by David Coy
Some said the Earth had never recovered from the shock of supporting the impossible population prior to the Collapse and especially the devastation suffered during it. Now, six hundred years later, the population was again approaching the half-trillion mark with the old fears of collapse renewed. In short, social conditions were much as they were then, the article said.
Joan had forgotten most of the history lesson but one thing stuck in her mind. The historians said the Great Collapse started in one calendar year—2344—and by 2345, most of the world’s population was dead; starved or killed by disease or war.
She turned her pad off and pushed it aside.
Bullshit. They couldn’t let it happen again. No way. Nobody takes that seriously. That’s why it’s on the back page.
The article left a funk around her like foul smoke. She made herself another cup of coffee and went outside, trying to shake it off. The morning’s heat and the rich scent in the air helped.
The guys seemed to have everything under control; the lifts were moving around the dock and back and forth like ants. She nodded her approval at Mike as he drove by and got a salute from him for her trouble.
She ambled out to the west side of the dock and looked out over the vista. There was a deep valley that started just a few kilometers out and ran westward like a giant trough. In the far distance she could see the smooth, gray ocean stretching from one side of the valley’s end to the other. She breathed in the air. It must have been spring or summer on the planet because the scent that reached her on the gentle breeze was sweeter than usual and made her struggle for more of it, to strain and fill her lungs with it, so sweet and rich was the scent.
My God . . .
She breathed it in.
She could see flowers, bright against the jungle’s dark tapestry, lighting it up in patches. They hadn’t been there the last time she’d looked.
Only two hundred people on the entire planet. That’s the way it should be.
* * *
That evening, Bill’s normal mood had returned. At least he was talking and that was always a good sign. They went to bed early and made love long in the early evening’s heat, leaving their sweat and scent on the damp bed clothes. They showered and went back to bed, but found themselves too hot and still invigorated from their coupling to sleep.
“I heard something strange today,” he said in a distant voice. “What was that?”
She heard him take a deep breath through his nose. “Nothin’. Never mind.”
“What? You can tell me.”
Long sniff.
“Lavachek said he heard from some guy he knows from home who just got here that there're over a million shelter sections—complete kits—on the way in the next sixty days. Said he saw the order himself.”
“A million? I can’t store a million sections!”
“That’s what he said. Says they’re using those new jumbo transports to ship them. And he said it wasn’t the cheap ones like this one either, but the big fancy ones from Airstream—the big stackable ones.”
“Like the rich live in. Those kind?”
“That’s what he said. And that’s not all.”
“What?”
“They’re sending a half-million meters of dock and dozens of loaders and stackers, you name it. He says there’s over three thousand complete units like this one we’re in right now coming too, all for the crews—and all Riggers and Assemblers. Ain’t that a line of shit.”
She sat up and drew in her legs. “I think it must be true,” she said.
He looked at her like she was crazy. “Aw, bullshit.”
“I’m serious. I’ve got hundreds of tons of connectors and assembly tools on my dock and little else, except our meager provisions. If you were gonna build a city here, that’s what you’d start with—the tools, then the stuff and then the tradesmen to put it all together.”
“Aw, crap,” he said disdainfully. “What’d you know about it? It could be any damned thing.”
Joan snorted right back. “Well, think about it. I’ve got three hundred containers coming down tomorrow filled with nothing but screws and clamps and power tools and belts and hard hats and shit. You can’t tell me they were ordered by mistake and who the hell do you think’s gonna use that stuff—you and Lavachek—or a few Riggers and security people? I’m right. You just won’t admit it.”
Bill thought about it. “Maybe,” he said reluctantly.
“And I know where they’re going to build the goddamned complex, too,” she said.
“Oh, yeah, where’s ‘at?”
“Right in that strip you’ve been flattening for the last two periods.”
Bill sucked air. He’d learned to trust Joan’s judgment over the years, and she was right about the not admitting it part. “There’s more,” he said a little sheepishly.
“More what?”
“The guy said there were twelve more orders just like that one stacked up behind it. One every thirty Earth days for the next year.”
Of course . . . ”What else?” she asked.
“Ninety-five million tons of food and provisions for a hundred years, and furniture, clothes, supplies of every goddamned kind, all the equipment you can imagine. It’s just getting started he says. Lavachek said he told the asshole to shut up at that point, ‘cuz he was sounding pretty stupid.”
He ended with a shallow chuckle; one he didn’t mean.
Joan swallowed.
Collapse.
22
His brain formed words—lascivious, brazen words deep down in the primal part. They rose up like living things struggling for air, but all that came were steaming gasps that merged with hers in a sweet cacophony of ragged breathing. He brought his mouth closer to hers, and when they kissed for the thousandth time, her soft lips were lightly cool as if some delicate wind had brushed them. That single cool kiss mixed with the hot, wet touch of sweat-slickened skin against skin and the words lost their shape completely.
He breathed the wordless sounds into her mouth and sucked up hers in return with greedy relish. He felt her body flex and clutch at him with each thrust, the muscles in her arms and thighs kneading him like strong and supple hands, milking him with a pounding rhythm. She smiled up at him with a lovely and feral grin and reached out to him with a tongue thick and wet.
He buried his hands in her thick hair and felt it wind tight around his fingers like something alive. The feel of that tough animal hair and her strong legs around his back and the touch of her smooth skin there and along his flanks made him drive harder and harder until her scent and sound and touch became one fused and carnal sensation.
She opened her eyes deliberately into his, and he lost himself in them as if he’d fallen into a deep pool. Using her hair as a bridle, he held her head firmly still and let her eyes caress him,kiss him as he strained against her.
She began to groan deep down as if she was turning inside out and her face tightened and her full mouth dropped open into a wide, wicked leer. She clutched tighter with her entire body until she made them one thing, working and twisting, writhing with delight. He worked one hand down and felt the smooth and supple trough of her lower back and longed to lick and kiss it, to run his tongue down that deep, muscular groove.
She tilted her head far back and groaned deeper, and he saw the muscles and tendons under the flushed skin of her neck, pronounced and pulsing. Her mouth opened wider exposing strong teeth and pink tissue. The mindless pleasure in her face mirrored his own and he saw her as a throbbing, erotic thing writhing and sucking at his veined cock. He bit into her neck and felt sinew under his teeth. A single thrust later he came deep inside her in strong, full spurts that left him twitching and spent.
They lay in the wet sheets for what seemed like hours and when they awoke much later, day had turned to dusk. The room was so calm, and the light so soft that it felt to her as if time itself had stopped within its untroubled walls.
She ran her hand over his moist shoulder, thick and
muscular; the color of light earth.
“What time is it?” Rachel asked in a low voice.
He smiled at the sound; low and guttural, dreamy, and longed to hear it again.
“What . . . ?” John asked.
“What time is it?” she repeated.
It sounded exactly the same the second time, but sweeter as if a recording of a favorite song had been played back to him.
“Who cares . . . ” he said.
“I’m hungry.”
“You eat by the clock?”
“Don’t you?”
“I eat when I’m hungry.”
“You’re undisciplined, that’s why. We’re supposed to eat at regular intervals. It says so . . . ”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Yes, it does.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
She patted his shoulder a last pat and got up out of bed. On the way to the bathroom, he watched her full rump and the way her strong legs carried her so effortlessly and wondered how she ever got so strong, being a biologist. She looked as if she did physical labor, using her body to lift and move. She wasn’t stringy or overly lean but smooth and thick in the right places; thighs, calves, arms and back. Her most dramatic feature were her legs and hips; so perfectly shaped and powerful that the effect was dizzying. Her belly too, was a sexual organ, not flat but slightly rounded; taut and muscular under the perfectly smooth skin. He finally decided it was probably genetic; just the luck of the draw. Whatever the cause of that superb configuration, he was sure he’d never enjoyed a woman’s body as much as he just had hers. He longed to lose himself in that strong flesh again, and soon.
They ate in the near dark; the kitchen illuminated by a single night-light. She pounded her food down as if she were starved, concentrating on the task to the exclusion of all else. Head down, she shoveled it in, finally scraping the tray with her fork. He thought she was going to pick the tray up and lick it, but she stopped with a final blank stare at it, as if making sure she’d cleaned it enough. Satisfied, she raised her head and smiled at him. “You were hungry,” he said.
He watched her repress a belch and then she smiled again. “I like food. Food is good. Food keeps you alive.”
It was supposed to be silly and a little funny, and it was. But underneath the childlike sing-song was a note of solemn certainty, an undeniable reality that snarled up out of some dark and primitive cerebral hollow.
The rear door chimed, and John got up to see who it was. He turned on the backlight, and there was Joe Devonshire standing a few feet away from the door in his net suit, a look of amused excitement on his face.
“Hi,” Joe said.
“Hi. What’s going on?” John said through the screen.
“I’ve got some interesting news.”
“What’s that?”
“You haven’t heard then?”
“Nope. Guess not.”
“Ed Smith’s been arrested.”
“Come on in,” John said, then unlocked the door and held it open for him. Devonshire slid past him, unzipping his protective garb. John re-latched the door then held out his open hand to point him to the kitchen.
“Hi, Joe,” Rachel said. “What’s this about Smith?”
“He’s been arrested. Can you believe it?”
It was hard to believe but stranger things had happened. John and Rachel exchanged looks.
“For what?” Rachel asked.
“For everything!”
More looks.
“When was this?” John wanted to know.
“Just tonight. It turns out the Commonwealth Sentinels have been watching him for months. They’ve got him for reckless endangerment of human life, embezzlement, attempted murder. You name it.”
“How about that . . . ” Rachel said.
“Well I guess that nurse won’t have to go into hiding after all,” Joe said.
“I beg your pardon,” Rachel said. “What are you talking about?”
Joe swallowed so hard Rachel saw his Adam’s apple move. He shouldn’t have known anything at all about Donna going into hiding. Rachel looked at John and got steely nothingness in return. The sudden sense of danger in the room seemed to freeze the air. John got slowly up out of his chair to put his dishes in the trash. To do that, he had to step around Devonshire and go into the rear doorway. When he did, he saw a movement, like a shadow moving back away from the doorway.
He dumped his tray into the can and closed the lid. As he stepped up past Devonshire, he wrapped his arm around the younger man’s neck and pulled him close. Devonshire didn’t like it.
“Hey! How come you’re always grabbing me. Let go . . . ”
“I like you . . . ”
Donna appeared in the hall.
“What’s this? A party?” she asked.
“Why don’t you go back to bed, Donna. Go on.”
The look on John’s face caused a warning to go off in her head and she backed away a few steps, just into the shadows.
Devonshire reached into his pocket and his fingers found the weapon Kelly had given him. He pulled it up as slowly as he could. His heart was pounding with every centimeter gained. When he got it all the way out, he aimed the muzzle of the little pistol at Rachel’s head.
“What is that, Joe?” she asked.
“A gun. And I’ll kill you with it if he doesn’t let go of me.” John slowly unfurled his arm from around Devonshire’s neck, allowing him to slide away against the wall. From there he had a good angle on both of them. He craned his neck into the hall.
“C’mon out, doctor! There’s no way out!”
The rear door burst open as if it had been hit with a truck and Rachel screamed. In the entryway was the largest, meanest-looking human being he’d ever seen, stark naked and heavily tattooed. John had seen the man around the installation and was sure he’d ferried him once or twice. But this wasn’t the same sullen and spooky rigger he’d seen around the dock; this was a maniac. The thick rod in his hands looked sinister and deadly. He smiled at Rachel with a twisted grin.
“I’ve been waiting for this one,” he said to no one in particular, but looking directly at Rachel.
“Joe, what is this?” Rachel barked at him. “Get out of here!” Kelly smiled and chuckled.
“What are you doing!” she asked.
“Having some fun is all,” he drooled. “Just having some fun.”
“What do you want..?”
“Stand up!” Kelly yelled at her.
“No,” Rachel replied firmly.
“Do as he says, Rachel,” John said.
Rachel stood up slowly. She was dressed only in her panties and a loose-fitting top that exposed most of her midriff. She crossed her smooth, bare arms in defense. Kelly took a step or two closer and reached out with the end of the ornate rod. He brought it against her crotch and pressed. John watched it dent the perfect flesh at that juncture and cursed himself for not being able to stop it.
“Spread . . . ” Kelly hissed.
She hesitated and he pushed with the rod, almost knocking her off balance. She caught herself against the table, then reluctantly spread her legs.
Kelly ran the rod between her thighs, back and forth lifting it up against her crotch as he worked it.
“What are you doing . . . ?”
“Shut up!” he yelled.
Rachel looked at John and tried to smile, but couldn’t quite do it. He saw that offending rod going in and out between those perfect, strong legs and wanted to scream his outrage.
“She’s got some gams on her, doesn’t she Joey?” Kelly croaked.
“Yep. Not bad for a girl,” Devonshire replied. “But a little porky for my tastes.”
She’d crush you like a bug, you skunk, John thought. “That’s not pork, Joey, that’s prime meat,” Kelly said, his voice growing thicker. “Do you like that?” he said to Rachel. “Feels like a big cold cock, huh?”
“I’ve had better,” she said.
Kelly chuckled.
>
“Joe, why are you doing this?” she pleaded. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Shut up . . . ” Kelly said.
“What’s in this for you, Joe?” John asked. “What’s your deal with Smith? Money? A sweet contract? What?”
“Nothing that plebeian,” Joe said. “He’s my uncle. Well, actually he’s my only uncle. No, wait, let’s put it this way—I’m his
only nephew. There.”
“That’s no reason to commit murder,” Rachel said.
“Ummm . . . ” Joe mocked. “I’m not so sure . . . ”
“You don’t have to do this,” she tried.
“Ummm . . . ”
“Please.”
“Shut up!” Kelly yelled and nearly lifted her off the ground with the rod. Rachel put her hands on it keep from falling down.
“Stop . . . ” she pleaded.
Kelly slid the rod out from between her legs. There was a clicking metallic sound and the end of the rod unfolded, revealing three tentacles framing long blades that chewed the air at random. Kelly grinned a sick little smile.
“What is that . . . ?” Rachel said, backing into the wall to get away from it. Kelly moved it until the grasping tips were just centimeters from the smooth flesh of her abdomen.
“Kelly’s little toy,” Devonshire’s thin voice said.
“Once those little black tips sink in,” Kelly said, “it’s all over but the screamin’.”
“Don’t . . . ”
There was a sound like thunder and a bright flash of light. The spot where Kelly’s head had been was turned into red spray, sending blood and pieces of bone all over the kitchen. The nearly headless corpse stood motionless for a second then turned to the side as if still alive, swiping Devonshire’s right leg with the rod’s blades. Devonshire screamed as the blades cut deep, sending blood and muscle flying. The corpse fell backwards onto the kitchen table, breaking it from its mooring. John leaped up and grabbed Devonshire’s gun with one hand and planted his fist in his face with the other. The little gun came away easily. He pointed it at his head.
