by Alana Khan
This rusty scow ahma rented can’t go nearly as fast as the Ataraxia, but the new ship needed a few upgrades, so here we are, inceing our way to Virago on the Jewel of the Skies. Pimple of the Skies would be more apt.
All day, my thoughts have been consumed with little but what happened at the amusement park last night. I don’t know what I was thinking when I bent to kiss her after the fast whiz ride. I still can’t fathom why I did that. Actually, I know full well what I was thinking. She was so happy, so open, so . . . ripe.
I was thinking with my cock. Brin isn’t for me. She’s vulnerable, defenseless. The last thing she needs is an aroused Primian pirate who wants nothing more than a quick drack with no commitment.
Ever since Petrose died before my twentieth birthday I’ve guarded my heart and steered clear of relationships. When Brin is ready for a male, she deserves one who’s worthy of her, who can love her. I need to keep my cock in my pants, remember what she’s been through, and keep my hands off her until she finds a worthy male, someone better for her than me.
I thought there’d been a breakthrough with her last night at the amusement park. She let her guard down. She even smiled—and laughed! But today that Brin is gone, she’s been replaced by the old Brin—distracted and worried. Her hands are folded in her lap like she was just scolded by the meanest teacher in school.
I’d already taught her my favorite game, klempto, shortly after we rescued her. We play a variation of it for only two players.
“Can we do something else?” she practically begs.
“You don’t like klempto?”
“It’s not fun to play any game when you lose every single time.” She’s pouting, which is adorable.
“All right. I’ll teach you a trick that will help you win at least occasionally.”
“What?” she leans forward as if she can’t wait to hear my words of wisdom.
“It’s called a klempto face. You have to lock down every muscle in your face. Pretend you’re stone. Whether you get two aces which is the best starting hand, or a seven and a two, the worst, your face has to look the same—uninterested and calm. Got it?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s practice. I’ll go first. I’ll bet you didn’t know my grandahma was a pirate.”
“Really?” Her face lights up with interest.
“You lose, Brin. You weren’t even trying. Give me a hundred credit chip for that ignominious defeat.”
“That’s not fair. I didn’t know we were playing.”
“Okay, I’ll try again. My ahma would never admit it, but I was born in a moving hover.”
She does better this time and doesn’t say anything, but her eyes dart to my face in interest.
“Better, but you looked at me Brin. Lock down your face. If I tell you we’re about to be boarded by mutant cyborgs, I don’t even want you to raise your eyes. Got it?”
“Yes, captain,” she snips.
“Oh my Gods. Flaming meteors,” I shout, an astonished look on my face as I stare out the bridge windows.
“What?” she says with disinterest.
I want to hug her. She did that so well. “You win five hundred credits, Brin. Well done!”
“Let’s play something else. I still don’t like playing klempto with you. You’re too good.” She doesn’t hesitate, though, to snag the five-hundred credit chip off my stack. “I think I remember a game I used to play with my grandmother, gin rummy. Can I teach you?” she asks.
“Did that translate right? You played a game with your grandahma named after two kinds of spirits?”
“I never realized the name was two kinds of liquor. It has nothing to do with drinking.”
“Good, the picture it brought to mind, an innocent young Brin playing drinking games with her elders, well, that just wasn’t right.” I toss her a prudish outraged look, my lips pursed, eyebrows raised in shock and she laughs. Gods, I love the sound of her laugh.
She has a few moments where she doesn’t quite remember the rules, then things come back to her and she teaches me. The game is built for only two players and is fun. It doesn’t involve chips, which is too bad because after an hoara or two I’d be rich playing against her. She’s distracted.
The Earth females look beautiful in the fancy kimonos ahma gave them, but when they’re not on Primus, they all tend to wear comfortable clothes they call t-shirts and leggings. Brin is perched across from me in the first mate’s chair, her bare heels on the edge of the seat, her head on her knees.
Now that I’ve been around her species for several lunar cycles, I’m beginning to see the attraction. They’re not as colorful as Primians, they have no individuating markings, but you can see their features more clearly, and Brin’s are fine, aristocratic. Now that I look at her, I see she does have markings, they’re just subtle.
“Gin,” I announce when I pick up a three to complete a set. As I’m laying out my cards to show her what I have, I ask, “How come you have markings and the other females don’t?”
“Markings? You mean the lash marks on my back and thighs? How did you know that?” Her eyes flee from mine and her body stiffens. I’d spent all evening drawing her out and with one poorly-thought-out question, she’s pulled back into herself.
“I didn’t . . .” I stumbled into something traumatic when I had no intention of bringing up anything disturbing. “I’m sorry, Brin. I didn’t know.”
“Oh.”
She looks deep in thought. There are so many minefields, so many topics to avoid with her. I try to distract her. “The speckles on your face, I don’t think the other females have them.”
“Freckles? Sometimes I forget I have them. When I look in the mirror, my eyes don’t even see them unless I remind myself to look. I hate them.”
“Freckles. They’re pretty.”
“Lots of women on Earth go to great lengths to cover them up.”
“They make you more interesting. Not as interesting as a Primian.” I point to the fierce-looking white markings near my mouth that almost look as if my lips were sewn together. “But interesting nonetheless.”
“I like your markings.” She clamps her lips together as if she regrets the comment.
“Tell me more.” I smile and put my head on the backs of my intertwined fingers as if I can’t wait to hear her answer.
“You can be such a fun dork, Thantose.”
Now she looks doubly distressed at what just popped out of her mouth. I can see white all around her irises. “Sorry,” she says, flinching as if I’m going to hit her.
I grab her hand in mine and stroke the palm. “Make a pact. Right now. Promise me.”
Her eyes flare, then slit as she pulls as far away as our linked hands will allow. “What?”
Now I’ve scared her even more.
“Promise me for the next handful of days, until we return from Virago, that you’ll assume I accept you and everything you say and do. Everything. Unless I tell you otherwise.
“If you tease me and call me a funny name, I’ll accept that. If you tell me you like something about me, I’ll accept that. If you tell me something that bothers you . . .” I grip her hand a bit tighter so she’ll look at me, “I’ll accept that, too. We weren’t destined to be lovers, Brin, but I’d like to be your friend.”
I peg her with a sincere stare so she’ll have no doubts I’m telling the truth.
“I’d like that Thantose. I’d like to be your friend.”
Brin
I’m nervous. We touched down on Virago about an hour ago and we’re going to a viewing of the Meris. The program described it as: Participants will have an opportunity to view the Meris under a dome protected from damaging light rays and noxious gasses. We utilized a random number generator to choose which pages the revered book will be open to. It will be pages four and five. We know many of you were hoping to get a peek at the illustrations, but the pages you will view on Day One are verbiage.
At the luncheon on Day Two, you will be allowed anothe
r peek. We will ensure illustrations will be on view at that time. Heavy hors-d’oeuvres will be served. Any participant who does not bring at least one male slave to every event will be eliminated from the auction. Dress: females—elegant, males should dress to expose as much flesh as will present them to the best advantage.
Valeria pored over the program and had several gowns constructed for me to her specifications. She loaned me matching jewels that are probably worth more than the Meris.
She worked with me for days to teach me how to artfully arrange my auburn curls to look elegant yet casual. She wanted them to have that spontaneous, thrown-together look that took me three hours to assemble. She even provided me with perfume I calculate cost more than a year’s salary.
I grab the shimmering multicolor stole made from the excretions of an exotic worm on an exotic planet. The delicate fibers change colors in the light.
“Dear God, Thantose, don’t let me forget this stole at the event. I’m sure it’s worth a fortune,” I say as I leave the private space of the only bedroom on the vessel. It’s been mine alone on this trip. He’s slept on a fold-down contraption located between the galley and the bridge.
I pull my hair from under the stole and look up to see Thantose in a loincloth. I don’t know if it even qualifies as a loincloth, it’s basically a belt with a rectangle of fabric hanging in front. That’s it.
He’s at a forty-five-degree angle from me, and his ass is completely exposed. I’ll rephrase that, his gorgeous freaking ass is completely exposed. The high, rounded, muscular buns are right there, begging to be touched. Holy crap. My fingers itch to caress all that magenta skin pulled taut over all those muscles.
He’s so furious, if his eyes had laser capabilities he’d set our vessel on fire.
“You have every right to slap me if I voice one single complaint about this mission again,” I tell him. “Wow. That outfit is humiliating.”
“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. There’s something about your Earth curse word that is so much more satisfying than drack. I save it for special fucking occasions.”
“No wonder your mother didn’t want to be here. You’d be an orphan if she was around.”
“I still might be an orphan the moment I set down on Primus. This is complete drack.”
“We could bail. We could tell your mom I couldn’t handle it.”
“Except it sounds like you can handle it, Brin. You said you wanted to prove to yourself you could tolerate hard things. Let’s do it.”
“It won’t be too bad, T. No one you meet here will ever see you again. I promise not to take any pictures and send them to your friends, although I could probably blackmail you for a fortune.”
“Did you just tell a joke? To make me feel better? Your smile is almost worth it. Notice I said almost.”
Moments later we’re hover-limo’ing to the ballroom. One thing I’ve always appreciated about Thantose is how completely at home he is in his own skin. He’s the kindest, happiest, most easygoing male I’ve ever known. Which doesn’t mean he can’t get down to business when it’s necessary. But mostly he’s laid back.
“Thantose, when my Mom came home from a hard day at work, my dad would hug her and say, ‘don’t let the bastards get you down’. I know, he shouldn’t have said that in front of his kid, but you had to know my dad. It was his way of supporting her.
“He even said it to me once when I failed a geography test. I used to say I’d never need to know that stuff. He argued and told me it might be very important someday. It turns out I was right. On this side of the galaxy, I don’t need to know the capital of South Dakota. Although I can tell you it’s Pierre, pronounced with one syllable.
“But I digress. Don’t let the bastards get you down, Thantose. Fuck ‘em.” I debate for a long moment, then add, “You’ve got a beautiful ass, by the way.” Okay, I’ll have the rest of my life to live that one down.
He laughs. A hearty, full-throated happy Thantose laugh. “You’re right, Brin. Fuck ‘em.” He holds up the leash to his pain/kill collar as if he’s asking which tie goes better with his suit. “Leash or no leash?”
“The leash will go in my handbag. Don’t make me use it,” I laugh. “I have a resolution. Let’s make this fun, dammit.”
“Fun it will be. Dammit.”
Good slaves are to walk three feet behind. I know this fact because I followed that rule for the last ten years. I hated it then and I hate it now because it would be so much more fun if that gorgeous magenta tush was three steps ahead of me right now.
Valeria told us to beware of anything we said once we were out of the hover she arranged. She warned us that hallways and elevators would most likely be bugged.
Tonight’s event is in a palatial building constructed of buff-colored stone. It looks old, but is in perfect condition.
Much of the edifice is covered in bas-reliefs of humanoid figures. The work is intricate, and although I don’t have time to inspect, I could swear I see dozens, no hundreds, of tiny figures copulating in every configuration possible.
If I wasn’t acting as a super spy right now, I’d ask my companion if my eyes deceived me. As it is, I’ll have to give the stone walls a closer look later.
A male at the door, wearing a white loincloth even smaller than the one Thantose is wearing, opens the door with a flourish.
“Brin of Kalamazoo,” the uniformed female at the inner door announces. I pause for a moment as Valeria instructed, then sweep down polished marble steps to a cavernous ballroom lit with hundreds of chandeliers covered in thousands of crystals.
The marble beneath my feet is black, the patterned fabric on the walls is black on blood red, and multi-colored diamond-paned windows decorate all four walls. The applicants were forbidden to wear white because that is what the officiants wear. My gown is a kimono, Valeria’s design house’s trademark. It swirls with purples and teals which are just the right shade to offset my auburn hair, or so Valeria told me.
I pray I can make it to the end of this affair without dying. I hate parties.
Poor Thantose. Although his shoulders are straight and he’s wearing his klempto face, I’m certain he’s in more misery than I am. Holy crap, the ladies in white aren’t just admiring the livestock, they’re touching them.
“Brin of Kalamazoo?” a humanoid female approaches me. She’s one of ‘the club’, wearing white. Her hair is white also, and swept so high it’s a foot above her scalp. It’s been braided, teased, and fabricated into a birdcage. There are two peach-colored birds sitting on perches in there. I clamp my lips closed to prevent myself from asking how she deals with the bird crap issue.
“Pleased to meet you.” I curtsy. It was all in the crash course Valeria gave me after Thantose agreed to the mission.
“Where is this Kalamazoo?” she asks.
“Morgana,” I reply. I reviewed all this earlier from the cheat sheet Valeria provided. Morganians look just like humans. Humans, although plentiful in outer space, are illegal.
We exchange a few more ‘pleasantries,’ or should I say ‘unpleasantries’? She hasn’t even told me her name.
As soon as it wouldn’t be completely rude, she steps away from me and approaches Thantose. She places her index finger on his shoulder, then steps around him, tracing a line from one thickly muscled magenta shoulder to the other. Then she tracks several of his white markings, slowly, like a lover would after sex. Like I’ve fantasized about for the last five months.
Before I deck her, I pull my eyes from her antics. Thantose’s nostrils are flared, his jaw is so tight a muscle is quivering.
“Thantose, do I need to punish you?” I ask firmly. Valeria warned me about this. If I ‘let him get away with anything,’ as she so gently put it, someone would be watching on camera and we’d be sent home. Although at this point that would make me very happy.
“Apologies, Mistress Brin.”
Where did my Thantose go? His deep, sexy self-assured bass is gone, replaced by a simpering, almost-ef
feminate tenor.
“Have you brought an untrained slave to this viewing of the Meris?” The officiant’s tone is both shocked and patronizing.
“I’ve trained him to accept only my touch. I don’t like to share my toys.” I can be haughty and condescending, too.
“You should reconsider. His form is magnificent.” She slowly drags her fingertips from shoulder to hip, then begins inching under the bedazzled flap.
“Enough,” I thunder. “Perhaps I’m not worthy to bid on the Meris. I take ownership very seriously. You said he’s magnificent, you’re correct. I keep him in perfect condition, as I would the Meris if I win the bid.
