Enemy Overnight

by Robin L. Rotham

  Dead weight.

  “Oh my God!” she whispered. “Please be okay, please be okay!”

  Snapping out of her terrified reaction, she rushed over and laid her fingers on his neck. Thank God! His pulse seemed strong and steady, so she’d probably just broken his nose and knocked him out. She would never have forgiven herself if, in her rush to save herself, she’d killed someone else. Even if he was Garathani.

  “I’m sorry,” she breathed, wiping a blood-soaked hank of long brown hair out of his face with her towel. This close, she could hear the air bubbling in his streaming nostrils. She hated having hurt him. Her martial arts training was supposed to be used for self-defense, not to attack the unsuspecting and gallant, but she’d really had no choice. Again.

  Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she looked up. Yes! The scanner was right over his head. Maybe the gods were smiling on her after all.

  She dropped the towel and grabbed his right wrist in both her hands, hauling his arm up as high as she could get it, but his fingers didn’t quite reach the scanner. Bracing her legs farther apart, she threw more muscle into it, but his palm barely brushed the bottom edge.

  “Shit!” Now what? The man weighed two-fifty if he weighed an ounce—there was no way she could lift his whole body up.

  Breathing hard, she stepped back to assess the situation. He needed to be sitting up straighter.

  “Great,” she muttered. How was she supposed to accomplish that? His weight was already against the wall.

  “Okay, Ensign, time to lie down for a minute.” Since he was already leaning slightly to his left because of her tugging on his arm, she pushed him the rest of the way over, hoping like hell she was strong enough to get him upright again. Once he was on his side, she dropped to her knees and tried to push his hips toward the wall, but he was too heavy.

  “Damn it!”

  Sinking onto her butt and offering a silent apology to the unconscious guard, she leaned back on her hands, planted one foot on his low belly and the other over his crotch, and gave a mighty shove.

  Hastion’s low groan made her scramble backward, heart pounding in her throat, but he didn’t move. After a breathless moment, she could see that her push had done the trick, so she got to her feet and approached him again. She could only see one way to get him back up. Straddling his head with her feet, careful not to stand on his hair, she laced both hands around his neck and pulled straight up.

  His neck muscles stiffened under her fingers, but she reacted too late. His arm flew up and then the lights went out.

  Chapter Five

  Now that the moment had finally arrived, Tiber was almost frozen with anticipation. He sat naked at the end of his bunk, eyeing the probe with something akin to disbelief. After so many years of searching for a solution to their sexual crisis, it had come down to something as simple as stimulating the prostate.

  Ketrok had claimed the discovery was a result of Pret’s experimentation with a dildo, but Tiber knew better. He’d been there the day Ketrok called a gathering to witness the verification. Pret had squealed and looked utterly shocked when Ketrok forced the artificial penis into his rectum, and then he’d screamed for a full minute with the relief of shooting his semen onto the floor. That was unquestionably his first orgasm in at least a decade, if not his entire life, and nothing Ketrok said would convince Tiber otherwise. Shauss, on the other hand… Something about the tense way he’d held himself during the verification, as well as the furtive look in his eye, said he’d played an integral and very intimate role in the discovery.

  Someone had invaded Lieutenant Shauss’ rectum, making him orgasm, and the knowledge was enough to drive Tiber wild with curiosity and arousal. Had that someone been male…or female? Monica was a physician—would she do such a thing? Surely the commander wouldn’t…

  Shaking his head to clear the forbidden images, Tiber set his jaw and began stroking his phallus, which was already rock-hard. Less than two weeks ago, he’d have said he would be stroking forever because he’d certainly tried that often enough, especially in those first few years after Nelina’s death. As one of the rare Garathani males who’d previously enjoyed satisfying intercourse whenever he wanted it, getting used to going without had been especially trying, and he’d stroked himself raw at first, trying in vain to find release.

  Eleven years. He was almost afraid of the effects release after all this time might have. What if he stroked out from the sheer relief of it? Garnam would find him when he got off duty in a few hours, lying on the bunk with the probe bulging from his waste canal.

  But at least he’d die with a smile on his face.

  His erection was so hard it hurt, and his spur was beginning to rear, so Tiber reached over and grasped the probe. Holding it carefully, he leaned on his side and set it against his naked hindquarters. “Empran, commence masturbation probe basic program.”

  The probe immediately began to snake between the cheeks of his buttocks. He rolled to his back and felt it settle even further inside him.

  The sensation was delicious. His belly was already tightening with excitement, and the gentle vibrations were translating themselves all over his body. Pouring some of the lubricant Ketrok had provided into his palm, he began to stroke the fiery rod between his legs with gentle tugs.

  He instinctively tried to focus on his lovely Nelina, but instead, Jasmine King rose up to haunt him. The feel of her resting in his arms had been an unexpected, if short-lived, blessing. Her scent, an unusual combination of vanilla and spice, had tortured him long after Shauss plucked her from his arms. Just knowing such a female was on the Heptoral now made him want to go after her, but he couldn’t. She wasn’t a candidate, and even if she were, he wouldn’t try to claim her. He’d loved and lost a wonderful mate and still had two sons and a daughter to show for it—other males younger than he deserved a chance to find the same.

  When his palm slid over the head of his penis, Tiber nearly choked on his need. Thanking the Powers he was alone, he gripped the throbbing shaft and groaned in genuine pain. Peserin, but he needed release so badly. If this didn’t work, he would probably be forced to the new court of last resort, letting Ketrok probe him manually until he ejaculated. Peserin knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep in this condition.

  Stroking more urgently, he dug his heels into the mattress and began to arch upward with each pass of his fist. His spur erupted fully from its hollow and he stroked without thinking, his mind drawn inevitably back to Jasmine King. He could still see her on Shauss’ lap. The fan of her long, dark lashes fluttering against her pale cheek. The smooth, rhythmic movements of her jaw as she thrust her tongue into Shauss’ mouth. Her long, artistic fingers running through Shauss’ hair with leisurely abandon.

  The two of them had looked beautiful together—perfect for each other in fact—but oh, what he wouldn’t give to feel those elegant fingers scraping over his own scalp. And down his back. Over his buttocks. His scrotum…

  “Empran, increase vibration.”

  He moaned pitifully at the excruciating tightening in his belly. But still no orgasm.

  “Add thrusting motion.”

  Finally the probe began to undulate over an exquisitely sensitive spot. Heart jerking in painfully fast beats, he began thrusting his hips in a synchronous rhythm with the probe, and within seconds felt the burning tingle at the base of his spine, a sign that ejaculation was imminent.

  Peserin, yes!

  Tiber imagined himself mounted behind the tiny Jasmine, penetrating both of her tender Terran orifices, and breathed, breathed, breathed…

  Boom! Release rammed into his entire body like a lightning bolt, and he cried out harshly as semen flew everywhere, landing on the blanket, his hand, his chest, his mouth. Laughing out loud, he wrung every ounce of pleasure he could from the release and then lay there gasping, savoring the strong vibrations still rocking his waste canal.

  Why in the name of all that was mighty hadn’t they discovered this before? To think
of all the years he and all the other Garathani males had suffered through!

  Then he laughed again, licking a drop of semen from his lip. The last time he’d tasted his own ejaculate, he’d been pleasuring Nelina with his tongue. It was unfortunate he couldn’t remember her taste as vividly as he did his own right now, but the sound of her passionate cries would be with him forever.

  He rolled to his side and slid his fingers over the probe. What an unimaginable relief! No doubt males all over the ship were writhing and shouting in their quarters. He wouldn’t be the only one reporting for duty tomorrow morning wearing a drunken grin.

  “Deactivate probe.” As the sphere slid free of his anus and dissolved, Tiber shivered with delight at the forbidden sensation. He would definitely be wearing a drunken grin in the morning.

  But at the moment he needed to relieve another need.

  “Waste unit”, he sent as he rose from the bunk.

  The unit slid down the wall immediately and he sighed again as he waited for the constriction of his vessels to ease enough to allow a healthy urine stream.

  He thought of Dr. Teague’s insistence that males experiment with anal intercourse. It was a disconcerting idea, and yet it might be perversely appealing to some, after what the bygone era of females had subjected their males to. Females had always been free to partake of each others’ pleasures, for it stood to reason that females were better versed in what pleased females. The same option had never been available to males, however, and as far as he knew, that inequity had never really been questioned because there would be no point in it. They could tease each other into infinity, but they could never please each other the way females could.

  That was no longer the case. How would the council handle the inevitable same-sex liaisons that would arise as a result?

  “Dr. Tiber to infirmary three for a medical emergency.”

  “Empran,” he sighed, “your timing, for once, is impeccable.”

  * * * * *

  When he entered Infirmary Three, he saw Hastion leaning against the bed and diagnosed the broken nose at once.

  “What happened?” he asked, heading directly for the regenerator cabinet.

  “Miss King tried to make my nose an innie instead of an outtie,” Hastion said in a nasal tone.

  “An innie?” Tiber paused with his fingers on the handle, frowning at Hastion. “What in all the planets is an innie and why would Miss King want to—”

  Then he saw the slender bare feet on the mattress behind him.

  “She knocked me out,” Hastion said wryly. “I felt it only fair to return the favor.”

  “You struck Miss King?” Tiber slammed the door and rushed to the bed. “Move!”

  “Oh, don’t look so offended,” Hastion grumbled, moving aside. “I was barely conscious at the time—I doubt I did her nearly as much damage as she did me.”

  Tiber drew in a sharp breath at the sight of her. Even slack-jawed in unconsciousness, she was a bounty of loveliness.

  “Ensign, you are lower than the pad under my boot,” he growled, sliding his hand under her chin and turning her head carefully. His fingertips measured her pulse as he examined her. “And just how did this slip of a creature manage to inflict so much damage on you?”

  “Typical feminine wiles,” Hastion said sourly. “She dropped her bottle and when I bent to pick it up for her, she thanked my face with the sole of her foot. Twice.”

  “Why?” Her injury didn’t appear too serious, but Tiber wasn’t happy that she was still unconscious.

  “Maybe I looked thirsty and she wasn’t in the mood to share.” Hastion leaned against the bulkhead and sighed. “Peserin, but my face hurts.”

  Glancing up, Tiber had to agree the ensign had taken the worse beating. “Go lie down. It looks like you might have an orbital fracture as well as a broken nose.”

  “After I’ve spoken with the commander. He’s on his way.”

  “Fine.” Tiber focused on Jasmine King once more. “Empran, image and assess this subject’s head injuries.”

  “Commencing cranial scan.” Seconds later a holograph of the female’s skull appeared above her head and he studied it with interest. “No fractures detected. Level two trauma to left temporalis.”

  He frowned at an anomaly in her septal structure. It almost looked as if she had a fully developed bilateral vomeronasal organ. Most Terrans had them unilaterally at birth, but by the time they reached puberty, the organs had regressed to such a degree they could be considered vestigial.

  Of course the so-called Halethoid mutations were occurring with increasing regularity as Terrans’ physiology finally overcame the adverse effects of Sol’s light, and this might very well be one of those developments. He’d have to examine the scan more closely later.

  “Brain trauma?”

  The image switched to physio mode.

  “Level two-minus.”

  “Empran, assess the ensign’s facial injuries.”

  As he suspected, Hastion’s nose and cheekbone were fractured. “You lost consciousness?”

  Hastion grimaced. “Not for long.”

  A low moan made him look down. Brushing the loose hairs from her forehead, he asked, “Miss King, can you hear me?”

  She moaned again and turned her face into his palm. Her smile as she nuzzled him made Tiber’s chest contract like he’d just been spaced. He was fighting for breath when her lashes fluttered, and then eyes bluer than an Ethrian sunset blinked at him before a frown furrowed her brow. “My head hurts.”

  “I’m not surprised. You’ve got a slight concussion.” His voice sounded disturbingly breathless.

  “Where am I?”

  “You’re in Infirmary Three, aboard the Heptoral.”

  She looked around and her eyes widened. “Oh my God.”

  “There’s no need—”

  Before he could reassure her, she’d knocked his hand away and rolled off the other side of the bed. She tried to stand up and Tiber reached over the mattress to catch her before she fell over, but she stumbled back against the next bed.

  “Don’t touch me!” She hung on to the edge of the bed, blinking rapidly. Sweat broke out on her upper lip as she panted. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “That’s the concussion, Miss King,” Tiber said softly as he rounded the foot of the bed. “You need to lie down. Nobody’s going to hurt you.”

  “No! I want to see Monica.” She dropped to her hands and knees and lowered her forehead to the floor. “Please, just get Dr. Teague.”

  The infirmary door slid open and Commander Kellen strode in. His gaze darkened as it zeroed in on Hastion. “Ensign Hastion, report.”

  Lieutenant Shauss strolled in behind the commander and his dark eyes settled immediately on Miss King. There was that proprietary air again. Tiber’s hackles rose.

  Hastion sighed before reporting, “Miss King attacked me, Sir.”

  Kellen’s eyes widened as he took in the ensign’s condition. “The hell you say! For what reason?”

  “I don’t know, Sir.”

  “Well, what were you doing at the time?”

  “Standing guard outside the Voya escape pods.”

  “And she launched an unprovoked attack.”

  “Well, Sir, she was running laps around the deck, which Ensign Beral reports is not unusual. She dropped her hydration bottle, and when I bent to pick it up for her, she kicked my face in.”

  Kellen stared at him for a moment before glancing at Jasmine, who hadn’t looked at any of them yet. “Apparently you subdued her.”

  “Once I regained consciousness,” Hastion confessed gruffly.

  Kellen brushed past him and crouched beside her. “Miss King, I hope you have a good reason for assaulting one of my warriors.”

  “Go away,” she said into the pad. “I want to talk to Monica.”

  “I’m afraid that won’t be possible unless you tell me why you attacked Ensign Hastion.”

  “I didn’t want to hurt him.” H
er muffled voice was flat. “I just wanted to go home.”

  “Go home?” Shauss repeated incredulously. “Surely you didn’t intend to steal one of the evacuation pods?”

  “Yes, I did!” Her head snapped up and she glared at him. “Can you blame me?”

  Kellen closed his eyes for several seconds and Tiber had the distinct impression he was counting. Then he opened them and looked at Tiber.

  “Her condition?” Kellen asked.

  “Bruising and low-grade brain trauma.”

  “Does she require treatment?”

  “I’d like to administer ferilyde, but she won’t let me near her.”

  Kellen focused on Miss King once more. “Miss King, if you wish to suffer the effects of brain trauma while we discuss the consequences of your actions, so be it, but if I were you, I’d accept the ferilyde treatment, just in case you’d like to speak in your own defense.”

  Then he said to Shauss, “Escort her to Tactical One when Tiber is finished with her. Don’t take your eyes off her until then.”

  * * * * *

  Garathani medicine was a thing of beauty, she admitted reluctantly. After permitting the painless ferilyde injection at the base of her skull, she’d felt a hundred times better within seconds. Any other injury to her skull would just have to heal on its own—there was no way she was subjecting herself to computer scans of any sort.

  When she entered the tactical room, escorted by Tiber and Shauss, she was too focused on the occupants to give the room more than a cursory glance. It was unnerving to find the ever-annoying Zannen standing guard inside the door. The skin on the back of her neck prickled as she walked past—no doubt he was tracking her with his black gaze the way a buzzard eyes a wounded calf.

  And, oh Lord, Minister Cecine had been brought into this and he didn’t look happy about it. He stood by a window with his arms crossed over his chest. Kellen sat at a long table, which was surrounded by at least a dozen chairs.