The Saffron Malformation
Page 73
He smirked, “Really?” She nodded. “I always got the sense I was annoying you.”
“No,” she replied simply. “I’m just not very good at things like that… or this… or anything much that involves other people.”
“You do fine,” he assured her.
“No I don’t,” she replied plainly. “You were right when you said my thoughts and emotions are separate. I can choose to act on or ignore them.”
“So when you slapped me?” he asked, touching a hand to where her’s had struck him.
She laughed a bit. “Acting on them.” A moment passed before she said, “Sorry for that.”
He shook her off, “I deserved it.”
“No you didn’t,” she told him. “You were right. Anything between us is an experiment. It’s a test to see how much I can feel, if I’m even capable of a connection like other people have. It would be selfish. I hurt you all ready. I would hurt you more.”
“What makes you say that?”
“The facts. The hardware in my brain impedes many of the chemicals that are responsible for emotions. I feel them, they’re just not as intense and I have more control over them. I can dull them but I can’t make them sharper. It’s how I was able to watch that footage of Rain. Though it’s also why I didn’t cry, and even I don’t like that. She was my best friend. I should have cried.”
He nodded.
“I do like you,” she told him. “I don’t want to experiment on my friends.”
Breaker’s Bay was one of three places on the main continent that docked boats. They used them to transport goods that Blue Moon didn’t deem worthy of one of their air transports. On other planets there wouldn’t have been need for boats at all, but Saffron was red flagged and grounded, and that meant only the government had access to anything that might take to the sky.
It was bad news for most people on Saffron, but for Quey and his crew, it was a mighty fine stroke of luck. If the civilian transports hadn’t been grounded they’d have to take one of those to Topaz and there was something about flying that made people feel a need to scrutinize everyone partaking. Boats, however, were ignored.
“You know who we’re meeting and where?” Quey asked Rachel during their last pit stop, less than twenty miles from the town. He’d wanted to press on but after the waste it was the first clean bathroom they’d found and the women wanted to stop, save Ryla who didn’t seem to care.
“Guy named Troy,” she replied. “We’re supposed to meet him at the docks. You look over the bases yet?”
He looked over at her, the sunset glistening in her light brown hair. “Figure we’ll have time to decide on the boat.”
She nodded. “You really think we can pull this off?”
Quey shrugged, “Hell I don’t know.” He watched Leone, Amber and Natalie returning from the bathroom. “Nothing seems to make much sense anymore.”
Rachel agreed, silently, and then they parted for their vehicles. The sky was darkening as they turned their engines over and rolled back toward the highway.
The last stretch of road between the rest stop and Breaker’s Bay seemed to go on longer than the nearly six hundred kilometers that had come before. “It’s always the longest,” Quey sighed. Ryla looked over at him and he said, “The last bit of road. It always seems to be the longest part.”
“But it’s shorter,” she said.
“Yeah, I know. It’s in your head. Perception and anticipation. You feel like your almost done so you want to be done and so it seems to take forever to be done, or something like that.”
“Hum,” she sighed, ponderous. “That’s interesting. Maybe it’s time I asked you some questions.” He looked over at her. “About how you work.”
His eyes widened slightly as he realized for the first time—as ashamed as he was by that fact—that he was as peculiar to her as she was to him. “Go for it,” he agreed, and she did.
“So time can seem faster or slower even though its not?” Was the first of many questions she squeezed into the twenty-minute drive. She was fascinated by the idea of perception. When he told her about how two people could witness the same event but remember it differently she told him, “That’s not true.”
“It is,” he assured her. “The jist of things’ll be the same but details can change.”
“Like?”
“Like exactly what words were said or the color of things.”
“You’re tricking me.”
He assured her he wasn’t and did his best to explain, when people can’t remember they fill in the blanks and it’s hard for their brains to know the difference. She was fascinated by this anomaly and wanted to ask him about the way he thought and his senses and memory, how it worked for him. Of course they were on the last leg and it was over too quick for them to get to all of that. When they crossed into Breakers Bay she found she was disappointed and thought for a moment she might have felt the briefest sense of what he was talking about. The time, though it passed no faster as far as she could tell, had been too brief.
Life on the docks, loading and unloading ships, had left Troy haggard. His hair was thin and in need of a trim, his teeth were crooked and yellow, his skin was dark brown and ashy. The boat he led them to was in comparative shape.
The night was thick with cloud cover above the docks but the sulfur lights illuminated them and the ship with their deep yellow glow. They could see the flat deck of the ship where thousands of tons of cargo could sit. The boat was empty at present, and would remain that way through their voyage.
“This boat was headed east anyhow, so it in’t much out da way ta ride you over ta Topaz,” Troy informed them in his cracked voice. He coughed and then hacked up a chunk of flem and spit it out onto the dock. “Trip should take two and some change in days,” he added. “Boat leaves wit the sun. You can wait on board if you like, get settled. Not much on shore I kin offer in da way ah lodging,” he informed them.
“Boat’ll do,” Quey replied, extending a hand. Troy nodded as he shook it.
“Need any ting,” he trailed off momentarily, “you know… fore you leave lemme know and I’ll git it on board fore ya sail.”
“Thanks,” Quey said. “I think we’re good though.”
He started away, then stopped and turned back. “Eh.” Quey looked at him and he asked, “What cha gunna do wit dem?” They looked at the vehicles and Quey realized he hadn’t given it much thought. They couldn’t get them on the ship so he said, “Why, you want ‘em?”
Troy scratched his head. “Yer ways bin paid, but, you know, a tip.”
Quey smiled. “We sail and they’re yours if you want ‘em. Just remember there’s some nasty men looking for the likes of us and they might just remember what we were driving.”
Troy scratched his head and shrugged. “Pain da cars, trucks good fer parts at least. Mmm,” he grunted. “I’ll come by, git ‘em in da morn.”
“Sure.”
Troy gave one last grunt that might have been, ‘bye,’ and then he walked slowly from their sight, favoring his left leg. It was a tough life for men like him. Men the corporation didn’t see potential in. Men who didn’t get a place in the cities working in an office. Quey felt sorry for him and all those like him.
He noticed the others collecting some of the luggage and did the same before heading toward the boat. Ryla was herding her robots out of the back of the truck and walked with one to either side.
The captain was a tall man, six two or there abouts, with strong arms and a round belly. His hair was thick and dark and so was his beard, though both were neatly trimmed. Quey set down the bag in his right hand to shake the captain’s as he boarded. He could feel the might in the man’s grip and knew if he wanted to he could crush his hand.
“Names Captain Theodore Nelson,” he said in a gruff voice that boomed over the sound of the sea lapping at the docks.
“Quey Von Zaul, lacking in title at the moment but once held the seat as chili champion of the north west bay.”
“Just some friends,” he assured the captain. “Hope that won’t be a problem.”
Bowserbot rolled over to the big man and scanned him. He peered at the turtle painted on its chest and noted, “That is the strangest…” He inspected the bot a moment longer before looking over at Mechaganon. Then he asked, “What do they do?”
“Observe mostly,” Ryla said, her voice seemed tiny in contrast to the captain’s.
Nelson looked at her and nodded slightly. “You’re an odd bunch, aren’t you?” Before they could answer he went on. “No matter, ways been paid and so long as you respect the ship I think we can be friends till your port of call comes up. Benny’ll show you to the corridors.” Nelson stood tall, looking across the deck at a young man with bulging Muscles and light hair and bellowed, “Benny!”
The man hurried over to them and stood tall before the captain. “You know the ones?” Nelson asked.
“Yes sir,” Benny replied.
“Then off wit you,” he finished before turning and walking off.
Benny gestured for them to follow him and they did. They followed him through a metal entryway, then down a set of metal steps where they got to witness the robots trick to dealing with steps, and finally through a metal corridor to a cluster of closed metal doors. “These six are yours,” he told them. “Kitchen’s at the end of the hall on the left. Shitters just around that first corner on the right. All set?”
“We’re good,” Quey replied and Benny hurried off.
It took a bit of time to unload the vehicles and get everyone set. Ryla and the robots would share a room while everyone else had their own, though Leone and Amber were all ready planning how they could slip into the same bed late at night and explore the recently discovered physicality of their relationship.
As a whole the group was worn down from the two days of driving and took to sleep quickly. The kids, however, had hormones that overpowered their need for sleep, and then there was Ryla, who didn’t need it for another four days. She was sitting at the desk in her room reading on her device with Mechaganon and Bowswerbot behind her when she heard the giggling outside her door. When she cracked her door she saw Leone and Amber, both had tried to sneak out into the others room and they’d met in the hall. She watched them kiss and giggle and make little noises at the others touch for a moment before letting her presence be known. Wide eyed and frozen, they looked at her. She touched her finger to her lips in a silent, ‘shh,’ then shooed them into one of the rooms. Embarrassed, they slunk though the door to Leone’s room and closed it behind.
Ryla closed her own door and turned back toward the room. It was little more than a closet with a small bed and a desk. She crossed to the chair and returned her attention to her sheet where she was reading about love.
As she read she grew more confused. It seemed, near as she could gather, that it was universally accepted that love was a wonderful thing. It was also expressed that sex was an act of love. She was also aware that if Natalie had caught the kids meeting in the hall she would have sent them to their separate rooms and been angry. That didn’t make sense to her. If love was so good, and sex went with it—and even she was aware of how good that could be—then why keep it from anyone?
‘People are strange,’ she decided as she returned to her text.
She picked up where she’d left off and found a fiction story about lovers separated by a great distance, a series of brutal circumstances, and the passage of time. When finally they came together she felt glad for them and noticed something else had happened to her, a bit of desire had formed. She imagined Quey, his thin frame and kindly features and she couldn’t help but think he wasn’t quite right. The man in the story had been bigger and stronger, and she realized the sailor, Benny, would have fit better and she had the urge to go find him.
Before she knew it she was wondering the halls of the ship, but it was late at night and most of the crew was asleep in their quarters, and none of the doors were marked. Only three crewmembers were awake at present, gathered in the bridge of the ship, playing cards while they kept tabs on things. She knew which of the three she thought she’d like to try and he was different from Quey in nearly every way. He had bulging muscles, and a groomed yellow beard across his broad face.
The cold metal of the stairs bit at her feet as she ascended the small flight of them to the bridge, and stood watching the three for a moment before she was spotted.
“Woah,” one of the other two said, as she watched the blonde man who reminded her most of the lover in her story. The other two sailors in the room didn’t interest her at all. One had too much of a belly and too little hair, while the other was young, but scrawny and had a face that was displeasing to her eyes. His nose was too big for his face and crooked a bit, and she didn’t like his eyes. They were beady and leering.
“Something wrong?” the ugly one asked. His voice matched his face.
Ryla shook her head. She was staring at the man she liked. “You really shouldn’t be up here,” he said to her and she looked down at the floor. She couldn’t figure out how to lure him away from the others.
One of them made a joke that was probably crude, but she didn’t get it, and the blonde one snapped at them. “’Nough of that,” he told them. Then he crossed to her and looked down at her. She liked his eyes, bright blue, and they matched the smile he gave her. “You lost?” he asked.
She wasn’t but she nodded. In most of the stories she read about love the woman was often helpless, and so she did her best to seem that way.
“It’s a big ship. I’ll walk you back.”
She smiled and nodded.
The other two shared another joke and he silenced them with a look. Then he took to leading her back to her room. They strolled silently until they were below deck, then he said, “Don’t say much do you.”
“No,” she answered. “I’m scared if I talk I’ll mess up because I’m not good at it, and I don’t want to make a mistake and screw this up.”
He looked over at her and said, “What do you mean? Screw what up?”
She lunged at him and pressed her lips and her body against him. Her hands found his arms, bulging out of his short sleeves, then moved across his chest, firm under the thin fabric of his shirt, and she liked it.
After a moment he separated from her and looked at her. “I don’t know,” he said, trying to decide. “I don’t want any trouble, you know, if this is about getting back at a boyfriend or something.”
“I don’t have a boyfriend,” she told him. She touched the muscles in his chest and then slid her hand down to the ones in his belly, flat and tight. “You have a room?” she asked.
He nodded, it was his turn to not know what to say. “But I don’t know.”
“What’s to know?” she asked. She looked at him, stood close and said, “I feel really good.” His heart was racing, she could tell. She rubbed the groin of his slacks and felt his size. He touched her, resting his strong hands on her waist. She felt the power of them and liked it. They kissed and then he looked around.
“This way,” he told her.
She didn’t move at first and he looked at her. “You’ll be nice,” she inquired.
His brow furrowed as he wondered what had happened to her that made her feel she needed to ask. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll be sweet to you.” He ran a hand over her hair.
This time when he moved she followed.
When she built boyfriend she had calculated the average size of a human penis and used that as a model. When she had her first encounter with Quey she questioned the research data she’d found on the subject because boyfriend was smaller, though not by a terrible amount. This man, whose name she hadn’t bothered to ask, was much larger, she saw as he stood naked. She was sitting on the bed, her
dress draped over a chair across the room, and she found she couldn’t stop touching him. His body was thick and hard. His hands were rough from years of hard work, but when he touched her he was gentle. In the strict technical sense, Ryla knew what he was doing when he knelt beside the bed and moved his face between her thighs but she didn’t know what to expect. Then she felt his tongue and was amazed by it. She fell back against the bed and her breath caught in her throat.
Usually he told girls to tell him when they were close, but with this one he didn’t need to. Most of the time he brought them to the edge then entered them for the end, but she insisted he keep going and so he did. Partly because she wasn’t like most of the women he’d been with, in that she didn’t really taste like much, and partly because there was something about this chick that made him feel generous.
As she lay on the bed, shivering slightly from the soft orgasm his tounge gave her, he stood and looked at her. She really did have a great body. Strong legs, a tight round ass, full hips, a slender waist, and perky breasts. He reached out and massaged them and she sat up. She ran her hands over his arms and shoulders.
“Ready?” he asked as he stepped between her thighs.
She scanned his body and nodded. As he squeezed inside her she felt a gentle rush of excitement. ‘This is going to be great,’ she thought.
“Fucking shit, you weren’t lying,” he said. Then clarified, “You do feel good.”
She lay back and let him settle on top of her and work himself back and forth, in and out. She thought he’d bring her to another climax, but after trying to assist that end with several adjustments of her hips, she realized it wasn’t going to happen. It was nice, and it felt nice, but not nice enough. Slightly disappointed by his inability to bring her there through intercourse she relaxed underneath him and tried to enjoy him as best she could. She liked his body, strong and pressing against her. She ran her hands over his muscles and felt his breath on her neck. He didn’t look at her, and when he did it was just to watch her breasts bounce as he thrust in a way that was a little uncomfortable for her. He gripped them with both hands and buried his face in them, kissing her nipples and running the prickly hairs of his beard over the skin. She was tired of him so she pushed him off and rolled over onto her hands and knees because she’d read this was the position most likely to make a man climax faster. His hands slid up around her ass, over her hips and torso and settled on her breasts as he entered her. When he did she squeezed and his breath stuttered and he needed to finish. He was thrusting deep and it hurt a little, which made her squeeze harder until a short time later when he pushed deep and stayed there.