Bach waited. She sniffed at her tea again.
“I still don’t understand.”
“I’m sorry,” Bach said.
“I’m frustrated.”
“I can imagine.”
“No, I don’t think you can. No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t say that. But even if you can understand, it doesn’t change the frustration. There are all of these discussions of experiences that I have no referents for.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I don’t like this,” he admitted.
“You don’t like what?”
“This. Everything.”
“I still don’t understand.”
“I read the books. All of them. They made no sense to me. I don’t like not knowing. I don’t like knowing that there are things I cannot know.” He fell silent.
Bach looked across the intervening light-years at the Morthan, her superior officer. Now, more than ever, she felt sorry for him. Sad and sorrowful. Such a mighty warrior, confessing weakness to an underling. What did he want from her?
Abruptly, she stiffened. Her eyes narrowed. “Brik?” she asked.
He straightened.
“Is this a performance?”
He didn’t answer.
“There’s something you want from me, isn’t there?”
Still, he said nothing.
“I thought we promised each other honesty.”
“Yes,” he admitted.
“What?”
“You said you found me attractive. I don’t understand that, but I recognize that you meant it as a compliment.” He hesitated, then added, “I have become curious about... about sexuality.”
“Why didn’t you just say so?”
“The book said not to. The book said I should . . . flirt.”
Bach laughed abruptly, then caught herself and tried to suppress it, waving it away with one hand while hiding the rest of the giggles behind the other. “I’m not laughing at you, Brik. I’m laughing at the book. Trust me. Don’t flirt. Morthans should not flirt. Is the word grotesque in your vocabulary? No, please, don’t be hurt, let me explain.”
She put her mug of tea down on the deck and crossed to him. She went down on her knees before him. She took his mug and placed it on the deck, then took his big hands in her two tiny ones. She looked up—and up—into his eyes. “Listen to me. You are about strength. Don’t be afraid to be strong. That’s what’s attractive about you. Don’t try to be anything else. I want you to be exactly who you are. All right?”
Brik stared down at her, not really comprehending. But he nodded anyway.
“Now, just tell me what you want.”
Brik nodded slowly. He cleared his throat. He wet his lips. “I would like... I would like to know what it means to be kissed. Would you show me?”
Bach blinked. She nodded, both flattered and pleased. She stood up slowly, then took his hands as if to pull him to his feet. He rose—and rose. She looked up—and up. “Hmm,” she said. She looked around. She went and pulled her chair over closer. As she stepped up onto it, Brik took her by the waist and lifted. She felt as if she were floating up onto the chair.
She turned to face him. She put her hands on his broad shoulders. She looked into his huge dark eyes. She studied his wide mouth. “Wet your lips,” she said. “Pucker.”
Brik did so.
“Close your eyes.”
“Why?”
“It helps the experience. Now close your eyes.”
Brik looked like he wanted to protest. Instead, he closed his eyes.
“Now don’t do anything, just lean forward and press your lips against mine. Ready?” She leaned forward, so did he. She opened her eyes. His were already open. The two of them stared at each other, both too close to really focus. She pulled back. “I told you to close your eyes.”
“I wanted to see what you were doing.”
“Stop being paranoid and trust me.”
“I’m a Morthan.”
“Do you want to be kissed?” She didn’t wait for his answer. “Now close your eyes and see what happens when you put all of your attention on what your lips are doing.”
“All right,” said Brik. He closed his eyes again.
Bach leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. She allowed herself to relax and feel the strength of his being. She parted her lips slightly so that his upper lip was between hers. Then she moved her mouth downward and took his lower lip between hers. Then she moved her mouth upward again, opening it slightly to his—
He pulled back abruptly. “What are you doing?”
“Kissing. What are you doing?”
He didn’t answer. “Can we try again?”
Bach nodded, a little weakly. Brik steadied her with his hands on her waist. “That’s good,” she said. “Just keep doing that.” She leaned forward again, leaning herself against him. His arms folded delicately around her. His lips were suddenly very . . . very.
After a moment, she pulled back and looked at him, her eyes wide and shining.
“Was that all right?” Brik asked. “I was practicing my focusing techniques . . .”
Bach’s face was flushed. “Oh, my,” she said. “Oh, my, yes. That was—that was quite all right. Yes.”
“Can we do that again?” Brik asked, frowning in puzzlement.
Bach swallowed and caught her breath and pushed her hair back. She put her arms around his shoulders again and leaned forward . . .
Houston
“Commander?”
“What is it, HARLIE?”
“Incoming message from the Houston. Captain La Paz. She sounds angry. Will you take it now?”
Korie took a breath. “Yes,” he said slowly. “I’ll take it.” He took another breath, then sat down in the captain’s chair. Deliberately. He swiveled to face the reception wall. “Go ahead,” he said.
There was a brief blare of Dixie—Korie frowned in momentary annoyance; did Captain La Paz ever stop to think how irritating that noise was?—and then the wall cleared as if a curtain had been drawn aside. Juanita La Paz sat opposite him.
“Juanita. It’s good to see you.”
“Don’t you hand me that bullshit, mister. I know what you did.”
Korie considered trying to bluff it out. It wasn’t worth the energy. He shrugged. “You did what you had to. We did what we had to.”
“You delayed delivery of those fibrillators, Jon. And when you did deliver them, they were filthy—and deliberately misaligned. Very cute,” La Paz said. “You kept us from Taalamar.”
“Good,” said Korie.
“Good?” La Paz’s eyebrows climbed up her forehead. “Good?”
“Yes,” said Korie. “We saved your lives. You’re not battle-ready, ’Nita. This has nothing to do with the Star Wolf anymore. And it’s not about you and me either. It’s about responsibility. Come on! I figured it out early that the Wolf wasn’t going to get there. Once we started stripping her parts, we sent them where they would do the most good—to the ships we thought had the best chance. Look at your confidence rating. Would you really go into battle in that condition?”
“We don’t have a choice, Jon. There’s a war on—”
“We do have a choice, ’Nita. The war isn’t going to be won today. We can choose our battles where we have a chance of making a difference.”
“I thought we had a chance.”
“I didn’t.”
“You overstepped your bounds, Jon. My ship is my responsibility.”
“And my ship is mine,” said Korie dispassionately. “And I can easily justify keeping those fibrillators. If we could have gotten the Wolf ready to fly, we’d have been in better shape than you for Taalamar.”
“You don’t have a command, Jon. I do.”
That one stung.
Korie took a breath. Control.
“Command or not, I still have a responsibility.” He met her gaze.
For a moment, the two just studied each other. Neither broke the silence.
“You’re a son of a b
itch,” she finally said. “You know that, don’t you?”
Korie nodded. “I believe that’s what qualifies me for this job.”
A hint of a smile cracked La Paz’s hard expression. “Yeah,” she agreed. “That is the essential qualification.”
Korie considered his next words carefully. “Have you and your officers . . . had any thoughts about the strategic situation?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, what if Taalamar is not the target?”
“If it’s not Taalamar, it’s Stardock.”
“That’s our estimation too.”
“It’s not too hard to figure out.”
“Well, that’s my point.”
La Paz considered it. “Yes, there is that. We might very well have a much larger responsibility to stay exactly where we are. But do you really think one ship can make a difference?”
“Two,” Korie corrected her.
“One and a half,” retorted La Paz, but she was smiling.
“One and a half sounds about right,” said Korie. “Seventy-five percent for us. Seventy-five percent for you.”
“Eighty-five, sixty-five,” smiled La Paz.
Korie lifted a hand in surrender. “Yes,” he said. “I really do think we can make a difference.”
“Do you have a plan?”
“Nothing I can discuss.”
“Your imp has compromised you that badly?”
Korie reacted sharply to that. He hadn’t realized she knew about the imp. How many others knew? Having an imp aboard your ship was like having a sexually transmitted disease. Something you didn’t talk about. “That’s just it. We don’t know how badly we’re compromised. We’re assuming the worst.”
“Well . . .” she admitted. “On those grounds alone, you can justify holding back the fibrillators as long as you did. Nevertheless, you owe me big time, mister. Big time.”
“I know that. I didn’t make the decision casually.”
“I know that too.”
“Thanks,” Korie said.
She nodded. “Let’s hope we’re both wrong about Stardock. Otherwise you didn’t do either of us any favors.” She touched a button and her image winked out.
Followed by a quick phrase from Dixie.
Korie sagged in his chair unhappily.
Orgasm
“My God!” exclaimed Molly Williger, rising from her desk. “What happened to her?”
Brik didn’t answer. He carried the convulsing Bach directly to an examination table. Her body jerked and thrashed; she nearly threw herself out of his arms. She made choking noises in her throat. Brik strapped her to the table with difficulty and began attaching scanning devices to her body, until Dr. Williger slapped his hands away. “I’ll do the doctoring. What happened?”
“She . . . appears to be injured.”
“I can see that!” snapped Williger, loosening Bach’s jacket. “Just tell me what happened.”
Brik looked dazed. “We were . . . she was . . . I didn’t realize . . .”
Something in his tone. Williger looked up abruptly, narrowing her eyes. She came around the table and pushed Brik backward. “You. Over here. Lay down. Don’t move.” She pulled a scanning array down over him and switched it on. “Don’t talk.” She hurried back to Bach and pulled a similar scanning unit into position. “Hyperventilating.” She noted. “Heart racing. Feverish. Eyes . . . dilated. Brain waves—what the hell?!! What were you two doing?” She pulled a buzzbox down and pressed the crown into place around Bach’s forehead; she switched it on and waited. Bach’s movements started to ease, but she still kept writhing on the table. Her grunts became animal moans, discordant and disturbing.
Williger came back to Brik and started shaking him. Hard. “What the hell did you do to her, you stupid sick bastard?!!”
Brik blinked. And blinked again. He looked drugged. He looked more alien than ever. He looked as if he’d been to the other side of the sky and only his body had come back. Williger looked from Brik to Bach and back again, confused, angry, upset. She studied the displays over each of their beds. Again, she could make no sense of it. “HARLIE?” she demanded.
HARLIE considered the situation for a moment. “Mr. Brik is in shock. Lieutenant Bach is . . . experiencing an intense flurry of nervous activity. She does not appear to be in pain. The spasms are orgasmic in nature, only far more intense.”
“Orgasmic?”
“Yes,” HARLIE confirmed.
Williger turned and stared at Bach. Amazed. Then she turned and stared even harder at Brik. Horrified. She looked back to Bach. “Is she drugged?”
“I find no evidence of it.”
Williger shook her head in disbelief. “All right, let’s see if we can bring her down.” She turned to the medical cabinet and pulled out a spraysyringe. She checked its settings and held it up against Bach’s arm. There was a soft hiss. Williger studied the overhead displays and watched as the jiggling lines began to ease. “All right,” she said at last. “That’ll do it.”
She turned to Brik. She rubbed her forehead and studied his charts. She turned to the medicine chest and surveyed its contents. No. Nothing useful there. Not for this. She turned back to Brik and thought for a moment. “Oh, the hell with it,” she said. And slugged him in the solar plexus as hard as she could. Brik jerked in reaction, grunting softly, but that was his only reaction.
Molly Williger returned to her desk, sat down, and . . . started to giggle. “If I hadn’t seen it, I wouldn’t have believed it.” She sighed. “I can’t even write this up. Nobody’ll believe it.”
She got up from her desk, crossed to a medical supply cabinet, unlocked it and took out a bottle. It was halfway filled with a honey-colored liquid. She then took a small test tube and carefully measured 10cc of amber fluid into it. Still holding the test tube, she recapped the bottle and returned it to the cabinet, and relocked it. She turned around and faced both Brik and Bach on their respective medical tables; she raised the test tube in a toast to them, then downed its contents in a single startling swallow. Then she tossed the test tube into a sink, where it clattered unbroken.
She returned to her desk, sat down again, put her head in her hands, and watched Bach for a bit. The lieutenant’s moans were finally easing. Her body movements were already more relaxed. Her face was flushed.
Molly Williger waited a bit more, then opened her bottom drawer and took out two knitting needles and a ball of yarn.
Half a sleeve later, Brik sat up at his table. He looked around, almost as if he didn’t know where he was.
Williger put her knitting aside. “How do you feel?”
“I don’t know,” said Brik. “I’ve never felt like this before.”
“What were you two trying to do?”
“The lieutenant was showing me some... moves.”
“They must have been some moves,” Williger said.
Brik didn’t acknowledge it. “Will she live?” he asked.
“Probably. But you and I have to have a talk. A very important talk . . .”
Chess II
By the end of the third day, the crew of the Star Wolf had installed over two hundred separate traps, chess sets, and cameras. Some of the camera buttons were in the open. Some were concealed. Some were real, some were dummies. With Korie’s approval, Gatineau’s eventual target was the installation of a thousand separate traps.
Some of the traps were so ridiculous they could have only been designed by Hodel. One was a stuffed bird with a salt-shaker hanging over it. If a piece on the board was moved, the salt-shaker dropped grains of salt on the bird’s tail. Another was a box with a small hole, and a nut just inside the hole. That one was Gatineau’s. Other traps were more sophisticated; they were genuine attempts to capture the imp.
Most of the serious ones had been designed by Brik. One trap had the chessboard in the center of a high-gravity panel, triggered to generate a local field of 12 gees if any pieces on the chessboard were moved; the imp would be pinned t
o the floor by its own weight. Another trap was engineered to shoot anesthetic and transmitting darts into the imp. A third would have sealed off the entire compartment. A fourth was set to deliver a paralyzing electrical shock. A fifth . . . etc. There were others that were identical to these, but not armed, and still more that looked identical, but did nothing at all. One trap was a maze, with the chessboard at the center. One trap was nothing more than a lever to pull beside the chessboard and a net hanging overhead. The lever was not connected to the net. One trap was a net with no lever. One trap was a lever with no net.
By the end of the third day, the imp had initiated one hundred and thirty-three separate chess games. It had made sixty-seven different obscene gestures or grotesque faces at the cameras. It had dismantled seven traps. It had ignored twenty-three traps. Of the twenty-three it ignored, sixteen had rude graffiti about Morthans scrawled on them.
HARLIE analyzed the progress of the separate games and ventured an opinion that the imp’s processing abilities were being fully utilized. Increasing the number of traps would put it into a condition of early stress.
Concurrent with the trapping effort, Korie had begun sending security teams around the ship, sealing and searching one sector at a time. One team was working its way aftward, securing each and every compartment in a specific hull-section before moving onto the next. A second team followed in their wake, re-securing the same compartments. A third team moved around the ship checking and sealing compartments seemingly at random. HARLIE generated their assignments in realtime, so that not even the team knew what compartment they were going to be securing until they got there. Some compartments were secured six times in a six hour period. Others were never checked at all.
Neither Korie nor Brik nor Leen expected the teams to succeed against the imp, but they did expect that all the activity would seriously curtail the imp’s freedom to move about the starship. It was HARLIE’s s opinion that the increasing pressure of the pursuit was affecting the imp’s stress levels. On some of the videos, the imp was demonstrating signs of agitation and impatience.
Korie shrugged when he saw. “I don’t think we should believe it. Not yet.” He was leaning on the forward rail of the Bridge, studying the main screen. Tor and Hodel were on duty on the Ops deck. Brik and Leen had both come forward for this conference. Straightening to face them, Korie said, “I don’t think the imp has forgotten why it’s here. Someone left a plate of feces on the table of the officers’ wardroom this morning. That’s a pretty clear message, don’t you think?”
The Middle of Nowhere Page 24
