by Dante King
The water was just what I needed. I put my head under it and focused my mind on it to block everything else out. I needed to calm myself so that I could get some sleep before I left. The scientists weren’t sure how long the ship would be in transit. It could be seconds, minutes, or hours. Either way, I wouldn’t be able to sleep once the journey started. I needed to be ready, awake, and alert.
Before I knew it, the shower temperature dropped 10 degrees. Even in our modern society, there were still people who worried about “saving the environment.” It didn’t make any sense to me. The battle station produced its own water using the excess power from the power plants and the hydrogen and oxygen collected from a nearby gas giant. In fact, there was so much water already being recycled by the 50,000-plus people living on the station, water only had to be produced an hour per week.
The station filled the tanks of any ship passing through for free. But it didn’t make a difference. Regulations said showers were limited to 10 minutes. Then incentives for saving water had to be applied.
At least this was a battle station and not a prison. I’d never been to prison, but the rumor was that instead of dropping the water’s temperature, electricity was applied to the pipe after the 10 minutes had passed. It would pulse randomly, increasing the voltage slightly with every shock. Nobody had died from it, as far as I knew, but it wouldn’t be fun.
The temperature of my shower dropped another 10 degrees. I could stay in until the system started refrigerating it, but there was no reason to. I almost felt relaxed enough to get some sleep. I’d take a shuttle from the station. The ship would rendezvous with us on the far side of the gas giant where the battle station gunners couldn't shoot at us even if they could detect us. Then we’d be gone.
I turned the shower off, tapped an inlaid icon on the otherwise featureless wall, and a small panel slid open and dispensed a single towel. Every shower had an automatic dryer built in, but some things were better accomplished with good, old elbow grease. Like my sword, a towel was a tool, and I used it to get the job done.
I closed my eyes for a moment and tried to relax. The environmental system was on and, truth be told, I was enjoying the breeze. My bed and other furniture were tucked away into the walls in a concentrated effort to save space. A tone announced someone was at my door and spoiled the moment
I thought about ignoring it. I was off duty. I could always pretend I wasn’t here, but then the tone sounded again.
“Who is it?” I growled.
“It’s me, Sir,” a female voice replied.
“Me who?”
“Reaver.”
Oh, hell. If it had been anyone else, I would have sent them away. And there I was, naked, clean, and tense while Reaver was just outside. I knew what she wanted, what we’d been dancing around for months, and felt a smirk curl one corner of my mouth. I had to fight hard, think about what the inside of a Xeno Queen looked like, and run through some math problems in my head to keep the obvious from showing. The tone sounded again.
Most people didn’t even know her real name. Everyone called her Reaver because that’s what everyone else had called her before. Some assumed it was her last name. Others thought it might reference a book or holovid. Most thought it was because of her prowess in battle. I knew the nickname suited her reputation, though I didn’t disagree with any of the of the other opinions. She was a shieldmaiden—a death-goddess, and I couldn't wait to see what she’d do when she got her own squad.
A reaver was someone who plundered and foraged. She’d been foraging for me since she’d arrived, but she hadn’t managed to plunder me yet. Not that I hadn’t wanted her to, but I believed in controlling my impulses. I didn’t consume alcohol often. I didn’t partake in any powerful drugs. I controlled my caffeine intake. And, I resisted the temptation to copulate except on rare occasions. That’s how I earned the callsign “Paladin.” Monk, Friar, Priest, Prude, and Brother were already taken.
It was also a tradition that we didn’t get to pick our own callsigns. That’s how we ended up with handles like “Skidmark” and “Sparky.” Unfortunate, but it was part of the gig.
I couldn’t let her in. It wasn’t that it was illegal. It wasn’t considered fraternization unless things got serious. If it was just sex, then nobody cared. The thought of ravaging—or just as likely, being ravaged by—her took my breath away. I had to steady myself against the bulkhead for a moment. She rang the door chime again. This woman isn’t going to stop until I let her in. Come to think of it, maybe it’s something important.
“Hey, I just stepped out of the shower,” I explained. “I’m not even dressed yet.”
She was silent for a moment. “If you want awkward, I can make it awkward. Listen, there’s a lot of people out here, and if you saw how I was dressed, you’d let me in right away. The longer I’m out here, the more people are getting curious.”
Damn, she’s good. I wrapped a towel around my waist and slapped the door panel. She was standing there, an innocent-doe-look in her eyes as if she’d never seen a man without a shirt on before. The corner of her lips were turned up just enough to let me know she knew exactly what she was doing.
“We need to talk,” she said as she slipped under my arm into my berth.
I opened my mouth to protest, but when I caught sight of her small, round ass under a pair of thin, pale blue pajama pants, I forgot what I was going to say. Yep, she knew exactly what she was doing.
She walked around the perimeter of my little berth as if she was looking for something. Then she put her hands on her hips and threw me a severe look that said I’d wronged her somehow. At the same time, she inhaled deeply as if she was going to scold me. The move made it clear she wasn’t wearing a bra. It also became clear that my room might’ve been a little on the cold side.
“Good work today,” I offered.
She laughed, rolled her eyes, and walked a circuit around the room. I admired her form, her grace, and her power. The little strings, designed to keep her pajama pants on, dangled in front of her hips, drawing my attention to the spot where her legs met.
“You too,” she said, stopping in front of me. She was close enough that I could feel her body heat against my chest. The light aroma of soap filled my head with thoughts of soft skin, toned muscles, and warm, wet spots of pleasure. I yearned to touch her skin, to run my hands up the small of her back and watch goosebumps make the little hairs on her arms stand on end. I imagined her heavy breathing, the strength of her arms, and her strong legs wrapped around my hips.
But there was a mission to prepare for, one that might change the course of human history if it were successful.
Discipline, I told myself. There’s always going to be time for sex later. Complete the mission, then celebrate—in that order.
It was then that I remembered there may not be a later. The mission could be a one-way trip or a straight ticket to cremation.
“How do you do it?” Reaver asked, a hard, concerned look in her eyes.
I tried to take a small step back but found myself pressed against the cold bulkhead.
“How do you maintain such control?”
I knew what she meant, but I played it off, acting as innocent as her. “Well, I have a lot of practice. I’ve been a Marine for almost 20 years, and most of that in combat units. I’ve learned that losing my cool in battle isn’t—” She interrupted my speech with a firm finger-poke to the center of my chest.
“You know that’s not what I mean,” she purred as she took a small step closer.
It was then that her nipples brushed against my body, just above my bottom ribs. A wave of pleasure washed over me like sparks from a welder. Damn, she’s good. We’d done this before—the little dance of flirtation. I enjoyed the game, and because she kept coming back, I knew she did too, but she’d never shown up wearing such thin, soft fabric. She’d never been so obvious.
I changed the subject. “I need to leave early in the morning,” I explained, doing my best to keep m
y breathing even. “I’m sorry, but I need to get some sleep.”
“Do you?” she said as she leaned against me. Her hands were still down at her side, but I knew for certain she wasn’t wearing a bra. We’d never been this close. It had all been flirting and talk before. There was an occasional “accidental” touch or caress, but nothing like this. I was all about control. I controlled the battle. I controlled the team. Most of all, I controlled myself.
Yet, this could be my final opportunity. I might not ever see her again. Even if the mission was successful and deployed the Burner, I might not be able to make it back. She was here, and she was ready. We were alone. And I wanted her badly.
I found my attention split between thinking about the mission and thinking there was no way she was unaware that I was throbbing for her. I was only wearing a towel, and she was wearing pajamas so thin they might have been made of spider silk.
I had to get some sleep. There were alternatives to sleep, like caffeine and amphetamines, but I controlled my intake of both. I controlled my actions. I found myself feeling at peace with not being able to control this woman, though. She was tough, strong, smart, courageous, and beautiful. Most of all, she wanted me—right here and right now.
I wondered if she’d be on the ship. I still didn’t know who my crewmembers were. It would be nice to break the ice here and now. That way, if the return trip didn’t go so well, there’d be something fun to do to pass the time. Oh, she’d be fun.
But I didn’t want her to go with me. I wanted her to live. We were combat veterans, and we knew the risks that came with the job. We knew that we had to stand toe-to-toe with those who wanted us dead. It was an acceptable risk, but this mission was so much more. The scientists didn’t understand the portal generators. We could have our molecules spread thinly over a hundred light-years of space. There wouldn’t be time for anyone to gather enough to fill a thimble.
“I’m leaving the station,” I said. It came out in a heavy breath.
“Yeah?” she said as she leaned her full weight into me and pressed her cheek against my chest just under my chin.
Her hair smelled great, and her nipples threatened to gouge me they were so hard. I imagined what they would feel like between my lips and almost lost control.
What are you so worried about? I asked myself. It’s just sex. And this might be your last opportunity. She’s here. She’s available. She’s at least as ready as you are.
I looked down as the turned her big, brown eyes to meet mine. “Me too. I got a sneak peek at the Xeno ship roster. I’m on the crew.” Her expression was grim, determined, lusty, and absolutely adorable. She could kill the average man without blinking an eye or breaking a nail.
Shit. If she was part of the crew, this could be fraternization. I opened my mouth to protest, but she stopped me with a single finger pressed gently to my lips. For a trained and capable warrior, her long, thin fingers were surprisingly soft. Then she slid her hand across my mouth, down my neck, and stopped near my collarbone.
“But I won’t be under your command,” she said. She spoke directly onto my lips, her breath warm. “The command is split. You’ll be in charge of the ship. Joker will be my supervisor. So, no matter what happens tonight, there’s no fraternization. It’s just you and me.” She emphasized the point by pressing her hips against my groin. I felt that my erection might punch through the towel to get to her.
“I don’t want you to go,” I managed to say. “There are too many risks. Too many unknowns. We might not make it back.”
I only realized now how much Reaver meant to me. Our games of cat and mouse had always been a bit of fun, a way of alleviating a little of my desire while still keeping myself in check. But it had also developed my feelings for her, and it was clear I felt strongly for her now. My new mission carried more risks than most, and while any MSM assignment was rife with danger, this one was something different.
“I’m not worried,” she said as she ran her lips across my chin.
“I’m not worried either, but you’re too important to the team here. You know, I could always have you removed—deny you access to the ship. That would be my call.”
She giggled. “You do that, and I’ll kick your ass.” Then she pushed away from me. “In fact, you want to go at it? Want to settle this here and now?”
There were different ways I could take “go at it,” but she made it clear what she meant when she took a big step back and crouched into a fighting stance. I’d seen her fight and felt both threatened and aroused by her aggression.
“I’m going,” she said.
“This mission is more about valor than anything else,” I explained. “Win or lose, whether we live or die, it’s about delivering a blow to the enemy. Hopefully, one they’ll never recover from.”
“Ban me from your ship, and I might give you an injury you won’t recover from,” she explained, still in her fighting stance. She bounced lightly, and I noticed that her breasts hardly moved. I couldn’t help but imagine what they would feel like pressed hard against my chest.
“There’s nothing more honorable than dying for the Federation,” she continued. “If we make it there but don’t make it back, we won’t have died in vain. For the Void Gods, for the Federation, and for Mars!”
I suddenly ran out of reasons to resist. Reaver mistook my change in posture as a refusal, frowned, and marched toward the door, eyes on the panel. She reached out, fist clenched in preparation to punch the thing, and let out a small squeak when I scooped her up around her waist and spun her body to face me.
With the other hand, I cupped her asscheeks and lifted her from the ground. She gasped, raised her knees and wrapped her legs around my hips as if she was holding on for dear life. Our lips met, parted, and I tasted her eager tongue.
Her pearly teeth found my tongue, and a shiver washed over me like a wave. I turned my head to search for the button that would release my bed from the wall. Just as I found it, her lips and tongue discovered my ear and the side of my neck. I jabbed viciously at the wall with my big toe until I hit the button. The bed unfolded from the wall with a slow, low hiss.
Reaver used her feet to kick my towel from my body, then ground her groin against my manhood. I didn’t know why I’d waited for so long—why I’d put it off. I took a moment to make sure we were aligned, then fell forward, both of us landing squarely on the firm mattress with a whoof of breath.
I pressed my lips to hers, and she wrapped one arm around my back. Her other hand cupped the back of my neck, holding me to her as if I might get away. I wasn’t going anywhere.
Meanwhile, I propped myself up with one arm as the other frantically tried to remove her pajama bottoms. She lifted her hips, twisted one way, then the other, trying to help for several seconds before turning her head to one side to speak.
“Just rip them off,” she breathed. I was happy to oblige.
Just as I’d hoped, she wasn’t wearing panties. I ran my hand over her mound. She’d trimmed the hair short, and I felt little more than soft flesh and her wetness. She lifted her hips to meet my hand. She was ready. I almost fell inside of her, both of us gasping in pleasure.
Chapter Five
Xeno ships were ugly, yet beautiful, much like the “modern” art I’d seen from Terra. Even I could splash paint on a piece of canvas and call it art, and most of the time that was all it would ever be. Yet there was something about the shape of the Xeno ships that made them elegant.
They were designed for space travel, and the Xeno possessed smaller fighters for engaging ground targets directly. Those small craft that we called “bug-fighters” or just “buggers” were all smooth lines, razor-sharp leading edges, and sleek. They cut through atmosphere like vibroblade swords, barely disturbing the clouds or making a sound.
The big ships, like the cruiser I was looking at, more resembled a squashed beetle that some four-year-old kid had tried to glue back together, not knowing what the the insect had looked like before it got stomped
. Yet, somehow it was beautiful in its construction.
But the word “construction” wasn’t completely accurate, at least from what I’d gathered while talking to a scientist one evening over a few too many beers. Apparently, the Xeno didn’t build their ships—not the way we thought about building, anyway. Their ships were grown. First, they’d find a rock with the right mineral composition that was big enough for their purposes. Then they’d drill one or more holes into it, and one of their buggers would deposit an egg into the hole before they sealed the thing in. A few weeks later, a big horn-like thing would begin to grow from the sealed hole. A few weeks after that, and the whole rock was sometimes covered with twisting, spiny vines. Within six standard months, it would consume the rock. The Xeno would return and cut the vines away with their energy weapons. Inside would be another Xeno ship.
No two were exactly the same shape, even if they were the same size. Hell, we didn’t even know if they classified their ships like we did. But it was useful to designate them for our own purposes. As soon as our computers told us how many cubic meters of space the ship occupied, we knew what to call it.
The worst part of the Xeno ships—the part that made them ugliest—was the fact that so many of them had killed so many of us. It’s also what made this mission so satisfying. I’d command one of their cruisers, fly the thing right up their ass, and wipe out an entire planet full of them. If they had something resembling morale, it would be in the dumps for a long time. It was their own fault for picking a fight with a superior species. Humans were strong in revenge.
“Sir, we’ll be docking with the Xeno vessel soon,” the pilot said from a chair to my left. “Please strap in.”
