Chapter 15: Fresh Threads

“I’m telling you, you didn’t need to put your bandages back on,” Jules said as he walked beside Zuki. Threading his way through the crowds that clogged the torus was always a pain, but once again, he reflected on how much easier it was to get around at night. The walkway was far from empty, but he wasn’t brushing shoulders with Marines and tourists or dodging out of the way of giant aliens lest they crush him underfoot.

“I feel more comfortable like this,” she insisted.

“I know that, but you’re just going to have to unravel them again once we get to the clothing store. Assuming that they have what we’re looking for. But they must, right? I mean, how would all of the other female Borealans on the station get by without proper ... support?”

“Why would they need it?” Zuki asked, still unconvinced.

“Trust me, you’ll see why. Do you remember where it was?” he asked as he looked around the storefronts that lined the hull to either side of them, their signs displayed prominently in bright neon and flashing animations. “I know it was in the tourist quarter, before the bar right at the end.”

“It was on the left side, I think,” she replied. She pointed over the heads of the surrounding pedestrians with a clawed finger. “There it is.”

“Easy for you, you’re two feet taller than everyone else,” he grumbled as he changed direction and headed towards the store. He was surprised how much he missed holding her hand, but they had to keep up appearances. They didn’t want anyone who worked for the UN happening upon them being too friendly and reporting the potential conflict of interest to the council ahead of their meeting.

They entered through the oversized door, finding themselves once again surrounded by aisles of shelves and racks stocked with all manner of clothes. Jules noted that the same woman from their last visit was manning the register, the short blonde. She must be on the night shift.

“Welcome back!” she said, emerging from behind her counter to greet them. “What can I do for you today?”

She had put Jules on the spot, and for some reason, he suddenly felt embarrassed. He hadn’t had any sisters growing up, and his previous girlfriends had never needed him to buy underwear for them. He was a grown man, he had explored uncharted alien jungles, why couldn’t he muster the courage the ask the cashier about their selection of bras?

“We’re looking for, uh ... some ... specialist clothing for my friend here. Underwear.”

“If that’s the case, we have a wide selection of mega-sized lingerie and nightwear,” the cashier replied enthusiastically. “It’s towards the back of the store, on the right. You can’t miss it.”

“Oh, no, no,” Jules stammered as he loosened the collar of his shirt a little. They had nightwear for Borealans? What the hell did that look like? He was surprised that there was even a market for that kind of thing. The Equatorials that he usually saw prowling the station didn’t seem to care much for their appearance, unless scars and tattoos were their way of looking appealing to the opposite sex. Maybe it was more popular with the Polars? Those guys must spend an awful lot of time keeping their fur clean and groomed, and so it stood to reason that they would put the same care into their clothing.

“My friend here needs something with a lot of support,” he said as he lowered his voice a little. “Something for someone who’s a little too ... endowed in the upper body area.”

“I see,” the cashier replied, looking Zuki up and down as the Araxie waited patiently beside him. “So you’re looking for a brassiere, I take it? Do you have any idea of the cup size?”

“I wouldn’t be able to tell you a human cup size, Ma’am, never mind a Borealan one.”

“That’s alright,” she said with a chuckle. “If you’ll both follow me over to the women’s section, I can show you what we have in stock. I’m sure that your friend will have a better idea of what fits her.”

She led them over to a wall that was adorned with all manner of underwear. There were bras that could have been used to store watermelons, and panties so large that a child could have substituted them for a tent. He could see the nightwear too, his cheeks warming as he imagined Zuki wearing some of the revealing, lacy garments.

“Let me know if you need any more help,” the cashier said as she returned to her counter, leaving them to browse the selection alone.

“So, see anything that you think will fit?” Jules asked as he peered up at Zuki. She looked just as overwhelmed by the selection as he was, her eyes darting between the varied options.

“I see what you meant now,” she said, reaching out with a furred hand and testing the padding on the cups of one of the bras.

“What do you think? Do they look comfortable? It’s got to be better than your bandages. This way, you can cover them up and take some of the weight off your back without having to wrap yourself up like an Egyptian mummy.”

“Like a what?” she asked, confused.

“Never mind. Take this one, for example,” he said as he gestured to a large sports bra. “Maybe something like this would work for you? These are designed for wearing while you exercise, so they support your weight and stop your chest from bouncing around too much. Rather than wrapping and unwrapping your bandages every time you need to shower or sleep, you could just buy a few of these and take them on and off whenever it suits you. They’ll do the job far better than your bandages.”

“What are these ones for?” she asked, pulling down a more elaborate example that was made from silk with lace trimming.

“Those ... aren’t what we’re looking for,” he stammered as he tried in vain to take them off her. Zuki just held them out of his reach, stroking the lace with her padded fingers and seeming to like the texture. “They’re for making you look more ... appealing to the opposite sex.”

“I haven’t seen anyone on the station wearing them,” she said.

“No, they’re for wearing when you’re alone with someone that you like. You know what, let’s put that one back,” he said as he reached up to guide her hand back towards the rack. “If we get seen shopping for lingerie together, we’ll be in just as much trouble as if we got caught in the act.”

“The act of what?”

“You know what act, now let’s change the subject before someone overhears us. Can you tell which of these might fit you by looking at them? Pick a few out and go try them on, see how they feel. If you find some that you like, we can buy a few of them.”

She picked out a sports bra, what looked to Jules like a regular bra with some kind of foam padding on the inside of the cups for comfort, and one that had lots of straps across the back to provide more support. He followed her to one of the changing booths and waited outside as she began to try them on.

Jules turned to survey the store while she changed, seeing that there were a few other patrons this time. An Equatorial pack were browsing one of the aisles, their eyes darting about as they crowded their Alpha like bodyguards. They looked like shifty teenagers scoping out a convenience store, but they were friendly enough when the cashier went up to talk to them. If the store was operating, then it must be turning a profit. What they lacked in the quantity of their customers they must make up in the sheer amount of materials that each one had to foot the bill for. Zuki’s sweater had been about four times what he would have expected to pay in another establishment, but that was because it would have required four times the usual amount of fabric to knit it.

Zuki finally emerged, a wide smile on her face. He noticed the length of bandage hanging from the pocket of her pants. If she hadn’t put it back on, then she must have found something that was to her liking. He could make out the mounds of her breasts beneath her sweater, but they weren’t strapped tight against her body, and nor were they swinging loose. They looked for more appropriate for her frame now.

“Well?” Jules asked, “did you pick a winner?”

“This one,” she said, lifting the hem of her turtleneck and flashing him. She had gone for the sports bra, as he had expected, its black color blending in with her fur. Not only did it provide support and prevent movement, compressing her breasts against her chest to reduce their apparent size in a way that was infinitely more comfortable than the bandages, but it had the added benefit of being made from breathable fabric that wouldn’t trap her sweat or cause her any irritation. It was a Zuki-proof garment.

“Alright, alright, put that down. We’ll pick out a few more of those and go pay for them.”

The change in Zuki was plain to see, she wasn’t slouching anymore, she was standing up straight in a way that he hadn’t seen before. It had the side effect of making her look more confident, that bra must be doing wonders for her posture.

They picked up a few more of the sports bras and took them to the register, the employee ringing them up as they waited.

“You know,” Jules began, looking Zuki up and down as he scratched his chin. “On second thought, I don’t think the sweater is going to cut it. You can look better, sharper. We need to show the Security Council that you mean business, that they can take you seriously.” He turned to the cashier, getting her attention as she ran a scanner over one of the shrink-wrapped sports bras. “Excuse me, do you guys sell suits? Business attire? Anything more formal?”

“No, I’m afraid that we don’t carry anything like that,” she replied. “You could try the tailor downspin, they might be able to help you out. I forget the name, but there’s a big blue awning with gold lettering on the leftmost row, you can’t miss it.”

“Thanks, we’ll check it out,” Jules said as he brought up his phone and transferred their payment.

“What were you asking that human about?” Zuki asked as they stepped out onto the torus, Jules feeling the artificial breeze in his hair.

“We’re going to try to get you a suit.”

“What kind of suit?”

“You see what I’m wearing right now?” he said as he lifted his pinstripe tie for her to see. “This is called a two-piece suit, this is traditionally what businessmen and politicians wear. In human culture, it’s associated with respectability and professionalism. Many formal functions require you to wear a suit or similar attire, and at any kind of high-level meeting, the only clothing you’ll see that isn’t some kind of suit is an Admiral’s uniform.”

“It will make me look respectable?”

“That’s the idea, yeah,” he replied as he led her downspin of the clothing store. The cashier hadn’t said exactly where it was, but they shouldn’t have too much trouble finding it. Hopefully, it was open at night, like most of the other establishments in the tourist quarter. “Not that there’s anything wrong with your sweater, but if we can do better, we should. We need every advantage that we can get. If you show up wearing a sharp suit, then they might stop thinking of your territory as a backwater and start taking you seriously.”

“And if we cannot buy a suit?”

“Then the turtleneck will do,” he replied, “at least you won’t be showing up to the meeting wearing only a poncho like the Krell councilman...”

It didn’t take long for them to find the tailor, it was about halfway back down the tourist quarter in the direction of the residential quarter, the blue awning that the cashier had described standing out against the white hull material that made up the sculpted facade. The lettering on the awning read ‘Morgan James & Co. Tailors’. It was made to look like a shop that you might find on a London high street, or maybe something from another European city like Paris or Berlin, the way that it was squashed between the two adjacent storefronts actually helping to sell that illusion. There was a large window across the front through which Jules could see mannequins advertising various tailored suits in different colors and materials.

“Here we are,” he announced. “There are lights on inside, so it looks like they’re open.”

They walked up to the door, quickly realizing that it was human-sized. Zuki could duck through, but it boded ill for their chances of getting a suit made. This establishment didn’t cater to aliens, and who could really blame them? There wasn’t exactly an abundance of Krell and Borealans shopping for dinner jackets.

A bell rang as he stepped through the door, Jules holding it open for Zuki as she crouched and turned sideways to slip inside. Fortunately, the ceiling of the store was not so low that she couldn’t stand up straight, her furry ears just brushing it.

The interior was very upscale, it reminded him of a smoking lounge as much as a clothing store. A chandelier hung from the ceiling in the center, illuminating the space in a yellow glow, and there were more modern bulbs embedded in the ceiling at intervals for practicality. The floor beneath his feet was stained wood, and if it was fake, he couldn’t tell. The walls were stacked with wooden shelves and racks that contained both rolls of raw materials and completed jackets and trousers. It appeared that they also sold designer handbags and ties, the selection hanging from hooks. There was a fitting area with silver metal stools where customers would sit to be measured, a few chairs spaced about the room sporting brown leather upholstery, and a counter that looked like it was made from something like dark oak or mahogany. Full-length mirrors reflected the room, making it appear larger than it really was. There were a couple of doors in the back that must lead to storerooms or perhaps workshops. The clothes would have to be made on-site, they were on a space station, after all.

A short, older man wearing a wool blazer decorated with plaid patterning emerged from his seat behind the counter, straightening a pair of round spectacles as he approached them. He eyed Zuki warily, she had about three feet over him, then turned his attention to Jules.

“What can I do for you, sir?” he asked. Jules couldn’t place his accent, it wasn’t quite Irish, perhaps he was from one of the colonies.

“I’m looking to have a suit tailored,” he replied, and immediately the man set about plucking and prodding at his clothes. He straightened his glasses again as he leaned in close, inspecting the stitching where the sleeve met the shoulder.

“Yes, we should be able to fix this up for you in no time. The sleeves are too long, they should end at the wrist rather than at the hand, but we can shorten them at the shoulder and leave the cuffs intact. The pitch is a little off too, see how the material creases at the bicep?”

“Er ... it’s actually for my friend here,” he said as he gestured to Zuki. The tailor looked up at her, his wrinkled brow furrowing.

“I’m afraid that we don’t serve ... aliens.”

“Why is that?” Jules asked.

“Well,” the tailor stammered, pausing as if he was trying to find a more diplomatic way to put it. “We simply don’t get alien customers. I wouldn’t know where to begin measuring a Krell for a suit, and I can’t imagine what use it would have for one.”

“But what about a Borealan?” Jules continued, “they’re basically humanoid besides for the legs and the tail.”

The tailor looked Zuki up and down, the Araxie standing patiently, her eyes darting between the two humans as she struggled to follow the conversation.

“Well, I’ve never ... I suppose that ... it is rather unorthodox.”

“I can pay for the materials,” Jules added, “just bill it to my account and do whatever you need to do. Think of it this way, you might be the first tailor to ever make a suit for an alien. Wouldn’t that be something to write home about?”

The tailor hesitated for a moment, then nodded in concession, gesturing for the pair to follow him. He led them over to the front of the counter and had Zuki stand in the middle of the floor, where he began to walk around her in a circle as he muttered to himself and fiddled with his spectacles. He pulled a measuring tape from his pocket and stooped to gauge how long her legs were, letting the tape snap back into the metal housing when he was done.