{"sf1_id":653699,"sf2_id":null,"title":"To the Outlands and Back","author":"StGeorgesHorse","words":4568,"posted_at":"2014-01-21T17:02:00.000Z","tags":["Bestiality","Equine","Horse","Implied necrophilia","M/F","Steam Punk","Story Progression","vulpine"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/653699-to-the-outlands-and-back","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/view/653699","image_url":"https://www.sofurryfiles.com/std/thumb?page=653699\u0026ext=.jpg","description":"#3 of Tales from The Hub\n\nHopefully by now, you, the reader, are getting a feel for this world. It is much more complex than the story lets onto. Even the folks living there aren't fully aware of their history, thanks to the Brotherhood. Their use of laws is limited. Many believe in the motto of \"rules are made to be broken\". Things we consider taboo are everyday facts of life for some of the inhabitants of this world. If I continue past the completion of this story line, you'll see it unfold.","content":"                I spent\nenough time with Uma to reduce my testosterone to normal levels. I took another\ncab across town the next day, all the while with my brain working overtime. I\nwas still intent on finding out who this killer was. I should have figured that\nCharise's story was too easily obtained and overly precise. My only thought was\nstill focused on her husband. It was a good thing Bolshoi had decided against\nkilling Blackmantle's cousin. With any luck, his feline head was clear enough\nfor me to question him. Maybe he would have some idea who might want to frame\nhim.  \n                The\nloving couple (gag!) were sitting in the kitchen portion of my abode. It's not\nwhat you think, my house. It's a series of rooms carved out of the old Guardian\nIndustries warehouse. I've called it home for a long time. I don't need no\nfancy house with pretty gardens and shimmering pools and such. That kind of\nliving opens ya up to thieves and all kinds of other problems. I prefer\nsubtlety. \n   OK, I'm kidding. \n                My kitchen\nwas built for my size, which means it's big. Bolshoi looked puny inside it, and\nArchimedes wasn't much more at home in it either.  Still, I had pots and pans of all sizes. I\noccasionally had the lady over who couldn't handle a ten kilo iron skillet. \n                They\nhad fixed themselves a breakfast. Since one was a Carn and the other was\ntechnically an Omni, there was a fair amount of meat on the table. Bolshoi went\nto apologize and grab something less offending. He stopped when I grabbed a\nhandful of what passed for bacon on this rock and shoved it in my mouth. It\nwasn't my fault everyone thought I was an Herb. Greenery is pleasant enough, but\nunlike my primitive counterpart, I have different dietary needs. I got used to\nprotein a long, long time ago.\n                \"Well,\nyou furry little love birds, did you have a nice night? If it makes you feel\nany better, I got me some nice ass too.\"\n                Bolshoi\nturned red. He didn't seem like the type to get embarrassed, but hey, I didn't\ncare. What I wasn't too keen on was having his new \"friend\" staying over at my\nplace. I had rules and morals when it came to Carns, and this was against both\nof them.\n                My\npartner started to protest, but his new boyfriend cut him off. \"Yes, I did.\nWould you like me to tell you all about it?\"\n                Bolshoi\nlooked like he was ready to kill him.\n                \"No\nthanks. One butt fuck is much like another. It only gets interesting when the\nbody under ya isn't ready and willing. Somewhere out there is someone who's\ngoing to find out what that's like, assuming I can ever track him down.\"\n                \"I take\nit your friend had no news?\"\n                \"News?\nUma ain't good for anything much besides pounding my meat. She seems to know\nyour fruity friend here. Said she was going to miss him.\"\n                Archimedes\nmade a face. \"I know her, if she is\nan appropriate gender. She's one tough bitch, that much is true. But everything\nthat comes out of her mouth is a lie, and everything that goes in it is a dick!\"\n                \"Oh my,\nmy, my!\" I tsked in my best falsetto before dropping my voice to a threatening\ntone.  \"Listen little Carn-boy, you go talking\nlike that and I'll arrange a date for ya with ole Uma. She may not have good\nlooks, but she can fuck better than any of the whors d'oeurves down on\nLackluster Avenue.\"\n                Archimedes\nsnarled. \"I wouldn't stick myself between her legs if she was the last female\non the planet!\"\n                I was\nready to rumble, but decided that it would be a waste of time. \"Look lover boy,\nif she was the last female on the planet, you wouldn't even be in line to get\nyour dick wet!\"  I turned to my partner.\n\"So little one, what's it like having this one poking around your ass? Or are\nyou two mixing it up?\"\n                Bolshoi\nsurprised me by smiling. \"We mix it up. No point in allowing things to get\nstale. But enough of our sex lives. What do you plan on doing about your\nmurderer?\"\n                It was\na good question. I had no answer for it. If the fellow sitting across the table\nwasn't him, then I needed to go back to square one. It would have helped if\nthere were police files to purloin. As it was, I had nothing concrete to go on.\nEven the newspapers had little in the way of information, outside of\nsensationalistic stories concerned with the degree to which the bodies had been\nmolested and mutilated. Some accounts made me think I myself was the perp. But\nthen, I often made certain the bodies of my vics were never found. It wasn't\nlike they would be missed anyway. In a few of those cases, I think their own\nmothers danced a jig after they vanished.\n                But\nhurting dames was another thing, especially young ones. Hey, it's one thing if\nthey messed up real bad, but even then I normally left it to the cops. A few of\nthem had their own brand of justice too, which wasn't much prettier than mine.\nStill, I liked to think I was better than beating up a dame. Well, then again, not\nif they liked it...\n                That\nannoying Vulp was just staring me down. \"I don't know, you nosy little fur ball.\nI thought I had it wrapped up, but my gut told me it was too easy. So the\nquestion is, why did Blackmantle frame his cousin? It means either he knows who\nthe real murderer is, or else he doesn't and took a chance. The latter is a\npretty risky move you ask me. That means he must know and is protecting him,\nall the while leaking false info to Charise knowing she would eventually blab\nit to the rags. I wonder if he the sense to figure me into the equation?\" \n                Arc\nspoke up. \"If he did frame me, I have no idea why. We've always gotten along\njust fine over the years. There hasn't been a hit I haven't taken that he has\nasked me to do. I shoot, he pays, and the world goes on turning. You have to\nadmit, while I'm no good guy, I've taken out more criminals than the police chief\nhimself!\"\n                \"That\nisn't saying much. The chief bought his job. If I wanted it, I could outbid him\nfor it. The only sane person who would want it is someone who has his sights\nfixed on controlling both the good guys and the bad guys. I am neither and want\nnothing to do with either. I do what I feel like on both sides of the fence.\nLuckily for everyone I'm usually on the good side.\"\n                \"Which\nbrings us back to what you intend to do.\" Bolshoi was persistent. It was\nannoying as hell, and I loved him for it. \n                \"I\nguess I need to find myself a dead body. If the police aren't looking into it,\nthen they must be sending the bodies straight to the Outlands. It shouldn't be\ntoo hard to find one. The cryo-stasis lasts about three weeks before the system\nshuts down.\" Cryo was an old fashioned device that kept bodies preserved so\nthat they didn't stink up the city until they got to be buried. Every casket\nwas equipped with the system and a battery. What it meant to me was, whatever\nwas left of the body could be examined just like it was fresh off the morgue\ntable\nBolshoi glanced from me to his new\nsex toy. \"Are you expecting me to go with you? Things just started getting\ninteresting here.\"\nI bet they were. He and his little\nfuck toy were probably going through lube like an old piston engine went\nthrough oil. I never used the stuff. I liked friction, even if the person whose\nass I was reaming didn't. That was usually the point.\n\"Naw. However, until I get back, I\nwant you to look through the old papers ad correlate the details. I did it once\nalready, but maybe you can find something I missed. I ain't paying ya to get\nyour brains fucked out. If I was doing that, you'd be on the bed and I'd have\nto hire another partner. Get my drift?\"\n\"Newspapers! Right!\"\n                I\ngrabbed a cab and took it to one of the Spokes. These were the lines that ran\nout of the city and into the Outlands. They all ran the same distance before\nreaching a turn around. Small towns grew up at these points. Past them, you\ntraveled by animal or by foot. The burying grounds were quite a distance past\nCambria, the Spoke town I was headed for.\n                Getting\nthere was boring as hell. Thankfully, I paid the extra coin for the prime class\ncar and got everything that came with it. Since I was the sole occupant, that\nfact alone meant I could drink as much alcohol as I wanted. The fools who\noperated this line were going to lose out on this trip. I could drink more than\nan Outlander's horse after a three day hike. By the time the train rode into\nthe station, three quart bottles of the best distilled spirits lay empty on the\nfloor along with one keg of the finest beer.\n                I made\nmy way to an old associate of mine, Vargo the trader. I've had occasions in the\npast to ride out into the deepest wastes. Most of your modern vehicles are\ndesigned for pussy-assed comfort, not rough terrain. For that reason none of\nthem ever make it out this far. I've got one that could cut it, but it hasn't\nworked in years. So out here, you used animals. There are a few choices, but\nnot so many for me. I was a lot of weight to drag around. That meant my distant\nkin; horses.\n                Vargo\nalways had a herd on hand. A few settlements dotted the very edges of Outlands.\nThese were generally prospectors and miners, though there were a few trying their\nhand at terra forming. Ya see, this planet, as the legend goes, was once\nthriving. Something happened and it all vanished. Leastwise, that's what the\nBrotherhood says. Then came GOD and started life anew. I had no idea who this\nGOD fellow was, but he could have tried a little harder in making this place\nhospitable.\n                I\nobtained my mount plus a couple of saddle bags with food and water. I didn't\nintend to be gone long, but ya never know out here. Following the path used by\nthe corpse bearers was easy enough. It ran out as far as the eye could see\nbefore petering out, for even out here where folks weren't civilized, the smell\nof rotten flesh was considered offensive. Funny thing was, little else was. \n                Vargo\nand his lackey watched me ride off towards the Barren Plains. \"Hey boss, who be\nthat fellar?\"\n                \"He's\nan old friend of mine Goscar. Don't see him much anymore. Can't say for certain\nwhat he's doing this time. Not my position to ask.\"\n                The\nother scratched his head. \"Odd sort of fellar. And why did he want a mare in\nheat? A good solid stallion would haul his fat ass better than some untried\nfilly.\"\n                Vargo\njust grinned. \"Oh, when she gets back, she'll be tried and true, believe you\nme. And he paid extra, don't ya know.\"\n                It\nwasn't overly hot out here, but it was damn dry. Deserts aren't about the heat.\nThey're all about the aridity. Once a body was buried out here, they dried to a\nhusk, something the Brotherhood called a mummy. A husk wasn't worth anything to\nme. I needed the body to be fresh and pliable; otherwise I'd glean nothing from\nits wounds.\n                The\ncorpse bearers lived on in the inhospitable plain around a small oasis. It had\nan ancient, sizable building for the temporary housing of the caskets before\nthe bodies were removed and the caskets returned for future use. Some of these\nunits had been circulating for a few centuries. The dead rarely complained\nabout their surroundings. The dead rarely complained; period.\n                I tied\nthe horse up outside and pushed through the old steel door. It was starkly bare\ninside, with dirty white walls and stained concrete floors. No one was around\nso I pushed through the second set of doors. This room was warehouse sized.\nThere were stacks and stacks of caskets, some still running and plenty that\nwere not. I began examining the operative ones, but without a scanner I'd never\nfind out who was in which one. As I was walking down the aisle checking them\nout, I heard a cough behind me. Instinctively, I pulled my gun and whirled to\nface the source of the noise.\n                \"Whoa\ndude! Don't ya know that guns kill people!\"\n                I was\nstaring down at one of the Forsaken. He was uglier than Uma while being a third\nher size. It was hard to tell his ancestry, but it had some of the features of\nthe porcine lines. The warty face and curving tusks spoke of some feral genes\nrunning in his veins. Suddenly indifferent, I nonchalantly set the gun on a\ncasket and spoke it.\n                \"Gun!\nKill this bastard for sneaking up on me!\" Nothing happened of course. I picked\nthe gun and slid it into its holster. \"There. Your argument is invalid.\"\n                He was\nstunned for a moment before he broke out in rough laughter. \"You're pretty\nslick for city folk. And damn big too. Ya got a name and a purpose for being out\nhere where even the devil won't come?\"\n                \"Name's\nVeracity. I'm looking for a casket or two from the city bearing one of the\nfollowing names.\" I handed him my list. \n                \"Hmmm.\nAll females. What's the matter, ain't getting it on with the live ones? I could\nbelieve it. You got to have the biggest cock around!\"\n                I had\nmy gun out again, shoved under his nose. \"Look you little freak, I can get myself\nfresh meat whenever I want. The names on that list are all murder victims.\"\n                He was\nexamining the barrel of my gun with great interest.  \"Nice piece of work. And don't get so\noffended. There ain't no living females out here so the only choice me and the\nboys have is thawing out a stiff and having a go at it before we sinks it into\nthe ground. Haven't heard a complaint yet.\"\n                I put\nthe gun away. \"You're a sick, mother-fucking freak, but I kinda like you. Now...about\nthe names on my list.\"\nHe pulled out a scanner and began\nreading the tags on the caskets. He went through about thirty before a name\npopped up that was on the list. \"Here ya go big fella. Harmony Lattroy. Sounds\nkina nice, doesn't it?\" He activated the code on the casket, unsealing it and\nbeginning the thawing process. It took about three minutes before the lid could\nbe lifted. When it came up, both of us whistled.\nI couldn't believe what I was\nseeing.  It apparently wasn't the first\ntime this fella had however. \"Damn! That's been happenin a lot lately. I ain't\nfigured it out either. I mean, back in my old man's day, live ones used to come\nthrough, but never anything like this.\"\nIt was a stark clue, and my\nsuspicions were confirmed when we tracked down another of the victims. The same\nthing. I saw enough. It gave me a hint as to who our perp was, though the\nreasons behind it were still obfuscated. \nI hoped my partner was digging into the records like I asked him, as\nopposed to digging into his new found friend. I needed that information more\nthan he needed tail right now.\nI headed back to Cambria the same\nday, not always a good idea. I wasn't too keen on sticking around here. I felt\nbad for these fellas stuck out here doing a shit job no one wanted, but poking\na corpse wasn't my thing. I may have been active in doing it when a few gave up\nthe ghost, but that wasn't the same thing.\nI made camp, fed and watered my\nmount as well as myself, then stripped. The mare was jittery from all of the\nhormones flooding her system. That meant that she was going to be eager to take\nwhat I had to give. Funny thing was, this dappled mare was about as tough as\nole Uma. I've seen pics of the early horses here; thin legged little things\nthat weren't good for much other than being pets or trophies. Such beasts had\nno purpose out here. This girl was thick legged, short and stocky, and rugged\nlike the country in which she was born. She had a shaggy coat of curly locks\nthat were perfect for snaking my fingers into. On top of that, the moment I as\nundressed she sensed my intent and lifted her tail. She was winking at me,\nenticing me into action.\nThere was something nice about\nMords. I think it was the fact that they didn't bother messing up sex with\nchatter. I was just tall enough to slip in without straining. She already had a\ndribble of fluid leaking out, which was fine with me. Foreplay could be a drag.\nI grabbed one side of her haunches with one hand, while guided my cock in with\nthe other. Her hind quarters vibrated with expectation. It was times like this\nwhen I considered moving out here in no-man's-land. The dames were big,\nbeautiful, willing and best of all, tough and stupid. Those boys back at the\ncasket depot could learn a few things from 'em.\nShe was warm, wet and tight. Of\ncourse, a real stallion would plunge into her depths and tear her up without thinking\ntwice. Not me. I pushed in until her ass was pressed against my belly. Her\nmuscles were twitching with expectation. I ground against her as hard as I\ncould, penetrating as deeply as I could manage. \nI'd never reach as far as the real thing, but I could outlast a stallion\na hundred fold. Trust me, these girls might not be able to verbalize their\nappreciation, but they certainly showed it.\nWe fucked for an hour. This young girl\ncame hard, not once, not twice, but three times before I blew a load in. I\nnearly chuckled when her legs gave way. That was new!  She struggled to get herself back into a\nstanding position, in the process forcing me out. I gave her a moment to get\nher bearings before I pushed back in. This time it elicited a whinny, for I decided\nit was time to bugger her doughnut hole. \nI got the head of my cock in before she clamped down in surprise. I\ndidn't push it. She was still having contractions from her last orgasm, and\nthey were reflected in the muscles ringing her anus. It was a lovely feeling\nand I was in no hurry to rush past it.\nAs she came off of her high, I\npushed in deeper into the recesses of her shit hole. She relaxed and accepted\nher fate gratefully. I shoved hard until the base of my cock pushed her\nelasticity to its limits. She grunted but held her ground. I was beginning to\nthink I might just have to buy this girl from Vargo, but I had no place\nsuitable in the city to keep her. Besides, some Carn would just consider her\nsupper, and completely miss out on her finer points.\nI plugged her ass for another hour\nbefore I blew my wad. Her wonderful anatomy had plenty of room to accept it.\nWhen I pulled out, she lost her footing again and fell to the ground. I knew\nhow she felt, because damn, I was tired too. We curled together under the\nstarlit sky and fell asleep. Morning came too soon.\nI parted ways with Vargo and the\nmare, happily with the first and reluctantly with the latter, making my way to\nthe station. One of the few things regular on this stinking chunk of constipated\nrock was the train. Nothing slowed it up or made it go faster. It arrived on\ntime and it left on time. If you weren't on it, tough titties for you. I sat\ndown in the specialty car again. I was so relaxed I skipped the booze and went\nfor the cigars. I eased back and smoked one until it was nothing more than a\nstub, then closed my eyes for some much needed rest. Last night hadn't been\nsufficient in the sleep category.   \n                I woke\nup just before the train hit The Hub. I was feeling pretty good right now, and\nnot even the antics of my new partner were likely to put me off. I only hoped\nthe horny little bastard had taken the time to look up what I had asked for. It\nturns out he was good for something after all.\n                \"Hey,\nyou big hunk of attitude, welcome back! Guess what I found out!\"\n                I hated\nto burst his bubble, but I blurted out my findings. \"That not a single one of\nthose reported rape/murders actually happened.\"\n                His\nlooked twisted from excitement to curiosity. \"Yeah, though there's more than\nthat. Every one of those names was a fake. I even went down to the police\nstation on Burberry Street. I told them I was a reporter looking into these\nmurders. They took me aside and showed me their case files.\"\n                \"There\naren't any case files!\" I bellowed.\n                \"That's\nright. They told me that it would be nice if one of the papers began reporting\nthe facts. They've went to every address listed in the articles, and at no\npoint did they find a single body or a drop of blood. They say it looked like a\nmurder happened, but that it didn't. They have no idea who's perpetrating this\nprank, if it is a prank, but they're tired of it. They just haven't bothered\nmaking a statement because everyone would then accuse them of covering it up.\nOnly, there's nothing to cover up.\"     \n                \"You're\ndamn right there's not. I found two of the caskets marked with the names of the\nvictims listed in the paper. Do you know what I found inside?\"\n                Archimedes\nwalked in. \"Nothing and no one I bet. That's an old trick from the smugglers.\nCreate a false identity, pack the casket with goods and ship it to the\nOutlands. Once there, they'd unpack it and stash the stuff somewhere for future\nuse. It was great for exotic foods since they could be kept fresh for weeks\"\n                 I wanted to tell him to shut up, but his intel\nwas accurate. \"And the bodies of the un-departed. I recall a few tales of\npeople going missing only to reappear elsewhere alive. The only way they could\nhave escaped the dragnet put out for them was to be hidden inside a casket.\nIt's risky business, but it works. But why ship an empty casket?\"\n                The\nCarn looked at me with renewed respect. \"You do keep up on things, don't you?\nMy father was a smuggler for a while. He needed to get out of the city once to\nfoil an assassination attempt and used that very method. But shipping it empty\ndoesn't any sense unless it was simply to throw someone nosy enough to\ninvestigate off the trail.\"  \n                \"It's\nclever, I'll say that, but seems like a lot of trouble. But back to the case.\nIf no one was killed, than why was such a charade put into place? I think we\nshould go to the site of the last reported murder and see if it offers any\nclues.\" Bolshoi was on that suggestion like a shot. \n                \"That's\na great idea,\" he drawled sarcastically. \"The worse that could happen is that\nwe fall flat on our faces. What could you possibly hope to find at a fake\nmurder scene?\"\n                I\npulled out my oversized pocket watch out of its hidden recess and stared at it.\nI didn't say a word until he came over and stared at it too. \"What is this\nthing that draws your attention so?\"\n                \"It's a\nmoron magnet! See how well it works!\"\n                He\nthrew a disgusted look at me before busting out in a grin. \"Fine. We'll do it\nyour way. But I think you're wasting our time.\" \n                \"Hey,\nif ya don't want to come, say so. I want to see if this was fabricated or\nstaged. If it was staged, they might have left a clue to their identity.\"\n                He and\nI piled into a cab, leaving his friend (and my unwelcome house guest) behind. I\ngave the driver the address. He looked in his rearview with a grin.\n\"Sightseer's huh? Papers says the place is a butcher's shop. Blood everywhere.\nI hope y'all got tough stomachs. I'll wait fer ya, but you'll pay extra if I\nhave to clean up after ya.\"\n                The\n\"crime scene\" was in a back alley, behind a defunct book seller and a small\nmunitions' works. Sure enough, the walls and ground were splattered in red.\nAfter a week I would have expected it to be darker and, well, less showy. I\nstuck my finger into it and stuck it under my nose, then to my tongue. \"Shit!\nIt's paint. Not your everyday paint-a-room paint, but stage paint. That stuff\nis a bitch to get outta your clothes, even if it never really dries.\"\nBolshoi did the same test I did. \"Indeed\nit is. Why would someone bother making it look like there was a crime when\nthere really wasn't?\"\nIt was a good question. The\nnewspapers where likely selling rags by the gross. When money was involved, the\ntruth often suffered.  But this was\npretty blatant in its obvious intent for deception. Fake people getting killed\nby a fake killer and who spilled fake blood. \nIt made no sense on the face of it. If Blackmantle was behind it, it\nseemed like a weird way of getting his cousin bumped off. He might have just as\neasily done it himself, or dropped the information as to his whereabouts to\nanother crime family. This was a pretty elaborate a ruse for a simple hit.\nTrue, if I did do it, it might save him some cash, but there was no guarantee I\nwould do it. What was he up to? I was beginning to think that I was going to\nneed to talk with him one on one. That meant kidnapping him. It wasn't as much\nfun as killing him would be, but it had its own rewards."}