Dancing to Louie Louie - A Halloween Tale

Strange things sometimes happen on Halloween night and no one notices because... it's Halloween. On what other night could a green female visitor from outer space escape notice-- well, not exactly escape notice -- it is very hard not to notice a beautiful naked woman dancing on stage, especially if her beautiful, naked body, including her hair, is green.

This story is more Sci-Fi than erotic. There is nudity, but no real sex. It will appeal primarily to the exhibitionists and voyeurs among us. And, of course, it will appeal to the nerds and techies. I guess I belong in that last group. After all, I am "The Technician."

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WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.

If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.

Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2015 by The Technician

Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.

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Sta-ie-che braced herself as she saw the solid ground rushing toward the escape pod. It had all happened so fast that she had not had time to properly buckle herself into the survival seat. Captain Ha-ie-mak had literally thrown her into the pod moments before impact.

They were supposed to be a contact team. At least, Captain Ha-ie-mak and the four crewmen were supposed to be the contact team. Technically, Sta-ie-che wasn't a part of the contact team. She wasn't even a part of the Turillian Space Corps.

She had been added to the mission at the last minute for two reasons, both of which had to do with her position in Turillian life. Sta-ie-che was a pleasure dancer.

Pleasure dancers did what their name implied. They danced for the pleasure of others. Often times that meant dancing on stage in pleasure emporiums for male-- or female-- Turillians. Sometimes it meant engaging in what was euphemistically called, "The Horizontal Dance," also for the pleasure of male or female Turillians.

Pleasure dancing was not exactly the most honorable of professions, but it was legal, and a young woman-- or man-- could save up a significant amount of money in just a few years. They could then use that money to launch themselves into other professions that would have been financially impossible for them to attain.

Sta-ie-che did not need the money. Nor was she planning to become something else in a few years. Her parents, a space fleet admiral and a university professor, would have gladly paid for whatever education she needed for whatever career she wanted to pursue in life. Instead, she turned her back on them to become a pleasure dancer. Her father thought she had done it just to hurt him. It had always pained Sta-ie-che that, to the day of his death, he never understood why she had done so.

It was not a devious or devilish desire to hurt and humiliate her parents that led her into pleasure dancing. It was her love of dance, itself... a love of all forms of dance, not just the rigidly structured dance of the official Turillian dance troupes. And Sta-ie-che could dance!

By the time she had entered junior high school, she had mastered even the most intricate steps required to be admitted into the Academy of Dance. Graduation from the academy was a necessary stepping stone to an honorable dancing career on Turillia. And although few were selected, she would have been eagerly welcomed by the academy. But Sta-ie-che never even applied to the Academy of Dance.

Sta-ie-che was a free spirit who wanted to experience all kinds of dance, not just the limited selection of "officially approved" styles. She was especially intrigued by what the star scopes were now picking up from a very distant planet in a distant solar system. Their music-- and their dance-- was not rigid. It flowed and it moved-- sometimes to slow refrains, sometimes to driving rhythms.

Videos of people from that planet dancing showed them not in the structured lock step of the dance troupes of Turillia, or sitting around quietly watching just one person perform the complex steps of one of the traditional dances. Instead, their movements were wild and free, and there were often many of them moving and pulsing with the music at the same time.

It had been when these videos first began reaching Turillia's outer ring of sensors that the space corp decided that it was time to contact this planet. They had been keeping an eye on this distant planet for some time as it moved slowly through eras of technological development that in many ways mirrored the development of Turillia.

From the videos, however, it was apparent that this was a very war-like planet, much more so even than Turillia, herself. And now, it was also becoming more and more apparent that the people of the distant, blue planet were planning deep space exploration.

Such exploration would, eventually, bring them into contact with Turillia. So, it was decided that it was time to establish contact and, if the planet showed peaceful intentions, to welcome it as a trading partner. If, as was feared by many, its war-like society was incapable of peace, then Turillia would have no choice but to destroy the planet before it acquired the weaponry or travel technology to become a true threat.

Everyone on the contact ship was a volunteer. To maintain secrecy, the contact ship was launched from the fleet while it was still a great distance from the planet. And because the plan was to land without being detected, it even launched in full concealment mode.

But being totally cloaked requires traveling at a very, very slow pace. In fact, the contact ship had to travel significantly beneath light speed. Even properly shielded, the cosmic waves created by traveling at light speed or above would create ripples in the fabric of time and space that would easily be detected by Turillian sensors, and perhaps by the planet's star scopes or defense systems.

Reaching the planet from the point of launch at sub-light speed would take two years. A battle cruiser with full power to its star drives could cover that distance in days, or even hours if the captain was willing to risk overheating his engines. But two years is a long time to spend in a small vessel that must maintain complete electronic silence. Crews had broken in less time than that isolated in the darkness of space. So, it was decided that something had to be done to "entertain the troops during the voyage."

Sta-ie-che was that entertainment. When it was made known that the star corp was seeking a pleasure dancer to accompany a dangerous contact mission, she volunteered. She told her mother that she felt she owed it to her father's memory to help in this way.

There was a second reason for sending a pleasure dancer on the mission. As near as anyone could determine from the electronic transmissions which were being captured, the people of this planet were very similar to Turillians with one major exception. The people seen in the videos from the planet were pink, brown, red, or even dark black. All Turillians were an equal shade of green.

The five members of the contact team had been chemically and medically modified to be a rather light shade of brown. That, combined with clothing copied from the videos meant that they would be able to mix in with the people of the planet in the early stages of their contact mission.

But so that the main contact group would not be too much of a shock for the inhabitants of the planet, someone was needed on the mission who would remain unaltered... and who would be willing to let the people of the planet examine their body-- visually, physically, and perhaps even medically.

Such an action was obviously considered beneath members of the space corps. Pleasure dancers, however, by law were never clothed unless it was part of their dance routine. The climate was controlled on Turillia so clothing was not a necessity, but rather an expected social norm-- except for pleasure dancers. Clothing was forbidden them so that everyone would know exactly what they were. And more importantly, no one would mistakenly assume that some other Turillian woman was a pleasure dancer when she was not.

The one item of clothing that pleasure dancers were allowed to wear was shoes and most wore some sort of protection for their feet. This was primarily so that they would not injure themselves in public areas. During a performance, a pleasure dancer was usually barefoot and naked.

Sending along a pleasure dancer was the perfect solution. It would keep the crew "entertained," and someone like a Sta-ie-che would have no problem allowing anyone-- or everyone-- to look at her body.

The two years of transit were relatively uneventful. Sta-ie-che sang and danced for the crew on a regular basis. She also sat for hours with them helping them as they practiced the language of the portion of the planet where they would land. As a result, she, herself, became rather proficient in the language.

And yes, she also regularly accompanied them to their rest platforms for horizontal dancing. Captain Ha-ie-mak made sure that her visits were equal to all five men. "You are a blessing and curse," he told her. "You keep the men happy and entertained, but you can just as easily make them jealous. And that would create problems for the mission."

He paused before adding, "Remember, the mission is everything."

Those words were emblazoned somewhere in every room and cubicle aboard the ship. "The Mission is Everything" was the motto of the space corps, and that statement shaped their every thought and action.

They were just circling into their last orbit before final descent when the meteorites hit. Another problem with flying in concealed mode is that you cannot use full shields, and your own sensors aren't as sensitive as they would normally be.

The sensors did not warn of the approaching meteorite storm because of their size. The individual meteorites were extremely small, but because they were traveling at such high velocity their energy was sufficient to penetrate the reduced shields and breach the hull in several points. The holes themselves were almost minuscule. Life support was able to maintain pressure, but the impact points were in just the wrong places. Three of the four control computers were badly damaged at a very critical time and the craft was barely in control.

The craft had been designed for five men. There was no force chair for Sta-ie-che. So, as they tumbled toward the earth, Captain Ha-ie-mak tore the curtain off the wall which hid the escape pod and literally threw her through the hatch as it automatically opened. He threw the curtain in after her and yelled, "Strap yourself in. We're going to hit hard."

There was a slight overlay of fear on the captain's face and in his voice. Sta-ie-che had never seen that before and she knew immediately that they were not going to hit hard. They were going to crash!

As the door to the pod closed, she heard Captain Ha-ie-mak's final order to his men, "If any of you survive this, it is imperative to the mission that you send out the safe contact message. The damage beacon sent out an attack warning when those meteorite hits. They will think we were shot down and the fleet will come in with weapons charged and firing."

He may have said something after that, but the door had already sealed. Shortly afterwards she saw the ground rushing up to meet them. Just before impact, the pod was blown free. Sta-ie-che told herself that the captain had ejected the pod in an attempt to save her life, but she would never know. He may have been sacrificing her in an attempt to save the ship. After all, "The Mission is Everything."

His motivations would never be known because the ship, itself, was almost immediately lost in a fiery ball of flame as it burrowed deeply into the earth near the top of a large hill. The concealment shields contained most of the explosion before they, themselves, dissolved. Meanwhile, the smaller escape pod skipped off the crest of the hill and bounced across thick vegetation of some sort until it finally came to rest almost a mile from the main crash site.

Sta-ie-che climbed slowly out of the crumpled escape pod. She was bruised, but uninjured. The weather on this planet was not regulated, however, and she felt the cold air blow with icy breath against her bare skin. The silky black curtain provided some protection from the cold, so she wrapped it around her body. The first layer, she wrapped tightly against her skin. The rest of the long curtain she wrapped almost like a cape flowing over her shoulders.

"Well," she said to herself, "at least it matches my shoes."

***

What do you do when you are the lone survivor of a contact ship that has crashed on an alien planet?

"The Mission is Everything." she said aloud to herself. Sta-ie-che was not a member of the space corps, but she had heard those words from her father many, many times. She had also heard the last orders of the mission commander and there was no one else living who could possibly carry out his commands.

Sta-ie-che knew that she had to somehow make contact with the native population. She then had to somehow convince them that she was part of the space corp. And finally she had to somehow send a message to the fleet that their crash had been accidental.

'I have to prevent a war between Turillia and... Earth,' she said to herself as she started walking toward a nearby clearing in the vegetation. 'And I have to do that with no means of transportation, and no radio.'

She huffed to blow her dark green hair out of her face and said aloud in almost a wail, "Even if I can find a radio, I don't know the proper frequency or verification codes. Space Fleet won't believe me. With my green skin, I shouldn't have much trouble convincing the locals that I am not from this planet, but even then, I don't know if they will believe me either."

She huffed again as her hair once more drifted in front of her eyes and added, "Especially since I don't know what I need to tell them other than the fact that the fleet is about to destroy their planet because our emergency beacon thought we were shot down when we were hit by micro-meteorites."

She could now see lights moving in the distant clearing and ran toward them. The clearing was some sort of road, and the lights were on a vehicle of some sort that was approaching from the distance. It appeared to have another vehicle hanging from a hoist mechanism behind it. On the side of the second vehicle was a large sign banner that said, "Come to Channel 10's Halloween Junkyard Jam." In slightly smaller letters beneath that it said, "Halloween Night From Dark 'Til Dawn."

As she stepped out of the corn field, the joined vehicles suddenly slowed and pulled over to stop by the side of the road. A glass partition on the side of the first vehicle opened and a voice shouted out, "Are you OK? Did you go off the road into the field? Is anyone hurt? I can send another tow back for your car."

"I'm OK, " she answered, hoping that she was pronouncing the words correctly. "I just need to get into town."

"Looks like you're headed for the party," he replied. "That's where I'm going. Get in, I'll take you."

A light came on when he opened a door on the other side of the vehicle. Sta-ie-che gasped as she realized that he could now clearly see her green skin and hair. She waited fearfully for his reaction, but instead he laughed and said, "Neat costume." Then he added, "I guess you and I are definitely headed for the same place."

Sta-ie-che had no idea what he meant, but understood with relief that he thought that she was disguised in some way for a party. She decided that it would probably be safer to accompany him there and then try to figure out what to do next. She remained quiet as they drove. She wasn't sure what to say, and besides, once they pulled away, it was difficult to hear over the roar of the old engine and the rattle and rumble of the aging vehicle.

"What's your name?" he said loudly.

Without thinking she immediately answered, "Sta-ie-che," and gasped slightly as she waited for his reaction to such a strange sounding name.

"You're not from around her, are you Stacey?" he replied. "You've got sort of a strange accent."

"Stacey..." that was a name she had heard on the videos from this planet. "I'm from the far north," she answered. The people from the far north on Turillia had a strange way of speaking and she hoped that was also the case on this planet.

"My name is Jake," the driver yelled over to her. "I'm the early morning host on Channel Ten. The station does this Junkyard Jam every year on Halloween, and I've been emceing the dance contest for the last five years. It's gotten raunchier every year, but the station still sponsors it because almost every year, the video of the winner of our dance contest goes viral on the internet."

He looked over at her and asked, "Did you see last year's contest?"

"Yes," Sta-ie-che answered. Then she reflexively added, "But I can dance better than that."

She wasn't sure whether or not she had seen the particular video of which he spoke, but she was pretty sure that what she said about being able to dance better than the winner was true. Sta-ie-che could dance better than almost anyone.

"If you can," he yelled back over the noise of the truck, "not only will you win a thousand bucks, the station has arranged an interview and a clip on the Today Show tomorrow morning."

"What is 'The Today Show?'" she asked.

As they pulled into a large open area with many vehicles parked around it-- some were even stacked one on top of the other-- he said, "You really aren't from around here, are you? Are you telling me that you have never heard of The Today Show?"

Sta-ie-che gnawed at her lower lip as she debated her answer. Finally she said, "I am a pleasure dancer from the planet Turillia. I was with a contact ship that was supposed to land in secret and contact your government leaders. It crashed. I'm the only survivor and I have to figure out a way to get a message back to the fleet so they don't think your government has shot us down."

She looked over at Jake with wide eyes as she waited for him to respond. She didn't know for sure what he would say, but she absolutely did not expect his laughter. "Keep it up, Stacey," he choked out between laughs. "If you can stay in character that well for the contest, our winner just might be a green Turillian pleasure dancer."

He got out of the truck and hurried over to the passenger door. "I tell you what," he said. "With that great costume and makeup, I can use you in some clips tomorrow morning on our early show. If you keep in character all night-- or at least until I leave after the dance contest ends at midnight-- I'll pay your twenty-five dollar entry fee for the dance contest."

With that he ushered her over to the table where a variety of women in various costumes stood in line. Jake dragged her to the head of the line and said to one of the two young women sitting at the table, "Let's get her registered so we can get some background shots of her here at the party." He laughed and said, "She says she's going to win." Another laugh. "Who knows? She might. And if she does, we'll have a great package for my segment that's going on network."