Authors: Katherine Allred
I stared at the image a bit longer, then cleared it and scrolled down to the report on the aliens. This one was a lot shorter than the report on Orpheus itself. The original Dynatec exploration team that discovered the planet ten cycles ago had dubbed the race
Buri
.
“Max, any reference to the word
Buri
in your data bank?”
Immediately another holo appeared, this time a drawing of a man, apparently made of stone. “Buri,” Max intoned.
“According to Norse legend, he was the male from which the gods originated. Freed from stone by the primeval cow, he was a perfect specimen of man and quite beautiful. He was the father of Bor and grandfather of Odin. The old texts are unclear on his status. He may have been merely a giant, or a god in his own right.”
I nodded. There must have been a mythology buff on the exploration crew to come up with a reference that obscure. “Okay, let’s take a look at the Buri. Still shot first, please.”
Leaving the drawing in place, Max projected another holo beside it and I leaned back in surprise. Not at their appearance, but at their size, although their appearance was something to see, too.
“Record,” I snapped in excitement, leaning forward again as the holo revolved slowly. “Senior Agent Kiera Smith, Alien Affairs, ID 64732. Report number one on the sentient species of Orpheus Two, hereafter referred to as Buri.”
I stopped to gather my thoughts. Anything I recorded was admissible in the Galactic Federation courts and I was doing this without the benefit of our normal scientific team’s report, so I needed to be precise. “The Buri are bipedal hominids, similar to
Homo sapiens
with one major difference apparent on cursory visual examination. Their bone structure seems to be slightly denser, making them both taller and heavier than man. Due to the lack of enlarged mammary glands on the two in
Holo 618
, and with a loincloth hiding the genitalia of both individuals, I’m assuming they are male until further examination can confirm this data. The shorter male is approximately two meters, or six feet, seven inches, and weighs about two hundred thirty pounds or one hundred five kilos, but is perfectly proportioned, with no sign of fat or abnormalities. Both his hair and eyes are a deep auburn color, unusual in that they are the exact same shade. His hair is magnificent, thick and full and hanging to just below his shoulders. Note: I can see why the exploration team called them Buri. Not only are they beautiful, they truly are giants. They could easily pass for very tall, very large humans.”
I had the distinct feeling that the guy was very young, the equivalent of a teenager in earth cycles. It was the other one who kept drawing my gaze, and a shiver chased down my spine as I stared at him.
He stood well over two meters, closer to seven feet, six inches tall in Old Earth terms, and like his younger pal, his skin was a deep bronze. Wide gold armbands circled his wrists, and his long, muscular legs were encased in buckskin boots that hit him mid-thigh. There was something about his stance that spoke of absolute confidence, with a good bit of arrogance thrown in for spice. And he was the most beautiful male of any species I’d ever seen. Even his short, thick beard couldn’t hide his chiseled jaw or sharp cheekbones, and his ebony eyes sparkled with shrewd intelligence. Hands on his hips, chin high, he stared at me with proud defiance, black hair waving in a gentle breeze.
No, not at me. At whoever had taken the holo. Food for thought, there.
I entered his description into the record and then stretched to loosen my muscles. “What do you think about the hair and eyes being the same color, Max? Are all of them like that?”
“From the exploration team’s report, it would appear so. My best guess is that the gene for hair and eye color is the same in their species, instead of two separate genes as they are in humans. Possibly an evolutionary adaptation, although I’m not sure what its purpose would be.”
“I agree. Add that to the record and then stamp it with the date and time.” With a wave of my hand, the holo image vanished. “Do they have all the Earth normal hair colors?” I was trying to picture a blonde Buri with blond eyes. Now that would be alien indeed.
“No. They seem to range from a light silvery gray to a deep black, with all shades of brown in between. All of the Buri have the same skin tone, though, and the males have shoulder-length hair. The females hair is longer, usually down to the waist, and it appears both sexes use braids for style.”
Yeah, I’d noticed the big guy had a single braid anchored at his right temple, but for now I was more fascinated by their hair colors. “So no blonds.” I ruminated. With their bronze skin and rippling muscles and long hair they looked like extra-large, very buff, extremely sexy holovid stars. The hair and braids also gave me some ideas on ways to get closer to the Buri, get them to accept me. “How long until we dock at ZT Twelve, Max?”
“Thirty minutes.”
“Okay. I’m going to dress. I’ll look at the rest of the reports on the way to Orpheus Two. As soon as we’re connected, pipe the station’s manifest to my quarters.”
Max wasn’t big by luxury space liner standards, but my quarters were roomy and comfortable. Alien Affairs treated its field agents well. It had to, since the majority of us lived and worked on our ships. Humans—Naturals or GEPs—were simply not capable of remaining in small, tight spaces for long periods of time. It did funny things to their heads.
As Alien Affairs’ senior and most-experienced agent, I was luckier than a lot of their representatives. Max was a top-of-the-line Surge Zephyr, an artificial intelligence with all the bells and whistles the company could install, whose power source was a rare and costly surge crystal. He was also something of a prude, and insisted on closing off all vidports and sound to my quarters on the rare occasions I brought a playmate home for some rest and relaxation.
There would be no fun and games on this trip to ZT Twelve, though. It was strictly business.
I hesitated over my dress uniform, and then opted for standard spacer garb: a plain black jumpsuit with lots of nice pockets and pouches for holding weapons. I wasn’t expecting trouble, but if it came, I’d be ready.
Once dressed, I whipped my hair into a braid and tugged a black cap over it, pulling the brim down enough to leave my green eyes shadowed. A quick glance in the mirror assured me I’d blend in with the other spacers on ZT Twelve perfectly.
My perusal was interrupted when Max lit up my vidscreen with the station manifest. Anything that was for sale in the known universe could be found on ZT Twelve. If not legitimately, then through the black market.
I parked my fanny in front of the screen, searching for and ordering certain items to be loaded into Max’s cargo hold. It was common practice for an agent to carry wampum when making their initial contact with a new race. It not only smoothed the way, it gave the potential inductees a taste of what being part of the Galactic Federation could mean.
Choosing the correct wampum, an Old Earth AmerInd term for trade goods, was always risky business for an agent. You could never be positive the items presented wouldn’t mortally offend some cultural taboo and get you tossed out on your ear. Or worse. But thanks to their long hair, I was pretty sure of my choices for the Buri.
Satisfied that Max would see to the rest of our supplies and make sure everything was loaded and paid for, I left my quarters and walked to the forward hatch. “Standard security, Max,” I said, punching in the code that would equalize the air pressure and allow the outer door to open. “Let me know when we’re ready to leave.”
I didn’t even look at Crigo. His first and only trip on station had convinced him that hordes of running, screaming people weren’t his cup of tea. We’d almost been banned from ZT Twelve over that escapade. Now he stayed on Max unless we were dirt side.
The air in the corridor smelled metallic as I made my way to the nearest lift, and I could hear the heavy-duty whine of the giant pumps that circulated oxygen through the station. There were only a few people hanging around in the docking area. Mostly some spacers watching servomotors load cargo onto ships and a few mechs with tools spread around them.
I waited beside a pallet of boxes, and when the lift door slid open, stepped inside. “Level six, please.”
“Level six,” the mechanical voice droned. “Boutiques, bars, pleasure houses, and fine restaurants.” On the wall a vidscreen sprang to life advertising individual businesses. I watched them idly until the lift stopped. I already had a destination in mind, but vendors could change rapidly on ZT Twelve and it paid to stay up to date.
As always, the corridors on level six were packed with people. This was the real heart of the station, the place where everyone wound up sooner or later. It was also the place where information could be had for the price of a drink.
Hugging the wall, hand hovering near my weapon, I slid through the crowd, constantly on the alert. Before I reached Jolaria’s Jewel, a small bar and whorehouse hidden in a back corridor, I intercepted busy fingers twice, both intent on lifting anything of value from my pockets. With a fatalistic sigh, I dislocated a few joints for the second youngster and pushed my way inside the Jewel, paying no heed to the mewls of pain behind me. If you play, you pay.
The inside of the bar was dim and smoky, but Douggwah, Jolaria’s bartender, looked up and watched me make my way to a corner booth in the back. As soon as I was seated, he vanished through a curtained door, reappearing in a second with a slight nod in my direction.
It wasn’t long before Jolaria appeared and made her way to my table, already talking before she sat down. “Been while since chew come round, friend. Chew still seeing dat man?”
I grimaced. “I dumped him over a cycle ago. And frankly, I don’t know why I let him hang around as long as I did. The man turned out to be a total zorfa’s ass.”
“Zorfa?” She tilted her head inquisitively.
“Big ugly critter that lives in the swamps on Gartune. They have two purposes in life, to eat and fornicate, and they aren’t real particular in either instance. If it doesn’t run, it’s fair game. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Chew were thinking wit jer heart, not jer brain. Next time, chew use both. So, chew let me buy jer indenture and come work to me, now? In one cycle, chew be free woman and rich to boot. Ze men will love chew.”
Jolaria was a Meltanie, a race that stood a willowy six feet tall, all of it a straight shot with no curves to break up the territory. With their platinum hair, white skin, and red eyes, it was nearly impossible to tell the males from the females.
I’d met Jolaria on my first mission, when I’d accidentally stumbled across the Jewel and was rather insistently mistaken for one of her whores. She assisted me in disposing of the body—I wasn’t quite used to handling the slower reflexes of Naturals and had done more damage to the spacer than I’d intended—and we’d been friends ever since.
“Thanks for the offer, Jo, but I’m done with men. All I’m after today is info.”
Truthfully, I was in no hurry to pay off Alien Affairs’ investment in my creation, even though the job had become a little boring. I’d pretty much climbed to the top of the heap on the agent ladder and there was nowhere left to go. I whittled my debt down a bit more every cycle, but it wasn’t like I had other things to do or places to be.
Personal wealth didn’t hold much appeal for me, either. All things being equal, I was content with my rut and saw no reason to change it.
Jo propped her elbows on the table, the loose sleeves of her red silk robe falling away to expose her thin forearms. “What chew need to know dis time?”
Douggwah interrupted us long enough to slide two glasses of amberberry wine onto the table and then slipped away again. I lifted my glass and sipped. “Are there any rumors floating around about this new planet Dynatec discovered?”
“Ah.” She leaned back and toyed with her glass. “Eberbody know dey invoke Chapter Twenty. Big news. Lots of talk, but no fact. Some say Dynatec make big find, kind dat get people dead if dey be too nosy.”
“The kind that would be worth killing off an entire race for?” I arched my eyebrow in question.
One thin shoulder lifted in a shrug. “Maybe so, maybe not. Nobody know fer sure, and Dynatec, dey ain’t tellin’. Just de news dat dey trying to close legal loopholes is worrisome. Means dey don’t want any questions about dis claim. Dat yer next job?”
“Yes. They’ve requested an agent as soon as possible.”
“Dey know Alien Affairs send de best dey got?”
I smiled. “Not yet, but they will in a few days. I’m heading out as soon as Max is loaded.”
She studied me a moment, her eyes filled with concern. “Chew be best off givin’ dis one to somebody else, girl. Bad vibes eberwhere ’bout dis business.”
“You know I can’t do that, Jo. It’s my job. Besides, I’m not easy to kill.”
Her pale hair swung as she shook her head. “Chew too stubborn fer jer own good sometime.” Pushing her untouched glass across the table, she stood. “Chew want jer usual?”
“Yes, I’m dying for some real red meat.”
“I send it out. And an extra fer dat beast of jers.”
“Thanks, Jo. Just bill it to my expense account.”
She paused. “Chew be careful, girl. Chew hear me?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I touched the brim of my cap in salute, then watched her sway off to the kitchen. Every time I stopped at the Jewel, Jo waged her campaign to hire me. Due to their sexual training, GEPs can make a lot of credits working in pleasure houses. More than a few have bought their freedom.
Of course, those were normal GEPs. Jolaria might stop offering me a job if she discovered the facts of my creation. But only the boss and I knew the truth.
Because, thanks to Simon Gertz, a geneticist with a god complex and my creator, neither of us was sure I was human. In a universe filled with diversity, where all creatures went two by two, I was one of a kind. Superwoman or monster. Either choice made for a very lonely existence.