The Mission
By Rob Nagle, with Brantley
Chapter 7
Mar'ek didnÕt know what he was carrying. He'd been handed a message
capsule and told to stick it in the usual place –- one of the more
embarrassing aspects of being a Velorian Messenger, but he'd gotten used to it.
He wasn't supposed to
know what was in the capsule, but since he was expected to deliver it to Ground
Command rather than Fleet Command, he figured it must have to do with the
Occupation. There wasn't a whole lot of information coming out of Binkley's
World, at least not that had reached the Guild Hall through the usual
grapevines.
"Take along a
mystery holocube to entertain yourself," the senior Messenger on leave had
told him. In other words, he didn't know squat. If he had, he'd have known how
to convey it in code talk. But the senior had one other piece of advice:
"Get plenty of sun. You wonÕt have to fish for compliments.Ó
Yeah, he'd need it, if
the rumors were true about the number of Protectors and Auxiliary Protectors
stationed there – two dozen, four dozen, was it? Nobody knew for sure;
that was classified. But he'd need the orgone, no doubt about it. TheyÕd sent BÕruce of all people to service them.
BÕruce the Screw Loose, who hardly ever showed up
at the Hall and didnÕt have a clue what went on there, for all his 200 years.
MarÕek hoped he still knew how to use his dick, at least, but he doubted it
would hold up long enough to get the job done. If he even remembered to do it.
MarÕek would probably
have his work cut out for him as a backup, even if it wasnÕt really supposed to
be his job. Not that he minded that;
it would be a lark making love to so many Velorian demi-goddesses, to see the
rapture on their faces, to hear their screams of release as he ministered to
them.
And minister to them
he would, as a good Messenger should. This was a whole new situation on
BinkleyÕs World; he knew that much. The Protectors wouldnÕt be used to it,
wouldnÕt understand what was expected of them. They would need whatever comfort
and counsel he could offer, above and beyond the pleasure that was their due.
He'd already grazed a couple of suns for the energy to make it
through the wormholes, but he figured he'd better pause for another stellar
bath after he entered the Binkley system. That was irregular, so he'd have to
make fast work of it, but it had to be done. And he might have to take a break
after a dozen or so ProtectorsÉ Auxiliary Protectors.
This whole business of
Auxiliary Protectors had everybody at the Guild Hall upset. Messenger ranks
were already spread pretty thin. But the men he'd spoken with were divided on
what to do about it.
Some thought their own ranks should be similarly augmented, but others argued that second-class Messengers wouldn't be up to the job -- either job. And if second-class studs were needed, let them be recruited the same way as the Legion. If they had to take ship to get where they were going instead of flying naked, so be it.
Even with the coronal
pit stops, Mar'ek was making good time. One more day to the Binkley wormhole,
through the rabbit hole and – well, he'd see.
In his mindÕs eye he
imagined the goal, the purpose of his journey. After delivering that message,
whatever it was. The vision made him all the more intent on tempering his blade
in the fires of BinkleyÕs sunÉ
* * *
James lay in repose as
Bidu spun above him. He loved to watch her spin - faster, faster -- the more to feel her turn! She'd spin so fast, but then she'd slow, and he would
have to raise a hand to slap her ass, and then he'd watch her spin some more.
At length she stopped
with her back to him. James felt her relax, and watched her buttocks settle on
his belly. She arched her back as she reached behind to caress herself, and
then she released a sigh of such contentment!
"I couldn't've
put it better myself," James told her lazily.
She raised her arms to
gather her hair behind her head. Just the sight of her made him stronger!
Bidu sighed again, and
clutched him deep in her abdomen. Skietra! James thought, There is nothing more erotic than a woman's back!
"Oh!" Bidu
marveled to exclaimed. "How you fill me!" James smiled as Bidu grumbled, and stood up on her feet, pulling him up with her. "If you had any decency," she told him -- still grumbling
-- "you'd be ashamed of yourself for being such a monster."
She disengaged him, took
seat at his side, and gathered him close to her.
"Fortunately for
you," James replied, lacing his fingers behind his head, "I have
neither shame, or decency."
Bidu smiled. Lord, how
she loved this man! She studied him; his length, his girth, his strength.
"I still can't
believe you," she confessed in a tone of sheer wonder. She clutched him
hard, and put her loving mouth to work around his tip. It took a moment for
James to recover his breath, and to let the stars to fade from his eyes.
"Would you rather
doubt yourself?" he asked her when he could.
Bidu craned her neck
to kiss his eye before she looked him in the eyes.
"I can't believe
that either," she said.
Never had she been
able to so express herself. "Have
you always known about this?" she asked, referring to him, and to her. "Yes,"
was the sum of James' answer.
She caressed him,
thrilling at his sturdy texture.
"And you've kept
it from me all this time?"
James smiled
knowingly, and then he nodded.
"Umhm."
Bidu was amazed at how
she couldn't be angry with him.
"Why?"
"For the same
reason you haven't told me all of your secrets."
Unwilling, the breath
went out of Bidu. She clutched him -- held him!
"Every time I
think I couldn't love you more," she said, "I discover that I've only
just begun."
Again, he couldn't've
put it better, and then an inspiration made him stretch, and sigh.
"Hah, and all I
wanted was just some empty, meaningless sex."
All expression
suddenly left Bidu's face. She gripped him firmly, and then she pushed -- hard.
"Ow!" James
yelped, rolling onto his side. "Watch where you're going with that thing.
Ohw . . . you almost broke my nose!"
Bidu laughed as James
gingerly nursed his buffeted proboscis. She laughed, and then she fell on him.
"My
darling," she proclaimed, "I can be as empty, and meaningless as you
desire!"
And James laughed, and
then they clutched, and they held, and they kissed, and they groped, and they
rolled around the floor they lay on. In no time Bidu's attentions had waylaid
any flag in him, and she was ready to swallow him whole all over again.
***
Mad'elyn flew into the
Protector's barracks. She'd just gotten off duty.
"Hi
everyone," she cheerfully greeted those present.
She looked about at
her Protector kin, and then she wondered, "Why so glum?"
Several in the room gave her a tired look of 'DUH!', then Tra'cy replied, "The same reason why you're glum. The same reason why we're all glum."
Maddie considered the
glumness factor, but she wasn't going to let it get her down. She'd had a good
shift of duty, and now she was looking forward to a nice relax with Rud'olph.
She stripped out of
her uniform, stowed it in her foot locker, then floated her beautifully naked
self over her bed, snatched up 'Rud'ie' from his place of prominence on her bed
side table and settled on her back with her knees raised, and comfortably
spread.
She closed her eyes,
selected her thoughts, and was soon emitting heavenly sighs as she trace
Rud'ie's tip from the base of her chin to the tip of her glowing cleft. It
wasn't long before her sighs had transmuted to demanding grunts as she readied
Rud'ie for duty. She prepared herself for the initial stab of pleasure. It
would hurt - she knew, but Oh! - so deliciously! She was whimpering with need -
ready to press! ThenÉ
"Aw, what's the
use." With a noisy
clatter, Rud'ie was consigned to the night stand once again.
A smug, self-satisfied
smile on her face, Tra'cy couldn't resist.
"Why so gl--
"
"Shuttup,"
Mad'elyn snarled.
Rud'olph -- or
'Rud'ie' -- was the name Mad'elyn had given her personal recreation toy. Every
Protector had one, and all of them had names. The common problem with a
personal recreation toy -- or just 'toy' -- was that a certain percentage of
its -- or 'his' -- mass was lost to vapor with the, uh . . . culmination -- of
each use. Repeated usage, predictably, resulted in the progressive loss of
progressively more mass. Eventually, a toy would have to be . . . retired, so
to say, to be replaced by a new toy of . . . more appropriate mass.
"I'd say you
could borrow mine," Kath'y offered Mad'elyn, "but . . . it's really
not in any better shape."
All the toys were now
but sorry remnants of their former selves.
Mad'elyn smiled.
Kath'y's generosity warmed her nicely.
"Thanks all the
same," she replied softly. They
bore sad testament to the fact that the lonely months on Binkley's World had
been hard indeed.
"We need
supplies, Hea'ther," Can'dice duly informed at the Auxiliary Protector in
charge of supplies, as if the obvious wasn't obvious enough.
"I turned in the
requisition weeks ago," Hea'ther informed her right back.
"And . . .?"
Can'dice prompted.
"All Vendorian
steel has been commandeered for flight craft," Hea'ther reported.
"End of story. In other words; we got shot down."
Cass'andra's feet rose
from the floor as she easily adopted a horizontal levitational attitude.
"What's to say
that -- we -- aren't flight craft?" she asked with contrived innocence.
Hea'ther gave her Protector
sister an appreciative smirk.
"Tried that
angle," she responded. "Our won-derful senate anticipated us by
procuring materials only for ships which have already been named, and I have
discovered," she continued, enumerating on her fingers, "that there
is no VSS CanÕdice, there is no VSS L'yn and there is no VSS Ba'be."
CanÕdice pouted
effectively at the conclusion of Hea'ther's telling. "And I so wanted a
ship to be named after me," she lamented. "Here
we are at the very source," Shell'y was none too pleased to observe,
"and we can't get any."
She turned to her
unhappy others.
"Could irony be
any crueler?"
"There's always
the black market," Britt'a opined. "That's
off limits to us," said L'yn. "You know we're not supposed to
encourage that sort of trading."
"What about a
proxy?" Cass'andra wondered.
"I tried that," said Mar'go, "too risky."
"What? You got
caught?" asked Cass.
"No," said
Mar'go. "The risk is in quality. You don't know what you'll wind up with.
What I got was not Vendorian. Only found out after the first time. Took me a
week to get all the slag out."
"I'll bet that was fun," Pat'ricia sympathized.
Mar'go turned her head
Pat's way. "D'ja ever try to buy a sulfuric acid douche on the open
market?" she asked.
"I hope you took
that thing back to the guy you bought it from," Fa'un chimed in.
"Oh, I took it
back all right," Mar'go related. "He told me to shove it -- I told him
I already had, and it was his turn for a shoving." She smiled. "I got my credits back."
"Look, all is not
lost here ," Mon'ique chimed in, "I mean, they can't produce 'V'
steel with individual component precision. There are such things as after
market remnants."
"Which are
scrupulously recycled," Hea'ther related.
"Because they
don't consider that there's a market for them," Mon'ique pointed out.
"Some remnants do
fall through the chinks," said Cass'andra, "but, believe me, they all
wind up in the hands of scalpers!"
"You've tried
this?" Britt'a inquired.
"Oh, it's in the
marketplace," Cass replied.
"Mm, let's
go!" said L'yn, rising from her bed.
"Don't
bother," said Cass. "They know what we use it for."
"So they tack on
a premium?" Mar'go surmised.
Cass'andra threw back
her head, and laughed.
"Ha!" she
derided. "Do you have any idea of what those stinkin' Binkleyans want for
a foot and a half long piece of three inch rebar?"
"All too well,
dear," said Mad'elyn, "and they do charge extra for deburring the
end."
"Rebar,"
wondered Shad'rah, "that's the stuff with the ribs, and knobs, on it,
right?"
"It just had
ribs, hon," Mon'ique clarified.
"You have your
ends deburred?" L'yn asked Mad'elyn.
Mad'elyn, who prided
herself on her erotic refinement, turned a haughty eye toward L'yn.
"Of course,"
she distinctly replied.
"Where'd you hear
about knobs?" asked Cha'rise.
Shad'rah couldn't
remember, so she merely shrugged.
"Gol," L'yn
laughed in response to Maddie's preference, "a freshly sawed end is half
the fun of breaking in a new toy."
"Are they making
rebar with knobs?" Cha'rise inquired openly.
"Ugh!"
Mad'elyn uttered to L'yn's preference with what she considered to be
appropriate disdain. "You crude thing."
"That wasn't what
you said the last time we shared orgone," L'yn rejoined with a sly look.
"Does anybody
know about knobs?" Cha'rise officially requested.
Maddie recalled the
last time she shared orgone with L'yn. It made her smile.
"Cha,"
Tra'cy attempted to chasten her, "do you mind?"
Mad'elyn blew L'yn a
kiss.
"'ey!" Cha
chafed. "I'm askin' a question 'ere!"
"They don't make
rebar with -- 'knobs', okay?" Hea'ther duly informed her. "They
could," she went on to report, "but it would be a special order,
which would cost more, and they'd shoot down the requisition anyway, because
it's not related to any pre-named flight craft, and, no, there is no VSS Cha'rise,
or even a VSS Cha'cha."
Having been duly
informed, Cha'rise retreated into herself. She hugged her knees to her chest as
she sat disconsolately on her bed.
"We'd be better
off making our own toys," she grumbled under her breath.
An odd silence
suddenly took hold of the barracks atmosphere. When she noticed the pause,
Cha'rise looked up to see that every Protector in the room was looking at her.
"Don't fuckin'
look at me!" she truculently declared.
To enforce her
command, Cha flipped herself face down on her bed, and pulled her pillow over
her head. If nothing else, she could no longer see them fucking looking at her.
The Protectors in the
room took visual note of one another, then, as a group, they slowly meandered
their way to Cha'rise stretched out on her bed. Silently, they surrounded her,
then Pat'ricia leaned close to her ear.
"Cha'ri-ise . . .
," her beautiful voice softly intoned with a caressing lilt.
At blinding speed,
Cha'rise pounded her feet against her mattress.
"She is enjoying
her foul mood," Shell'y significantly noted.
"So she is,"
L'yn acknowledged, then her hand delivered smart *THWACK* the prone Protector's
posterior. "C'mon, Cha-Cha - rise, and shine."
Furious, Cha'rise
emerged from under her pillow to see all of the Protectors gathered around her
bed. "Why can't you leave me alone!" she whined.
"Because
you," Mon'ique took care to point out to her, "are a genius."
Cha'rise's brow
wrinkled prettily.
"Huh?" was
the sum of her befuddled response.
"She's so
brilliant," L'yn cracked, "even her own idea went over her
head."
"Make our own
toys," Hea'ther said for Cha'rise's benefit. "Between us, we've got
the raw materials: Vendorian steel." She turned her eyes red. "And
we've got the capacity: Heat vision." Her eyes returned to normal.
"And our breath
to cool it," added Car'ol.
"I've done some
study in metallurgy," Mad'elyn related, "so I know something about
tempering, and annealing." "So,
what are we waiting for?
Faster than the eye
could see, they gathered up every toy in the barracks, and placed them all in a
pile in the center of the room.
"It's not
much," Fa'un observed a bit ruefully.
Mad'elyn cast a side
long glance at Fa'un.
"It's not much at
all," she made a point of stating.
Kath'y, for her part,
was not to be outdone.
"Yes," she .
. . sort of agreed, "it's very definitely not much."
Car'ol took this in,
and knew that she could top it.
"It's not
enough," she announced.
Mon'ique cleared her
throat.
"Yes," she
said, "hardly -- enough."
At this point, Car'ol
made a point of turning to Mon'ique, and placing her hands firmly on her hips.
"Well," she
specifically wished to know, "just how hardly is not enough for you, Train
tunnel?"
Not to be taken aback,
Mon'ique faced Car'ol with her hands on her hips, and her chest thrust out to
boot.
"Obviously not nearly
not hardly enough for you - Space hanger!" she declared.
The atmosphere in the
room grew heavy as Car'ol, and Mon'ique approached one another. The two
Protectors came breast to breast - and it wasn't to say 'Hello' either. "Wait!"
exclaimed Hea'ther suspiciously. "Hang on a moment."
She did a quick count
of the beds in the barracks, then made a count of the toys.
"Someone's
holding out," she announced as though on the threshold of discovering a
horrible conspiracy. "There's one -- toy . . . missing."
"We have a
traitor among us!" Mad'elyn proclaimed, joining in the spirit.
"Sabotage!"
Tra'cy decried.
"Who,"
Hea'ther intoned ominously as she looked around, "is the holdout?Ó
All of them looked
about, subtly searching for surreptitious subterfuge. Eventually it came to
their attention that Dor'thy had remained apart from them, laying most quietly
on her bed.
"Dor'thy?"
Pat'ricia wondered significantly in her direction.
Several Protectors
floated over to confront Dor'thy, their arms folded under their magnificent
breasts. Dor'thy lay on her back, clutching her toy. It was but a shadow of its
former self; the worn, and mangled tip nested between her magnificent breasts.
"I don't mean to
be a holdout," she pleaded, "really I don't, but . . . I have a lot
of memories involved in this toy."
No one seemed overly
impressed with this.
"Which would you
rather," asked Shell'y with a tilt to her gorgeous, blonde head,
"cling to old memories, or acquire new ones?"
The subtle flexion of
her belly belied the fact that Dor'thy was open to acquiring, "New
memories, you say?"
"Why of course,
Dot'ie," said Mar'go, ready to apply her persuasive skills. "Think of
all the new adventures you could have with a new toy," she breathed
seductively, "a toy worthy of the Supremis that you are -- a toy that
could fill you to the point of challenge, stoke your one, and only fire,
satisfy your every desire -- here, and far beyond."
She floated over
Dor'thy, straddling her waist to gently rub herself along the cobblestones of
her sister Protector's abdomen as her talented, experienced hands skillfully
kneaded Dor'thy's breasts.
"A toy that would
be there for you whenever you needed. A toy that would inspire you with
delights you'd never dreamed. A toy that could fulfill those dreams -- with a
vengeance! -- dare as you've never dared before -- go boldly where no woman has
gone before."
Dor'thy's genitals,
and breasts were glowing with built up personal tension. The air was filled
with her honey, and wildflowers scent. Mar'go stretched herself out along the
aroused Protector to partake of the heat she'd inspired. She played their
nipples together as her talented mouth worked on Dor'thy's face, her neck, her
ears.
"You could be
bold," Mar'go softly cooed, "reckless . . . without mercy!"
Of their own,
Dor'thy's hands rose to welcome Mar'go -- to hold her to herself -- caress her
gorgeous body. "
. . . mercy . . . ," Dor'thy panted.
Her breath left her in
tremulous sighs.
"No mercy," Mar'go whispered between attentive licks, and kisses. She lowered herself further to press their breasts together, trapping the toy in Dor'thy's cleavage. Vapor began to rise from between their chests. Dor'thy writhed on her bed as one afflicted - roughly grinding her pelvis to Mar'go's - fighting for release! She bit, and licked at her helplessly. With claws, she clutched Mar'go's buns - driving herself against her!
" . . . no . . . mercy . . . !" she gasped.
"Bold . . . ," Mar'go's caressing voice suggested, ". . . reckless!"
Dor'thy's pelvis strained to reach a pinnacle that was cruelly held away from her. An anguished sigh of passion tore itself from her throat!
"Surrender, Dor'thy."
"Take it!" Dor'thy cried, pounding herself against Mar'go. "Take it!"
Without another word, Mar'go plucked the glowing red toy from the pit of Dor'thy's cleavage,
"Thank you."
And then she quickly
floated away.
"Here's another
one for the pot!" she proclaimed, holding the toy aloft as she returned
the waiting group.
"What?"
sputtered a languishing Dor'thy, realizing too late that she'd been tricked.
In a nanosecond she
was off the bed, and hastening after Mar'go. "You bitch!" she
declared at Mar'go's back. "You are a bitch, and I hate you!"
"Fair
enough," Mar'go was more than willing to grant.
Several Protectors
hungrily eyed the new addition as Mar'go placed Dor'thy's toy on the pile with
due ceremony.
"Let's get
cookin'!" said Mon'ique, rubbing her palms together in gleeful
anticipation.
Several of them
trained their heat rays on the pile of spent toys. In short order the heap was
reduced to a molten puddle. Hea'ther kept up the heat as Britt'a, and CanÕdice
began to shape it with their hands. Throughout, there were a number of *snap*s,
and *pop*s as Hea'ther strove to rid the precious metal of impurities.
"Skietra,"
commented L'yn, "don't you pigs ever wash your toys after you use
them?" No
one leapt to admit to this laps of hygiene. "Make
it big," Tra'cy breathlessly urged the busy sculptresses.
"Make it
long," Pat'ricia countered. "What
if we made it hollow," suggested Kath'y. "That way we could make it
'big', and 'long'."
"No," Car'ol noted regretfully with a shake of her blonde head. "It would sacrifice strength." She looked about at the gathering of her own. "And we need it . . . strong," she made specific a point of adding.
Mon'ique eyed Car'ol
suspiciously "Really --
strong," she qualified. "Put
a lid on it, you two," L'yn directed.
The new toy took
shape. It rose like a monument amidst the sexually starved Protectors.
"What's going on
here?" asked a familiar voice in a suspecting tone.
Every Nordic featured
face in the room suddenly went flush. All, that is, except one.
"Oh, hi
Bea!" Car'ol exclaimed, her voice sounding like a curious squeak.
Group Leader Bea'trice
slowly scanned a pair of accusing eyes over the guilty looking little girls
under her authority.
"My question
stands," she said before reiterating, "What - is going on here?"
"We're doing annn
. . . experiential history lesson," Britt'a offered hastily,
Bea's eyes shifted to
Britt'a. "It's a . . .
reconstruction of a past event," Mad'elyn elaborated -- sort of.
Bea's eyes shifted to
Mad'elyn."And discovering the dynamics of that event through . . .
reenactment," Hea'ther attempted to continue. Bea's eyes shifted to
ChaÕrise.
"We're learning
by screwing," ChaÕrise said. "I mean -- doing."
Bea'trice didn't need
to sniff to get wind of the load of bullshit coming her way.
"For all the good it's going to do me," she indulgently granted them, "I'm still listening."
"Well," said
Mon'ique to continue the thread spun thus far, "we're researching a time
honored, home-world tradition. The Girl Scouts of Earth -- they're really a
fascinating bunch, lemme tell ya -- well, every so often, a group of them will
go out into the wilderness, and gather around what's called a 'campfire'.Ó
She showed Bea the
half cooled, molten pool of toys on the floor.
"This is only a
crude approximation of a campfire, of course," she qualified. "So . .
. what we were doing was reenacting a group of girl scouts sitting around a
campfire roasting their weenies."
The silence that
followed was deafening.
"It's very
educational," Mon'ique added to break the silence.
Bea carefully
considered both the crock, and its contents before she responded. When she was
sure she had things straight, she spoke.
"There's only one
flaw in your logic," she remarked to the group of Protectors.
"What's
that?" asked Tra'cy.
Bea's eyes shifted to
Tra'cy.
"Girls don't have
weenies."
Within moments, the
discovered chink in their armor caused a number of shoulders to droop, and an
equal number of breasts to lower.
"We're pooling
our resources," Cass'andra fessed up with regard to the pool of metal on
the floor.
"To make a toy
worthy of me!" Dor'thy added proudly.
Bea's weren't the only
eyes in the room to shift to Dor'thy.
"What?" the Protector wondered pointedly. "Nobody said anything about sharing."
"Well, now you're
finally starting to make some sense," Bea'trice granted them. "Every
toy in this place has been smoked to the point where it wouldn't know what to
do with a fancy even if it could find one to tickle."
She glanced about the
group. "And I have to say that your discretion in view of the personal
tension ban has been . . . most -- commendable." She smiled on them. All of them.
"We haven't
broken a single window since the ban started." She nodded toward the pool
on the floor.
"So you're going
to use your remnants to make a new toy," Bea surmised. A number of blonde
heads nodded. "Did you get mine?" she asked.
A number of blue eyes
widened. A number of blonde heads shook. In a flash, Bea had fetched her
personal toy. It was, by far, far more the worse for wear than any of the
others. The sight of the group leader's toy caused several more pairs of blue
eyes to widen.
"You've been -
"
"Don't say
it," Bea warned before the offender could say 'busy'.
She added her toy to
the pot, then stepped back with her hands on her hips, and looked about her
group again.
"Well," she
said with a smirk, "Start roasting your weenies."
At once, every blue
eye in the room turned a brilliant shade of red. In no time, the metal was
liquid.
"Whoa -- whoa,
back off girls!" Deb'ra cautioned. "Too many cooks, y'know . . .
"
Britt'a, and CanÕdice
resumed the task of shaping the metal as Hea'ther, and Cass'andra maintained a
specific heat to keep it malleable. The new toy took shape. It rose like a
monument between the sexually ingenious women's experienced hands. They
textured it to suit their tastes as well as their . . . quarks. When it was
finished, Mad'elyn added the final touch with her eyes, tempering the toy for
maximal strength, and hardness. "It
looks so delicious, I just want to put a cherry on top of it!" Kath'y
squealed.
"I get to anneal
it!" Cha'rise announced. She
jumped in to poise her glowing folds over the new toy's tip, ready to do it --
and herself -- justice.
"You're going to
anneal it like that?" asked a suspicious Mon'ique.
Cha'rise momentarily
curbed her enthusiasm to look up at Mon'ique.
"Sure," she
said. "It's the same way you cool, and soften a man, isn't it?"
"What about your
. . . sickness?" Bea inquired with a significant prick to a yellow brow.
Still poised, her
knees agape, Cha'rise looked at her group leader. She was the very picture of
restraint.
"What
sickness?" she wondered.
"Your, uh . . .
'anasexia nervosa'," Pat'ricia reminder her.
Cha'rise turned to
regard her sister Protector. The toy was becoming thoroughly slick with her
flow of welcome.
"Oh, uh . . . "
said Cha'rise, thinking fast, "I . . . made a miraculous recovery."
* * *
To everything there is
a season, a time for every purpose under the stars. James and Bidu had
celebrated their love in their season of passion, and now it was season for
talk, for further catching up.
Bidu had brought good
news – about his sister Alisa, about her impending return to Velor. That
had led to more lovemaking. But now it led to reflection – about his
mother, about his stepfather. Even about politics. If James had only known
where that would leadÉ.
ÒSheÕs always been
disappointed that Alisa refused her rites,Ó he said. ÒAnd now she has to wonder
whether to put in a word for Lillith.Ó
"But
realistically," Bidu went on to relate while delicately tracing a
fingertip over James's lips, "she thinks that it would be better --
not."
"A close relation
to the head of state being granted such privilege in the face of
protocol," James considered further, "they'd never hear the end of it
-- if it didn't actually guarantee impeachment!"
Bidu watched her busy
finger, and then she looked deeply into her husband's eyes.
"And there are
those who would like nothing better," she said.
James studied her.
Bidu wasn't joking anymore. "Is
the Opposition gaining support?" he asked.
Bidu drew a breath,
and returned her attention to tracing. "I think you'd agree," she
said, "that one aspect of a siege mentality is that it can be self perpetuating."
James lightly kissed
her fingertip whenever it happened by.
"Those with a
vested interest in keeping a war going," she continued, "could hardly
be expected to look kindly on anything that might threaten to be an olive
branch."
Bidu's report -- her
thoughts, disheartened him.
"Fighting the
enemy -- fighting our own conservatives . . . one wonders which is worse,"
he mused.
She held his face so
that he looked at her.
"To some, quite
close," she warned, "Your failure would be cheered."
The inference was
unmistakable. Being a member of Velor's first family might be considered
enviable, but it had a treacherous downside to it. What he was hearing from
Bidu was a tiresome example of political sour grapes gone to seed.
Some in Velor's
military apparatus saw his ascension to the rank of colonel owed more to his
being step-son to the Velorian chancellor than any merit. There were even some
who whispered -- none too quietly -- that the recent amnesty had been
specifically drafted for his wayward sister.
And what about the
Theel'dara Initiative -- this whole . . . love thy enemy gambit. Against all
odds it had passed the senate to become official Velorian policy, and he had been given the privilege of implementing it here.
Some privilege, James wondered morosely. Bidu anxiously tried to
kiss away the troublesome thoughts. She didn't want him moody -- not while she
was there. Still, there was one thing more she had to tell.
"It's a lost
cause, James," she plainly told him.
His eyes focused on
her.
"What is?"
he asked of her.
She hesitated --
studied his ear -- stroked his cheek.
"Bi."
Bidu's eyes locked on
him - took him in. "This
mission," she said. "It was a planned failure." She looked away .
. . had to look away. "You
were set up.
He suspected as much.
Still, he asked her, "Why?"
"As a pretext for
ousting your stepfather, and installing a conservative who'll keep the war
going."
James's eyes once
again lost focus, and, for a long time, neither of them spoke.
"James, I'm
sorry," Bidu said to him.
He returned to her, and James could see that she truly was. It
wasn't her fault, and he told her so by the way he stroked her back, and held
her, and Bidu thanked him with her attention, and with her tears.
Set up, James considered soberly, and then he decided, I'll
show those bastards a set up!
"I have been
charged with this mission," he solemnly swore from the depth of his
Velorian heart. ÒI will see it through."
ÒThey will hate you
more if you succeed than if you fail.Ó
JamesÕ expression was
resolute: ÒLet them!Ó
Bidu stopped her
tears. She rose up to look on him, and found the reason for her being alive.
"And there's the
man I do so love," she bequeathed to him. "The man I call my
own!"
ÒA man who can trust
his woman, who can depend on her without fail to do the right thing, as I am
doing the right thing. There are secrets I must tell you now, things I have
learned that are happening here, things that could change the course of
history. But only if we guide them in the right direction.Ó
He hesitated a moment.
ÒThere are two people
you have to meet. Their names are OonÕah BÕTe and Xanthra RÕN. They are the key
to everything. But nobody is supposed to know, and I hope no one else but you
finds out – until the right time.Ó
ÒCuriouser and curiouser,Ó
Bidu remarked.
ÒFor now, IÕm playing
dumb around them, and I expect you to do the same. But youÕll see what I mean.
Their relationship isÉ unique. And their behavior has beenÉ outrageous. IÕve
purposely ignored that, because, ironically, it has served as a distraction
– obscuring their true secret.Ó
When he told her about
that, Bidu was stunned.
ÒDonÕt let on,Ó he
warned her. ÒStay in character. SheÕs just another Aurean to you and, as a
Legionnaire, you can make a point of being even more Velorian than Velorians
when it comes to theÉ enemy.Ó
* * *
Char'lene suddenly
appeared in the doorway of the barracks. She was breathless for some reason,
and gripped the doorframe for support. She looked thoroughly spent, and hung
over with fatigue.
"Well, if it
isn't miss night owl," L'yn greeted her with an admiring smirk.
All of Char's
Protector sisters turned to regard her. They were happy for her, and glad to
see her.
"Leave any of 'im
for us?" asked Fa'un.
"If the way you
look is any indication of the night you had," Mon'ique observed, smiling
at Char'lene warmly, "it must've been a doozy!"
Everyone waited for
Char'lene to respond, but she didn't. She seemed to look about without seeing
anything.
"How was
he?" Cass'andra asked her point blank.
"He's not a
Messenger," Char'lene snarled, her voice oddly strained, "he's a
death sentence!"
She stumbled into the
room.
"Where's
Ber'nie?" she demanded. "I need Ber'nie!"
Her feet rose as
though she were taking flight, then Char'lene suddenly pitched forward, and collapsed
to the floor.
"Char'lene?"
Bea'trice hailed her fallen sister. Char'lene
did not respond. Everyone had stopped what they were doing. Char'lene had
fallen on her side. Her body rolled onto its back. She was barely breathing. "Char'lie!"
L'yn hailed.
Everyone hastened to
the fallen Protector. Bea was accorded access to examine her. There was a
strange, green glow at the pit of Char'lene's belly, just above her cleft.
"What is
it?" Shell'y wondered.
"It's an orgone blockage," said Bea'trice.
"An orgone -- what?" Mar'go queried.
"Blockage,"
said Bea. "It's almost unheard of among Supremis," she explained.
"It's a stall in the flow of energy centered around the vagina."
Bea's description of
Char'lene's malady made several of the Protectors feel squeamish. Some even
stepped back a pace, or two in the event that Char's condition might be catchy.
"There's only one
thing that can cause an orgone blockage," said Bea, her tone dark, and
frightened. "What?"
a wide eyed Shell'y asked in a breathless tone.
Bea regarded her
unflinchingly.
"Coitus
nohappenus," she answered.
All of the Protectors
were thunderstruck at the application of such a term to them.
"You mean he
didn't - !"
"She didn't - !"
"He
couldn't have - !"
"She
- !"
"Holy
Galens, what kind of a sicko pervert IS that Messenger?!"
None of them could
believe it, and yet -- the evidence before them was all too plain.
"To leave a
Protector wanting," Shad'rah was loath to realize, and then she suddenly
covered her mouth, and hastened from the room. "Oh Skietra, I'm gonna be
sick!"
"An "O"
blockage can be fatal," Bea'trice noted. There
was a tremor in her voice. All the Protectors heard it. "What're we gonna do, Bea?" Deb'ra hesitantly
asked her leader.
Bea'trice looked about
the Protectors under her charge. Their concern for Char'lene's fate was obvious
-- Skietra bless them! An "O" blockage, however, was such a rarity
that there was no known treatment in Velorian medical science. But she couldn't
let that stop her. Char'lene depended on her -- just as all of them did - for
leadership -- for strength!
"We gotta break
it loose," Bea said, her voice rising, her tone sure. So there wasn't a way.
Come Aurea, or high water, she'd find a way! "Penetration may be the way."
Char'lie needed her.
She couldn't let her down! "Get 'er on a bed!" Bea
roared, her voice ringing with determination. "This chick's gonna get
fucked."
The Protectors flew to
action. Char'lene was carefully attended to; laid on her back, her legs neatly
spread. The new toy was dubbed 'Ber'nie II' in her honor. Ber'nie II was duly
placed, and pushed, but one of the most insidious characteristics of an orgone
blockage is that it causes acute vaginismus. All attempts, therefore, to impale
Char'lene failed.
"I've never seen
a hole so tight," remarked Mon'ique.
Bea'trice looked on Char'lene as she mentally considered options,
then she looked to, "L'yn? You still got that - "
"Toy
driver," L'yn stated, taking up Bea's inspiration.
With nothing more,
L'yn flew to the foot locker by her bed. After some rummaging, she started
tossing out pieces no one could readily identify. Once she had what she wanted,
L'yn began assembling the pieces. The thing gradually took on shape, and size
in her hands, eventually taking on the form of an enormous mallet. Once
finished, L'yn set her jaw, narrowed her eyes, then took the toy driver into
her hands, and hastened back to where Char'lene lay.
"Float back,
kittens," she announced to everyone. "I'll get this sucker in!"
"Do they make toys that suck?" Cha'rise wondered.
Tra'cy took a gander
at L'yn's implement.
"Gee -- that
looks like a really big-- "
"It sure
is," said L'yn.
*WHA-THUNK!*
L'yn had wielded the
toy driver with an ariel spin to gain momentum. The butt end of Ber'nie II
mushroomed on impact. "How's
she doin'?" L'yn asked, sweeping her hair back from her face with a hand.
"No good,"
Hea'ther reported after a quick examination of Char. She looked up
at L'yn.
"She's really
tight."
L'yn pursed her lips.
"Tell me about
it."
She took the driver in both hands again.
"Float
back!"
Mad'elyn judged when
L'yn had enough toy driver swingin' room.
"Clear!"
*WHADA-THUNK!!*
Two ariel spins
brought the driver home this time. Char'lene's head sank into the wall above
her to her shoulders.
"Ber'nie's not
doin' too good," Dor'thy commented, observing the toy's heavily damaged
end.
"Where're we
now?" asked L'yn, dispatching her hair again.
Hea'ther checked.
"She's dilated
two centimeters," she reported.
All of them knew it
wasn't enough.
"This
sucks," said L'yn.
"You need a
bigger hammer, L'yn," remarked Car'ol.
"Does that toy
suck?" Cha'rise wondered.
"No," L'yn
answered, "I need to be
bigger."
Every one of them knew
what she meant. To exert enough force on Bernie to do the right thing was going
to require muscle -- and a lot of it. To do that, L'yn was going to have to
expand, and every one of them knew of the all but indistinguishable line
between Supremis muscle expansion and sexual arousal. In their current deprived
state, the effort to 'bulk up' could lead to another case of orgone blockage.
"Are you sure
about this?" Bea'trice wondered of L'yn.
"Char'lie needs us," L'yn stated with certainty.
"Somebody do me." "No,"
said Fa'un, "I'll help."
Fa'un was an example
of those exceedingly rare occasions when the fabled Velorian Maternity Engine
'burped'. Just as with L'yn's darker, auburn colored hair, Fa'un had a
naturally fuller, more powerful build. She was, by far, the strongest of the
Auxiliary Protectors, and she could expand her muscles without the side affect of
arousal.
The Velorian beef cake
floated up to L'yn, and added her two hands to the toy driver's handle.
"We'll do it
together," she said to her kin. "My strength - your aim."
Tough as nails as she
was, L'yn's chin crinkled, and she forced back a tear. Fa'un never failed to
touch with her selfless generosity. L'yn gave her a nod, and, in the next
instant, Fa'un was . . . HUGE.
The air displacement alone from the speed, and volume of her expansion blew out
several windows in the barracks.
"You do power
up," L'yn remarked admiringly.
Fa'un just smiled.
"Say it,"
she prompted. Time to get serious!
"On the count of
three," said L'yn.
The toy driver held
between them, the two Protectors began to spin - gaining momentum with every
rotation.
"One!"
called L'yn. "Car'ol
-- Britt'a!" Bea'trice ordered. "Grab Char'lie's ankles."
Without hesitation,
the two Protectors complied with Bea's instruction, each of them taking one of
Char'lene's ankles into the unbreakable grip of their two hands as L'yn, and
Fa'un continued to gather speed.
"Two!" "Assume a lateral
levitational attitude," Bea instructed. "On impact, engage your
volatai at full upward thrust."
Car'ol and Britt'a
floated on their sides, and waited. All of the Protectors watched the
indistinguishable blur of L'yn, and Fa'un spinning over the prostrate form of
Char'lene. The hopes, the prayers, the anticipation was
"Three!"
There was an
unbelievable explosion between Char'lene's legs that knocked every Protector in
the barracks for a loop. When the sparks, and fire, and smoke had cleared,
L'yn, and Fa'un held a mere handle over an empty bed with a gaping hole in the
wall above it.
Two Binkleyans on the
street were talking with one another when a speeding blur shot past them in the
distance.
"'Dju see
that?" asked the one Binkleyan to his fellow.
"I expect I
did," acknowledged the other Binkleyan. "It looked like a flying
Protector with two others latched onto 'er ankles."
Both Binkleyans paused
to reflect on what they'd seen, then they regarded one another in the light of
said reflection.
"Do they ever think about anything but sex?" one wondered.
"Your guess on
that's as good as mine, I'd wager," said the other. "I swear, if I had a
credit for every orgasm just one
of them had - "
"You'd be richest
man in all the universe!"
Meanwhile, with
Char'lene, and companyÉ
"Fly, you
idiot!" Car'ol screamed at Britt'a.
"I am!"
Britt'a screamed back.
The fact that both of them were, essentially, flying forward while, literally,
hurtling backward left Car'ol in a considerable state of surprise.
"How're we gonna
stop 'er?" she wondered.
"I don't
know!" Britt'a shouted.
Back in the barracks,
Fa'un returned to her normal size. Bea gazed out through the hole in the wall
with hope, and with saddness. Mad'elyn placed a comforting hand on her leader's
shoulder.
"She's in Skietra's hands now," she gently counseled.
Cha'rise floated close
to L'yn, eyeing the remnants of the toy driver she held.
"Are you, uh . .
. y'know like - finished with that handle?" she wondered.
Without further
question, L'yn handed it to her. "Knock
yerself out," she offered.
"I certainly will
try," said Cha, accepting the gift, "oo, splinters."
* * *
Xanthra strained to
push the handles of the hydraulic bench press machine higher. The mechanism,
rated in tons, rather than pounds, strained to resist her. Oon'ah strained too.
Poised inverted in an ariel handstand with her hands pitted against the upper
surfaces of the five inch diameter, solid steel handles Xanthra worked to move
upward, she added resistance with the aide of her volatai by, essentially,
flying downward.
She could feel her
lover's effort through the pressure against her hands. She was thrilled when
she felt Xanthra's elbows lock out below her.
"You're going to
have to do better than that if you intend to win this bet," the near
exhausted Aurean snarled up at her between sorely needed gulps of air.
They were in the
Protector's gym, which was a converted warehouse. All of the equipment operated
on hydraulic systems specifically designed to maintain a Protector's strength.
The women of the Auxillary Corps had taken to partnering each another, one on
one, in their workouts. The frustration of the messengerless super-femmes had
reached the point where a session of strenuous physical exercise would often
culminate in a session of strenuous physical exercise.
"You have one
more rep to go, you weak, Aurean slut," Oon'ah snarled down at the one who
had become her life.
It was the end of
their workout. Both women were nude, their deeply bronzed skin slick, and
shiny, with sweat, the 'pump' from their super-powered effort having inflated
their Supremis muscles to five times their normal size. Xanthra's upper body
was swollen by a factor of seven.
"Tough
talk," said the Aurean, "for a limpy."
Her breath recovered,
Xanthra let the handles of the machine down slowly in preperation for her final
effort. She'd taken to calling the Protectors Òlimpies.Ó They hated her for it,
and Oon'ah had had to break up more than one fight -- fortunately before Xanthra had over-powered her enraged opponent. She
was still concerned that the extent of her powers remain unknown, but Xanthra
seemed to no longer care who knew how strong she was. Oon'ah didn't like being
called a 'limpy' either, but she smiled now in anticipation of what was to
come. She was almost delirious from the burning itch that tore at her
translucent groin. The reversible "Occupied/Unoccupied" sign on the
entry door to the gym indicated to all that the couple inside was engaged in
strenuous physical exercise of one sort, or another.
Xanthra's hands came
to rest above her armpits. The steel billet that served as the press machine's
bench now bore a detailed imprint of her muscular upper back. She closed her
eyes, and took a moment to breathe quietly.
"This is the one
that counts," Oon'ah told her.
The Aurean opened her
eyes to look up at Oon'ah. Her face appeared to her as though it were in the
midst of a blonde rainforest of dripping sweat. So taken by the sight, Xanthra
could not resist her lover's stinking beauty.
"Kiss me!"
she begged.
The Velorian's visage
suddenly hardened.
"No," she
answered.
A breeder reactor of
fury exploded inside of Xanthra's head. Her face contorted into a cruel, ugly
mask of searing rage. With a strangled growl, her chest ballooned to a factor
of eight as she began the fight to push the handles upward. The machine's check
valves engaged to resist her. Oon'ah summoned her volatai to provide added
downward thrust.
Everyone knew that the
unusual Aurean Beta trained with a fully empowered Velorian Protector. The
results of that training were becoming obvious . . . on Oon'ah. The Supremis
coma she'd endured in her youth had given Oon'ah a naturally thicker build, but
her workouts with Xanthra were noticably growing her even bigger. The couple
aggressively persued augmenting their already superhuman strength, and the
intensity of their exercise had channeled the bloat of Oon'ah's recent orgone
binge to give her larger, fuller muscles. Her relaxed physique was quickly
taking on the appearance of Xanthra's buffed look.
Xanthra forced the
handles of the press machine upward until her elbows had achieved a parallel
plane relative to her shoulders. There she paused. Oon'ah knew that she'd
reached the fabled 'Ósticking pointÓ of the movement -- the place that
ultimately decided the success, or failure, of a move's completion. She studied
Xanthra's painfully strained features -- felt her fighting against the stall.
She did not relinquish a single ounce of downward pressure she was exerting on
the handles.
C'mon, you Aurean
bitch, she prayed.
There was a purpose to
the increasingly extraordinary physical demands the two Supremis women exacted
from one another, and that purpose was the increasingly extraordinary sex they
shared. Their lust wars in the mountains were fast becoming common knowledge --
the unfettered violence, and unrestrained passion of their super-powered loving
shook the ground, and lit the sky. They were as unsparing of themselves as they
were of each other. On an almost nightly basis, they would fight to exhaustion,
then fuck to extinction -- only to awaken refreshed, renewed and ready for
more.
Xanthra continued to
fight the stall. Oon'ah watched her constantly while maintaining the pressure
she added to the system's check valve resistence. It seemed no matter how
Xanthra commanded her elbows higher, they refused to move, but she would not
give up.
Their expectations of
one another had set them apart among Binkley's World's residing Supremis. Each
knew well that the stronger she was, the more she could give, and the more she
could take -- in punishment as well as pleasure. Theirs was a singular bond that
combined both overwhelming hatred, and passionate love, in a peculiar harmony
of equal measure.
Xanthra's straining
arms began to tremble with effort.
C'mon, you glorious
bitch!
Perhaps the most
peculiar aspect of this harmony was that each held the key to a secret neither
knew of. They could pour out their titanic, personal rage on one another without
once sharing the cause of so much feeling. To that, they were each other's
perfect vessel -- deserving of no more in spite of soleful yearning, because
neither would allow the other to see tears regardless of how great the hurt.
Xanthra's bulging
muscles suddenly surged past the Supremis expansion factor of nine.
The handles began to
move slowly upward. Oon'ah felt the change in pressure.
The galvanizing truth
of each had cut that deep, and they were loath to burden the other with their
private care. Oddly, the very thing that bound them together also seperated
them. Each fed, and fed upon, the other's sickness, even as they held the cure
for that sickness.
The check valves
failed. The machine's massive two-hundred and eighty horse power motor
instantly roared to life to drive the system's resisting impeller. Against the
sum of her monstrous will, Xanthra's hands were forced to lower.
C'mon!
The Aurean bared her teeth,
and Oon'ah's eyes widened with amazement to see her muscles expand beyond the
genetically determined limit of ten times normal size.
The handles began to
rise again.
The impeller blades of the system's pump gave out a moment before
every tooth in the gear housing sheared -- yielding to the brute force of fully
engaged, Supremis muscle.
Xanthra pushed the
handles higher.
Two rods in the
engine's crankcase broke at the same time a valve cover blew, and the cylinder
block cracked. Xanthra got the handles past her sticking point as the motor
stalled, then died.
At once, Oon'ah bore down to take up the slack of the failing
machine. Xanthra's strength finally compromised the machine's very structure.
Cold-worked steel, class 1 welds and hardened bolts failed as she pushed the
handles, along with Oon'ah, higher. A steel mesh supported hydraulic line exploded,
spewing a jet of hot oil over the floor as Xanthra labored to complete her
final rep.
Oon'ah alone now
provided her resistance. The solid steel between their hands began to flatten.
Xanthra forced what was left of the handles higher. Oon'ah strained her volati
to resist her. The billet Xanthra rested on began to sink into the four foot
thick concrete floor -- sheets of liquid metal running down its sides from the
waste heat of her back. The steel between their hands turned to molten putty.
Their fingers interlaced, rivulets of white hot steel coursed along the
engorged veins of Xanthra's huge, quacking forearms as she fully extended her
arms to lock her elbows.
"I win," she
quietly announced.
Holding each other's
hands so strongly, Oon'ah smiled.
"I guess that
means I lose," she wondered tentatively.
Xanthra beamed.
"You guessed
right," she confirmed.
Defeated, Ooh'ah
couldn't've been happier. She flipped herself forward, spreading her long legs
wide, and slid her flowing self up Xanthra's torso - leaving a thick film of
heavily scented Velorian whoopee along the length of her deeply segmented
tummy. She took herself a very comfortable seat on Xanthra's lower chest, and
immediately put her strong hands to work administering massage to the gigantic,
hardened muscles on her upper chest. Among other motives, she knew the massage
would serve to ease the recuperative ache that was to come.
"How'd you get
such big, fat titties?" she asked playfully in a contrived, little girl
voice.
Xanthra's pectorals
suddenly turned to two massive billets of steel.
"They're -- not -- fat," the resting Aurean warned. Unfazed, the
muscles of Oon'ah's forearms expanded to add strength to her aiding fingers. "Relax, Luv," she gently
urged in her actual tone. "The workout's over." Xanthra frowned, and
then her lower lip projected in a pout."The hard part, that is,"
Oon'ah quick qualified.
Xanthra caressed her
hands up Oon'ah's thighs until they held the perfect globes of her perfect ass.
"But I was
looking forward to the 'hard part'," she protested, pouting oh so
prettily.
The feel of her
lover's clutch drove Oon'ah mad! Her pumped body was screaming for attention!
"Which . . .
'hard part' were you thinking of?" she managed to ask through the rapidly
gathering mental clouds of lust.
"Pardon me for
noticing," said Xanthra, diverting their conversation to another topic,
"but your pussy is burning a hole in my solar plexis."
Oon'ah worked her
pelvis, trying to rub herself. Her glowing belly tightened.
"Really?"
she wondered without so much as a trace of innocence.
Xanthra's hands
caressed, and kneaded, her Velorian's gorgeous buns.
"How'd you get such a hot pussy anyway?" she inquired quite academically, then she added to taunt, "little girl."
The
Protector instantly retaliated with a strong buck of her hips. "I'm -- not -- little!" she declared for the record, the
little girl voice returning. Her ministering fingers working their way over
Xanthra's bulging chest. Her pelvis also worked - struggling to relieve a
Skietra awful, tearing itch!
"Watching big,
strong women exercise really turns me on," the 'little girl' confessed.
Xanthra clutched her
harder. She so hungered for that blazing pussy she could feel against her
chest! Oon'ah barely traced the merest tip of a fingernail down the length of
Xanthra's sternum.
"Are you a big .
. . strong woman?" the little girl asked.
"Little girls
with hot pussies shouldn't ask such stupid questions," the big . . .
strong woman answered.
"But . . . that
doesn't answer my question."
"Little girls
with hot pussies should be obscene, and not heard."
"I . . . think I
understand the hot pussy part."
"You understand
it - very well, my little
girl."
"Really? Oh gee,
thanks - but I still don't like being called 'little', y'know."
"Have I hurt your
feelings?"
"Yes, you have.
All two of them."
"How can I make
it up to you?"
"Well, I'm not
real clear on the obscene part of what you said before - about being obscene,
and not heard. Could you help me be obscene?"
"I'll do whatever
I can."
"Really?
Promise?"
"Promise."
By then, Oon'ah's
translucant genitals hovered a mere inch above Xanthra's waiting mouth. Xanthra
extended her tongue to greet her. Her spit instantly turned to steam. Oon'ah's
entire body shuddered at the hesitant touch. Xanthra gathered her pelvis into
her loving hands as Oon'ah did the same with Xanthra's head. She held her
breath, and braced herself for the first of many tiny deaths.
"Colonel!"
Oon'ah's exclamation startled even her as she saw the chief of Velorian ground
forces enter the gym accompanied by a foreign woman.
Beneath her, Xanthra
gagged, then sputtered, then began to choke as she struggled to free herself
from Oon'ah's groin. Oon'ah clutched
her harder to her crotch, somehow thinking that it would make the obvious seem
not so obvious.
"Uh . . . ,"
she began to offer to explain to her commander, and his guest, "we were
just . . . exercising."
Colonel Kim'Vallara
looked startled at what he saw -- or what he thought he saw. The woman with him
merely stared. Xanthra
sat up from the half melted steel billet she lay upon -- with Oon'ah still
attached to her face. It was as though the Velorian Protector was frozen from
shock. There was a sharp crack heard as Xanthra raised herself to a sitting
position -- a thick layer of steel slag fastened to the length of her back. She
turned to glare at their unexpected company over the glowing mound of Oon'ah's
belly.
"Uh . . . "
Oon'ah reiterated. Her
head up side down, her feet in the air, she seemed incapable of a more
intelligible utterance. She clung to Xanthra like her life depended on it --
which made breathing rather difficult for Xanthra.
"B'Te?" the
colonel said at length. He too seemed momentarily possessed of limited
conversational ability. Bidu continued staring. Xanthra finally took matters --
and Oon'ah -- into her own hands. After extricating her nose from the depths of
Oon'ah's folds, she braved a smile toward their visitors, and, unable to think
of anything more convincing to say, calmly told them, "We were
exercising."
She'd spoken coherently,
but the 'feel' of what she'd said wasn't right. Oon'ah's flood of secretions
had stuck her lips together. The whole of her lower face felt funny too, for
that matter. Oon'ah thawed out at this
point. She got her feet to the floor, and snatched up a towel -- attempting to
clothe her hips to conceal the state of her arousal. Having been 'caught' had
made her 'itch' gnaw all the harder. The attempt to cover herself, though well
meaning, instantly failed, however, when the towel burst into flames.
"Explain yourselves,"
Colonel Kim'Vallara requested of his subordinate, and her assignee. Xanthra
licked her lips -- for obvious reasons as well as for not so obvious reasons --
before she noted, "We already did." "Didn't
you see the sign on the door," Oon'ah demanded to know, "Sir?"
She was busy stomping
out the flaming towel before it set fire to the hydraulic oil on the floor.
"Yes,"
Kim'Vallara readily conceded, "we did indeed see that the gym was occupied, but
we didn't know that it was . . . occupied . . . "
From where she sat
with her elbows resting on her knees, Xanthra smiled.
"'Occupied'
usually does mean 'occupied'," she observed easily. "Xa!"
Oon'ah snapped at her with a chastening glare.
She almost had the
towel out.
The wheels appeared to
turn slowly in Kim'Vallara's head. Bidu smiled demurely as she looked away.
"Is . . . that -- what that sign means?" the colonel conceded.
Xanthra's warm eyes
met the colonel's..
"Occupied,"
she said with an attractive lilt to her tone.
A remaining ember got
away from Oon'ah. The entire bench press machine went up in flames.
"Don't use that
one," she lamely advised the just arrived couple, "it, uh . . . needs
repair."
Xanthra sat back to
relish the fire engulfing her. It was actually helping her super heated body to
cool down.
Colonel KimÕVallara
exchanged looks with his companion.
"Bidu,"
James began to manage introductions on the heels of whatever her first
impression might have been, "This is Protector, Oon'ah B'Te." Along with many others,
he had little use for the 'Auxillary' designation. "She's in charge of integrating the
resident Aureans here into Binkleyan society."
Oon'ah stepped forward
shyly -- her hands clutched tightly over her burning groin. The fact that her
breasts were so hot that her entire chest glowed seemed to have escaped her.
"Oon'ah,"
Jim sought to continue, "this is my wife, Lieutenant, Bidu Braga."
Bidu would have
honored the Velorian custom of greeting another woman by pressing her breasts
to Oon'ah's if Protector B'Te's extreme state of sexual excitement didn't pose
risk to the new sports top she was wearing. JamesÕ heat vision had already done
significant damage to her wardrobe, and she needed all the clothes she had
left. So she opted for the less intimate form of greeting by offering Oon'ah
her hand.
Oon'ah hastened to extend her own hand - which had grown white hot
from its close proximity to her genitals, and was replete with rising, honey
and wildflower scented vapor.
"She hails from Novo Recife," Colonel Kim'Vallara
informed the thoroughly abashed, and uncontrollably aroused, Protector.
Oon'ah suddenly
snatched her hand back from Bidu. Out of thoughtful consideration, she wiped
herself from her hand on her thigh -- along with some remaining droplets of
steel from where she'd clutched the press machine's handle earlier - then
offered it again -- still white, but noticeably less vaporous.
On contact, the
natural oil on Bidu's hand ignited. The enhanced Novo Recifean took the event
in stride, and greeted Oon'ah with a flaming handshake.
"I'm pleased to
meet you," she said to the Protector graciously.
"Likewise, I'm
sure," Oon'ah fairly gushed.
Bidu's eyes casually
surveyed Oon'ah's form, a private little smile playing on her lips.
"Not -- too -- pleased, I hope," she slyly added.
Oon'ah blanched, and then
she lost her breath.
Damn my Velorian
body! she swore.
"I'm not normally
like this," she vainly sought to explain, "I mean . . . not
normally."
"It's all right,
dear," an ever gracious Bidu granted her. "You're a Velorian. It's to
be expected."
Oon'ah didn't lose her
breath that time, but her features did take on a sincerely perplexed look.
Just what the fuck
was that supposed to mean? she
wondered.
The colonel smiled.
His Bidu was a skilled observer, and a skillful diplomat.
"Xa," Oon'ah
bid her love, "Come meet the Colonel's wife."
Xanthra pushed herself up from the billet she sat on, and stepped
out of the dying flames of the press machine, slipped om some vitamatrix undies. Her build was still enormous, the
slag having melted from her back. She enjoyed the full feeling of her body being
'Ópuffed upÓ as she called it. Oon'ah's form, by contrast, was almost back to
normal. Xanthra ambled toward the others, handling her extraordinary bulk with
ease.
"This is Xanthra
R'N," Oon'ah duly informed Bidu. "She's my Aurean assignee."
All expression left Bidu's face as Xanthra arrived,
and raised her hand to her. "Pleased, Ms. Braga-Kim'Vallara," she
greeted her respectfully. Then nothing else happened for the longest time.
It became painfully apparent to all that Bidu flatly
refused to accept the Aurean's offering. Awkwardness consumed the atmosphere.
Bidu merely regarded Xanthra through a set of narrowed, mercilessly accusing
eyes.
At length, Xanthra lowered her hand, then she lowered her eyes. Her
huge arms waved gently from her sides as she breathed. When she looked up again
at Bidu, she was understanding, but serious.
"It's said,"
she noted, "that ninety-nine percent of the lawyers give the remaining one
percent a bad name."
Bidu remained unmoved.
Neither of the others knew what to say.
Xanthra lowered her
eyes again, and bowed her head.
ÒI accept your
reserve, ma'am," she said.
Her arms waved gently
from her sides.
"Excuse me."
It was all the more
she said, before she quickly left the room.
* * *
Bidu was in the
bathroom indulging her most deserving self in a leisurely shower as James sat
at his office desk catching up on paperwork. Despite his recent time away from
Velorian Command, his skilled fingers hadn't missed a single pulse of activity
on Binkley's World. Not all had gone according to plan, but he knew that when
dealing with the human genome ÒplansÓ were generally useless.
Adaptability was the
key to effectively guiding the unpredictable twists, and turns common to
human sentiment, and Colonel Kim'Vaellara was known for nothing if not adaptability.
Those skilled fingers took up an official summons from the Chancellor's office.
So, Howard Jolie
wants to chew my ass, the colonel
mused, noting the summons' date, and time. He already had a pretty good
idea what the meeting would be about – that grudge match between ShadÕrah
and Ed, and all the bad publicity that had come of it.
Jolie wouldnÕt have
guessed how ShadÕrahÕs victory had come about, but James had recognized
OonÕahÕs electronic fingerprints in the archive search. Damned reckless, she
was, but damned smart too. HeÕd have to rein her in when the time came, when
the time was ripe to reveal all – about her, about Xanthra, and the bond
that would prove the worth of the TheelÕdara Initiative to the weaklings at
home who hoped to disclaim him.
We'll see . . . , he thought.
There had been a
message capsule waiting when he and Bidu had returned from his educational tour
– first to the gym, then to other sites like the still-warm crater in the
outland where OonÕah and Xanthra had gone at it during the first days of their
affair.
The Messenger hadnÕt
waited around to hand it over in person. That was against protocol, but
considering what the Protectors had had to go through without a competent
Messenger available, he wasnÕt going to make a fuss about it. HeÕd put the
capsule aside, no doubt it was a request for a progress report. HeÕd have to
come up with some convincing double-talk for this MarÕek fellow to take back.
Considering the time heÕd have to spend making the Protectors happy, that would
be a while. StillÉ.
James thumbed the
message capsule. But instead of popping open to disgorge a chipÉ
A brilliant
wave of blue suddenly throbbed within the room. His battle instincts
immediately kicked in, his first impulse being to protect Bidu. The room went
normal for a moment, then the blue returned. From a scattered mass of
luminescence, it concentrated into a shaft of teeming light no thicker
than a writing stick, then slowly broadened to reveal an outline. The outline
was blurred at first, then it began to take on shape, and definition. When the
vision was complete, there was a teeming blue form of his superior officer
standing before him; Star Marshall Teri Raul'lan.
James was slack-jawed
with amazement at the sight. For all he'd known, the Star Marshall was on
Velor, which was weeks of wormhole travel away.
"Have you
forgotten protocol, Colonel?" the form said to him in Raul'lan's voice.
Still confounded,
Kim'Vellara automatically raised his arm to salute the image of his superior.
He was even more perplexed when he witnessed the form raise its right arm to
return the salute.
"Don't look so
surprised, Colonel," the form said.
"Ma'am?"
was all James could manage at the moment.
"Yes, it's me,
James," said the form.
"How did you
come to be here?"
"This is
interactive holo image facilitated through genetic hyper-link," the image
of Marshall Raul'lan informed him. "It's quite new.Ó
"To say
the least," said Kim'Vallera.
ÒMy image is
heuristically programmed, not only to deliver my message but to respond exactly
as I would to the designated recipient – in this case, yourself.
He was just
beginning to relax from his state of shock, and wondering where the new
technology came from.
ÒI suppose I should be deeply honored by
this visit."
"Don't get your
hopes up," Raul'lan forewarned him. "This is between us, and no one
else. Understood?"
"Completely,
ma'am."
"Conditions here
on Velor have shifted," the Star Marshall told him. "The Theel'dara
Initiative is scrapped. All resident Aureans on Binkley's World are to be
exterminated with all deliberate speed."
"What!?"
the colonel exclaimed.
"That's an
order, Colonel," said the form. "There's no timeÉ."
All at once, the
form, and its blue light vanished.