by Jean Kilczer
Tryst untied my jacket from around my waist and let it drop. She lifted my shirt over my head, threw it on the floor and rubbed her hands across my back. “Not much meat,” she said demurely, “but all prime.” She laid her head on my chest. You're hard as nails, Blondie. Let's see if we can extend that below your waist."
Hurry up, Huff, Bat, I thought as she unzipped my pants and pushed them and my shorts to my ankles. She looked down at me. “I think we can work on that.”
I took a breath. If I stalled, she might get irritated and tell Dirk to take me to the ships. I pushed off my pants and shorts. I only hoped my friends wouldn't arrive when we were in the middle of it.
I enfolded her and her thick perfume smell in my arms and kissed her. She walked me backward until I fell onto the bed. I stayed there and watched as she went to a vis screen and turned it on. Sweet elevator music emanated from wall speakers. The vis displayed an orgy. Oh God, I thought, this will do it. Sophia, forgive me.
Tryst danced to the music in seductive swaying moves and peeled off her black gown, a veil at a time. She had the body of a younger woman. Probably lots of plastic work done on it.
She came to me, naked, laid herself down with her legs across my hips and rubbed against me. I drew in a breath as she achieved the results she wanted. I couldn't help myself.
She kissed me, probing past my lips, cupped a hand over my shaft and rubbed it. I forgot my aching back and arms, rolled her under me, and slid inside her.
“Oh, Blondie!” she cried and arched her back.
I began to move, deeper and deeper, pushing hard into her. She pushed back. Moans and cries from the vis announced that some of the couples had reached orgasm. I have never felt so much like a male prostitute. Oh, what the hell. I grabbed her ample backside in both hands. She knew the technique of relaxing and tightening the muscles of her vagina as I bored deeper. I felt her shiver.
“Do me from behind!” she cried and pushed me away. She got on her hands and knees, arched her back, and purred like a kitten.
I entered her again, from behind, holding her hips, and this time I pushed even deeper. She moaned and clamped down on me. I moaned too as the orgasm thrilled through my body. I slammed her hard and fast, not caring if I hurt her. She cried out, but not in pain.
An exquisite sensation swept through me, a tidal wave of bliss that nature endows when we perform the act of creation. I forgot about Bat, Huff, and even Sophia, lost in a moment of sheer pleasure.
Then it was over, and I fell, drained, across her back, still locked with her.
What was that shouting? Oh my God! My rescue team had arrived.
I slid out of her, made a grab for my shorts and pants, and shoved them on. I ran to the entrance with my boots in my hand and heard the rustle of satin behind me as Tryst slipped into her gown. I glanced back. She had a pocket stingler pointed at me and was spinning the ring to stun. I threw a boot at the gun and knocked it from her hand. We both made a dive for it but I got there first, swung and zapped her with it.
“They should call you the Black Widow,” I said as she sank to the floor. I carried her to the bed and dumped her on it. “Sweet dreams, bitch.”
I shoved on my boots, slipped on my shirt, then tied my jacket around my waist as I ran to the entrance.
Dirk and the Deneb driver were crouched behind the limousine, firing into a grove of trees. Trunks burst and shattered.
They must have contacted the camp because land vehicles were roaring up the road, splashing through puddles and firing into the trees. Two hovairs lifted into the sky. One banked above the tent.
“Jesus and Vishnu.” I circled the outside of the tent, hoping to get a clear shot at Dirk and the Deneb.
The hovair lowered. “Stay there, Terran,” a speaker from it blared. “Drop the gun.”
“OK.” I nodded, lifted my hands, then spun the ring to hot with my thumb and fired at one of the craft's two engines.
It flipped and dived into the ground.
“Sorry, tags.” I continued around the tent and crouched. Dirk and the Deneb had their backs to me. I spun the ring to stun and swept them both with a continuous beam.
I was picking up their guns when I saw Star Sojourner streak across the sky and dive behind trees.
“Chancey,” I whispered.
The pirates turned their fire on the ship. I heard Sojourner's whine lower to an idle. Chancey was risking his own life to give Huff and Bat, and hopefully Joe, too, a chance to board.
“Good goin', Chance,” I whispered and headed back around the tent, then made a break for the ship. I raced between trees, my breath burning in my lungs, but the land vehicles, the remaining hovair, were closing on it. The pirate's starship, armed to the teeth, rose above the camp and headed this way.
Go, Chancey! I turned and ran into deep jungle. I did not look back when I heard Sojourner's whine grow to a shriek as she lifted into the sky and soared above me, bound for space.
I ran until I couldn't run anymore in the thin air of the planet and fell to my knees, gasping for breath. With the pocket stingler tucked behind my waistband, I crawled to a boulder to hide. I tried for a mindlink with any of my teammates but they were already too far away. Our starship was blazing into the black night of space.
I sat behind the boulder and wiped tears. I could not remember ever feeling this alone.
Spirit.
I know, Jules. What would you have me do?
What can you do?
Offer comfort, my Terran friend. Nothing more.
Even if my team comes back for me, they'll never find me in this jungle. The infras will pick up too many animals …is Joe with them?
He is.
Thank Great Mind.
Your enemy is already forming patrols to search the jungle. Do you have your digestall pills?
No. Which meant I couldn't eat or drink anything on the planet. I'll have to sneak into the camp for food and water, and they'll be expecting me.
Your options are few, Jules. Surrender is one.
I have one other, Spirit. I turned the stingler in my hand. It was set on hot beam.
Great Mind does not condone suicide.
Then let Him find me a way out of this!
Lifebinds are a trial, Jules.
I've been tried too many times, Spirit. I think this time it's the end of the road.
Only if you make it so. There is a patrol approaching.
I rubbed my forehead, got to my feet and trotted deeper into the jungle. If it wasn't for Lisa and Sophia…
I know.
Which way should I go, Spirit?
There is a cave to your right, about a half mile. You could cover the entrance with brush.
And then what?
A stream runs close by. After the patrol passes, you could bathe in it and wash your clothes.
Just what I always wanted, a clean death!
Perhaps, Terran, but not by your own hands.
No. I'll have to let the pirates perform the coup de grâce.
I can do no more. The choice is yours.
Chapter Four
I made my way toward the cave, following Spirit's directions in a world turned green with ground cover, bushes, and trees that formed a dark canopy. The afternoon air was stifling, and bitter with the smell of wet vegetation. My mouth felt dry, and I knew I was heading for dehydration.
I used the stingler to cut a path, but thorny bushes caught at my legs and boots as though the jungle itself wanted to hold me back. My black pants, shirt, and jacket tied around my waist, were good cover for night work, but not for the heat of a jungle.
Disturbed creatures of the trees howled their alarm and fled, shaking branches that rained down water and mixed with the sweat on my face and back. If not for Spirit's directions to guide me to the cave, I wouldn't have been certain that I was walking a straight path. Lost people often turn to their right without realizing it.
They have released robot hounds, Spirit sent.
I came
up short. There was no way to outrun 'bots that rolled on tracks, burned through underbrush, and held down their prey. I heard men call to each other in the distance as the patrol approached.
The river!
Yes, Spirit sent. That will prevent the hounds from tracking you.
I moved faster, burning a swathe through the undergrowth.
"Oh shit!' Some of the brush had caught fire. It must've been sap that burned right through wet bark and leaves. Smoke drifted above the trees.
A clearing ahead.
I ran to it to escape the smoldering flames that crackled and raced through foliage.
My knees gave out in the clearing and I fell, unable to run further until I caught my breath.
The whine of a hovair!
I stumbled to my feet and staggered toward the trees.
Behind me the drone of hounds. Like miniature tanks, three 'bots crashed through brush and surrounded me.
I spun my stingler to hot beam. A 'bot released a pulse that felt as though fire burned through my hand. I yelled and dropped the gun. Two Terrans and a Kubraen trotted into the clearing, stopped, and aimed their rifles at me. The hovair landed and the hatch sprang open.
A jeep with four men burned through the growth with a beam cannon mounted on the hood, and screeched to a stop near me. Dirk jumped out and strode toward me with his fists clenched, his shoulders bunched, and his jaw set in an expression of sheer fury. “My friend Frak was in that hovair you brought down. He's dead!”
I backed a step. Spirit.
Use your tel power on him.
It's too late to form a coil.
Dirk lifted his fist to strike me.
I closed my eyes and covered my head.
“Sergeant.” Commander Tryst's voice was strident.
I opened my eyes and saw Dirk whirl to face her. She held up her gown as a Cleocean guard helped her down from the hovair. “Are you prepared to pay me the creds he will bring on the block?” she asked Dirk.
“Commander,” Dirk's tight voice was edged with anger and pleading, “him and his friends cost us five comrades today. Five, Commander, to say nothing of the slaughter of Zenorgisms.” He took a step toward her, his hand outstretched as she approached us. “Frak was my friend.”
“Collateral damage, Sergeant,” she said, “or call it the wages of war.”
She smiled at me and shook her head. “You've been a bad boy, Blondie.” She slapped my face gently. “Now behave yourself or I might have to turn you over to my war dog.” She nodded toward Dirk.
For some reason I didn't feel fear, only a deep, seething anger.
Dirk pushed me toward the jeep. “Get in there, you motherless crotemunger.”
“Keep your hands off me!” I walked toward the jeep.
His face turned red with rage. His mouth twisted. “I'll keep my hands off you!” He pushed me hard, and I fell. “Now get up and get into the jeep, scud!”
I got to my feet, wanting nothing more than to bash the arrogance out of that twisted mouth. “You mudlumping spawn…” I threw myself at him and we both went down. I was on top. I drew back a fist and smashed it into his temple with a satisfying smack that hurt my hand. It was a blow calculated to shut down his brain's electrical system. He went limp and his arms flopped down. I drew back a fist to hit him again, to take out my anger and frustration on this crote who was part of a pack that killed hostages and mailed their heads back to the families.
Cold.
I stiffened as it assaulted my body and brain here in the heat of the jungle. Numbness rose from my arms, my legs, to invade my inner core. I swayed and looked at Tryst. She held a beam rifle in her hand, set for stun, I knew, and I thought how incongruous she looked in her fluttering gown, her golden hair, holding a rifle, as I slumped across Dirk. Rain pattered my face. My vision blurred.
“It's almost a shame to give him up,” I heard Tryst say. I jumped as a hand brushed rainwater off my face. “Get him into the ship before I change my mind.”
Spirit…
I am…
I didn't receive the rest.
Chapter Five
The whine of star engines. The deck beneath me rumbled. I was plastered to it as the ship broke through the gravity well to reach the stars.
“Watrer?” someone asked.
I opened my eyes and turned my head. Trumbil sat beside me with a plastic cup in his hand.
“Yeah, thanks.”
He held my shoulders raised while I drank. “More?”
I nodded.
"Can you sit up?
I raised myself while he poured more water from a canteen.
I drank my fill and looked around. I was in the ship's cargo hold with two Denebs, another Kubraen, and a BEM. A hovjeep and some heavy equipment were tied down. “We're on our way, aren't we?”
Trumbil nodded solemnly and screwed the cap back on the canteen. “And only Great Mind knows what is the strore for us.”
“You mean what's in store for us?”
“Yesh. That is what I said.”
“If we could open a crate…help me up.” I got unsteadily to my feet and went to one marked Small Beam Weapons. “There are enough arms in here to start a war.”
“Threy are good sealed.”
“If it can be opened,” Wygrum, a Denebrian, told his companion, “a Terran will find the way.”
and the others watched as I searched for a way to pry open the crate. It was made of some sort of plastic. But it was old and dried. There were a few cracks near the bottom, probably from having sat so long on the marshy jungle floor. I reached instinctively for my knife in the leg sheath, then remembered that it was gone. “Does anybody have a knife?”
My companions looked at each other, but nobody spoke.
I glanced around the bare cargo hold. Nothing suitable for inserting into the cracks. except…struts!
Screwed into the floor to hold down the hovjeep and machinery with chains and hooks. If we could loosen on… I tried to, with no luck. They were securely screwed in. I doubted we could loosen it even with our combined strength. A wall-mounted fire extinguisher and shiplink were no help either.
I sprang the hood on the hovjeep. Damn! The fuel cell was missing. “Maybe they stored it,” I mumbled.
“Whrat?” Trumbil asked and came to my side.
“Trum, do you think you could pry open the trunk with some help?” The tall, broad-chested Kubraens were the strongest among us.
He nodded. “I wrill try. You have a plan, Julesh?”
“No plan, Trum. Just an idea. C'mon, let's see if we can break the lock on the trunk.”
The other Kubraen, Grothe, even taller than Trumbil at about eight feet, joined us. Their muscles bulged beneath fibrin smocks as they yanked on the metal door. I heard the others whisper in awe at the Kubraens' strength.
“Strand back, Julesh,” Grothe told me.
I did.
“Now, Trumbil,” Grothe said and they yanked on the trunk door together with their blunt nails rammed under it. The lock snapped and the trunk door flew open.
“Ish thris whrat you wanted, Julesh?” Trumbil asked me.
“Uh, yeah, Trum. That'll do.”
I rummaged around, found the box marked FUEL CELL, and opened it.
“What is that Trerran thring?” Trum asked.
“It's a hydrogen powered, electromagnetic, regenerative fuel…”
Trumbil and Grothe exchanged glances.
“Let's just say,” I said, “it's our ticket out of here. I've got one more job for you tags.”
They gathered around me, with their tough, ridged skin and Maple smell, like a couple of trees. “Think you can punch a hole in the wall next to that mounted shiplink?”
They looked at each other, went to the link and bashed holes in the mount. The link dangled and swung by wires.
“Is thris what you wanted?” Grothe asked me. “Wre do not make it a habrit to destroying privrate property.”
“Don't worry about it,” I
told him. “If this works, we'll be destroying more than privrate property. I mean private.”
Trumbil tore out the copper wiring at my instructions, though he and Grothe shook their heads. I sent out a light tel-link and caught a thought: Crazy Trerrans.
I smiled as I hooked the two wires to the positive and negative poles of the fuel cell.
“Roll that crate here, tags,” I told the others. “The one marked Small Beam Weapons.”
They did and I used the two wires to burn though the plastic lid of the crate as current flowed between them.
“That's it!” I slid the detached lid off the crate and lifted out wrapped beam rifles and stinglers.
“I told you, Wygrum,” a Denebrian named Furro said to his companion, “if it can be opened, a Terran will find a way to do it.”
Wygrum nodded. “They are a technological species, Furro, but they are also the creators of the weapons.”
“You're welcome,” I said and shoved a rifle into Wygrum's floppy hands.
* * *
It took the warlike BEM, Zik, to show the two Denebs how to use the rifles. They were members of a placid agricultural people and even the attack of the aggressive BEMs on their planet had not hardened them to the ways of war. Zik briefed them in his haughty manner, but Wygrum and Furro would only agree to the stun setting. Not a bad idea. I opted for it too, and studied the fire extinguisher. I had another idea.
We didn't want to attack our captors. With the pilot locked in the cabin, he could take us back to planet Charis and the pirate's camp.
We replaced the weapons, fitted the lid back on the crate, and waited. I took the time to vib my clothes in the bathroom, brush my teeth, and shower.
“I feel almost human again,” I said when I emerged from the bathroom. My companions looked at each other. I remembered my good buddy Huff, when I told him I felt almost human and he asked what it felt like to be almost human. I rubbed my eyes and wondered if the team was following us to whatever planet we were headed for. And Joe? Was Joe OK now?
