When is it my turn?

In space, mineral resources are abundant while organic resources are relatively scarce. As a consequence, the majority of tools, clothing, and furnishings tend to be made of metal or synthetic polymers. The extraterrestrial equivalent of a wood-handled hammer available in any Earth hardware store would be a cultural relic of a long-lost planet and a possibly extinct plant species. As a consequence, while extraterrestrial industry and aesthetics appear on the surface to favor metal and advanced materials, most of the xenocultures appreciate the abundance and variability of organic manufacturing materials—more for the significance of owning such objects than any superior craftsmanship or utility. The younger generation of alien species who have grown up on Earth have less sentimental attachment to items made or incorporating wood, bone, horn, coral, mother-of-pearl and similar substances.
—Mallory Giger, Xenobiomechanics, Chapter 2

Mel was in the chair. Pants around his ankles.

Kayce O'Bannon sat on the couch, those three mechanical lenses in each eye staring at him. Except there was no one else here. No Jordan, no Jenny, no Béibhinn. It was somehow worse, being naked, the purple glans reaching toward the ceiling, while all alone except for her.

"Question," Kayce said. "When is it my turn?"

She shrugged out of her coat with all the band patches. The slim body beneath was naked. Almost cadaverously thin. Ribs visible. Breasts almost nonexistent, with prominent pink nipples. He could see the outline of her sternum, the musculature of her thin torso, and her rounded shoulders.

"When do I get a piece of the famous Mel Arkwright, Guy Hugh Mann, and his virile dick?"

She fell forward onto her knees, purple hair shaking, and the cords on Mel's arms and legs stood out as he strained to move. All he could do was flex his abs, which made his shaft slap against his stomach.

There was something wrong with her eyes. The shiny lens looked less mechanical, more organic.

"I need to take your measure now," she said, as a long tongue slid out of her mouth, inches and centimeters marked out on the pink ribbon like a ruler. Then her lower face came apart. The cheeks lifted, revealing themselves as great pedipalps. The jaw split into several separate feelers, each tipped with a tooth. The tongue slid around the base of the shaft and began to spiral its way up as the soft pedipalps rubbed against Mel's thighs and testicles. Tiny teeth tapped against the soft skin beneath.

The worst part was, Mel didn't go soft. If anything, he grew harder, the flesh of his swollen, veiny manhood almost purple, the head so tight it seemed ready to burst. The head, barely recognizable as Kayce, slowly crept up and closed over the tip. Mel felt a dozen small feelers tipped with teeth nibble at the super-sensitive head of his erection. That was when he saw that the eyes were no longer eyes; they were fungal growths erupting from the sockets of Kayce's skull, the flesh falling away as it was devoured to fuel further growth.

Her voice didn't come from her throat. It was a buzz in his head, echoing in his skull.

"You never learned to ask the right questions."

The soft click of the chastity cage coming unlocked made Mel awake. Jordan was there, in the dark, pinning his chest to the bed with the weight of her body as Jenny slid the condom over his rapidly swelling erection. It ached, less from last night's activities than from morning wood unable to fully form inside the steel.

A moment later, Mel realized what they were doing. Rachel stumbled toward his bed. She had her bra on this morning, which was something, but she had all the grace of a bear awoken in midwinter as she crawled onto the bed. There was a lumbering quality to the tall woman, whose exhausted brain was driven by instinct to seek out her mate.

Or maybe it was the blue light that leaked through the skin on the back of Rache's neck. Mel could see it, ghostly and surreal, in the darkness, limning her head as she crawled on top of him. Jordan and Jenny had to guide him into her, the two brain slug hosts working in tandem, letting that impossible hot, tight wetness engulf him as the sleepwalking woman settled her weight into his lap and began to grind back and forth.

Mel's hands found her thighs, rubbing them in time to her movement, hearing the creak of the bedsprings. Jordan and Jenny were on either side of her now, touching, kissing, but Rache seemed oblivious to all of it, her eyes closed as her body moved on its own. He wondered what dream she was having.

Then her eyes opened. Not swiftly. The lids raised slowly, languorously, and for a moment Mel's chest grew tight as he saw the whites of her eyes glowing softly from some inner bioluminescence, just like the brain slug hosts did. Then she saw Mel underneath her, and Jenny and Jordan each cupped one of her breasts, and Rache gave a contented smile as she began to move faster, rocking back and forth, finding that spot inside of her that Mel's prick rubbed just right and hitting it, again and again.

Mel watched Rache's mouth open in a soft moan. Her hands found his, and their fingers entwined, palm-to-palm as they moved together, Jenny's fingers sliding down to gently circle Rache's clit.

It was her day. Her turn. She was getting her share.

Maybe that's the wrong way to think about it, Mel thought as Rache's moaning grew louder, her buttocks flexing, leaning back to angle her body for better stimulation. Maybe it's just important to take the time to appreciate people. Give them special attention. See to their needs.

"Trying to knock me up?" Rache moaned, and Mel's whole body tensed, fingers clenching. Rache's upper lip curled into something like a leer. "Does that get you excited? I bet it does. If that condom breaks, I might be in real trouble. All those strong swimmers headed toward my womb. Surrounding my helpless egg. Can you imagine what I'd be like knocked up with your baby? My breasts and belly would get so big . . ."

It was a game. Mel knew it was a game. Yet in the dark, his cheeks burned and his body shivered with tension. Cock like a bar of iron as she moved faster and harder, and he felt his hips jerk automatically, trying to push himself deeper inside. The pressure inside was sudden, intense, and he barely held off blowing his load right then and there.

Why is it different with Rache than it was with Lucie? Mel wondered, suddenly aware of the sweat that pooled in the hollow of her clavicle. With a grunt, he sat up, and Jordan and Jenny pulled away as his mouth went to those sweaty pockets.

"Do it," Rache moaned, begged, pleaded. "Cum in me! I want to feel it! Breed me, daddy!"

She couldn't feel it. The condom would hold. They both knew that. Yet Mel grunted as his control slipped. She grew tighter, moved faster and harder, grinding herself against him as he filled the condom. Racing toward her own climax as he spent himself in her, the sperm reservoir ballooning out with his morning load. Until she pressed her neck against his and gave a little squeal, Jordan and Jenny hugging them together.

If he wasn't wearing a condom, Mel knew, that hug would have kept him from pulling out. His muscles ached as he tried to squeeze out the last little drop. Her own muscles squeezed and relaxed, squeezed and relaxed, until he began to soften.

Panting and suddenly growing relaxed against him, Rache turned her head and asked:

"You want this one?"

"If you don't mind," the ghola answered.

Béibhinn stood in the doorway, still dressed in the karate pants and sleeveless shirt from last night. Behind her, Mel could see 'stasia, who gave a little wave.

The four of them disengaged. Béibhinn got the condom with its white liquid cargo; Rache and Mel got dressed. Jordan and Jenny settled on the couch, holding hands with Your Brain Slug Lover and You between them, reading together. Rache gave 'stasia a kiss on the cheek before the blonde went out with Mel on their walk. Mel, not sure he felt comfortable doing that just yet, gave his neighbor a little wave.

Then they were on the street, Mel and Rache, hand-in-hand, both of them feeling the aftermath of their morning sex and stretching out the muscles with each stride.

"I told Molly we should go on a date before we do anything intimate," he said. "She suggested the botanical gardens. On Sunday."

"That should be nice," Rache said.

"It felt like the right thing to do," Mel said. "I don't want it to be like Lucie, where it was . . . where it felt like it was just sex for reproduction. Not to have fun, not as part of a deeper relationship, just . . . sex. It wasn't until after I texted Molly about it that I realized I wasn't being fair. I should have asked you and Jordan and Jenny out on dates first."

That made Rache smile.

"I mean, we're kind of already dating, even if we haven't gone on any formal dates," she said.

"I know. We kind of did things out of order," Mel admitted. "But I mean it. I don't want to take you for granted. I like spending time with you. Want to spend more time with you. Not just sex, but . . . hanging out. Going places. Doing things. Building memories."

Rachel was still smiling. "Smooth. If I wasn't already a sure thing, I'd think you were trying to get in my pants. You know what you are, Mel Arkwright?"

"What's that?" Mel said.

"A romantic," she said, as they stepped into the park and into the shadow of the trees. "Your ideas of relationships are based on television and movies, and you think it's all boy-meets-girl, goes on dates, maybe a little hanky-panky before marriage, but then it's wedding bells and babies ever after. But that's like, one idealized possibility. Reality is more complicated."

Mel considered his current situation. Three women in a regular relationship. Sex friends. One-off encounters with extraterrestrials and stray MILFs. He had to admit, nothing in his life these last few months was anything like the media he'd consumed growing up in the orphanage. Then again, maybe if he'd had unfiltered internet access or a complicated family life, things would be different. Some of the kids talked about their parents. It wasn't always one man and one woman. Cheating, abandonment, and changing relationships were all more common in their stories than not.

"I can't argue with that," Mel said.

"It's okay to be a romantic," Rache said as they entered the darkest part of the woods. "And I do want to go on a date with you. Just keep in mind that you don't have to meet the bullshit standards of some Hollywood writers' room. What we have now, right here, is real. That's worth a lot more."

She squeezed his hand.

"It is," Mel agreed.

"Anyway, I've got a study group after class tonight, so I probably won't see you tonight, unless it's late," she said with a sigh. "If you're already asleep when I get home, can I wake you up to eat me out?"

"Of course," Mel said. "Whatever, whenever you want. It's our day."

That made Rache pull him close, and not let him go until they parted with a kiss in the hallway.

Sometimes, Mel reflected, I say the right thing.

Leg stretches today. They were showered and on the street just as dawn broke. Jordan and Jenny were holding hands, leading the way. Mel studied their brain slugs. Green, clear, active, the small dark heads moving with sensory tentacles extended as they walked past bakeries and bagel places. The air was warm, promising the first hot day all year.

Mel's phone rang as they were stopped at a crosswalk.

He fished it out of his pocket. It was Ha-Yoon.

"Where are you?" she said.

"Uh . . . 3rd and Quwutsun," he said, glancing at street signs. "About halfway. What's up?"

There was a deep breath and a sigh on the other end of the line.

"Just get here as soon as you can," she said. "And pass the phone to your girlfriends."

Mel frowned at that. Jordan and Jenny were looking over their shoulders at him.

"It's Ha-Yoon," he said, and passed the phone to them. Not sure how this was going to work.

Jordan took it. She listened. Then tapped the phone's microphone. The code, Mel figured, was relatively simple. One tap for no, two taps for yes. The exchange continued as they passed through the intersection, Jenny guiding Jordan as she focused on the call. By the time they were across the street, Jordan handed the phone back to Mel. Ha-Yoon had already hung up.

"Well, that isn't ominous at all," he muttered.

The first thing Mel noticed was a long white bus parked at the Cosmic Fill-Up. Not at one of the charging stations, because it was one of the older hybrids that still ran on diesel, just parked there. It was marked SEACOUVER TOURIST AUTHORITY on the side.

Things became clearer as soon as they entered.

At least thirty K'lur'k occupied the store. With all the different colors and textures of their exoskeletons, it made Mel feel like he had entered an alien forest. While each of them had the general body shape of huge slender crabs or stick insects, Mel could see that height, thickness, and position of manipulators were all different, sometimes subtly. There were insects so thick he couldn't wrap his hands around them so the fingers would touch, and some had smooth, shiny carapaces with inset accents or implants of gold wire; others were mottled, bumpy, and looked as if they had cracked and healed. Many carried purses or what looked like pouches and straps on belts. A soft chorus of clicks filled the Cosmic Fill-Up, like dozens of clucking tongues as they examined various wares, or sipped drinks through their mandibles using long, thin straws.

They all went silent as Mel entered, behind Jordan and Jenny.

Then they all seemed to move at once, and Mel froze in place as they surrounded him, and he became aware of the vinegary smell that seemed to hang around them. He didn't remember Two-Clicks smelling quite like that, but he couldn't exactly guess what was typical for the species based on a single member.

The thickest of them, who was as about as tall as Mel but an absolute log in terms of mass, pushed forward. The hide was brownish-gray, with what looked like a raspy, sandpapery texture, but the joints were bright and shiny where they met the limbs, and the movements were smooth and eerily confident. The only accessory on its body was what looked like a pair of chopsticks attached to one limb by a pair of leather bands. Mel looked it in the eyepits. Its mandibles clicked, and the implanted voicebox translated:

<<You are Melville the Arkwright?>>

"I am Mel Arkwright, yes," he said. "Are you friends of . . ."

Mel attempted the two soft clucks with his tongue. The whole crowd shivered, bobbing up and down softly on their four lower limbs.

<<We are her clutch-mates in the Many Eggs Nest,>> the tall K'lur'k said. <<I am Three-Clicks-Before-Silence.>>

Mel listened closely. There were three clearly defined clucks, and then a pause and a kind of final, tonal shift. He practiced it with his tongue and lips. Three-Clicks-Before-Silence repeated her name, and Mel tried again, adjusting the tone on the final click to be deeper, more resonant. The clutch of K'lur'k bobbed again.

<<Impressive. Mel Arkwright, we sluts desire to touch the penis that so deliciously defiled our clutch-mate. We will not leave until this goal is accomplished.>> The K'lur'k paused. <<Please, mister, show us your cock?>>

What surprised Mel is that he wasn't surprised. Nearly every extraterrestrial he had met had wanted to see him with his pants off. In all honesty, he was beginning to wonder if he was being rude by not asking to see their genitalia.

"I have girlfriends," Mel said. "And this is my place of employment. I'm not saying no, but I need to discuss things with them first. If you would be kind enough to let me through, I'll do just that right now."

The extraterrestrials parted like an honor guard. Mel smiled, nodded, and walked straight to Ha-Yoon's office. She was seated behind her desk; Jordan and Jenny were squeezed in before it. The sobriety chip was in her shaking hands. An unopened can of beer was on the desk in front of her. Mel glanced at the trash bin. Six wrappers, two coffee cups. He stepped forward and, without asking, picked up the beer and handed it to Jordan.

"Make them go away," Ha-Yoon said, her eyes closed. "I don't care how you do it, just don't get your dick on our cameras."

"Are you okay, boss?" Mel asked quietly.

Ha-Yoon opened her eyes. They were bloodshot and puffy, the cheeks wet. Yet she didn't smell like alcohol, not even Bay Rum.

"My sister was in an accident, up the gravity well. They won't say if she's alive or dead yet," her hands twiddled the chip, over and over.

Mel nodded. He looked at Jordan and Jenny. "Are you okay with this? It sounds like they just want photos."

The two brain slug hosts each gave a thumb's up. Jenny dug into a pocket and stepped forward, handing Mel the key to his

Mel bent his knees to bring his face level with Ha-Yoon's.

"You want to run the camera? It might help. Having something to do," he said. Thinking of kids who had been separated from their siblings. There had been an administrator who would make them sweep and mop, then reward them with cheap generic-brand sodas afterward, sometimes declaring a movie night. Anything to keep them occupied.

"Yeah," Ha-Yoon said, planting her palms on the desk and pushing herself up. "Okay. Let's use the K'lur'k kiosk, like before."

She pushed past Mel, drawing herself up to her full height and forcing a smile.

"We'll use the K'lur'k waste disposal kiosk," she announced loudly. "Where we shot last time. Please form a line; we'll do one at a time. No touching, but any pose that's safe. Four photos only. And if you post these online, no names!"

The clicking continued. Mel stepped into the kiosk first, unbuckling his pants and taking off his underwear and cage. Three-Clicks-Before-Silence had managed to position herself first, and caught Mel taking himself in hand, stroking to hardness. In his mind's eye, he tried to think of Rache this morning, awake and enjoying their little game, the dirty talk. Pictured what would have happened if the condom had burst inside of her. The K'lur'k's pedipalps shook in a way that the voicebox couldn't translate, her manipulator limbs raised above her head and shaking.

<<Yes, like that,>> Three-Clicks-Before-Silence said. <<Let me expose myself as if you are going to inseminate this slut!>>

Ha-Yoon began to get into the spirit of the thing immediately. They took four photos with Three-Clicks-Before-Silence. Showing Mel's stiffness mere inches away from where her genital coverings had retracted. When they were done, the K'lur'k gave Ha-Yoon her email address, clicked a <<Thank you,>> and left for the next one.

Mel could not bring himself close to the acidic orifices. But he could get close and do other things. One of the K'lur'k gently held his throbbing stiffness in one manipulator. Another asked him to lay his turgid erection across her dark eyepits. A third wanted him to stand behind her, positioned in such a way that his prick rubbed just below one of her lower limb joints.

The K'lur'k exoskeletons, Mel discovered, had very different textures. Most were relatively smooth, like he imagined Earth crabs were, with occasional little spiky bits. Yet the exoskeletons were hard enough that they could weather, becoming rough in places, and injured or cracked exoskeletons "scarred" by laying on additional material in raised, irregular lumpy growths. The variety of textures was fascinating, though Mel had to take a break every now and again to keep things stiff for the clutch.

It was past his normal lunchtime when the last one was done. Jordan and Jenny, Mel discovered, had been helping keep the line docile, and to keep the earlier K'lur'k from going to the end of the line and getting more photos. By the end, Mel had his erection buckled behind his belt and waved as the young females from the Many Eggs Nest boarded their bus—with, Mel noticed, many bags of junk food and every single copy of Slug Fucker Monthly.

Exhausted, Mel was grateful to accept a rice bowl and a salty drink. He was glad to see the beer that had been on Ha-Yoon's desk was nowhere to be seen, and she actually joined them at their lunch table for once.

"Thank you for that," she said, with a tired smile, as she picked the chicken out of a chicken salad sandwich. "I think I needed it."

"Pure coincidence," Mel said. "But I appreciate the help. Not sure what I would have done on my own. I just hope it doesn't become a regular thing."

Ha-Yoon's eyes went wide.

"Shit. We could have charged them!" she said.

Mel frowned. "I do not want to charge for people to see my junk."

Ha-Yoon rolled her eyes. She was definitely feeling better.

With the lack of work this morning, the afternoon was busy. Bathrooms needed cleaning. Shelves needed restocking. Receipt paper needed changing out. Mel was outside sanitizing the touchscreen on Hydrogen Pump #3 when familiar heavy footsteps caught his attention.

Today, Detective MacElroy's turban was a deep crimson.

"Mr. Arkwright," she said, then jumped straight to the point. "A changeling has been in your apartment. Recently. The spore samples in your living room and bedroom are fresh."