Young Writers Society

No Exit

Discothèque Series

The noise the sirens made bellowed off his ears, but Soren Plackerd remained calm as the proverbial cucumber in the sandwich he should at that moment be eating in the cantina. But being the only human still in Sector 9, he found himself with the wire clippers again.

The Starship Maura was one of the last remnants of human ingenuity in the galaxy; it was built on Mars in 2087 by some of the finest craftsmen of men. But being built by men, meant the entire thing was run of mechanics, electricity ran the ship through wires in the mainframe system. Things unknown to most species in the universe and shunned by all. Electricity caused fires, short outs, blackouts, failures in the guidance system. So inevitably when the wires did spark or fizzle, Soren was called up by Counselor Umaga to fix things again. This time, the wires in the ships security system had tripped and set off all the alarms.

Soren knew at the ripe old age of 25 that the only reason he was still alive was that he could fix things. He had always been good with his hands, and he supposed from what the Nun’s in Mission Dei had told him, his father had been the same, tiptop mechanic of caliber they had said, was known to through the entire galaxy, they had said. But Soren never knew his father or his mother, so it didn’t really matter. Staying alive did.

Soren clipped the last wire, and the pounding of the siren wails ceased, and then with precarious fingers he went to fuse the wires to their rightful places.

His lower back ached, his temples throbbed, his eyes burned from working with too little light, and his knees cracked loudly as he stood up. Sweat which made his slight work clothes stick to his skin dripped everywhere, including the bandana that held his hair away from his eyes. Ever fiber of his being from the follicles of his hair, to the toes slick sliding in his work boots, called for a good deep massage or a bath, or both. But comfort would have to wait. Soren gathered up his tools, and leaned over to flip the switch; the lights overhead flickered and then blasted on with a passion.

The conference room of Counselor Umaga, was small and the musty smell of dead grasshoppers and day old cheese made his stomach churl. He hated this place; every memory of being in this room made his skin crawl. Soren shifted in his seat awkwardly, his worn denim’s catching on the plastic bench.

“Human.”

The nasally voice of Counselor Umaga broke the uneasy silence.

Soren just nodded.

“Job done then?

Soren nodded again, not raising his eyes from their fixed potion staring at the dots in the floor tiles.

“Good, good. Now get out of my sight.”

Soren needed no encouragement and fled from the room as fast as his feet would carry him.

The spicy aromas of the cantina reached his nose before he could see the clear sliding doors. The doors opened as he passed through inhaling all the smells. Making sure to be as inconspicuous as ever, he padded over to pick up a cucumber sandwich and what in the Five Trions passed as beer.

Soft hands rested on his aching shoulder, he felt the long, thin fingers rubbing circles on his scalp, and ruffling his short, shaggy auburn hair. Soren closed his eyes, relaxing into the comforting touch.

“Tough day, huh.” The cat like voice purred off the tongue in rivulets and into his ear. The breath was warm on the side of his face.

Soren sighed. His sandwich forgotten.

But the caresses stopped and Soren blinked, his eyes focusing on Alisha as she slipped into the seat across from him. A warm smile crossed her features, her white, perfect teeth glinting against the florescent lightly in the cantina. She reached across the table, picked up his half eaten sandwich, and popped it into her mouth. As she chewed, she grimaced dramatically.

When she finished, an expression of total disgust contorted her pretty face, she acted as if she had just eaten the worst thing in the universe.

“Ick, cucumber. I should have known.”

He smiled in return.

Soren twisted his back trying to relieve the pain in the muscles.

“Yeah, tough day, everything hurts. I must be growing old.

Alisha looked confused for a second, but then she always did when he brought up age. Her green eyes lit up then, and she smirked slightly like when she was planning something (usually something dangerous).

“Come on, I can fix that.”

“What’s on your mind, hon?” Her voice curled around the air puffs as she spoke.

Alisha’s rooms were passionately dark, red velvet drapes and hangings all over.

Soren stripped off his sweat stained work shirt, and unlaced his boots to toe them and his socks off. He peeled his bandana off too before settling comfortable on Alisha’s cot. Soft warm fingers dug, pushed and prodded at his pliable flesh.

“Not much, just wondering how long before they run out of uses and excuses for me.”

He could feel her concerned stare on his shoulder blades, as he hands stilled their ministrations.

“That’s highly unlikely…”

But her voice shook slightly betraying her statement, and he didn’t feel like pushing her today.

“Okay done, turn over…” the voice was thick like the artificially made honey in the cantina.

Soren scrappled with his limp limbs and flipped over (Alisha did give the best massages), his breath caught in his throat. Her human likeness always caught him off guard. As did her beauty. She could have been one of the classic pin up girls; he had seen pictures of in the old magazine at Mission Dei, growing up. Long burgundy and maroon hair flowed in millions of braids from her perfectly sculpted face which contained the most expressive green eyes, pert nose, and full red lips.

this is all I have right now, and I would like all comments, suggestions and such that you have to give me.

cheers CL