by Cynthia Sax
Her ship was small but it was filled with memories.
It was also deathly silent.
Safyre was used to that. She’d spent much of her lifespan alone. The supply runs and the rescue missions she undertook for the Beings For Peace were risky. If she were caught, the Humanoid Alliance would interrogate, torture, and kill every being on board her ship. It was better she didn’t have a copilot.
Her lucrative private sector deliveries were even more dangerous. She was paid very well to fly into regions no sane pilot would. Flying solo meant no splitting of those credits and no guilt if she made a mistake.
Sex sessions with random males gave her a moment of comfort but left her feeling lonelier. She couldn’t talk to them, couldn’t tell them anything about who she was and what she did. They met as strangers and left as the same.
Safyre was tired, so fuckin’ tired of the isolation. A mission ending in certain death didn’t scare her. A future filled with meaningless encounters did.
She strapped herself into the captain’s seat and underwent the usual take-off verifications, deriving comfort from the routine.
“It’s you and me for one more run, Mesh.” She started the engines. The ship rumbled like a great discontented beast, unhappy to be awakened. “Come on, baby. You can do this.”
The engines leveled as though responding to her words. Safyre navigated the ship through the battle station’s docking bay.
“That’s it,” she continued to talk to her vessel, needing to hear the sound of some being’s voice, even if it were her own. “Once we clear the battle station, I’ll put you on autopilot and you can do your thing. You’ll like that.”
The pain suppressors had kicked in. Her headache was gone, her nosebleed had slowed to a trickle, and she felt drowsy, not having had a solid sleep since the implant was inserted.
Safyre accelerated. The force of the takeoff drove her back in her seat. She gritted her teeth and grinned, loving this part of the flight. There was no experience like being propelled into space.
The ship shot into the blackness, open space in front of her, to her left and to her right. Takeoff and landing were the two most dangerous parts of any voyage. The majority of the trip was quite boring, requiring very little skill.
Her ship could handle the navigation. Safyre input their destination into the guidance system. Once upon a time, the guidance system supposedly had a voice. That had malfunctioned before she purchased the ship. But it did have an alarm. Red lights would flash and a siren would wail if the ship encountered anything unexpected.
As it settled into a constant velocity, the rattling decreased. It never completely went away. There were too many loosely fixed parts on board.
Safyre tapped a blinking light. It vanished. Her ship’s age and poor shape would be a benefit on this run. No one on the freighter would question her need for repairs.
That would be the official excuse she’d use to board. Captain Kray would assume she was contacting him for sex. Half a solar cycle ago, she’d given the randy freighter captain the best blow job he’d ever experienced. Being an arrogant male, he’d think she was back for seconds.
She’d suck off the entire ship if it meant she reached Nymphia. But she shouldn’t have to. The captain would want her to himself first. The K-19 in her pocket should ensure he kept his flight suit fastened.
The ship trekked through space. Safyre yawned. There were no signs of other vessels. She set the course and activated autopilot. It was time to relax and she knew the best way to do that.
Now that her headache was gone and her nosebleed had stopped, her horniness had returned. She kicked off her boots and unfastened her flight suit. A hot and heavy masturbation session would quiet her brain and allow her to sleep.
She wiggled out of her garment. A slash of red caught her gaze. She touched the scarf wrapped around her forearm. Nymphia had given it to her before going on her last run. The scarf would remain on her arm, to be removed only when she saw the girl again.
Safyre propped her heels on the console and spread her legs, opening herself fully to the universe. Seated nearly naked on the bridge of her ship, her audience was an expanse of blackness.
She rubbed her hands over her breasts, hips, thighs, deliberately avoiding her pussy. Heat flicked over her, the contact, even with her own fingers, exciting her.
Fuck. That was how lonely she was. She turned herself on.
There was no one else to complete that task. She plucked her nipples and squeezed her curves, teasing her body. Desire built and built and built.
But she needed more.
She ran her hands along her inner thighs, moving them closer to her center. Her pussy wet with anticipation. She drifted her fingers over her folds and moaned.
Do you require repairs, female?
Oh shit, Crash was listening to her. She hadn’t noticed that he’d opened the transmission line. That was a moan of pleasure, warrior. I’m not hurt.
You’re with a male? His tone sharpened.
Was he jealous? She touched herself. That was unlikely. He’d never met her, never seen her, trusted her even less than she trusted him. I’m alone.
You’re pleasuring yourself?
Yeah. She circled her entrance, grazing over her clit. If you want to talk about our plans, you should contact me at a later time. I’m a little busy at the moment.
Have the plans changed? Have you finally applied your processors and abandoned them?
Processors. Safyre’s lips twisted. I have a brain, not processors. You’ve been spending too much time with cyborgs. And nothing has changed. I’m not abandoning anything. Or anyone. She’d reach Nymphia’s side.
Then there’s no need to discuss the plans.
Would he close the transmission line now, leave her? She’d be alone again, always. Safyre skimmed her fingertips over her pussy, some of her joy dissipating.
Describe your actions.
She blinked once, twice, questioning her hearing. You want to know how I’m pleasuring myself? Why did that arouse her?
You lack the ability to transmit images.
He wanted to watch her masturbate. Safyre’s ass wiggled against the leather captain’s chair. What do you want to know? How dirty did he wish for her to be?
Are you touching your breasts?
She wasn’t but she would touch them for him. I’m squeezing them. She cupped them with both hands, the contact flowing down her spine, curling her toes. I can’t squeeze all of them at once. They’re too large.
He rumbled through the lines, the sound thrilling her. You’re soft.
Very soft. I’d surround you with curves.
You won’t surround me. I’m a very large male. His arrogance made her smile.
Are you large all over?
Yes.
Mmmm… She moaned, loving big males. Your huge cock would stretch my pussy. I’d fit you snugly, clinging to your shaft, as you thrust in and out of me. The image she crafted in her mind fueled her arousal. How would you take me? Face-to-face? From behind?
I’d breed with you face-to-face. You’ll know who is claiming you.
They’d breed, not fuck. His words were excitingly primitive. Your chest would rub against my breasts. Was his chest smooth or did he have a mat of rough hair? I’m pinching my nipples right now. She tweaked the taut tips, the tinge of pain drawing more wetness from her core.
What color are they?
My nipples are pink. My skin is white with freckles.
Freckles. He paused. Small patches of light brown pigment on your skin.
Had he looked up the word? Her lips twitched. My hair is short, spiked, and bright orange.
I’ve never seen a human female with orange hair.
He’d never seen a human female. Crash must mix with other species. I color it.
It was a warning to every being of who she was.
A couple of solar cycles ago, a male in a beverage station had insulted Nymphia, calling her a fat bovine. That had
angered Safyre. No one hurt her friend. She had pushed Nymphia aside, rolled up her sleeves and beat the disrespect out of the male.
While he lay on the floor, holding his nuts, moaning, Tifara had mentioned that she should be forced to wear a sign, warning others of her temper.
Safyre had colored her hair bright orange the next planet rotation.
If you fucked me, I’d be your first orange-haired female. She liked the thought of being his first…anything. He’d remember her.
I am breeding with you. Crash remained in their fantasy. You’re cradling my hips between your soft thighs.
And I’m gripping your shoulders as you hump me hard. She closed her eyes, envisioning a taut tanned ass pumping between her spread legs, muscles rippling over the male’s back. I’m a big female and you’re using me well, plunging in and out of me.
I’m bending my head and sucking on your pink nipples, making you cry out with bliss.
Fuck, yeah. She slid one of her hands along her rounded stomach, over her hairless mons and cupped her pussy. You’re working my titty as you ravish me. She stroked her folds. I’m so wet for you, Crash. I’m dripping.
You’re covering me with your scent, with your heat.
Are you stroking your large cock as you transmit to me? Was he as naked as she was?
I shouldn’t.
But you are. You can’t help yourself. Safyre smiled. You want me as I want you.
He’d be easy to manipulate. She’d spread her legs and he’d agree to everything she requested. That would ensure her safety. As long as he was sexually appeased, she wouldn’t have to worry about him turning on her.
Your voice strips my resolve. Skin slapped against skin.
I want to feel you inside me. She pushed her index finger into her entrance. How many fingers should I use? One? Two? She added another one. Three? This pulled her skin tight.
Four.
Oh fuck. She complied, wincing at the fullness. He’d reshape her body with his big cock. You’re too large.
You can accommodate me, female. His tone was stern.
Safyre forced herself to take all four of her fingers, knowing his cock would be even larger. He’d be the biggest she’d ever taken.
She wanted him, wanted that experience before she died.
All four fingers are inside me. She cringed at the need for approval in her tone.
Good female. He gave her what she needed. Pleasure yourself with those fingers and process images of me, of my cock in your pussy.
Your broad tip is sliding along my inner walls. Your base flattens my folds. She fucked herself, the sucking sound of skin in wetness echoing in the ship, softening the rattling sounds. Sweat is trickling between my breasts.
Making your pale skin sparkle. Crash’s voice deepened. Your breasts caress my chest.
My nipples rub against you. She ached for his touch. I wrap my legs around your waist, lifting into your thrusts. She plunged her fingers in and out of her pussy. You grunt, your cheek pressed against mine.
The grunts are due to pleasure. I’m a strong male and breeding with you requires no exertion.
He was an arrogant being. Safyre’s lips curled upward. My pussy constricts more and more around your shaft. As she was constricting around her fingers. She panted, hitching her hips upward, her juices running over her hand. I’m tight and hot and wet.
You’re all around me. He made a strangled noise. Soft. So fraggin’ soft.
You’re driving your hard cock deep inside me, smacking your balls against my skin. She was lost, teetering on the edge of the abyss, needing a shove to push her over. I dig my fingernails into your shoulders, holding on.
Marking me. His excitement fed hers. Claiming me as I’m claiming you. You’re my female. Mine.
Yours. And, in that moment, she belonged to him. They were two lonely beings connecting over a transmission line, sectors apart physically yet emotionally one. Crash. Crash.
Mine. Mine, he chanted.
Crash. She swept one of her thumbs over her clit, pleasure shot through her and she screamed, arching her back, coming hard.
He bellowed, almost deafening her. The bridge spun around her, lights blurring into a constant stream of illumination.
She pumped her hips, draining the last drop of ecstasy from her body and then collapsed, sagging against the chair. Crash, she murmured, lowering her feet.
My female. He sounded just as sexually sated.
A metallic taste filled her mouth. She rubbed a cleaning cloth under her nose. The fabric turned red. Her nose was bleeding again.
But it was worth it. She spread her arms and legs, her form limp and languid. She felt more relaxed than she had been in solar cycles.
The ship continued to spin around her.
Does your E model communications device allow you to see images? Safyre yawned. She wanted to know what he looked like.
Yes.
I wish I had that ability. She sighed. Though I suppose I’ll see your face soon.
It’s best that you don’t. This reckless plan of yours could end in your death.
It could end in my death but not yours? Was he planning to betray her?
I’m difficult to kill.
Her lips twitched, his conceit amusing her. I’m difficult to kill also and this mission is necessary. Another being’s welfare depends on our plan.
That being’s welfare is more important than your lifespan?
Yeah. Nymphia was pure and innocent and kind. Her friend was worth ten of her.
There was a long pause. A black funnel closed around Safyre’s vision, stifling her thoughts. She hovered on the edge of sleep.
My eyes frighten beings. Crash’s words were barely audible.
He wasn’t as confident as he acted. Safyre found that endearing also. Are you certain it’s your eyes that scare them? You’re a fierce warrior. She plumped his ego. Beings would have to be mentally deficient not to fear you.
Another female made a similar statement.
Safyre didn’t like that reply. He was her partner, even if she hadn’t met him. That other female won’t be joining us on the freighter.
No, she won’t. I would never put her in jeopardy. She’s too precious.
And she wasn’t precious? Safyre’s temper rose. This conversation is over. She covered her eyes with her arm, blocking out the light, his voice, the hurt.
Because she knew the answer to her unspoken question. She wasn’t essential to any being. It didn’t matter if she was injured, if she died. No being would miss her.
She shifted in her seat. Her chair fit her body perfectly, having been molded to her form over thousands of voyages. But this planet rotation, she couldn’t get comfortable.
It was many moments before Safyre fell asleep.
Chapter Two
Female.
I’m not talking to you. Safyre continued to be angry with him the next planet rotation. Metal rang as she banged around her ship.
Crash wasn’t certain how he’d upset her. She hadn’t yet discovered he was a cyborg, that he wasn’t the human male she thought him to be, or that, due to her B Model communications device, he could hear everything she said or did. She didn’t realize he never planned to escort her to Tau Ceti.
Those revelations would anger her. She’d be especially livid when she discovered that, once he apprehended her, she’d never again be free.
He sat on the bridge of the ship, only half listening as Gap, his friend, chattered about kill rates and the various females in the Academy’s birthing class, females neither of them were ever likely to meet. He applied most of his processors to scanning the sector around them, looking for Safyre’s ship.
Crash had never lied to her during any of their communications. He couldn’t. Cyborgs had been programmed to always tell the truth. But he hadn’t corrected her erroneous assumptions either.
He doubted his lack of lies would dampen her ire.
“It feels strange, Rage not being here,” Gap expresse
d Crash’s feelings.
The three of them had been a team for over a human lifespan. Crash expected to glance behind him and see the C model’s scarred face.
“But if I was him, I’d never leave the Freedom either.” The kid’s humanlike eyes shone. “He has found Joan, his female. Why would he spend one planet rotation without her?”
Joan wasn’t the reason Rage hadn’t accompanied them. There would always be a space for her on their ship. The reason was Rage. He had no patience. The waiting would have strained the primitive cyborg’s already volatile temper. He’d have threatened to kill some being by now.
“Rage says breeding with the right female is better than battle,” Gap chattered. “Can you envision that? There’s nothing better than battle.”
Crash didn’t enjoy battle and he couldn’t envision that.
He indulged his friend’s reveries and talked about finding his female but, in his big cyborg heart, he never expected to find that almost mythical being. Crash was aware that his matte-black eyes scared others. He was also cognizant that his revulsion for violence made him different from his cyborg brethren.
He’d claim Safyre. He’d already decided that. But she would never be his true female, not like Joan was Rage’s female and Mira was Vapor’s female. The nanocybotics he transferred to her would fade, not replicate, grow weaker, not stronger. She’d age and eventually die. They’d never have offspring. She’d never love him.
But the only other alternative was to kill her. Safyre knew too much about him, about his cyborg brethren, to be allowed to live freely.
The Humanoid Alliance had manufactured him to do that, to end lives. He had the skill, the ability, and in the past, he’d had no choice. Either he killed the human’s enemies or the humans killed him.
But he didn’t enjoy killing, and, when he’d escaped from the Humanoid Alliance’s diabolical rule, he swore he’d never again take a life.
Especially not a life belonging to a reckless, orange-haired, husky-voiced female.
So he would settle for his Safyre and consider himself fortunate to have her. They’d have a diluted version of happiness during her short human lifespan, experiencing a weaker version of caring.
