Rylan Graz Bregen

As the docking platform’s auto-locks engage, I methodically begin to power down the systems on my ship. Though I’m already en route to The Hunt, I still have to stop to perform this one extra job. Every cred matters for my family and if I don’t take home one of the winning purses, it’ll matter that much more.

Even with that pressure weighing on me, my heart is light as I grab my supply bag and sling it over my shoulder. I refuse to let any of these paltry worries get me down. No, not when my luck is finally looking up. Besides, I have been a hunter my entire life. There is no game I cannot kill. Instead, I try to focus on what will come after: an end to this dark time for my sisters and me.

Life has been difficult ever since our parents perished in a ground vessel accident two seasons ago. In addition to the insurmountable grief I was left with, my mother and father’s unexpected passing also bequeathed me the responsibility of securing my sisters’ futures. Though I am the youngest of my parent’s offspring, I am their only son and as such, the duty to see them each married off falls to me.

My sisters are true beauties and our family is a respected one amongst my people. Still, without dowries or status, there won’t be a single proposal for any of them. It is enough to make me rage whenever I allow myself to dwell on that harsh and unfair reality too deeply.

Three generations ago my sisters and I wouldn’t have had this problem. Three generations ago, my people, the Aragrandani, had yet to be “absorbed” by The Conglomerate—The Conglomerate being an amalgam of alien species who “rule” our region of the galaxy. Interestingly enough, my people never actually had a say in joining with them.

At the time, we had only just begun to travel beyond the reaches of our solar system and had yet to make first contact with another sentient race. When the Hradun found us, The Conglomerate decided to “welcome” us into their ranks. There were stark differences between my people and these other beings. As advanced as we were, Conglomerate technology was still far superior to that of the Aragrandani. So, we got placed, unofficially of course, at the bottom of an implied caste system. This system is ruled solely by status and race, leaving little or no room to move up in society.

To be fair, I suppose our technological disparity wasn’t the only factor that contributed to our status. The sheer size of my people was likely another—even our females tower over both the Hradun and Itharene. For the sake of our size alone we have always been considered barbaric in appearance by the other members of the Conglomerate. Not to mention the fact that they view our way of life as primitive. I scoff at the thought. My people are simply better at living in harmony with all that our planet provides us.

In any case, we Aragrandani have spent the past three generations struggling to free ourselves from our low stations. We’ve discovered the easiest way to do so is through marriage. Though, I must admit, it is sad to think that the only way I can ensure good lives for my sisters is to marry them off to strangers. Hell, it’s the only way I can ensure a future for myself as well. To obtain these unions though, all my sisters need dowries—nothing a little hard work and time can’t secure. Unfortunately, to obtain a marriage partner for myself, I need a little something more. I need status. For that, I had to come up with a plan.

Luckily for me, I sometimes do freelance AI work for The Conglomerate. It was through those endeavors I was able to land enough strategic ties to procure an invitation to The Hunt. It’s an annual gathering, this hunt, which includes all the most influential members of Conglomerate society. Everyone from politicians to criminals to tech lords and the wealthy attend the event. And for added fun, the elite sometimes invite up-and-comers like me, a special few who might have caught the eye of someone powerful. Though, if I am to be completely honest…I had to bribe my way in.

My work is in the tech field, and as such, I happen to know a few…let’s just call them “companion bot enthusiasts” who have taken an interest in my AI programming skills. These “enthusiasts” like their bots to react as naturally as possible during their private encounters. So, I made a deal to visit the brothel stations and add certain upgrades and programs to the bots they frequent in exchange for an invitation to The Hunt. Some of the programs are downright disgusting, but it’s my foot in the door, so I don’t complain.

That’s what brings me to this shit hole anyway. While Nydor Station is a nice enough place for what it is, with its fair share of upscale establishments, it is still a station designed solely for the sex trade, and no matter how hard the rich try, there’s just no dressing that up. All I need to do is perform a few quick upgrades. Then I can leave and resume my route to The Hunt so my sisters and I can finally move to the next chapter of our lives.

Hunting… I let out a derisive snort. What a silly and archaic pastime for advanced races. On my planet, we hunt out of necessity, not sport. To kill for the sake of killing, now that is what I call barbaric. No matter though. I will participate if it means I can acquire dowries for my sisters that much faster. Because if it weren’t for the purse being offered to the winners of The Hunt, it might take years for me to secure each of my lovely sisters advantageous unions. This way, I can do it all in one fell swoop. If I am successful, I might even have my own union secured before the end of the season.

The thought of my own marriage is highly appealing to me, especially considering the sudden loss of my parents. More and more lately I find myself missing what our family used to be. The sad thing is that I know if I’m able to marry my sisters to the Hradun or the Itharene we’ll be scattered across Conglomerate space, lucky to see each other only once or twice a year. The loss wouldn’t be so painful if I had a mate of my own…and even a few children. I smile at the thought. Perhaps I’ll have a son to name after my father, Tomar.

The last thing I do before I head onto the station is tap the holo of my family I keep on the bridge, the image freezes and goes dark. It was taken not more than a cycle before my parents died. It was a happier time. Now, I always keep it running to remind me of why I work so hard.

This job should be a fast one, but I have a full rotation before I need to move on. I plan to put in a few hours of work, then use the rest of my time having a good meal and a good drink…and who knows, perhaps I might even pay for a short session with one of the bots, if only to clear my mind before The Hunt.  

The hatch to my ship opens and once on the ramp I wave my hand over the panel to lock it with my bio reads.

“Welcome back, Rylan!” a gritty voice calls to me from the docking log station.

“Derson, how are you this day?” I ask as I approach the attendant. Derson is a decent enough fellow, even if he is aged and rough around the edges from working on a station like Nydor for many years.

“Another day, always the same.” He shrugs. “It’s nothing but a bunch of perverts and criminals that come to this place, Rylan. I hope they pay you well enough for it to not matter.”

“Forget what they pay me, Derson, you’re the one who has to be here for seasons on end. Let’s just hope they pay you well enough.”

“Bah. What they don’t give me in creds I take out in time with the companions,” he laughs.

“What was it you were saying about this place being filled with perverts?” I joke.

“If you’re around ’em long enough it starts to rub off. Speaking of which, be careful on The Hunt, effa. There’s nothing more corrupt than those rich types.”

“You heard about The Hunt, huh?” I ask, feeling proud that others know of my invitation.

“I’d have to live on a damn primitive planet to not know who’s attending The Hunt this season. Still, I want you to be careful out there, effa. Just take my word for it. We see plenty of those rich ones here on Nydor and the companions are always a mess after they’re through with them.”

“That’s disgusting, Derson. I don’t want to hear that shit. Almost makes me feel bad for the bots.”

“I’d tell you to program them to say no to the nasty stuff, but some males get off on hearing a female refuse. It’d probably just make matters worse.”

“Hmpf,” I grunt. “That’s something to think about,” I tell him, and the wheels in my mind are already turning.

Derson passes me the e-lock for my ship and I scan my palm on the station log.

“If you get off in the next couple hours join me for a drink,” I tell my friend, but he is suddenly distracted by a massive penal barge pulling in to dock. He lets out a low whistle, mesmerized by the mammoth size of the vessel.

“I heard some of these were coming through. Let’s hope none of the scum on that thing ever get loose,” he says.

“What’s a penal barge doing here?” I wonder aloud.

Derson scans through his comm unit. “Think I remember something about a transfer.”

“A transfer of prisoners?”

“Who knows, maybe just a route transfer,” Derson shrugs.

None of my business, I figure. “See you around, Derson,” I call, but the log attendant’s attention is still focused on the slow crawl of the prison barge.

Once off the docking line I head toward the main thoroughfare of the station. The gates to Nydor open, releasing a waft of stale and pungent air, smelling like the foods of too many cultures competing and combining with each other in all the wrong ways.

The pathways are teeming with a wide spectrum of aliens. From the look of it, most are male. No big surprise there, seeing as we’re on a brothel station, though there are some hardened-looking females traversing the halls as well. The aliens all push past one another, every one of them appearing deeply absorbed in their own business here on Nydor.

As far as business goes, there are only three types on this station: inns, eateries, and brothels. The establishments near the entrance are all inns and eateries that offer cheap beds and cheaper meals. Farther in is where a lonely traveler will find rows upon rows of brothels. Some even cater to specific species or fetishes.

The brothels also offer food and lodging options, but those are a little more lavish and that fact is reflected in their hiked-up prices. Personally, I would never waste my hard-earned creds on such petty luxuries. At least, not while I’m trying to save every penny for my sisters. Fortunately, as a station tech, my badge gives me access to whatever available room I want and meals are on the house. Still, I usually opt for the simpler things in life and forego the top-floor suits.

Soon after entering the station I’m already passing the first of the brothels. Bots are on display in the windows, ostentatiously working to enticing the males looking in. I again consider booking time with one of them, but the slim appeal that was once there has soured since speaking with Derson.

I am lonely, but I much prefer the company of a warm and willing female. Unfortunately, whenever I am on-world anywhere within Conglomerate space it is impossible to get any females to engage with me. Personality and looks mean nothing, the members of Conglomerate society only concern themselves with status.

On-world, females won’t dare lower themselves to even look at an Aragrandani like me. That of course changes the second I enter a station or land on an unincorporated planet. Then, I have plenty of females who would love to engage in anonymous sex with me. But anonymous sex is not what I want. I have no desire for a female who only wishes to take advantage of me on backwater planets where status doesn’t matter. Those same females will proceed to act as if we never met once we re-enter Conglomerate space. And yes, that has happened to me…more than once. Females will use me on a station and then snub their noses at me at market on Hrad, acting offended by a simple greeting. The thought of it is disheartening and makes me worry over what my sisters will experience if I do not have them marry soon.

I come to one of the thin corridors leading behind the storefronts and head down it, quickly fading into the darkness, away from the well-lit and noisy thoroughfare. The service entrances are all located in the back, accessible only by passkey. I walk slowly and listen for occupants in the alleyway, but it is silent. More than once I’ve stumbled across ribald interludes between aliens who are looking for more than what the bots can offer…which is always quite embarrassing to interrupt. Luckily, this time the alleyway is clear.

I take in the dark and dank space behind the brothels. While the fronts are all bright lights and enticements, the backs are all hissing pipes and tarnished metal. I approach the handleless door, but before I swipe my passkey I notice that at some point since my last visit the door has been tampered with. I inspect it closely. While the integrity has been diminished, the door still holds. Whoever tried to get in was unsuccessful in their endeavors. I swipe my key and enter the back room, where I quickly type in a station service order for the door on my personal comm.

When I’m done, I inspect the dusty storage space with a frown. Bots or not, there is something intrinsically unsettling about seeing the dismantled bodies of females strewn across the room. But it isn’t the old and broken companion bots I am here to service. It is the ones in active rotation.

Along the far wall I’m able to access the bot charging stations. Green lights shine above three of them and the others all shine red, indicating the bots belonging there are currently in use. I only need one to install the updates though.

I open the panel on one of the green lit charging stations and see the exposed back of a bot that has been modeled in the appearance of a Hungue female. I hold down a spot on her neck and one on her hip, causing a hidden seam to appear across her synth-flesh, then I peel it back. I unfold her circuit board and reach in my work bag, pulling out my music disks and fixing the slim pads over my ears, cranking the volume. Time to get to work on these upgrades.

I have been compiling data from bots on all the brothel stations, creating algorithms based on all the varieties of situations they come across. I focused on positive feedback rates of the customers…meaning erections and orgasms. From that data, I have been able to develop random response outcomes for the bots to perform, which will make interactions feel more real to their customers.

I think about what Derson told me though, about males who like to be rough with the bots, and I decide to decrease submissive traits and increase all the dominant ones. I chuckle and begin to lose myself in my work. It is a job that takes time and concentration to fine tune and code all the complex circuitry. There are very few people who understand this tech well enough to service the bots and even fewer who are able to further the AI capabilities. Hence my invitation to The Hunt.

My music disks rotate twice before I finish my work. I slide the circuit board back into the bot and reseal her skin, then pop the disks off my ears. As I do, I could swear I hear something moving behind me. I spin to scan the shadowy storage room with an assessing eye. There is nothing there besides the grime and dust-covered defunct bots that were present when I first entered. I shrug and close up the panel. I still have a few more stops I must make before my work here is done.

I zip up my bag and begin to head for the door. Still, I have an unsettling feeling brewing inside me. It is as if I’m being watched. My footsteps slow to a halt and my eyes scan the bots who all stare blankly ahead…at least, those who still have heads do. That’s when I see something that makes me stop short. There is a complete bot standing in a dark corner of the room. It is a model I have never seen before, with warm olive-colored flesh and long hair as black as night. I approach it with curiosity.

I do not know the species she is supposed to emulate, but she is stunning. Small, perhaps, but she looks soft and feminine. Her lips are full and the lashes that line her eyes are as dark as the hair on her head. I stand close to her and study those eyes. They are beautiful dark green pools. Gazing into them, realization suddenly dawns on me and a wide smile spreads across my lips. This is no bot. Before I have the chance to speak, the look on her face contorts to one of fierce determination and she hits me over the head with something hard.

Everything goes dark.