The Blue Lounge

Doc waits a moment to gather his thoughts. There's no way of knowing if the two men in black are waiting outside for him. Why would they wait, though? He packs some chew into his lip. Great, he thinks. Thunderhorse is in jail when I need him most.

Doc gathers up his courage and leaves the stall, stridently. He thrusts open the bathroom door and scans the Lounge. The two Alpha Centaurians and the fat Hawaiian shirt guy are all sitting on chaise lounges at the mouth of the bar. They turn to see his entrance, then to each other to whisper amongst themselves.

"Better cut back on the Atraskan mega-prunes, there, buddy," says a voice from just beyond his left peripheral vision. It's the bartender. He's sitting on a stool behind the bar, reading a magazine. It's entitled Tits, Intergalactic.

"I guess so," Doc replies.

"Can I get you anything?" the bartender asks.

Doc thinks a moment. "Got any Everclear?"

"Haha, sure, I got that. What do you want to mix it with?"

"I'll take the bottle."

"Whoah, my kinda drinker." The bartender opens the cabinet beneath the liquor display and grabs the bottle. He also grabs a tumbler and fills it with ice. He presents both to Doc. "Three hundred credits, please."

Doc presents his ID card and prays it will work. The bartender taps it against a scanner. It works.

"Gonna want a chaser with that?" the bartender asks.

"Just beer."

"You're nuts, dude. I like you." The bartender tops off a glass of Blue Moon, the only thing on tap here. "On the house."

Doc thanks him and takes the two bottles, leaving the tumbler. He joins the party of hairy people, taking a seat at a fourth chaise, next to the fat guy and across from the Centaurians. He sets his beverages on the glass table by his chair.

"I'm sorry for earlier. I can't go if there's anyone around, either." Doc says to one of the Centuarians, not exactly sure which one he inadvertently offended.

The one he's not looking at speaks. "So you perv out and creep me right the hell out of the bathroom?" His voice is kind of whiny but stuffy, like he's talking with cotton in his mouth.

Doc meets the gaze of the correct offendee. "No, sorry, I was just waiting for you to leave so I wouldn't be embarassed by the... you know, noise."

"Uh, there are sound and odor dampers on the stalls, duh. Where are you from, a third world country?" says the other Centuarian. The fat guy chuckles.

"Ohio."

"That explains it," they all chuckle.

"Name's Doc." He extends his hand in greeting.

The first Alpha Centuarian accepts it. "Nigel. This is Frans," the second Centuarian waves, "and Glorth." The fat guy smiles and nods as his shirt changes color abruptly from dayglo orange to neon green. The little palm leaves on it are waving in an animated breeze.

Doc drinks his beer. "So where are you all from?"

Frans speaks. "Were from Furkburgen, Crabph province. Have you ever been?"

"No, I can't say I've ever left Earth." He remembers where he is. "Orbit is about as far as I've been. Is Furkbugger on Alpha Centuari?"

"Duh," Nigel rolls his eyes. "Geeze, don't they teach extraplanetary geography in Ohio? And it's 'Furkburgen.'"

"Furkbugger," Frans laughs. "That's a good one. So what brings you up here?"

"I'm a visiting professor. I teach history."

"Really, that's interesting," lies Nigel. "We're here to visit our son. He's an astrophysics major. He's graduating this year."

"That's nice. Who's son is he?"

Frans stirs his finger in the air, indicating the three of them. "All of us. He's our son."

Doc has a rather distressing visual image of the sort of relationship these three have. He decides to change the subject as he chugs on his beer. He can't think of anything.

"So you've never met anyone from Alpha Centuari, have you?" Nigel asks. There's an underlying coyness there, disguised but detectable.

"No, I haven't. I've read a bit about your anatomy, though." Whoops, Doc thinks.

"Really?" says Frans, now leaning into the conversation.

"I'm a medical doctor," Doc recovers. "That's why they call me Doc."

The two horny Alpha Centuarians back down a bit, visibly slumping into their chairs.

"I understand that your species is hermaphroditic and that you chose who will be the male or female during mating." Doc attempts to re-engage them in a conversation that would arouse their interests without arousing their...interest.

Glorth chuckles. It's more like a titter.

Nigel replies. "Well, sometimes its not so much a choice." Nigel and Frans look at each other knowingly. It's hard to tell what they mean.

"So you can't be both roles at once?"

Frans laughs. "Well, yes," Nigel says. "But it's a really awkward position." He laughs a bit. Glorth laughs louder. "You're into some really kinky shit, aren't you?"

On that cue, the men in black appear at the Lounge. Doc sets down his beer and picks up the bottle of Everclear. He stands and raises it to them in greeting. His left hand grasps both the switchblade and pain gun in his jacket pocket. "Welcome, gentlemen, glad you could join us."

"You come with us now, Dr. Shaw," one of them says. They both grip their pain guns.

"Holy shit, you really are a kinky boy," swoons Frans. Glorph is almost coughing up a lung laughing so hard.

"Listen, boys. Why don't you grab a drink, pull up a chair, and tell me what this is all about," Doc invites them.

"No talk here, you come with us. We talk in our room."

"Whoooo! Can we come?" shouts Nigel.

"No. Dr. Shaw will come with us alone. Now."