ElyriasEcstasy

by Amber Jayne

  “Finger me,” she said. It touched a memory, reverberating faintly somewhere in her head, of Urna telling her to finger herself while he watched. Had that happened only last night? Might as well have been last year.

  Gator’s fingers entered her. His touch was delicate, skillful. One slippery knuckle grazed her clit. The fingers slid between her lips. Pleasure roiled inside her, out of all proportion perhaps to the simplicity and utility of this carnal contact. Even so, excitement rose with dismaying speed, buoying her along.

  She grasped Gator’s cock as though it were a branch over a rushing river that had caught her. Working her whole arm, she started pumping his shaft. His fingers, two of them, delved deeper into her. She was wriggling against the delicious intrusion, moaning, climbing through the octaves. Her voice echoing from the walls. Water splashed against the tub’s sides.

  Desperately she used two hands on Gator, finding that his sizable cock had room for both. She pistoned his meat furiously, hearing his own cries, lower pitched but just as frantically excited.

  “So good—” The words slid in among the animal sounds he was making. His fingers were jabbing in and out of her now.

  “Yeah!” she agreed. “Good—good—good!”

  She squirmed, riding those digits for all she was worth. Her ass quivered on the smooth floor of the tub. Gator flicked a thumb over her clit, hitting it just right, and the pleasure swelled within her, readying for its final lunge.

  Her grip on his cock was fearsome. She put her shoulders into the effort, muscles flexing up and down her back. She jerked that fantastic organ, feeling its already rigid length surge with an ultimate hardness, a fierce, final engorging. Its throbbing quickened in her hands. Heat swam in her eyes.

  Pearly jets leaped up between them just as the frenzied finish overtook her, a writhing, seething orgasm that lashed its way through her body. Gator’s cock continued to pulse, the spurts slowing gradually.

  After a time, he sank back in the tub, fingers sliding free of her clasping passage. She released his softening but still thick shaft and slumped limply against her end of the great stony vessel. The warm water settled. The flowery scent of the soap soothed the air.

  Arvra felt good. Better than good. Her eyes drifted open, beheld the male slouching opposite her, a dazed look on his face. It occurred to her only now that they hadn’t even kissed yet.

  “This bath was a great idea,” she said softly.

  He pulled his lax facial muscles into a smile. Wonder gleamed in his dark eyes.

  She let the gentle silence linger a moment. Then, tone shifting, she said, “I want to go on another raid. I want to go into the Unsafe and grab everything useful we can lay our hands on. I want to bring it back and see that it gets distributed to people who need it. Even if Frank never knows it, his work’ll be carried on.”

  It was more than that, though, and she knew it. This was rebellion, some latent surge of it. This was a “fuck you” to the Guard, to the Lux, to the whole evil system that kept a few wealthy and everybody else wanting or suffering. She’d taken too much. Been pushed too far.

  Gator lifted his head. He stared across at her solemnly. After a moment, he said, “Just tell me when you want to go.”

  Chapter Nine

  “Excuse me. Miss Virge Temple?”

  A sudden coldness took an icy-knuckled grip on her and she halted in mid-step. The sky was twilit. Minutes ago she had sent home her assistants and closed up the lab. In the course of the workday she had snuck around the side of the brick building with a ladder and wrenched that vent back into place. She’d strained her shoulder doing so. Cursing, she wished she’d gotten Bongo to do it, but she had instantly reconsidered. After all, he’d done a lot for her just recently.

  How many people did she know who would’ve taken care of Urna like he had, smuggling the wayward Weapon back to her house? Granted, Bongo was used to defying the law. But this was something a hell of a lot more serious than running off idiotic pamphlets.

  Virge turned, drawing a steadying breath. Damn the Guard. Damn Aphael Chav. Couldn’t she just be left alone—like for the rest of her life?

  It was indeed a Guard member who’d called her name. He was approaching along the street, riding a rickety-looking trike. The contraption had bad shock absorbers and he bounced around atop it in a comical manner.

  Virge, however, didn’t crack a smile. Any appearance by any one of the Guard meant trouble. Especially now. Were they already on to her? Did they know about Urna? Damn it, how stupid she’d been—

  As the three-wheeled open-air vehicle pulled up to the curb alongside her, it belatedly occurred to Virge that this uniformed man had said “Excuse me” to her. The Guard had never talked to her like that before.

  Maybe she ought to try returning the politeness, see what happened. “I am Miss Temple,” she pronounced. “How may I help you?”

  The Guard lifted goggles off his eyes. He had dirt on his young, freckled face where the lenses hadn’t covered. How far had he traveled? Virge didn’t recognize him as belonging to the local garrison, which didn’t mean much. Personnel got rotated through on a regular, and sometimes irregular, basis.

  The young man reached behind him and flipped open a small cargo case attached the trike’s rear. He poked around inside then snatched up a blue envelope. “This is for you.”

  Virge, nonplussed, reached for it, but the Guard held onto it and fixed her with a dire stare that he couldn’t quite pull off. “When you’re done reading this, burn it. Don’t show it to anyone else. Don’t reveal to anybody else its contents.” He leaned a few inches closer to her, for emphasis apparently. “You understand?”

  More bewildered than before, and much more intrigued, Virge said solemnly, “I do.”

  He put the envelope in her hand, replaced his goggles and went zipping away down the street, bouncing about on his trike’s saddle. Virge gazed after him a moment. He’d probably gone to her lab first, found it closed, then made for her home when he’d spotted her on the street. Must’ve seen a photo of her or had a decent description. Good thing. She didn’t want any Guard calling at her house. Such a visit would never be welcome, naturally, but now…

  With a quick tear, she opened the blue envelope. It held a single sheet of cheap folded paper. On it was a hasty-looking scrawl.

  Toplux ordered search of all pharmaceutical labs in 30 mi. radius. Got anything you don’t want found?

  —N. D.

  She shuddered. She resumed walking, picking up her pace. A warning. Her puppy dog Interrogator lover had sent her a warning of impending Guard action. No doubt a huge breach of security. He had taken a risk, for her. Since when had men been so willing to make sacrifices on her behalf?

  Virge was grateful for Nick Daphral’s effort. Obviously he knew that her laboratory fell within the search zone and he’d sent out that messenger, calling in who knew what favors. Nick, maybe, had thought she was doing some illegal chemical work on the side, perhaps whipping up batches of street drugs for sale.

  That wasn’t the problem. Virge had always been more interested in providing decent supplies of medicine for people rather than cooking up stuff to get them high. Cures were better than distractions, she’d decided long ago.

  However, if the Guard conducted a thorough search of her lab, it might prove to be something more than a massive inconvenience. They might—if the investigators were smart enough—figure out that some of her drugs were missing, those earmarked for the Shadowflash/Weapon division. Where had they gone? She could concoct an excuse, certainly. But, again, what if the Guard conducting the search were unusually intelligent? They could decide to inspect her home. In fact, there was a very real risk that they might do that anyway.

  Virge Temple hurried along, her mind ticking furiously. She had some very serious decisions to make and not much time in which to make them.

  * * * * *

  The delightful thing about altering one’s behavior after so long, Rune discovered, was that n
obody knew how to react. And so, it seemed, he could do pretty much anything he wanted. Within some semblance of reason, at least.

  This evening, for instance, he decided to dine at the Guard mess hall. This necessitated leaving the military compound, crossing through a zone dominated by the Lux fortress of the Citadel proper, and entering without any authorization whatsoever the Guard complex. It was quite a hike but he managed it. No sentries denied him passage. Even Guards within their own headquarters unlocked card-coded doors for him, similar to ones at the military compound. Rune barely had to break stride the entire way.

  This might be perceived as payback. In fact, he was counting on that. The Toplux had sent a Guard to escort him to Urna’s quarters, bucking normal military protocol. It might be expected that Rune would try to even things out.

  He had no imminent missions. He was a Shadowflash without his Weapon and therefore, in the eyes of the military command, he was of minimal use. Very well. The officers didn’t even want to let him resume his winged solo search for Urna, deeming it a waste of time and fuel considering how massive an area such a search would now have to encompass. So be it. Rune had studied the walls in Urna’s quarters, just as the Toplux had personally commanded. He had reported his “findings” as ordered to the entire division, an exercise no doubt meant as a punishment by the Toplux. Rune had withstood it, not letting the humiliation affect him. He had recited random phrases from the scrawl of writing on Urna’s walls, concluding that no clue whatsoever was there to indicate the Weapon’s motives or current whereabouts.

  That was the truth. Those scribbles were no help. But Rune himself wasn’t helpless.

  They had trained him in the stern, military tradition. He knew discipline, obedience. But he was also quite capable of independent thought and action, of improvisation and craftiness. He meant to put such talents to use.

  His presence at the large busy mess was causing a stir. He knew of the supposed rivalry between the Guard and their military counterparts but had never given it any heed, judging it a childish competitiveness. Heads turned in the hall. Eyes widened at the sight at his uniform, went wider still when one, then another, of the dining Guard recognized him. He was the most famous of Shadowflashes, after all. He heard his name murmured repeatedly. Rune. Rune.

  Celebrity. This, then, must be what it felt like. He permitted a mild smile to crease his lips.

  Taking up a tray, he went to collect his meal. None of the servers questioned his being here. They simply dished out whatever he asked for. The smells were appetizing, he had to admit. Quite a variety of foods. He still had an hour before he needed his evening drug doses. He meant to be back in his quarters by that time. Perhaps no one had even noticed that he’d gone. Unlikely. The only reason he had gotten away with this venture was that nobody had expected it of him. Not Rune. Rune the dutiful. Rune the fastidious. Rune who followed all the rules.

  Not tonight, however. Of course, it would have been a very different scenario had he made a run for the fence surrounding the Citadel grounds, like Urna had done.

  Rune surveyed the cavernous dining hall. Dozens and dozens of Guard members were eating, scattered over many tables. He hadn’t come here on a whim but with purpose. Finding what he sought, he made his way to a particular table where only a single occupant was dining.

  She was poring over a crumpled sheaf of papers as she absently forked up her food. Her black uniform lacked the silver rings about the upper left arm. Instead the cuff of her right sleeve bore two brass tabs.

  Rune sat directly opposite. She didn’t look up, head remaining bent over her work. Of her face he couldn’t see much more than her furrowed brow. She had soft pale-blonde hair, worn in a severe Guard cut. Her shoulders were tensely bunched.

  He was patient. He started in on his dinner. Vegetables, a meaty stew, warm bread, all of it sprinkled with spices and augmented with supplementary flavors he barely recognized, but which enhanced the meal noticeably. Definitely better food than what he was used to. Perhaps the Guard had cause to think themselves superior to the military—at least in a culinary sense.

  The thought actually provoked a laugh from him. Or the best approximation of one he could manage, which was little more than a low grating chuckle.

  “Are you laughing at me?” This, suddenly and sharply, from across the table. The blonde head lifted. Blue eyes shot him a glare. Then abruptly her face—comely, young—went still.

  Rune dipped bread into the savory stew, chewed a bite. Smiled. After a time, he said, “No. I wasn’t laughing at you.”

  “You’re…” He could see her trying to deny the evidence of her eyes. It was just too fantastic that he, of all people, should be sitting across from her. But she finally shook her head and finished, “You’re Rune. What’re you doing here?”

  “Having dinner.” He managed to give the words a droll lilt. Urna often spoke sarcastically, with wit, with flair. He would simply imitate his lover’s manner.

  She visibly absorbed her surprise and appraised him frankly. “I can see that. I had always thought the Weapons and Shadowflashes had their own cafeteria.”

  “I’m on a little adventure tonight.”

  “Really now?”

  “Oh yes.”

  He gave her what he hoped was a poignant look. Seduction was hardly his forte. The women he’d had were all brought to his quarters for the specific purpose of intercourse. There were never any preliminaries. No negotiations. A strange ripple of anxiety moved through him, which was ridiculous. He had gone into the Unsafe, faced untold horrors, assisted Urna in the slaying of hundreds and hundreds of Passengers. Not directly, granted—but still.

  She responded with another furrowing of her brow. She really was rather attractive, with winsome features.

  “What are you busy with?” Rune indicated the papers.

  She looked down at the crumpled sheets. “Reports. I have to summarize them. Problem is, half the officers who write them are functionally illiterate. So that means I have to—” Abruptly she caught herself, bit her lip. “I shouldn’t be saying this.”

  “Who am I going to tell?”

  She regarded him a moment. “No one, I suppose.” Again she shook her head, but for the first time a smile appeared on her face. “I can’t for the life of me imagine why you’re here.”

  Rune felt the advantage he had. She was uncertain, while at the same time interested in him. She did, however, have the edge over him in one respect. “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “Marny. Marny Vilst.”

  It wasn’t how a soldier would give her name. She was imparting something personal.

  “Marny,” he said, purring the name. “That’s lovely. Tell me, Marny—you’re here working during your meal break. If you were to, say, instead come somewhere with me, would anyone notice?”

  Her smile deepened, a mischievous curl appearing at one corner. She understood his meaning. Good. His only other option had been to spell out what he wanted in frank terms, which she might have regarded as off-putting. Or at least unromantic.

  Rune had had his fill of the tasty food. He stood from the table. Marny hastily gathered her papers. As the two of them left the mess hall together, Rune saw that plenty of people did notice. But nobody lifted a hand to stop them. Nobody at all.

  * * * * *

  The craving was starting to eat at him once more. Actually, it was nearing its full-blown crisis point again, just like it had before, on the road, when he’d been forced to gobble down his whole stash of pills in a short period of time. That had been quite an unnerving experience. It had felt like death itself was coming to claim him.

  This time, though, he had some diversion. Bongo had told him stories about the so-called Farsafe, that oasis of clear sky and paradisiacal living located on the opposite side of the planet. Elyria, the blond-haired radical declared, had two Safes. Two like-sized areas over which the Black Ship did not hover. And that other Safe, the Farsafe, wasn’t ruled by the Lux. It wasn’t under t
he sway of technology, of a system of oppressive government that meted out electrical power only as it saw fit, often for its own selfish ends.

  The Farsafe was purest freedom. It was utopia.

  Visions of the place had consumed Urna since he’d first heard Bongo’s tales. When he closed his eyes he could absolutely picture the site. It was green and sunny, and water flowed and plants flourished. Animals thrived. People—yes, there were other people living there, right now!—existed in peace. The repressive ways of the Lux were unknown. They had no Guard keeping order. These citizens of the Farsafe policed themselves. They all acted for the greater good. No crime. No persecution.

  Also, no Weapons and Shadowflashes sent off in tandem into the surrounding Unsafe to wreak havoc among the Passengers. There was no military. No need for one.

  It gripped Urna’s imagination and would not let go. He reeled with thoughts of the faraway place, though he couldn’t have said why he was so seized by the concept. He’d never before thought himself particularly imaginative. But something about what Bongo told him had completely entranced him. It was like…a magical spell.

  Magic was the key. So said Bongo. And he said it with a fervent light shining in his green eyes.

  Urna had enjoyed sex with the male. Afterward, they had talked, and dozed, and talked some more. As the day had waned Urna had felt the drug need rising. Now, pacing around the small house’s cluttered ground level, he felt cool sweat breaking out on his brow. His hands were starting to shake.

  “Virge’ll be back soon,” Bongo assured. He was watching the Weapon a little warily now. “She’ll take care of you. Don’t worry.”

  Virge. His other savior. This was her home. She was a chemist, Bongo had told him, and it was her lab he had evidently broken into.

  “Right.” Urna nodded. “Right. Back soon. She’ll take care of me.” It was like a mantra, like one of those near-nonsensical phrases he had written on the walls of his quarters back at the Citadel. He squeezed shut his eyes, this time seeing the Farsafe of his imagination with his chaotic wall scrawlings superimposed over the lovely vista. Why had those old bits of language fascinated him so? What had he been trying to learn from the ancient texts he’d scrounged up? The world Elyria had been before the advent of the Black Ship was dead and gone. Nothing was left but moldering ruins and odds and ends of printed matter from that lost age.