Sample: HUNTED HERMAPHRODITE LOVER

2008 Gaylactic Spectrum Award Recommended Short List (Short Fiction) under the title PRIME SUSPECT.

A lonely being in a lonely galaxy…

Heron Meed has two strikes against it. It is a hemaphrodite in a galaxy dominated by two-gendered beings. And it’s a convicted criminal.

After six years of incarceration, Heron is trying to start a new life, but that isn’t easy when so many avenues are closed to it. It finally finds a refuge of sorts on the Castor Xeni Orbital and a surcease from its pain in the arms of voluptuous Subah Doisson, but then various systems on the Orbital start getting sabotaged. With a small engineering population, and Heron the only newcomer to the station, how can the hermaphrodite prove its innocence amid a sea of entrenched prejudice?

2016 update: This book, previously titled PRIME SUSPECT, has been re-edited for this edition. A compact list of people, places and things is also included)

People Heron Meed / Fusmic / Acqui K'liven / Subah Doisson / Georg Sessen / Erdonn / Oerter / Inras Idis / Tix / Jay / Tumi / Kiz Vin E

Places Scribus sector / Bliss / e'Bultar Detention Centre / Castor Xeni Orbital / Morhea sector / Tuskel / Sabreo sector / Dobos VII / Fodox Stellar Barrens

Things hermies / 389-R1 / mem-stick / memory-vibe

Hunted Hermaphrodite Lover by KS Augustin  SAMPLE

Chapter One Heron Meed tried to look nonchalant as it handed over its identity chip.

Immigration. Not for the first time, the hermaphrodite wondered what selection process seemed to award the role of planetary gatekeeper to people who looked either like sadistic bastards or apathetic sloths. Not that it had, in all honesty, too much faceto-face experience with such people.

Once, years ago, as a member of the Republic Space Fleet, it and its cohorts could enter and leave territories with impunity, laughing at the petty bureaucrats that seemed to find pleasure in harassing tourists. But that was before the mutiny charge, and six years of lonely incarceration.

While the queue slowly shuffled forward, it wondered, as it always did, whether the sentence at the penal colony in the Scribus sector was in recognition of its previous service or a fiendish punishment. On the prison-planet of Bliss, there was no chance of escape, but liberation from e’Bultar meant that Heron would have to live with being one of the “little people” for the rest of its life. Stripped of all its former privileges, Heron Meed would now have to cultivate an air of shallow humility and abide by the petty rules it had previously abhorred.

The person in front of Heron, a salesman bearing samples of advanced radiation shielding, completed his formalities and moved beyond the holding area. Heron stepped forward and handed over its identity chip.

“What was your last place of embarkation?” the Immigration officer asked, his colourless eyes alight with a perverse pleasure as his gaze flicked over the information displayed on his monitor.

You already know that, you bastard.

“The e’Bultar Detention Centre,” Heron replied quietly. It didn’t have to turn around to see fleeting expressions of distress flash on the faces of passengers behind it.

The shuffling of feet and sound of sudden furtive movements said it all.

“Were you visiting an inmate perhaps?” the officer asked with false innocence.

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Hunted Hermaphrodite Lover by KS Augustin  SAMPLE Heron didn’t hesitate. Its voice was firm. “No.” The condescending smile was wiped from the officer’s face as quickly as it appeared and Heron knew the game was now on: it versus officialdom.

There was nothing anybody could do to stop Heron from entering the Castor Xeni Orbital. According to the regulations—and it had read them most carefully before leaving e’Bultar—artificial habitat constructs were not off-limits to recently released criminals the way precious natural planets were. It couldn’t see the logic in such a policy but, for the moment, was glad of the loophole. But it also knew that Officer―Heron quickly scanned the ID badge―Fusmic would make things as difficult as possible.

Tough. The passenger transport it had arrived on was the last one for three days and if there was no pretext for throwing the hermaphrodite into a holding cell ―which there would not be―then Immigration had to let it through to enter the orbital proper.

“There seems to be an irregularity,” the Immigration officer said, after a lengthy pause. He looked past Heron and gave the other passengers in the queue a conciliatory smile.

Not my fault at all, ladies and gentlemen. Who knows where scum of the galaxy will turn up?

“According to this, your gender…”

Fusmic left off and ran his eyes suggestively down the slim figure on the other side of the low, steel counter. The being identified as Heron Meed had regular features: olive skin, square jaw, high cheekbones, slightly slanted silver-grey eyes and dark straight hair cut short. There was the slight protuberance in its throat, at odds with the soft curves that the snug-fitting faded jacket could not hide. Much as it also could not hide―Fusmic’s eyes moved lower―the bulge in its military-style trousers.

Heron was used to the looks, the almost-physical stripping that it was forced to endure more times than it liked, and remained impassive.

“I’m a hermaphrodite from the Morhea sector. The last I heard,” Heron drawled, unable to contain its contempt, “Morhea is still part of the Republic. Or are you telling me that the secessionist movement succeeded in its aims?”

Fusmic’s eyes widened and he threw the chip back across the counter where it skittered to a stop in front of the hermaphrodite.

“We don’t like your kind here,” he snarled, although whether he meant Heron’s Page 6

Hunted Hermaphrodite Lover by KS Augustin  SAMPLE immediate past or gender was unclear. “See to your business then get lost.” His eyes finally moved past Heron. “Next.”

Heron picked up its chip, hoisted the backpack on its shoulder and kept walking.

“Could have been worse,” it said softly.

Could have been a hell of a lot better.

Now that Heron was clear of the first major hurdle, it stopped to take a good look around.

Upon release from a detention centre, the Republic generously offered a single one-way trip to the destination of the ex-prisoner’s choice, provided the destination was limited to neighbouring sectors no more than two crease-jumps away. Knowing its behaviour had been exemplary and that release was looming, Heron had spent the last several months of imprisonment trudging through stick after stick of data, sifting through the blaring “Denied!” on most worlds before finally compiling a shortlist of four possible destinations. Going home―to the Morhea Sector, to admitted failure―was not an option. Which left two orbitals, one moon habitat and an asteroid belt. At the time, staring at the dull grey walls of its cell, the Castor Xeni Orbital had seemed the best choice.

Heron knew of Castor Xeni from its old days in the Space Fleet. The privatelyowned orbital specialised in the repair and refitting of commercial and luxury spacecraft and even the Fleet had been known to dock there for emergency repairs. It was a busy place, full of dynamic ship traffic, supporting several cadres of engineers and an extensive array of maintenance and infrastructure crews. Between working on ships, personnel were often also involved in intensive mining operations on the planet the orbital circled, the source of many of the exotic ores its commerce relied on.

Busy, however, did not translate to a high turnover of personnel. Ships came, carrying no extra passengers, and ships left, better than before but also carrying no paying passengers. Castor Xeni was strictly a place of business and not many people’s first choice of pleasure spot, which explained the low frequency of commuter services.

Heron considered this lack of a transient population as good news. Few visitors meant a dearth of loud-mouthed tourists, overzealous security personnel and inane shallow pleasure-seekers who viewed sex with a hermaphrodite as nothing more than a notch on their hedonist belts. Although, now having passed Immigration and its condescending official, it wondered whether it had been a bit too idealistic regarding the casual attitudes of the orbital’s personnel.

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Hunted Hermaphrodite Lover by KS Augustin  SAMPLE Well, it was too late to change its mind. With funds too meagre to buy passage offstation, Heron was forced to spend the next few months right there, finding work and beginning the process of “cleaning” its past of any distasteful connotations.

Past the small and sterile Arrivals/Departures area, wide corridors splayed out in a star configuration. One way led to the food ellipse, another to the habitat levels, yet others to Engineering, Cargo, Station Administration and other sections.

Food, Heron decided, as its stomach rumbled.

It was difficult being back in the wider society after eight years of service in the Republic Space Fleet, followed by six years of unjust incarceration. At any moment, Heron expected someone to rush up to it, either with a set of orders or a degrading command to carry out. It tensed as a furrowed-browed worker approached, but the human walked past without a second glance and Heron slowly relaxed its muscles.

Moving past several slower knots of people, it made its way to the nearest canteen.

From now on, everything was going to start costing money, from the meals one ate to its quarters, not to mention the standard maintenance charges for air and water used. Its savings would diminish much quicker than on a habitable planet but that couldn’t be helped. Until Heron held down five years of legal employment, its feet would never touch the soil of a free planet.

With a grimace, Heron took a tray from a neat stack just inside the canteen’s entrance and bought the cheapest, most filling meal available―bread with protein cubes in a brown gravy, and a small bottle of flat recycled water. Surprisingly, the food tasted better in the detention centre—was this muddy glop what it was going to have to eat for the next five years?—but it had been prison food when all was said and done, and at least Heron was now “free”. It almost snorted sarcastically at the thought.

Its stomach full, the next things on the agenda were a job and someplace to sleep.

Heron paused on the way out of the large canteen and grimaced. No, that wasn’t correct. As an ex-criminal, the first thing it had to do—the thing it should have done before even eating—was register with Station Security. As if it hadn’t already paid its debt to the Fleet and society at large.

A large directory schematic at the corridor hub directed Heron to the Security office, and it headed there resentfully. It provided its name to one of the staff and was left—waiting on hard, thinly-upholstered benches—for almost an hour before finally being ushered into the Administrator’s office, a pointed reminder of just how low in the pecking order it had fallen.

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Hunted Hermaphrodite Lover by KS Augustin  SAMPLE There were no fripperies in the office it entered, situated in the solid bowels of the orbital. No stills of family, no fidget-gadgets on the stark gleaming desk, just rows of flickering monitors that flashed images from one surveillance sensor to another. The only thing curved and organic in the room was the Security Administrator himself and, judging by his stolid impassive features, and the ponderous way he swiveled towards Heron, the ex-convict considered the man only barely sentient.

His badge rotated the name “Acqui K’liven” in a variety of common Republic languages and, as a heavy-worlder, he didn’t so much sit as squat on his wide chair. In fact, Heron thought in a brief philosophical moment, he looked so immovable it seemed plausible that the entire station had been built around his massive form.

K’liven also said nothing, content to wait until Heron had its fill of the office.

“I’m looking for a job,” Heron finally began in standard ingel, leaning forward to slide its identity chip across the desk.

Thick fingers reached for the chip, making it look toy-like and fragile in those massive hands, and inserted it into the nearest computer slot. Seconds crawled past while the administrator reviewed the information on his screen.

“And why did you choose the Castor Xeni Orbital, Heron Meed?” Acqui K’liven’s voice was a deep rumble, as thick and slow as a plastic lava flow.

“I have expertise in engineering and astronavigation, and you have a large engineering contingent on this station. I’m confident I’d be a valuable asset to your station. I’m not proud,” it said, “I can turn my hand to anything.”

Heron was sure the station would be grateful to have someone with its range of expertise, but K’liven didn’t reply. It frowned. Had it said something wrong? Had it sounded too arrogant?

“And,” it finally admitted into the lengthening silence, “it’s quiet.”

K’liven glanced up at him. “You don’t like excitement?”

“No.” “That’s good. Because neither do I.” K’liven continued scanning the rest of the chip’s contents, occasionally entering what Heron assumed were additional access codes. Being a higher designation than Immigration Officer Fusmic, Heron knew he would be accessing more detailed information on its history—its former occupation, the charges against it, regular

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Hunted Hermaphrodite Lover by KS Augustin  SAMPLE reports from its time in prison. Under the desk, it clenched and steadied its hands while it waited.

“As long as you don’t bother me,” K’liven finally rumbled, “I won’t bother you. You have sixteen hours to find accommodation, we don’t tolerate loiterers on the orbital.

And three days to find work, or I’ll deport you.”

Those were harsh terms but Heron had no choice. It nodded.

“If you’re lucky enough to find work, I’ll be requesting regular reports on your behaviour.” K’liven’s gaze bored into its face. “This is a serious and law-abiding place, and I intend to keep it that way, do you understand?”

“Yes.” That obviously signalled the end of the conversation. Rising to its feet, Heron retrieved its chip from K’liven’s bulky hand and took its leave.

With only sixteen hours to its first deadline, accommodation was Heron’s next highest priority. It had noticed a bulletin board in the food ellipse closest to the transport area, so headed back there now, scanning the listings for available units, starting with the first―most recent―one.

Before its new life had even properly started, it was already looking like it was finished.

Back in the common eating area after several hours of trudging around the orbital, Heron collapsed into one of the chairs.

They had all said no. Heron had also asked after jobs and received some promising offers, but nobody was willing to offer it a place to sleep and put its things. Whether because of gender, or its status as a newly-released prisoner, Heron didn’t know…or care. There were now only eight hours left on Security Administrator K’liven’s first deadline, and Heron didn’t want to start life on the orbital as an outlaw.

It shuffled again through the names it had stored on its chip. It had begun with the most recent names. Maybe if the order was reversed…? The small screen blinked blue.

To share family quarters. One room plus access to shared facilities. Rent plus outgoings plus

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Hunted Hermaphrodite Lover by KS Augustin  SAMPLE percentage of annual habitat tax, pro rata. Contact Subah Doisson, Sanitation Level D, Junction 12.

It didn’t sound very inviting―the details were sparse at best, and the date-tag was months old. Moreover, Heron didn’t relish the idea of sharing quarters with a family.

Still, it was desperate. If it couldn’t find accommodation within the next few hours, and didn’t have enough money to get off the station, it would be arrested and thrown into a cell...not the kind of beginning one wanted for a new life.

Heron read through the listing again, memorising the address, then got to its feet, once more hoisting its pack onto its shoulder, and set out to find Level D, Junction 12.

The Sanitation section was not an easy place to get to, hidden away from the other areas almost as an afterthought, which it well might have been after the enthusiasm of building a space station subsided. As it navigated the increasingly narrow maze of corridors, Heron thought that Subah Doisson must have provided his or her working address until it suddenly came across an orange-lined door that denoted accommodation quarters. It looked around. A home in the middle of an industrial area?

How strange.

Heron rang the buzzer, already half-dispirited. Maybe if it could show K’liven proof of employment, the security chief might give it a reprieve regarding quarters.

Heron was already prioritising its tentative employment offers, and preparing a pitch to the dour orbital administrator, when the door slid open.

“Yes, may I help you?”

Heron straightened immediately from where it slouched against the wall.

A woman. She was as tall as Heron with slightly darker skin, murky green eyes and burnt auburn hair. With strong features and a low, husky voice, she couldn’t be called attractive, but there was something striking about her, emphasised by her voluptuous figure.

Heron, deprived of close companionship for six years, felt a flutter in its groin as it regarded her.

“I’m looking for Subah Doisson,” it said.

“I’m Subah Doisson.”

Oh. Interesting.

Don’t get too excited. There’s probably a he-man lurking somewhere in the

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Hunted Hermaphrodite Lover by KS Augustin  SAMPLE background.

Heron restrained the urge to look over her shoulder and into the quarters.

“You have a listing for someone to share your accommodation?” it asked, its voice hopeful.

Heron saw the woman size it up. There was speculation in the gaze but nothing that made its skin crawl, no half-hidden lecherous leer or tight grimace of revulsion.

“That old listing?” Heron’s heart dropped and something must have shown on its face because the woman laughed a little nervously. “I mean, it’s still available, but it’s just that I posted it so long ago, I’d almost forgotten about it. Please,” she said, standing aside and gesturing with her hand, “come in. I’ll show you around.”

It was a modest space with two bedrooms, both with secondary doors opening into a common bathroom. Privately, Heron thought it would be a bit cramped with more than three adults sharing the quarters but beggars couldn’t be choosers, as the ancient saying went.

Subah Doisson must have misread Heron’s silence because she added apologetically: “I know it’s a long way from the rest of the accommodation wing and you can sometimes hear the water pumping in and out of the recycling pipes behind the walls. Because of that, though, it’s not as expensive as some other family quarters —” “I’ll take it.”

“You will? I mean, that’s good.” She gave a quick smile and Heron’s heart bumped momentarily in an uneven staccato. “This will be your room,” she indicated the bedroom on the right. “I’m one of the Sanitation engineers so I work pretty regular hours for the most part. It will be interesting having someone else to share quarters with again.”

That makes two of us.

“What about your husband?” Heron knew family quarters were never allocated to single women, no matter the circumstance. Space stations were the epitome of pragmatism.

“He died five years ago.” Her eyes clouded briefly. “A reactor accident. I thought I would be relocated but these quarters are not very popular and, in the end, I just ended up staying. I’ve been looking for a co-tenant, on and off, for more than a year now.”

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Hunted Hermaphrodite Lover by KS Augustin  SAMPLE And, Heron thought, she didn’t have a clue how to go about it. She should be full of questions: who are you? Why are you interested in renting here? Do you have a job?

Where did you live last? Heron was tempted to force her to throw it out, just to show how undesirables should be dealt with.

Instead, in a calm voice, it asked, “How much is the rent?”

“Five hundred credits a month, plus outgoings. Say, six-fifty for the first month?”

Good. At least it had that much in its possession.

“Sounds fine,” it said, trying to sound brisk and businesslike. “I’ll transfer the funds immediately.”

There were questions here, in this strange little place of bedrooms situated amidst the recycling operation. Heron could feel the mystery in the air, but K’liven’s heavy threat hung over its head. It couldn’t afford to harbour any doubts, especially when this was the only accommodation choice it had.

“Have you had anything to eat?” Subah asked, moving to the small galley.

Heron was on the point of saying “yes” until it realised its last meal was more than eight hours ago. “Ah, no.”

“Then I’ll fix us something.” Her eyes crinkled with humour. “No charge.”

Left with nothing to do, Heron gave her a tight smile and went to stow its backpack in its new room. The space was cosy, but there was also a small desk extruded from the wall, with an attached swing-out chair. The ubiquitous computer was small, black and cube-shaped, perched on a corner of the off-white desktop.

After a quick look around, it bent down and stroked the bed’s smooth amber coverlet. It was thicker than the blankets the detention centre offered, without the patches or holes it was used to. The Republic had technology to travel the stars yet still couldn’t develop material that didn’t tear or wear out. Couldn’t...or wouldn’t.

Six years ago, Heron wouldn’t have looked twice at such furniture trappings. But now, a plain coverlet in good condition was the height of luxury.

With a wry smile, Heron walked over to the computer and inserted its chip, authorising a funds transfer to Subah Doisson, once he found her in the station’s directory (Engineer, Sanitation, as she had indicated). The screen chirped acknowledgement and a little over half of its money was instantly gone. It hoped the handful of job opportunities it had been offered were legitimate.

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Hunted Hermaphrodite Lover by KS Augustin  SAMPLE When Heron returned to the living room, Subah was ready with something to eat.

The food was simple and uncomplicated but tasted wonderful.

“Don’t you want to know who I am?” Heron asked.

“I know your name is Heron Meed. I was notified of the transfer while I was in the kitchen. It’s a nice name but a bit unusual.”

“I come from the Morhea Sector.”

Subah’s expression was interested but blank. Somehow, it was vitally important to Heron for Subah to understand who―and what―it was.

“I’m what’s called a hermaphrodite,” it persisted. Didn’t she notice what had been so immediately evident to Immigration Officer Fusmic?

Subah nodded. “I know about the Morhea Sector. You forget, I’m a bio-engineer.”

Heron’s eyes narrowed. This seemed too good to be true. “So you don’t have any problems with renting a room to someone like me?”

She looked at it with large green eyes. “Why should I?” Why should she? What a ridiculous question to ask. The reasons were legion.

Because “hermies” were the alleged carriers of terrible venereal diseases. Because they were apparently abominations in the eyes of several major deities. Because they were immoral, oversexed beings bent on taking over the galaxy. Heron had the urge to grab her and shake some sense into her.

Better to be rejected now by someone with knowledge—however incorrect it may be—than later, when one had already started on the path of its new life.

“Our differences are not always appreciated in society,” it said, trying not to make it sound like a loaded statement.

“It doesn’t affect your work, does it?”

“Work? No.” “Then what you do in your time is your own affair.” Was there a glint of something in her eyes? Heron blinked, unsure.

“I’m an ex-criminal,” it said. “I was released from the e’Bultar Detention Centre two days ago.”

Why was it doing this? Why was it almost daring the woman to throw it out? It was an inconceivably stupid move but Heron couldn’t help itself. Some perverse part of Page 14

Hunted Hermaphrodite Lover by KS Augustin  SAMPLE it wanted to shock Subah Doisson, to send her screaming through the orbital.

“And were you guilty?” Subah asked, breaking into its thoughts. “Of whatever crime you were convicted of?”

“Maybe.” Heron hesitated. “Certainly, the Republic seemed to think so.” There was a heavy pause. “Don’t you want to know what I did?”

“I’m a person who believes in new beginnings, Heron Meed,” she said in that sultry, husky voice it tried to ignore. “So, no, I don’t think I need to know what you did.”

She was lying. Heron could see the truth in her steady gaze. It wasn’t that Subah Doisson didn’t need to know. She didn’t care.

Heron looked deep into her eyes. That explained her lack of curiosity, her ready acceptance of a stranger on her doorstep. Maybe calling what it saw in Subah’s eyes a death-wish was a little strong, but there was still an unsettling carelessness about her.

And, rather than repelling it, Heron was fascinated.

What had happened to Subah Doisson?

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Hunted Hermaphrodite Lover by KS Augustin  SAMPLE

Chapter Two

H

eron crawled backwards out of the maintenance shaft and stepped gingerly into one of the access wells, straightening as it did so. The well soared upwards for ten levels, low shafts radiating out at each level, the entire network connected by a network of horizontal and vertical metal struts.

Heron looked up and let out a breath. It hadn’t expected its job to be full of social encounters, but neither had it expected such complete isolation. Unfortunately, despite its experience on spaceworthy vessels, it hadn’t been successful in obtaining a position with one of the refitting crews. That had, of course, been its first choice. If it couldn’t be an officer on one of those sleek spacecraft anymore, the next best thing was working on one, floating through the calm dark of space while watching a planet gently swirl below it.

But no, the supervisors on the orbital had clearly decided they couldn’t entrust their strategic core business to an ex-criminal hermaphrodite. When it settled down from its initial haze of angry frustration, Heron realised it couldn’t really blame them.

So, here it was instead, responsible for testing the electronic and data relays throughout the station. Not “test and repair”; just “test”. If it found any defective circuit, its job was to merely log a request and move on.

While the vast majority of tests were carried out by the equipment themselves through scheduled diagnostics, the annual micro-audit was done by a plodding organic.

And Heron had arrived just in time for the next one. Lucky Heron.

It unstrapped the water bottle at its waist and took a deep drink. The next meal break was still a couple of hours away and it was hoping to finish the current level and the one above it by then.

All in all, it didn’t mind the solitude. Thinking in prison was often soul-destroying, the hatching of ideas and fantasies without the hope of ever seeing them crafted in reality. But thinking while being paid to do a routine job…that was definitely a step in the right direction.

Heron crawled into the next maintenance shaft but its mind was at the other end Page 16

Hunted Hermaphrodite Lover by KS Augustin  SAMPLE of the station. Specifically, it was thinking of Subah Doisson, its maddening, magnificent, mysterious landlady.

In the two weeks since Heron had moved in, it had uncovered only snippets about the bio-engineer during several shared meals. She liked her job and was good at it, and that seemed to be the start and finish of how she regarded her career. She had lived on the station for a number of years, but never specified how many. She considered her dead husband a good provider, and her voice was affectionate when she said so, but she volunteered few additional details beyond that. That particular reticence was instructive in itself, one thought. She displayed no glistening eyes from unshed tears.

She divulged no nostalgic retellings of how they first met. If Heron could glean anything from such limited confidence-sharing, it was that the marriage had been… adequate.

And, Heron was beginning to think, maybe Subah was slowly preparing herself for something different. There were the speculative glances she darted at it, quickly masked. Then the brushes of bodies and casual states of half-undress it sometimes caught Subah in.

At first, Heron considered the episodes as merely the result of lack of privacy in such cramped quarters, but now it wasn’t so sure. Was she trying to spark a sexual relationship with it? More to the point, was Heron averse to an amorous adventure with the widow? It snorted as it checked Life Support relay 389-R1. After six years of enforced celibacy, one was ready to jump anything suitable.

What a shame, then, that only Subah appeared suitable. Of course, it had caught various subtle body cues from both men and women as it wound its way through the station, but Heron knew it was more what its strangeness represented than the person it was that appealed to them. They weren’t interested in getting to know Heron; they were just interested in fucking it then boasting about it to their friends afterwards.

Only Subah appeared to take it at face value, treating one as a person and not just a walking sex-toy. It was a tragic circumstance, then, that she was the one person it had to keep at arm’s length, simply because it didn’t want to antagonise her in any way. Do that, and it was a short trip to the station’s jail before getting kicked off the station.

That was the reality that Heron had to live with. But in private, its hot fantasies of lust, combined with peeks of that voluptuous body, were driving it crazy.

Heron shook its head and checked the instrumentation, noting the green light of the display and moving on. No, it had to push such erotic thoughts out of its head. For one, despite Subah’s subtle come-ons, she was probably just going through a ―very Page 17

Hunted Hermaphrodite Lover by KS Augustin  SAMPLE temporary―adventurous phase, aggravated by a previously lacklustre sex-life. And, as Heron had found to its cost, it was usually the casualty of any sexual fad that had run its course.

“No,” Heron murmured. “I will not endanger my only accommodation choice. I will not succumb to lust with someone who holds the power of veto over where I spend the next five years.”

The words sounded firm and full of commitment, and Heron was proud of itself, but they only kept the doubts away for a handful of seconds.

What if the mutual attraction that rubbed against the both of them wasn’t temporary? What if they formed an attachment? How would Subah react, knowing that her relationship with Heron meant a sudden morphing from engineer to pariah in orbiter society?

Heron had used and discarded others in its life, not caring whether its conquests could bear the shame of being fucked then rejected by a galactic undesirable ―reject them before they can reject you, that was its motto―but it already liked Subah too much to put her through the same humiliation.

Life Support relay 389-R1: check.

It crawled further into the shaft.

Somehow, no matter how difficult the task, one would need to keep one’s mind away from its genitalia and focus on something more practical. It would take another four years, eleven months and thirteen days before it would be considered rehabilitated and trustworthy enough to breathe in another planet’s unfiltered atmosphere.

Correction. Four years, eleven months, thirteen days and ten hours. Even the hours were precious.

Unsurprisingly, the quarters were in darkness when Heron arrived home. Subah worked conventional day-shifts most of the time and it was already close to midnight.

She was probably deeply asleep.

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Hunted Hermaphrodite Lover by KS Augustin  SAMPLE Heron prowled to the kitchen and thirstily emptied a low-alcohol grain drink it took from the cold unit. It hated the shifts that finished late. It liked talking over its day with Subah. But her bedroom door was closed and it wasn’t selfish enough to make enough noise to rouse a slumbering bio-engineer. The problem was, despite the hour, it was still feeling too alert to sleep. Damn.

The hermaphrodite entered its bedroom, kicked off its shoes then padded back to the small living room. Sinking into a compact armchair, it flicked on the vid screen, careful to keep the sound barely above minimum.

News. Heron kept switching. Documentary. News. Education. Drama. News. News.

Sex. Heron would have flicked past that one too, except one of the female actors reminded it of Subah. The hair and skin colouring was wrong, but the lush figure and way she moved was—oh!—so familiar.

The actor was naked, reminding Heron of five days ago, when it had walked into the unlocked bathroom. Subah was half-dressed, and Heron―backing away ―had apologised profusely, but recollections of the bare swells of breast above her camisole and the faint damp shadowing on her briefs only encouraged Heron’s mind to take the image one step further. Frequently.

Heron groaned, put the bulb on the floor and slowly unfastened its service overalls. Its gaze fixed on the screen, letting its mind run riot.

Pop. There she was―no, not the actor, but Subah herself―taking its cock in her mouth, full lips sucking at the firm, swollen flesh.

Pop. Subah, on all fours, opening herself to its fierce thrusts as it mounted her from behind.

Pop. Beneath Subah now, running its hands over the heavy weights of her breasts as they swayed to the rhythm of sex.

Pop. Pop. The overalls were undone and Heron let the material slide over its own breasts, closing its eyes while it caressed one mound of flesh then the other, pinching the small nipples until they hardened, then pinching them some more so tremors racked its Page 19

Hunted Hermaphrodite Lover by KS Augustin  SAMPLE body.

Its other hand snaked down the front of its body, gently stroking the head of its penis where its eye was slick with a single bead of lubrication. Heron stroked its head with small gentle circular strokes―soft caresses that contrasted with the rough squeezes against its nipples―then continued further downward. Its warm fingers ran the length of its penis, lovingly skimming the veins that lay beneath the thin smooth skin.

With eyes still closed, Heron opened its legs wider and moaned, moving that hand further down again. There may have been a noise, a hint of faint movement in the room, but it didn’t care. Besides, it was probably coming from the action on the screen.

“Ah Subah,” it whispered, imagining its hand as her hand, cupping its balls and slowly fingering the wrinkled sac, feeling the tender flesh tighten as it reacted to the physical stimulus of several fingers rubbing against it. It increased its hold, feeling the rounded contours of each individual testicle, pressing against them. A sweet sharp shock rocketed through its body.

“Yes. Subah.”

It imagined her hand moving back to its shaft, mirroring action to thought, up, up, till it was almost touching the head. It imagined her playing with it, letting its grip coyly touch the underside of its head, rub against it, then retreat, building up the sensation then letting it go. Build, release. Build, release.

The chair creaked as Heron shifted impatiently. It wanted to keep the titillation of its fantasy going for a while, spinning out the sensations for long glorious minutes, while it imagined Subah open and welcoming, but its self-control was slipping away.

Heron thought of Subah’s mouth, open in a seductive “o”, her lips stretched, ready to engulf its cock. The mouth was coming closer, the tip of her tongue―wet and glistening―touching her top lip, turning it moist and slippery…

Too much!

With such imagery in its mind—such lush lips, such a moist tongue—Heron couldn’t tamp down its emerging release. It orgasmed in a series of sudden convulsions, a mingling of surprise and relief making it hiccough. Spasmodic streams of white ejected from its cock, staining its chest and clothes. Heron writhed and kept pumping until there was nothing more to milk and the pleasure started turning to pain.

With a ragged gasp, it finally stopped and kept its eyes closed while it listened as

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Hunted Hermaphrodite Lover by KS Augustin  SAMPLE its breath steadied.

Oh Subah. See what you’re doing to me.

“How are you finding life on the station?”

Heron kept its expression neutral, trying not to make it obvious that one’s own appearance in this office was an affront. On the opposite side of the desk, Acqui K’liven tried to look professionally friendly but failed. It was obvious from the barely-disguised scowl on his face that the man didn’t care for it at all, which made Heron wonder why it agreed to grant it permission to stay on the orbital in the first place.

No, that wasn’t fair. K’liven had set firm standards and, with a bit of luck, Heron had met them. The expression on his face was its usual one, fixed and hardened through long habit. There was neither kindness nor malice there. Just like this visit, it was an impersonal thing. Heron tried hard to keep that in mind.

“It’s fine.”

K’liven’s eyes flicked sideways to his monitor.

“And how’s work with the Maintenance crew? Your supervisor is Georg Sessen, is that right?”

“Yes.” “And how’s the work?”

“That’s fine too.”

Just for a moment, Heron indulged in fantasy. It imagined picking up one of the lengths of high-tensile tubing that it occasionally caught glimpses of on the way past the Refit sections. A piece one metre long was light yet strong. It could do incalculable damage to the Security Chief’s office with that tube. Heron thought of swinging that short length of alloy at the bank of panels that blinked yellow, blue and green at it, revelling in the showers of sparks, the smell of burnt circuitry, the glorious wholesale destruction, that would explode outwards into the room.

“—Sessen says you’re a good worker.”

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Hunted Hermaphrodite Lover by KS Augustin  SAMPLE “That’s very kind of him.” Heron’s voice was even as its mind clicked back into the conversation.

It didn’t like anything about this situation, and certainly not the fact that it was required to check in with the solid administrator on a regular basis, as if it would never be rid of its stigma of criminality. Heron remembered the camaraderie of the Fleet, of how it could depend on its fellow officers for support and solidarity. They would have chewed up someone like K’liven and spat him out in a careless heartbeat. They would have turned the orbital into a giant chaotic party, treated the inhabitants however they wished, and there wasn’t a thing anybody could have done about it. Until that one fateful episode of disobedience, Heron had felt itself invincible and part of a favoured and elite family.

And, now, it was reduced to this, childishly fantasising about a room’s destruction.

Even more than its imprisonment, the unmoving form of Acqui K’liven and his conditions, and the inane pleasure it felt at the image of the surrounding equipment’s destruction, told Heron exactly how far it had fallen.

“—that case, I’ll see you again next week.”

Heron rose from the chair, the tension in its body only slightly affecting the languid grace with which it got to its feet.

“Until then.” With a short nod, Heron left the detested office behind.

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Hunted Hermaphrodite Lover by KS Augustin  SAMPLE

Chapter Three

S

o Georg Sessen thought Heron was a good worker? That was surprising. Heron had been under the impression that his supervisor detested him. Was there something he wasn’t seeing clearly enough?

After leaving K’liven’s office, Heron walked to the Maintenance division to begin its shift, letting its mind wander as it did so.

It wasn’t that the work was demanding. It wasn’t. And, as an outsider, Heron was used to the looks and whispers that often followed it. The thing that was eating at it was the lack of respect it seemed doomed to receive for the next five years.

In prison, everything was simpler. The hierarchy of status in the e’Bultar Detention Centre was calibrated like a precisely-tuned musical instrument, and Heron had become, if not content, then certainly unhappily comfortable in the environment.

Moving to the “halfway house” of the Castor Xeni Orbital was not only different but chaotic. Here, Heron felt neither one thing nor another. Not a criminal, yet not rehabilitated. It felt like an exotic animal in a zoo, subject to both open gawking and derision yet unable to escape to a more serene place.

Five more years? Could Heron even survive five more months?

There was only one silver lining to Heron’s thoughts. And that was Subah Doisson.

The woman was not only sexually attractive but also, it was starting to discover, a warm and caring person in her own right. She was interested in its anecdotes of other planetary customs; she often invited it to cook with her; she found supplies of Heron’s favourite toiletries, the names of which it accidentally let slip from time to time. If there was anybody or anything that could make the next handful of years even the slightest bit bearable, it was Subah. And Heron was consumed by daily lust for her.

Which meant that its job with Sessen’s team was even more important. As much as Heron despised the plodding pace of the work, the lack of intellectual stimulation, and the dearth of social chit-chat with other maintenance engineers, it was still a twisted kind of lifeline, keeping the hermaphrodite away from the tantalising presence of

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Hunted Hermaphrodite Lover by KS Augustin  SAMPLE Subah. The last thing it needed was anything further to complicate its already pitiful life.

Sessen was waiting for Heron when it entered the home maintenance bay. He was a large burly man with short-cropped fair hair and matching curly locks on his freckled forearms. He always wore his overalls with the sleeves rolled up—clumsy, lopsided folds —as if they were especially tailored for him that way, and his usual expression was one of distaste. Whether for the kind of work he supervised, or the sloping non-verbals of the rest of the crew, Heron couldn’t hazard a guess.

So this man thought he was a good worker. Looking full into Sessen’s florid face, Heron knew he was correct to disbelieve the summation and was surprised by the thought that there might be a thread of sensitivity, or even diplomacy, somewhere in Acqui K’liven’s squat and impassive form.

“If you’ve finished with the Life Support circuits, you can start on Sanitation and Hydroponics,” it was told tersely after Sessen briefly consulted his padd.

Heron nodded and moved off. There was nothing soft or sensual about Georg Sessen, not a chink that suggested the hope that here was a man who could appreciate anything in his life beyond his work and his equally unimaginative off-duty activities, which included singing raucously in one of the station’s smaller canteens while getting as drunk as possible. Heron had sometimes seen him there while taking a stroll at the end of its shift.

Despite the fact that the human-led Republic was the biggest gathering of species in the galaxy, Heron was of the opinion that anything beyond the standard missionary position, let alone fraternisation with other species, was quite beyond his heavydrinking, loud-mouthed supervisor. Maybe that was being unfair but, after its latest regular meeting with the head of Security on the station, Heron was in the mood to be unfair.

It stopped briefly at the equipment room, picked up its toolkit, and headed for Sanitation―if one was lucky, one might even manage a quick conversation with Subah while she was on duty―while it checked that its tracker and sensor relay tools were fully charged.

Some of the crew were slack about making sure their equipment was put on charge at the end of their shift. It might not have been important work—calibrating the fluid valves for the next crop of station-grown vegetables might not be as critical as aligning the fusion intakes on a cruiser’s engines—but Heron refused to let itself

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Hunted Hermaphrodite Lover by KS Augustin  SAMPLE succumb to that trap of apathy. While there was still hope of a normal life, there was still pride in ensuring the job it did was done well. And who knew when it might need a reference from people it had once worked for?

Humming a tune, it headed for the nearest tunnel hub.

Heron checked the readings on the secondary backup Sanitation circuits and frowned.

Something wasn’t right. It shook the diagnostic padd and tried again, but the same figures kept coming up.

“Now, how does that make any sense?” it muttered to itself.

Because, of course, it didn’t. There was no real reason for backup Sanitation to be directly linked to Life Support, not when the primary systems weren’t...unless something in the log files indicated otherwise. But—Heron looked down the long corridor to the nearest junction—the log files could only be accessed from the main Ops room. And that meant a trek across the station. And a possible discussion with Georg Sessen. And explaining to its unimaginative supervisor that it had a nebulous feeling that something wasn’t quite right.

Heron grimaced.

On the one hand, it was only the secondary backups that were affected, so what should it matter? And Heron’s job was the most menial and isolated anyone could assign to someone with the most basic of astroengineering skills. It wasn’t like anyone was treating it with courtesy or respect. It knew its lack of friends indicated it was barely tolerated on the orbital.

On the other hand...this was its job.

“Who gives a fuck how the backup is wired?” Heron muttered, as it slid the padd into its tool-bag. “The chances of it ever coming online must be a billion to one.” In a single movement, Heron picked up the bag and turned towards the junction. “It’s not as though anyone will thank me for being so fucking conscientious. Sessen will probably think I’m complaining because I’m trying to get out of work.”

Despite its words, Heron’s feet carried it through the maintenance shafts and

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Hunted Hermaphrodite Lover by KS Augustin  SAMPLE towards the Ops room. It wasn’t as if it cared, Heron told itself. It was just that its sense of professional curiosity had been piqued. None of the people on the orbital, with the exception of Subah, deserved anything else it had to give.

The Ops room, when Heron finally reached it, was thankfully devoid of the glowering presence of its shift supervisor. Heron dropped its bag quickly and moved to one of the main info-consoles, accessing the logs on the secondary backup Sanitation system. Line after line of information scrolled up the screen.

Heron reached out, searching blindly for a chair, while it perused the information being displayed on the monitor.

If someone wanted to deliberately hide something on the orbital, they couldn’t have chosen a better system than Sanitation. That one function, perhaps counterintuitively, seemed to touch almost every other system throughout the station, generating dozens of entries for each hour of normal operation.

After more than seventy minutes of sitting and sifting through the dense pile of information, Heron thought it was getting closer yet, paradoxically, farther from the truth. The person responsible for the modifications to the backup system was named but that person was...

Acqui K’liven?

Which begged the next obvious question of why the head of Security would be messing about, cross-linking systems layers below his obvious sphere of authority?

Was Heron even supposed to know that K’liven was tinkering with the orbital’s systems? Or was this some kind of test to gauge whether an ex-criminal could be trusted?

No, that sounded too devious for the steady security chief. If K’liven thought that Heron couldn’t be trusted, he would have no compunction throwing the hermaphrodite into deep space without the need for some kind of opaque test.

It was a lingering doubt that made Heron download the log files to a mem-stick and slip it into its pocket. Doubt that led to a rationalisation that maybe it could spend some time poring over tedious data-flows in its room (door tightly closed, thank you very much) rather than fantasising about a certain person’s warm and inviting body.

Yes, an unemotional, purely analytical, distraction. That’s exactly what Heron needed.

It snorted. Who was it kidding? Just the thought of Subah, only a thin partition separating them, was enough to send its hormones into overdrive. And it thought

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Hunted Hermaphrodite Lover by KS Augustin  SAMPLE screens full of numbers were going to distract it? Still, Heron had an inkling that something was wrong with the orbital’s systems, and it knew it had to dig in deep and find out exactly what that problem was.

Heron made it back to his quarters at a decent hour, for a change. After two weeks of midnight shifts—whether deliberate or coincidental on the part of Georg Sessen, it refused to speculate—the thought of sharing an evening meal with Subah put a spring in its step.

The front door slid open at its touch and the smell of food wafted over to the hermaphrodite’s nose, teasing at its senses and starting a rumble in its stomach. Most of the time, Heron’s and Subah’s meals were taken in one of the orbital’s canteens. It was cheap, nutritious, and took little extra time to obtain; all one had to do was queue at one end and swipe one’s credit chit at the other. But twice a week, Subah made an effort to cook—or invite Heron to help cook—a meal for them to share in her unit. It was a gesture Heron not only appreciated, but started regarding as a treasured ritual.

“I’m home,” it called out with a quick grin.

Subah turned briefly to return the smile before concentrating once more on her cooking.

“It’s grilled frame meat and salad tonight,” she said. “You’ve got more than enough time to freshen up, if you like.”

Heron smiled at her back, walked to its bedroom and began undressing. Subah had a quaint way with words that it still found amusing on occasion. “Freshen up”. Like all that was needed were a couple of splashes of perfume to wash away the stink of the day. That didn’t even begin to cover the psychological cleansing Heron went through every time it put itself under the shower-head. The water not only flensed dust and sweat but also Sessen’s words and looks, its fellow workers’ silence and mistrust, and all the bitterness Heron could shed in a two-minute block.

It quickly dressed in a pair of loose trousers and v-necked tunic top and walked back to the small living/dining area, seating itself and trying not to think of how life used to be.

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Hunted Hermaphrodite Lover by KS Augustin  SAMPLE Frame meat and green salad.

Heron was thankful for Subah’s occupation and her relationships with others on the orbital. As part of her work in Sanitation, she sometimes had to double in Hydroponics, and was able to bring home crisp, firm vegetables, fresh from their nutrient solution. Even the frame meat was tasty, if one could ignore its appearance.

Heron knew the problem it had with the meat was more psychological than anything else. Unfortunately, it remembered its previous life too well. The Space Fleet could afford the best and its protein food was grown on matrices that at least resembled animal muscle groups. Heron lovingly remembered chewing through steaks and chunky braised dishes. But here on the orbital, the protein-growing frameworks were slim and utilitarian, resulting in paper-thin slices rather than anything more substantial. It was as if every aspect of life on the orbital was a pale shadow of life on a real world.

Heron’s leg twitched as it brooded on the situation then tensed as it sought to regain equanimity. In the end, it was nobody’s fault but its own that it was here. It watched Subah as she put the finishing touches to dinner. Cooking was an unusual hobby for anybody to adopt and Heron wondered if its landlady liked to concentrate on such mundane tasks to take her mind away from whatever it was that haunted her.

In a month of living with Subah Doisson, Heron had discovered little more about the woman, beyond that spark of speculation it had first noted in the woman’s eyes two weeks ago, and a fey air that was at odds with what it knew to be her warm nature.

Subah was considerate, sensual, intelligent and humorous. Yet something shadowed her eyes. Would Heron ever find out what that was?

This evening, she was wearing a faded pair of work pants coupled with a soft paleblue shirt that ended just below her waist. Heron watched her body as she worked, its appreciative gaze roaming the curves of her hips and the movements of her body as she stretched to reach a shelf or fetch a plate. Did she know she was driving it crazy? Yes, probably. Along with her body, she was stretching its self-discipline to the limit and Heron knew it was only a matter of time before its self-control finally snapped and it buried itself in Subah’s lush body.

Ah. But not tonight.

Tonight, he had work to do.

“I hope you like this,” Subah said as she set a plate down in front of Heron. “I got the recipe from a co-worker who came from Tuskel, in the Sabreo sector. He told me

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Hunted Hermaphrodite Lover by KS Augustin  SAMPLE it’s a traditional dish on his home world.”

Heron took a mouthful of the food and smiled as the spicy flavours ignited in its mouth. The dish, too, was characteristic of Subah—a mildness that hid a most delicious explosion. It remembered the episode in the bathroom, an innocent-looking Subah, but with a body that would drive anybody wild; her sensual lushness, offset by a veiled innocence that seemed out of place in this most sterile of surroundings.

Heron’s cock hardened, so it tried concentrating on the food. Letting its impetuous extremity dominate the thinking would only lead to another session of masturbation.

And masturbation was a temporary cessation of need at best...truce rather than satiation.

“Do you do things yourself?”

The hermaphrodite looked up, startled. Was the woman reading its mind now?

“Pardon?”

Subah smiled, abashed. “I mean, did you cook? Before? Create meals for yourself?

Or,” she wound down, “do you have other creative hobbies?”

You have no idea how creative I want to get with you, sweetheart.

Heron smiled, innocently it hoped, while its mind raced. No, life with the Republic Space Fleet couldn’t be described as creative. It had been a life of regimentation and discipline, triviality and significance, broken by regular bouts of all-out mayhem during shore leave.

Nothing creative there.

Life on the e’Bultar Detention Centre had been a bit more challenging, if one counted dodging the sadistic wardens, smuggling extra rations back to one’s cell, or crafting little sculptured doodles out of whatever materials were at hand, all of them admirable pursuits. But those activities were also imbibed with anger and affront, and Heron doubted Subah had that in mind when she posed her question.

And now, here on the Castor Xeni Orbital? With the exception of fantasies regarding Subah’s body, the station was even more bereft of creative opportunity than the prison.

“No,” Heron said. It ate another forkful of food but the resulting silence was strained.

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Hunted Hermaphrodite Lover by KS Augustin  SAMPLE “I was with the Republic Space Fleet,” Heron finally disclosed. It almost regretted saying that until it saw a light in Subah’s eyes. And, suddenly, it seemed extremely important that Heron keep that light there as long as possible.

“Wow, the Space Fleet.” Her tone was hushed. “And did you enjoy being with them?”

Not all the time. “Mostly,” it conceded.

“I’ve spoken to a few Space Fleet officers,” she offered. “Their lives sounded very exciting. It must have been difficult leaving such an occupation.”

It was the softness of Subah’s voice that almost broke its resolve. Heron always thought that it could take whatever the universe threw at it. Insane orders, imprisonment, demeaning employment. But put it in front of a pair of sympathetic cloudy green eyes and it wanted to start blubbing like a child.

“It’s the Fleet’s fault I’m here.” Heron knew it sounded harsh, and regretted the harshness, but it had to regain some semblance of composure lest it throw all selfrespect to the wind and burrow itself in Subah’s warm embrace.

Immediately, it saw Subah’s expression as she mentally retreated from the conversation.

Heron lifted a hand then let it fall back on the table with a sigh. “I’m sorry. It’s not your fault. It’s just...the last few years have been…difficult.”

She said nothing but their gazes locked, and Heron realised that here was someone else who had known difficult times. It could see a reflection of its own pain in her eyes, the dam against great emotion in the tension of her lips. But it also saw desire and wondered if that, too, was a reflection of its own feelings.

No, it mustn’t act on its impulses. It was here in a position of trust. And if Subah Doisson threw it out, then it had nowhere else to go. Neither Sessen nor the rest of his work-crew were friendly enough to exchange pleasantries, much less rent a room out to a “hermie”.

Heron rose from the table abruptly. “I just remembered. I have some, er, things I need to do.” It knew the excuse was lame, but it had to get out of the room. It could not succumb to Subah. It must not.

With a tight grimace, it walked away.

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Copyright page Hunted Hermaphrodite Lover ISBN 978-0-9875440-1-8 Š Copyright KS Augustin 2016 Cover art: Challis Tower Editors: H Hammond, John Young A Challis Tower book All rights reserved. This ebook has been made available without DRM, subject to individual retailer conditions. Please don’t reproduce in any form. (An exception is the use of brief quotations for the purposes of critical articles and/or reviews.) That includes printing, photocopying, scanning, uploading to torrent sites or any other practice that is somehow meant to circumvent a royalty being rightfully paid to the author.If you have received this book from a torrent site or through any other means of communication that has bypassed legitimate sales and lending protocols, please contact us at Piracy@SandalPress.com with the relevant details. Sales of this ebook support the living expenses of several individuals.

All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation to anyone living, dead, undead or residing in this, or another, galaxy or metaverse.

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