On Bliss

by KS Augustin

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  Total-e-bound

  www.total-e-bound.com

  Copyright ©2007 by KS Augustin

  First published in 2007, 2007

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  A Total-e-bound Publication

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  www.totalebound.com

  On Bliss

  ISBN # 978-1-906328-04-7

  ©Copyright KS Augustin 2007

  Cover Art by Lyn Taylor ©Copyright May 2007

  Edited by Claire Siemaszkiewicz

  Total-e-bound books

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author's imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-e-bound eBooks.

  Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-e-bound eBooks. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution

  The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork

  Published in 2007 by Total-e-bound eBooks 1 The Corner, Faldingworth Road, Spridlington, Market Rasen, Lincolnshire, LN8 2DE, UK.

  Warning:

  Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has been rated Total-e-sizzling.

  Dedication

  For my European readers...

  ON BLISS

  KS Augustin

  Chapter One

  Hoara's fingers flew over her console even through her swearing. Behind her, at the navigation console, Hanek tried to keep the tension out of his voice. Tried and failed.

  "We've lost the stabilisers and most of our sensors,” he ground out.

  Hoara heard his breathing—quick exhales of air—and knew he was trying desperately to keep their small scoutship together.

  If this had been the Patience, they would not have been in trouble. Her ship had enough shielding and power to suffer only minor damage from the gravity shear they hit. But this was Odyssey, and the scoutship couldn't cope.

  "Sim, what can you see?'

  "We're blind.” Even the astrophysicist, normally the epitome of calm, betrayed panic in her voice. “I thought I detected an habitable system before the sensors fritzed. But we don't want to land there."

  Hoara wasn't looking at her two shipmates. She heard the discomfort in Sim's voice but discounted it. To her right, a relay hissed and one of the small panels covering the bulkhead flew out into the cockpit, missing the top of her head by millimetres.

  "We may have no choice. Set a course.” She felt the small ship slide sideways, as if gliding on ice, and grabbed the console with both hands. “Hanek, what can you do about stabilising us?"

  "I've tried initialising the backup system,” the young navigator replied,” but it won't respond. Think I'll—"

  Then chaos blossomed.

  It appeared to Hoara that the entire ship exploded, but that was impossible because she was still breathing air. The Odyssey started tumbling wildly and she lost her grip, feeling her sweaty hands slide off the smooth metal. There was no time to see how Hanek and Sim were coping—there was nothing more any of them could do.

  She tried to keep her eyes open, saw limbs out of the periphery of her vision, mixing with equipment that had come loose and the sharp edges of the cockpit machinery. And everything, somersaulting over and over. There was no point of reference to focus on, nothing that stayed in view long enough to make sense.

  Hoara felt something hard and unyielding hit the side of her head ... stars inside the ship ... inside her head.

  No, that can't be right....

  * * * *

  There was something covering her body when there shouldn't have been. She moved her hands and felt roughness, not the micro-suede of her chair. There was silence where there should have been the hums and understated chirps of the scout ship.

  And, she realised as she swallowed, she was thirsty. So very very thirsty.

  Footsteps approached, solid thuds when they should have been muffled by the cockpit's carpeting. Then a strange hand settled upon her forehead, hotter than it should have been.

  Her military training kicked in. She threw off her blanket in one smooth move and captured the hand with her right while arrowing for her enemy's throat with her left....

  At least, that's what should have happened. Instead, she got as far as a feeble tangle in the sheet covering her before needles of sharp pain riddled her body.

  "Try to relax,” a voice told her.

  It was only then that she opened her eyes, sinking back into the hard mattress with reluctant relief.

  At first it was hard to focus. She blinked hard a few times before his features swam into view.

  Regular. Tanned skin, brown eyes, chestnut hair. His shoulders were broad and his arms muscled beneath the close-fitting material of his shirt.

  "You've been in an accident,” he explained, his tone soothing as if speaking to a child. “I carried out some basic treatment but your burns are still healing. It will take another day before you can get up."

  She noticed his lips as he spoke. They were soft and generous.

  "How long...?” She stopped. Was that her voice? That creaky whispering thing?

  "Three of our days. You landed far out on the Northern Waste."

  Recollection flooded her mind. Flashes of the deep night of space through the twisting cockpit window. Smoke filling the cabin. Lateral gyros shot to hell.

  "Hanek. Sim."

  Oh please, don't let them be dead ... please, don't let them be dead....

  "I found two other bodies. I brought them back in case you have any burial rituals you wish to observe."

  She turned away—at least she could manage that much—and closed her eyes. Who was this man? Was he even telling the truth? But she remembered the acrid smell of relays frying, notes of panic in shouted voices, consoles growing hot through re-entry. In truth, it was more a surprise that one of them had survived, rather than two of them had died.

  With open eyes again, she turned back to the man, searching his face. She looked for deception but didn't find it.

  That was it then. Her scout was probably either irreparably damaged or totally destroyed. Her two colleagues—no, friends—were dead. Hanek was the younger of the two, serious yet subtly flirtatious. He had been pursuing her for the best part of the year. He hadn't caught her ... and now he never would. Sim, the enthusiastic scientist and mentor, was always getting carried away with her equations and experimental results. No more.

  A single tear trickled down her cheek. “Where am...?"

  "You're safe. That's all you need to know for now.” He fumbled for a hypo on a small table next to her bed. “You need to sleep. The dermal generation medication I gave you works best if you're fully resting."

  He reached for her arm and it was only at that moment that she realised she was naked under the sheet. His touch was gentle and smooth.

  "You'll need to be up and about as soon as possible,
” he added under his breath.

  She knew she shouldn't have heard those last few words, but she did. She wanted to ask him—why is it so important for me to heal quickly? Where exactly am I? Who are you?

  But he moved too quickly for her addled brain. The hypo hissed and she was sinking once more into unconsciousness. She hadn't even asked him for a drink ... then she was gone.

  * * * *

  Toh stripped as he left the room, folding the clothes neatly and storing them before walking naked to the kitchen.

  His makeshift radar sensor told him he didn't have much time and he needed to be calm and ready when they arrived. They must be getting lazy with age, he thought with a flash of humour. Five years ago they would have been pounding on his door the very night the spaceship crashed, full of nervous bravado. Maybe they were finally starting to ignore him, which could only be a good thing.

  Rescuing the woman, however, put him at risk once again, of that there was no doubt. He blamed his insomnia. If he hadn't been awake and watching the sky in the hours after midnight, he wouldn't have seen the meteor streak northwards in the sky.

  Insomnia plus boredom plus curiosity.

  His first thought was that the meteor might contain valuable iron ore, but the scans as he approached the crash location confirmed that this was no space rock. Salvage was his second thought as he picked up the automated distress signal, suddenly terminated.

  He didn't know what was his third thought when he caught sight of her, thrown free of the wreckage. She lay, limp and bruised, on the sand and he hurried over—afraid that she was dead—and was relieved to see she was still very much alive, although her body was bruised and there was a nasty gash on the side of her head. With expert hands, he felt her limbs and ribcage but detected no broken bones. She had been unbelievably lucky.

  After carrying her to his flyer, he looked around but only found two other bodies. Despite himself, he felt sadness, and carried them too to his skimmer. He was the first to the site but he wouldn't be the last. And, even though she was the enemy, even though she would eventually call for destruction from the heavens on him, he saved her. Her and her two dead companions.

  He glanced at her often as he flew, low and fast, across the Northern Waste. He hadn't seen a woman that beautiful in ... years. He touched her cheek gently with a finger, afraid she would shatter into a million pieces in front of his eyes. Her skin was a luscious chocolate, her hair raven-black and wavy, her lips a perfect generous bow. He lost time and concentration as he watched her—wondering about the colour of her eyes, the sound of her voice—then his brain kicked in and he focused on getting as far away from the wreckage as possible.

  Now, three days later, the first trial was upon him. With a groan, he slammed his hands on the counter and began the change.

  It was painful, an excruciating heat as his bones lengthened and even the shape of his skull changed. The radar pinged ominously behind him. He had never changed so quickly before in his life and the usual discomfort flowered into something more terrible, making every limb tremble. Drops of blood and sweat appeared on his arms, chest and face. His body shook more violently and it was only the press of his palms against cold steel that kept him erect.

  When it was finally over, he took a few deep breaths, not even trusting himself to stand straight. The dimensions of his habitat shrank to a more manageable size and he stared at the long pale fingers splayed out beneath him.

  How could humans stand being so small? So short? And how could such small beings be so full of hate?

  The radar's call now merged into a single staccato drone so he switched it off while hunting for the pale blue one-piece suit he normally wore, taking care to wipe the droplets of blood off him, the counter and floor before donning his usual clothes and a pair of scuffed and patched dark boots.

  When he emerged from his habitat, deliberately shutting and locking the door behind him, he was calm.

  A slight breeze blew against his face as he watched a small cloud of red dust approach. They were still too far away for him to make out the individual vehicles but he was sure their leader was Old B'nen and Old B'nen never travelled with less than six accompanying toadies.

  It wouldn't be good if they knew he waited for them. As stupid as they were, that would tip them off that he might have something useful, such as sensor technology, in his domed home and his home was the last place he wanted them to search. So he moved to the makeshift overhang that lent against the habitat and housed the most valuable thing he owned—his flyer—and checked the vehicle's fuel gauge once again.

  Empty.

  Fuel was difficult to get and his dash across the Northern Waste had used up everything in the tank. That had been foolish. He needed fuel to make fuel and would now have to make the trek to Regulation on foot, towing a half-working gravity sled across the hot, rocky terrain for six hours before he reached town, where he would stop at every business willing to sell him discarded barrels of oil.

  They always charged him for their waste material, because of who—and what—he was. They either charged him or took cruel delight in emptying the precious liquid in front of him. He was always surprised by how they could be so consumed by malice and yet still function.

  They laughed and called him names while letting the thick fluid soak into the dry red sand outside their back doors. He knew they wanted to see his face change expression, see him erupt into anger at their obvious taunting. He also knew they carried weapons and kept them close to hand, so he did nothing, said nothing. Just moved on, until he had bought all the supplies he could, and then headed for home.

  He was calibrating his equipment, setting it up for another fuel-manufacturing cycle when they finally slewed to a stop in front of his habitat, sending thick swirls of red over his flyer, his equipment, himself. Toh straightened and walked to meet them.

  There were four vehicles of varying vintages. Three ran on wheels but the fourth, the grandest, ran on a cushion of air. There was only one male on it and, as he dropped to the ground, the skimmer bobbed before settling significantly higher.

  Old B'nen was a broad and massive heavy-worlder. Over the decades, muscle had been overlaid by pillows of soft flab but he could still crush a throat with little effort and ruled the territory around Regulation with ruthlessness and a small amount of cunning. His skin was leathery from years of exposure under the unrelenting sun and his face was permanently set in a squint. Toh didn't even know the colour of the man's eyes, half-hidden as they were under large overhanging eyebrows and puffy cheeks.

  "Shapeshifter,” the old man greeted but the word held wariness and caution.

  Toh just nodded.

  "There was a bit of a commotion here a few nights ago. We've been talking to all the homesteaders in the region. Seems a meteor came down. Did you see it?"

  "Yes.” The seven people around B'nen shifted, a couple of them moving to the flyer that rested under the overhang. Clearly it was the wrong answer but Toh needed to stick to the truth as much as possible if he was going to get out of this. He kept his eyes on the old man.

  "Did you go after it?"

  "I tried."

  "The flyer's been up within the past week,” a voice called out. Toh recognised the voice as Dae's, B'nen's young mechanic.

  "Been anywhere interesting, Shapeshifter?” B'nen's voice was quiet, calm before a storm.

  "I told you. I tried to get to the meteor,” Toh replied evenly. “It might have contained some valuable iron ore."

  "So why didn't you?"

  "Ran out of fuel."

  B'nen looked beyond him, to where Dae must have nodded. “It wasn't a meteor,” he finally said.

  Toh remained silent.

  "It was a ship, probably no bigger than a scout. One of our radios picked up a distress signal before it impacted."

  Silence.

  "You sure you didn't reach it?"

  "There are track marks where I ran out of fuel and had to drag the flyer back.” Which was tru
e ... as far as it went. Toh's flyer had made it all the way to the crash site and only ran out of fuel two kilometres from his habitat. But B'nen didn't need to know everything.

  "I see. I sent a team out the next day and they told me they found a ship, a Republic ship. But no crew.” All eyes were on Toh now, watching him intently. “It would be useful to find the crew. I think they'd make good hostages. We could ransom them for supplies and some technology."

  Toh said nothing. He heard Dae shuffling around, probably looking around for extra barrels of fuel. He wouldn't find any.

  B'nen nodded to the overhang. “You could get yourself a new flyer,” he said enticingly.

  Toh wanted to tell him that was impossible. The Republic never sent them technology. They were happy just to send their dregs here and forget about them. But he didn't want to move away from the topic at hand. He wanted to stick to one issue, answer their questions, and watch them leave.

  "I don't have them,” he said.

  But B'nen still stood there. “A Republic ship,” he mused, watching him with sharp eyes. “With Republic officers. Weren't they the ones who hunted you down and shipped you to this planet?” He paused. “Even if you did help them, they'd probably kill you for it."

  "I don't have them."

  "Then you probably won't mind if we search your habitat."

  There was only one thing he could do. Without hesitation, Toh stepped to one side ... and gestured to his closed front door. It was locked and would probably take them some time to open. Toh calculated the odds. Say, three of them to work on the door, with B'nen supervising. That left three. He could take on perhaps two at a time, but if at least one of them had a weapon....

  The tense silence was broken only by the sound of the wind flapping the leather on his lean-to—Toh willed his muscles to remain loose—then B'nen spoke. “Let's go."

  They turned and walked back to their vehicles, some kicking dust towards him as they ‘accidentally’ misstepped.

  "Are you thinking of going anywhere, Shapeshifter?” the warlord finally asked when he was back in his vehicle.