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 sound of other UNN personnel and a few aliens socializing and playing pool behind him distracting as he tried to enjoy his drinks. He was new to the Pinwheel, and he had just shipped in with another two dozen recruits to undergo training to become a Marine. 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 had no direction besides the colorful lines 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 eachother, that fear of addressing a superior incorrectly or doing something wrong seemed absent. Marines, aliens, engineers and even civilians interacted 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 them, crowding their tables as they drank and ate while they chatted, aliens and humans competing at games such as pool or poker as they laughed riotously or cursed 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.
Everyone was similarly dressed, despite the mellow atmosphere in the facility everyone wore their uniforms, variations of blue jumpsuits that denoted their positions in the hierarchy. There were a few standouts, engineers wearing yellow overalls and civilians wearing casual clothes, but for the most part the room was a sea of navy blue.
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 people. 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 chanced a glance at the figure in dimly lit, hazy atmosphere, and was alarmed to see a Borealan sitting beside him.
It was huge, eight feet tall at least, and apparently female. The feline alien had tanned skin with sandy blonde hair and fur, two round ears protruded from the top of its head and a long, serpentine tail trailed off the stool to rest on the deck behind her. She looked almost like a human wearing novelty monster gloves, but her long digitigrade legs gave her away as truly alien.
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 humans 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, and he averted his gaze, not wishing to anger her. He turned his attention back to his beverage and she slammed her dinner-plate sized, furry hand down on the counter, her three fingers tipped with wicked claws.
“Barkeep, raises the hair.”
James didn’t understand the request, but soon realized that it was a drink as the bar tender slid an enormous glass across the bar and into her waiting hand. She lifted the pink drink to her lips and took a draw, 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, and then her expression turned more sly and she placed her drink back on the counter as she examined him with her yellow eyes.
“What’s this? 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 more well-traveled aristocracy to refer to people who had never left the surface of a planet before. 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.
“I know what a Borealan is,” he replied, trying to appear more confident than he really was.
Her ears twitched, and he wasn’t quite sure what her reaction would be, but then she laughed 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 had 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. She was wearing a blue uniform too, her insignia denoting that she was 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.”
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? Most of the new recruits end up in the tourist quarter, or 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. “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, her jumpsuit barely served to contain her and he wasn’t just talking about her muscles. She was overdeveloped by human standards, breasts larger than a human’s head strained against her clothing, though they were appropriate for her exaggerated stature. He quickly averted his gaze, and requested a refill from the bar tender, handing over some more UNN currency as the man poured his drink.
“So ... what is there to do on this station?”
She scoffed, and blew a cloud of cigarette smoke into his face, James waving his hand to clear the air and coughing.
“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 smirked.
“I think technically ‘I’m’ talking to ‘you’, but it’s a start. You’re pretty feisty, what’s your name?”
“Well James, didn’t they brief you on how to interact with Borealans, or do you just not care?”
“You don’t seem too bad-tempered to me, I figure if you’ve not clawed my head 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, “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?”
.... There is more of this story ...
Ma/Fa / Mult / Consensual / Drunk/Drugged / Lesbian / Heterosexual / Fiction / Military / Workplace / Science Fiction / Aliens / Space / DomSub / FemaleDom / Light Bond / Rough / Group Sex / Cream Pie / Oral Sex / Petting / Squirting / Tit-Fucking / Big Breasts / Doctor/Nurse / Size /