by Sahara Kelly
Many contestants made requests, some for little helpers, like a talisman or a charm. Others for special adaptations to the equipment based on their physical needs.
She had a special request.
"I have brought with me an icon, sacred to my family. I request permission to use it as an interface with the satisfaction booth. I will take my turn at the event outside the booth."
There was a stunned silence for a moment, then a murmuring broke out throughout the large auditorium.
"Do I understand you correctly, Major?" It was the voice of the head Frallien judge. "You wish to connect to the satisfaction booth with an icon rather than your body? You wish to attempt to register your Olympian Orgasm without touching the sensors?"
"That is correct, Sir, yes. The icon will transmit my arousal levels to the booth. I shall be near, but not directly connected."
"Outrageous." This yell came across the hall from the Magan contingent. "Unacceptable. We have no idea what might be in this icon thing. It could generate its own signal for all we know. She's cheating..."
"It's an icon. She's entitled..."
"Have her scanned for the truth..."
"You can't screw around with religious icons..."
"She could generate a false reading..."
"How the hell is she gonna score if she's not attached to a booth?"
The noise filled the large room, and Boralle's hands trembled as she clasped them behind her back. She let the sounds wash over her, prepared for this sort of discussion after she'd revealed her request.
Slowly, the pandemonium died down.
She cleared her throat.
"My Lords. Perhaps if you were to view the icon..." She waved her hand and two young Fralliens wheeled out a cart on which reposed the box in all its beauty. "With your permission?"
The judges leaned forward, curiosity written across their faces.
Slowly, with a theatrical flair she never knew she had, Boralle pulled her Pondo gloves from her pocket, slipped them on her hands, and raised the lid of the box. The spotlights, which illuminated her so clearly, danced over the broadsword as it lay on its bed of green silk.
There was a collective indrawn gasp as the jewels flared to life and the polished metal of the blade shone bright and true.
Boralle allowed them all a moment of awe before speaking.
"This, honored Judges, is the Spirit of the Glen. It contains no devices, no electronics or any circuitry that would affect the readings. Your scanners have already verified it. It is, however, able to collect my emotions and relay them. That is all. I would happily allow any kind of examination you care to make, providing, of course, it is handled with the respect due such an icon."
The judges collected themselves, closed their mouths, and whispered to each other. The rest of the gallery rustled and fidgeted, trying to catch a better glimpse of the sword.
To emphasize her point, Boralle turned slowly, allowing each portion of the room chance to view her 'Spirit'.
Rory had applauded her choice of names for the sword. She'd felt there was a certain symmetry, since it was in a 'Glen'that she'd first realized the breadth of lovemaking between a man and a woman, and now she was going to see if her lessons would bring her victory. And prevent a war.
It was a scary thought.
She was gambling a lot on the Frallien belief that icons such as this were an essential part of ceremonies, ritual and everyday life. It wasn't a sure bet, however.
The Magans, especially, seemed upset.
She snorted silently. No rassing wonder. If she wasn't touching the booth, they couldn't kill or maim her to take her out of the competition.
She watched a Magan representative whispering and gesturing to the judges.
He pouted as he was turned away. She hoped that was a good thing, but wasn't terribly familiar with Magan facial expressions. A pout could be a sign of joy, the beginning of a sneeze, or just a plain old pout.
She sighed and mentally crossed her fingers.
"Major North of Earth."
The voice intoned across the room over the sound system and brought the crowd's mutterings to a halt.
"We find your request to be unusual, but not without merit. We understand your attachment to your icon and respect your wishes to have it present during your participation in the contest. Therefore, you may be permitted to use your...what did she call it?" The judge leaned over to a colleague and whispered for a moment or two. "Your 'Spirit of the something-or-other'when you compete."
Boralle's heart soared.
"However, we have one caveat."
Boralle's heart plummeted.
"You may participate from outside the booth. But you must still be connected to the equipment. Therefore, we suggest a circuit linking you to your icon and thence to the booth interface. Do you accept?"
Her mind whirled. If she was connected in any way to the booth there was still a chance that the Magan sabotage could short out the system and kill her.
Of course, if she scored high enough she'd be all right.
She took a deep breath and put her faith and her trust in her own personal icon, Rory McAllen. Now it wasn't just about the games and Magus Prime—it was her life on the line.
She had no other choice. "I agree, Your Honor. I agree."
The room burst into applause and excited chatter as the audience eagerly discussed this very unusual development and all its ramifications.
Boralle simply stood quietly. The games had just taken a very personal turn.
If she didn't score highly enough, she could die.
If she didn't achieve an orgasm to end all orgasms, her life might end right there.
Still, she mused, it would indeed be a helluva way to go.
Chapter 19
Boralle all but collapsed into Rory's arms as she shut the door to her quarters behind her and put the box carefully down on the desk.
"God, Rory..." She said, hugging him tight. "That was so frightening."
"What happened, lass? Did you convince them?"
"You weren't watching?"
"Watching? No. I had my own job, remember? Besides, how could I see you?"
Boralle sighed, realizing she'd completely forgotten to show Rory how to activate the communication screens.
Pulling away from his arms, she called up the afternoon's ceremonies and let him look.
Thoughtfully, he viewed the proceedings, chuckling a little at the Magan outrage and then sucking in a breath at the final decision. "Well, sweetheart, you did the best you could. I think we're still on the right track."
"How did you manage? Better than me, I hope," she said. She went back and hugged his wonderful chest which just seemed the only place she wanted to be at this moment.
"Well...yes and no."
"Uh oh. That sounds a bit hesitant?"
Rory ran his hand through his hair. "I did hear all about the Magan booths...I guess the Fralliens were none too pleased that their units were failing, but they had to accept the Magan substitutes since the Olympiad was so near and they didn't have time to make repairs."
Boralle nodded. This confirmed what she'd heard as well.
"I also found the system they used to generate the order of contestants." He looked a little self-conscious. "It was a mite technical."
"And?"
"Well, I tried ma best, sweetling."
"And?"
"It was a verra complex system..."
"And?"
Rory sighed. "The best I could do was get you into third place."
"Third? Rory...that means the first two competitors could be killed..." Boralle grabbed his arms.
"Easy, lass. I know that as well as you. The good news is that the first two are Cynerians."
Boralle relaxed a little at this news. The Cynerians were a highly intelligent race, very skilled at space travel, with some of the loveliest starships available.
They were also rather sexless, having focused more on the technical development of t
heir planet than on their sensuality. To them, reproduction was of a higher value than just fucking for fun.
Which validated the commonly held theory that scientists, as a rule, tended to be rather boring and unimaginative in bed. Of course, that didn't include the Cyberpegoes from Altherin Major. Their prowess had been enhanced by technology and they spent a major portion of their year in the throes of orgasm. They were also banned from the Olympiad.
She sighed and Rory held her closer. "Don't panic, lass. We'll make it, one way or another."
Boralle wished she could be as certain as he was.
*~*~*~*
That night they lay together, cuddled spoon-fashion beneath a light blanket.
Rory had refused to make love to her, insisting that she needed to be rested and ready for the contest. He wasn't about to wear her out, he said, by spending the night where he really wanted to be, which was buried to the balls in her sweet cunny.
She'd pouted, but agreed that he was probably right. Damn him.
Just having his naked heat pressed to her back was turning her on and she knew her body was moistening in readiness for him. Would it always be like this, she wondered?
Would she always respond this wildly to his mere presence in her bed? She hoped so. She loved him so much.
Drifting into sleep, she smiled slightly as she felt his cock, hard and hot, nestle between her buttocks. He might talk up a very sensible argument, but he was as ready as she was. Her eyes closed on that thought and she slid into unconsciousness.
Boralle dreamed.
She was standing on sun-warmed tiles, her feet bare, and she was surrounded by plants the likes of which she'd never seen. Never even imagined.
The colors rioted around her, nearly burning out her retinas as she struggled to take it all in. The sky was as blue as she could ever remember seeing, and a lake lapped gently at the banks near where she was standing. The trees shaded a grassy lawn, which was hedged for privacy and bordered by the tile walkway on which she was standing. One tree in particular was enormous, with roots snaking into the water, and was covered in buds of a similar shade of blue.
One or two were opening, large spiked petals peeling back to reveal a golden yellow interior. It was spectacular, and she felt her mind awed by the beauty of it all.
"It's a very special tree."
A voice next to her made her turn.
A man stood there, dressed simply in silken robes. His hair was long and tied neatly back, and his eyes were a luminous turquoise, shining brilliantly in the sunshine.
"What's so special about it? Aside from those incredible flowers?"
"It's called the Ecstasy Tree." He pointed to a low tangle of branches that spread out from the base like a platform of sorts over the grass. "That is the bed upon which lovers take their pleasure, to see if they can make the flowers bloom."
Boralle frowned at it, and then looked back at the man. "I know you..." She said, struggling to remember.
"Yes, you do."
"You...you sold me Rory's vessel." She'd placed him as the trader of antiquities.
"I did, Boralle North. You were the right person. As was he."
"Who are you?"
"I am called the Guardian. This place is Anyela."
Boralle blinked. "This is where Rory came from, isn't it?" she guessed. Her agile mind put two and two together and arrived neatly at a total of seven hundred and ninety three point four two.
"Well," the man smiled, "...you could say that. He has been here, certainly. He spent time here learning what he needed to know."
"Why am I here? Am I here? I'm dreaming this, aren't I?" The questions tumbled from her lips, one after another, as she struggled to deal with this experience and put it into terms her mind could comprehend.
The Guardian smiled. "You are here. Sort of. Don't worry about it, Boralle. Just enjoy it. Look around you, look above you..." He gestured to the sky, which was darkening as they spoke, fading from brilliant blue to a darker hue and beginning to show little flickers of stars.
It was incredible, and Boralle watched as the sun slowly dropped and the passage of an Anyelan night began.
"That's the universe up there, Boralle. The same universe as yours, as Rory's, as the Magans'and the Fralliens'."
She glanced at him, the shadows of evening making his face enigmatic and hiding the expression in those unusual eyes of his.
"It's an ordered yet chaotic thing. Changing, growing, shrinking, expanding...none of us fully understand it. And yet we work to keep it on its course."
She nodded, listening intently now.
"You have a job, Boralle. A task that brought the Laird to you, and one that will help us in our assigned mission. Do not doubt that tomorrow will be a challenge, but also do not doubt that you will prevail."
"I will?"
He smiled. "You will. You and Rory together. Man and woman, united, can succeed in whatever they put their minds to. It only takes a little self confidence and a lot of something else..."
She gazed at the stars. "If it's love you're talking about, Guardian, then I guess I will prevail tomorrow. Because I've found that I have that in abundance."
"You do indeed, my dear. Rory is a lucky fellow." The Guardian joined her in gazing at the stars.
They were silent for a moment, then something made Boralle ask a question she didn't even know she was thinking.
"Can I keep him?"
The Guardian shimmered before her eyes as the Anyelan night fell.
"Do you want him?" The question fell into the growing distance between them.
The answer came straight from her soul. "More than life."
"Then—we shall see, Boralle North. We shall see..."
The Guardian's words came from a great distance, and Boralle slowly awoke, realizing that she was still tucked up against Rory in her quarters on Frallien IV.
Anyela seemed like a dream and yet not a dream.
The words she'd spoken sounded prophetic, but she knew with every ounce of her being that they had been the simple truth.
She loved Rory McAllen more than life itself. And heaven help her if she lost him.
*~*~*~*
Rory woke with the sound of Anyelan bells ringing in his ears. For a moment he expected to find himself back there, amidst the laughter and the sunshine and the colors of that magical world.
Then something moved next to him and he realized he was still on Frallien IV, still holding Boralle in his arms, and still facing the challenges of the Olympiad.
Today's Olympiad.
The digital readout that hovered above the desk console told him it was early, too early to move away from the warmth generated by their bodies as they nestled beneath the blanket.
Boralle snuffled softly and wriggled her butt against him, pushing him a little and plastering her body even closer to his.
He wormed his way around her, bringing his knees up to rest against the backs of her thighs, and letting his hand lie gently on her hip.
She sighed in her sleep.
He hoped it was a contented sigh.
His chin brushed her head as he shared her pillow, almost surrounding her with his presence and encompassing her with his protection.
She was every inch a woman, and every inch as brave a warrior as was he. To take on this challenge, to willingly face what she was going to face this day—his heart ached with admiration for her courage and love for her spirit.
The Boralle North he knew was fundamentally shy. Yet she was about to bare her body and her heart to millions, assuming the GNN estimates of live coverage ratings were accurate—and have the most personal of sexual experiences, an orgasm, in front of cameras and judges alike.
And she was going to do this, knowing that she would be using a machine with the potential to injure her or worse.
Plus, the fate of a couple of planets and their inhabitants were resting on the outcome of this contest.
Yet she slept like a bairn in his arms. She'd put her fait
h in him—a magical creature who'd appeared like a genie from a lamp to regale her with wild stories about the future and the nature of the time-space continuum.
She was one hell of a woman. And he owed her a bath in the loch. He made himself a pledge to move heaven and earth if need be to make sure she got that bath. And that he was there to scrub her back.
And her front.
And maybe a few other bits as well.
His body stirred as he considered the wonderfully appealing possibility of a naked Boralle in his loch with a bar of soap and him. Naked also, of course.
A soft giggle came from the area over his heart, and a pair of buttocks twitched around his lengthening cock.
"And good morning to you, too." She turned slightly to gaze sleepily into his face. "Feels like you slept well..." She wriggled again, this time rubbing her ass against him and making him groan with pleasure.
Rory smiled down at her, his heart turning over as he quietly examined her features.
Her blonde hair was tumbled every which way, and her skin flushed with the heat of their closeness. Her eyes were soft and rested and her mouth—ah, that mouth.
Rory leaned over and dropped a light kiss on it. "Good morrow to you, lass. How lovely you are when you wake."
A snort greeted his words. "Yeah. Sure. I've got serious bed hair, dents in my face, I probably drooled half the night, and I expect my breath could vaporize a small asteroid."
"I think you're beautiful. The rest is of no matter." Rory knew his words sounded rather arrogant, but he couldn't help it. He truly believed what he said. Although he did wait rather cautiously for Boralle's response.
She surprised him. "I think you're beautiful, too."
To his astonishment he found his cheeks warming under her smile. The Laird McAllen was actually blushing.
Chapter 20
Boralle missed the warm presence of Rory by her side as she made her way down to the arena where the events would take place, but they'd both agreed that he would probably be more of a distraction than she needed at this point, and he'd be there for her big moment, without a doubt.
Besides, talking to an invisible friend probably wouldn't endear her to many of the crowd that jostled and chattered around her. Although such behavior wasn't actually out of the ordinary, given the number and variety of races and species that intermingled on this sunny Frallien day.
