In the Black

by Sheryl Nantus

  Never let it be said the Guild didn’t try to satisfy everyone.

  The miners gazed at them like starving men crawling up to an all-you-can-eat buffet.

  Except for the kid, who couldn’t take his eyes off her. She felt a smile coming on, an honest-to-goodness grin, something she hadn’t had a reason to do for days, maybe weeks.

  He was fresh off the boat and had no idea what he was doing.

  This was going to be—interesting.

  The pup cleared his throat.

  “How come you’re not up there? Don’t you got a spot?” The shrill voice rose over the whispers, moans and groans of the crowd. The youngster had a voice and wasn’t afraid to use it. Sam smiled as she sashayed down the steps and walked over, ignoring the pain in her feet and enjoying the reaction from his teammates. Half of them edged away from the kid while the remainder moved in, curious as to what she was going to do.

  The first rule of Mercy ships was that you never propositioned the captain. Never. She wasn’t one of the girls, wasn’t for sale. Ever.

  Or, in coarser words—don’t fuck with the captain.

  The kid let his breath out in a gasp as she approached, his eyes frozen like a deer in a car’s headlights. His tongue flicked out over dry lips.

  Sam stopped in front of him. It’d been a long time since she’d been asked out, even as roughly as this puppy had. She wasn’t going to take him up on the offer but that didn’t mean she couldn’t have some fun with the youngster.

  He didn’t flinch as she leaned in, his attention squarely on the zipper dangling dangerously close to his mouth.

  “Sweetie.” She rubbed her hands over the short blond fuzz covering his head. “You’re going to have to grow some more to satisfy me.” Sam leaned down and put a loud, raunchy kiss on the pate, leaving a very neon red imprint. Along the way she pulled his face down into her bosom, letting him inhale a brief whiff of perfume she’d dabbed on her skin before leaving the ship.

  Always be prepared, her mother had said.

  She was pretty sure her mother hadn’t been referring to a bunch of horny miners stuck out in the middle of nowhere.

  The kid went scarlet from the tips of his ears down into his dirt-stained shirt. His mouth hung open, and a sound between a whimper and a sigh escaped. Sam winked to his buddies before she spun on one spiked heel and walked away. A roar went up from the crowd as a swarm of supporters descended on the young man, slapping him on the shoulder and shaking his hand.

  Sam chuckled to herself, heading up the center aisle toward the back of the room and, thankfully, escape. There was always one smart ass at every stop, some jerk who figured the rules didn’t apply to him. At least this pup was cute. She’d shot his reputation into orbit with that little stunt.

  It could have gone worse.

  “Whore!” The room went silent at the single shouted word. Sam stopped, then turned around.

  Spoken too soon. There was always one, one employee who thought himself morally superior to his buddies.

  The middle-aged man wagged a finger at her. “Whore!” he repeated, spittle staining his chin. He got to his feet and shuffled past his shocked comrades into the middle of the aisle. His shirt was threadbare, patches outnumbering the original material. A thick, jagged scar ran across his right ear, almost slicing it in two before disappearing under short, raggedy grey hair. His wide eyes locked on Sam with the intensity of one of the large mining lasers set up miles underneath them.

  She took a step toward him, keeping the pasted smile in place. Inwardly she flinched. The pain in his face took her back to the Hub and her old squad. She knew what he wanted, why he’d called her out.

  Sometimes the pain overwhelmed everything, and screaming was all you knew to do to stay sane.

  She’d done her fair share of screaming after the Hub when she remembered the faces of those she’d lost.

  Those she’d let down.

  Those she’d let die.

  It took her a second to push the memory back into the box, slam the lid shut and lock it away for a better time. Or a worse one. Either way, she wasn’t doing her job.

  She swallowed hard and pushed through the pain to do what she had come here to do.

  “Actually—” Sam raised her voice, drawing in the gathering crowd, “—the women and men aboard the Bonnie Belle aren’t ‘whores,’ friend. We’re not running a Charity ship, and there is a difference. ‘Anything you want’ means sexual favors, if that’s where your mind is, but we also offer other resources for your pleasure.”

  She waved at the images flashing around the large meeting hall. “Dane there holds past titles in boxing and wrestling. If you want some real competition, try to knock his lights out instead of fighting the smallest punk on your team. Sean has a degree in English Literature and has performed Shakespeare at the New Globe Theater on Ares, so if you’d like to get a private performance, there’s your man. Kendra is a twelfth-level chess grandmaster along with a level three dan in competitive go. Good luck in winning a game against her. She’ll empty your pockets of any extra credits before you leave the Belle.”

  Sam drew a breath. “Bianca is an expert at the Japanese tea ceremony if you want a quiet, peaceful moment away from the noise and grind of your job, and she’ll teach you how to write haiku if you ask. April is a qualified tai chi instructor along with a black belt in various martial arts, so you can have a partner for a workout guaranteed to push you to your limits.”

  One last stretch to go. “Halley is a paralegal and financial advisor with a business degree, if you’re shopping for investment advice or want to update your will or life insurance.” She cast a wary eye over the potential customers. “Make sure your finances are in order and you’ll sweep out of here with a sweet retirement fund and live like a king in your old age.”

  That brought a few guffaws from the men.

  Now for the small print. “All references and services are Guild-approved and offered in zero-g—you’ll have to pay extra for artificial gravity.”

  Sam returned her attention to the heckler, dropping her voice down to a softer tone, almost whispering to him. “Maybe you received a ‘Dear John’ letter from your wife or girlfriend, dumping you because of the time you spend out here on the rock. Maybe you just want to sit and talk about that guy on your team who got crushed when that cable snapped and the dump truck swung free. Maybe you got scared and want to make sure your family’s provided for in case you don’t get back home.” A spark of pain in the man’s eyes signaled a connection.

  She’d hit home. “Two hundred credits and you get exactly what you want for an hour with total privacy. No questions, no judgments. Nothing but what you want.”

  She pulled a small metal token out of a pocket. The eyes of the men around her went wide, seeing the shiny octagon. Each of those was worth two hundred Guild credits and Sam kept only one in her pocket on each landfall, to use as she saw fit.

  The same coin hadn’t left her pocket since she’d taken over the Belle.

  She approached the old man and pressed it into his right palm, covering his hand with both of hers. “Anything you want,” Sam whispered.

  He flexed his hand against hers, a concentrated effort to shake her off.

  She didn’t budge.

  The miner tugged his hand free with a shake of his head and then stepped back into the crowd, coughing and covering his face as he fought his way toward the rear of the room.

  She might have connected, she might not have.

  Point was, he wasn’t causing any more problems. Let the base counselor take it from here, sit the man down and have a talk about his personal demons.

  She couldn’t cure his ills. Hell, she could barely handle her own.

  Sam forced a smile back onto her face. Time to stir the pot again.

  She put her ha
nds on her hips before twirling around to face the rest of the men. “And I’m sure some of you little perverts can think of something to do other than play chess and drink tea, right?” She pursed her lips, matching the imprint left on the pup’s head.

  The reaction was exactly what she’d aimed for. This group was so keyed up they’d burn themselves out in two days, never mind two weeks.

  Sam scanned the roaring crowd and caught Huckness’s eye. He nodded, then nudged two of his men. They headed for the exit doors, preparing for her escape.

  The yelling followed her down the aisle. The crowd started splitting off into smaller packs as they began making plans to cover each other’s shifts and trading ideas on what they wanted and who they wanted it from.

  Huckness’s men opened the doors and fell into step behind her, scowling at anyone who got too close. Sam steadied herself on the wobbly heels and began the slow crawl back to the Belle. The unhurried pace was intentional, keeping her on display as long as possible before she disappeared back inside her ship for the rest of landfall.

  The stroll took longer than it should have, thanks to the on-duty men clogging the side hallways and hanging out of every door, anxious to see the captain of the Mercy ship. Never mind that she wasn’t up for rent; she was a woman and she was live and she was strutting her stuff despite the sharp pains shooting through both ankles.

  Different monitors throughout the ship ran the courtesans’ portfolios in a loop, the images flashing from screen to screen as she passed them. The ads would run for the next two weeks in an unending cycle, pushing the product to the miners up until a few hours before they left. It seemed like overkill but they’d met their quotas and filled up the appointment books on every stop up to this point, so something was working.

  The Guild was nothing but efficient when it came to selling their products.

  A sigh escaped her lips as they rounded the final corner. “Thanks for the escort, boys.” Sam nodded to the two men as they reached the connecting hatch. The umbilical tunnel stretched out in front of her, leading to the door to Belle’s landing bay. “By the way, we offer a ten percent discount to security personnel. Our way of supporting the troops.” Another saucy wink and she was through the door.

  Leave them wanting more, as the saying went.

  Just not the captain.

  With each step down the long circular corridor her pace became slower and slower as she staggered the last few yards. She didn’t dare look down but she was sure her damned feet were bleeding. Those shoes were going into the garbage as soon as she could get them off.

  The entrance to the Belle was unassuming, just another metal door into another ship. She’d gone through enough of them in her thirty-five years. But what lay on the other side wasn’t anything she’d been prepped for in the military.

  The landing bay held a dozen folding chairs and a handful of card tables tied together and floating to one side, waiting to be set up once the gravity was turned on to create a makeshift waiting room. It’d been surprising on her first landfall to see the men chatting nonchalantly about this and that as if they were waiting for a doctor’s appointment. Some played cards, some rolled dice and a few buried themselves in magazines while holding boxes on their laps filled with God-knows-what. A small group of women stood to one side, talking to each other as they avoided contact with the men.

  A single monitor over the far door listed the six rooms beyond, red bars indicating they were occupied and green for when they weren’t. Every hour a soft chime would go off and a name would be called. The hatch unlocked for the men or women to exit and enter. The appointments were staggered every half hour to keep the traffic to a minimum.

  Clean, safe and sanitized. No one knew what went on behind closed doors.

  Not even Belle. The computer AI was technically blind in the living areas, restricted to the landing bay and the cockpit for monitoring purposes. The Guild took their business seriously and not even the captain was allowed to know what went on.

  She was just an accessory.

  Jenny, her mechanic/cleaner/go-to girl was waiting, drifting just inside the main hatch with a change of clothing in her hands. Permanent oily splotches dotted her dark gray jumpsuit.

  She began talking as soon as she saw Sam. “Repairs are going well. Nothing major to replace, just the usual bangs and scratches from crap pinging off our hull and basic wear and tear. I put in an order for an extra set of T-span bolts—those will be loaded up later on today. Rather have them on hand in case we get caught shorthanded between landfalls. Didn’t think you would mind.”

  “Sure,” Sam replied. “Like I know what those are. Just keep the receipt.” She began a slow somersault, gasping as her aching feet left the ground.

  The blonde woman answered with a wink and a nod. “As long as the ship keeps running, right?”

  “Right. Anything else?”

  Jenny jerked a thumb toward the hatch at the far end of the landing bay. “Kendra laid out the morning snack a few minutes ago. Landfall fruit salad.” She beamed. “Already got my share. And the girls are already complaining about spending too much time between landings. Again.”

  “They’re always saying that. Like any of them could make the Belle fly faster. Besides, they need the recovery time to work up to the next bitch session. Two weeks on, two weeks off. It’s been the same for the six months I’ve been here and for years before that, so I don’t see the Guild changing it anytime soon. They’re just whining for the sake of hearing their own voices.” She stripped off the stilettos and let the torture shoes float in the air.

  Her feet weren’t bleeding but darned close. She couldn’t imagine what the pain would have been like under full gravity.

  Jenny winced upon seeing the scarlet stripes but said nothing.

  The leather bodysuit was next, a series of curses escaping Sam as she peeled it off, twisting and turning. It was an acquired skill to dress and undress in zero gravity, one she’d learnt on the job with camos and military boots, not fancy shoes and sexy black bodysuits.

  This was like wrestling with another skin. Thank goodness she’d taken Jenny’s advice and learned to lube her skin before putting it on.

  It helped, but not enough to make disrobing an easy victory.

  Finally she was free, panting and exhausted from the struggle. Sam shoved the outfit away, wishing it would “accidentally” slip down the garbage chute to the incinerator.

  Jenny didn’t look away as she handed Sam fresh clothing, pulling the leather jumpsuit toward her and folding it into a bundle. Sam didn’t care—modesty was in short supply on a Mercy ship, same as in the military.

  “Burn those shoes and shoot the ashes out the waste pipes. And clean the jumpsuit, please.” The thin olive-green T-shirt and matching shorts felt wonderful on her skin. If she could do her presentations dressed like this, life would be so much easier. Screw the sexy attire, give her a pair of comfortable fatigues any day.

  Of course it’d be a bit harder to sell the sex, although she figured some of these miners would be aroused by a woman’s burp, they’d been out here so long.

  Jenny hovered nearby, the two offending shoes dangling from one hand, and waited.

  Sam continued her rant, grateful for the sympathetic audience. “They may bitch about the downtime but they know the rules are laid down by the Guild to make sure everyone stays sane and healthy. You’d think none of them ever read the goddamn contract.”

  Jenny chuckled. A flap of torn fabric on her shoulder waved in the air, sending a pang of guilt through Sam. Here she was, tossing an expensive pair of shoes at the woman and whining about a few rough spots on an expensive leather outfit while Jenny was limited to two, maybe three jumpsuits in her entire year’s wardrobe. Mentally Sam put in a request for a new set of clothing for Jenny, charging it to the Guild. They didn’t flinch at spare parts for
the Belle. Let them try to justify not giving the best ship’s engineer in known space a decent uniform.

  “Done?” Jenny arched an eyebrow.

  “Yes. Thank you for listening.” Sam laughed. “I needed to get that out of my system.”

  “Anytime. And Bianca’s put in another request for a repaint of her suite. Wants to go super-retro, neon lightning bolts on the walls and ceilings. Again.” Now it was Jenny’s turn to complain. She put in as much time dealing with the women’s redecorating demands as she did keeping the Belle running.

  It was the courtesans’ right to decorate their quarters as they saw fit, trying out different designs and arrangements to try to increase their clients’ enjoyment. More enjoyment, more chances to earn a bonus or a fat tip at the end of the appointment. Many of the women kept up with the latest psychological studies on how color could affect a person’s mood or how feng shui was becoming more accepted and popular depending on how far out from civilization you went.

  Sam suspected it was also one way to fight the boredom between landfalls. Two weeks might seem like a short time, but when it came down to it there was little else to do other than research your area of expertise and exchange tips with your fellow courtesans. That and maybe lose your mind staring at the same walls day in and day out.

  When in doubt, redecorate.

  Even if it did push Jenny to the edge at times. Sam suspected they knew exactly how far to push and when to offer the chief mechanic a present to get the job done.

  “Go ahead and charge her the usual.” Sam waved one hand. “If it keeps her happy and shuts her up for a few more days, it’s worth it. Just make sure to keep the paperwork in order and don’t let her short you a single cred. In fact, feel free to add a surcharge if she starts bitching at you. I’ll back you up with the Guild—they won’t risk pissing off both of us.”