excess - with the understanding you do the same for the next recruit that comes through here. She's a Balaxian after all and in this part of the galaxy who knows the next time we'll run into one."

The bartender brought over Vivianta's drink. It was served in a metal bowl. It was the consistence and colour of week old custard and steam rose from it. The acidic smell from even a foot away told Fisher clearly that it wasn't for human consumption.

He passed his own cup to the barman for a refill, downed it and said, "If you'll excuse me. I'm going to take a leak. Vivianta. Gentlemen."

He made his way over to the bathrooms. While at the urinals, he made the startling discovery that his biology teacher had been wrong and Havaroids don't actually have three legs. His route back took him past one of the human girls. He stopped to say hello.

"Look," he said after she'd introduced herself as Susia. "My friends are trying to set me up with that Balaxian."

"Trying? Succeeded, more like. Don't let me keep you."

Fisher reached into his pocket and pulled out a twenty credit note. He tucked it into Susia's garter. He'd been so busy dreaming of home that he hadn't noticed before what a large girl she was. Whatever he thought of the drink, humans could clearly eat well enough on Grangesia. She had a heck of a lot of meat on those hips. He found his mind was back with good old home cooking again.

"Look, this is for you if you can tell me anything about Balaxians. My friends are enjoying this far too much for it to be a simple lay."

"Those friends are looking over here," said Susia. She thrust two great big bosoms at Fisher. "Quick, bury your head in these."

"Well?" said Fisher as he lent forward and Susia pressed her chest up against his face. It was soft and warm and reminded him of snuggling up against his mother when she used to read him a bed-time story back on Earth.

"Balaxians, Balaxians, well..." she said making a show of thinking. "The thing to remember about Balaxians is that they're a really, really good time."

"That's it?" said Fisher surfacing. "Shouldn't you be trying to talk me out of her. Drum up trade for yourself. Honestly, you'd be top of my wish-list if I could find a reason to ditch her. Come on! Give me the real dirt."

"Yeah, well, Viv's a mate, isn't she? Besides, I've got plans. See that table over there? Natchials. They have a universal fetish for human knees and sexual stamina measured in seconds. It'll be the easiest 200 credits I'll ever earn and then I'll make that dreamboat officer of yours an discount offer he can't refuse and have some 'me' time."

Fisher hesistated long enough, trying decide between explaining that Strumm wasn't an officer and asking for his credits back, that Susia was able to spin him around and push him back towards his table.

"Don't bother sitting down," said Strumm on his return. "We're all paid up. You two lovebirds go and have fun now. We'll be sitting right here when you get back. Well, we'll probably be over there playing pool."

Humanity had not been able to contribute much to the galaxy yet in terms of space-faring technology or high art and architecture, but for some reason its bar room competitive sports had spread like wildfire.

"You know if you want to get your own girls..." started Fisher.

"Nah," said Barnett. "We'll grab those later. We'll be right here. Waiting."

They both gave him a little wave as Vivianta put on a little gold lamé coat on, grabbed her handbag and dragged him out into the night.

The crew was staying in a three-star equivalent hotel about half-an-hour's velocopter ride from here -- a respectable place. Vivianta took him across the street to a concrete structure with hourly rooms. From the outside, it looked like a dive. On the inside, it was surprisingly clean if somewhat simplistic.

"Evening, Arp," she said to the squid-like creature on the front desk. "We'll take the deluxe room for half-an-hour."

Given how cheap even the deluxe was, Fisher didn't call out this presumption. Given the apparent exclusive nature of his new lady-friend, he guessed he should go with an equally exclusive room.

As they headed down the corridor, Vivianta stopped at a vending machine and got herself a bottle of water. Twisting the cap off, she pulled out a couple of pills wrapped in white paper. Taking a swig, she downed the pills. Fisher looked at her in askance.

"Don't worry," she said. "I'm not a druggy. These just suppress some of my natural post-coital instincts."

"What instincts..." Fisher started to ask.

Vivianta tapped the packet happily. "These babies caused some pretty big societal changes on my home planet, let me tell you. Yes indeed. Big changes."

She waved the key in front of the door to their room door and it slid opened.

The whole room was decorated in light and dark blues. The bed needed to accommodate species from three to twelve foot tall and thus the designer had gone with a large circle that filled nearly the whole room, with luxurious covers and pillows in turquoise and aquamarine. The ceiling, a good fifteen foot up was padded for some reason and had several bars hanging down from across it at various heights. Most of the walls were mirrored.

No sooner were they in, than Vivianta started to undress. He'd seen the top half in the club, but he paid special attention to the bottom as her shorts came off. From what he could see from this angle, her private parts seemed like nothing out of the ordinary -- a simple hole with fewer flaps and folds than a human lady and a small bone ridge just above. There was also some patterning around the lips, although it wasn't clear if they were tattoos or natural markings.