Pursuit

by Val St. Crowe

  He pulled back for a second, looked into her eyes. “You’ve done this before, right? This isn’t like—”

  “Yes,” she whispered, nodding quickly. “Of course.”

  Good. Because he didn’t want to be… Screw it, he didn’t want to think. He put his mouth on her throat. He shed the rest of his clothes.

  Her hand was between his legs. Tentative. Her hand curled around him, exploring the length and the girth of him.

  He sighed, resting his head against her bare shoulder. He slid a finger under her undergarments, the only article of clothing either of them were still wearing, and he yanked.

  She let go of his cock with a little mew of surprise. But then she helped, pushing that last bit of cloth out of the way.

  They looked at each other for a second, searching each other’s expressions.

  And then he grabbed her hand and put it back on his erection, tightening her fingers around him. He put his mouth on her nipple.

  She moaned. She gripped him and stroked him—long, slow movements dragging her fingers against his sensitive flesh.

  He made a choking sound deep in his throat. He sucked her other nipple.

  She moaned again.

  He kissed her mouth. His fingers trailed to between her legs. He traced the outside of her slit.

  She shivered.

  He explored. This part of her was tiny and delicate, and he felt like he needed to be careful, hesitant. But then his thumb found the little nub at the top of her and he nudged it.

  She cried out, and her fingers stopped moving against his cock. Her hand stayed there, but she seemed to have forgotten what she was doing.

  He smiled, nudging her again.

  She threw her head back, her eyes closed. She was biting her bottom lip again.

  So he kept doing it, rubbing her and watching her squirm. He was getting more and more turned on, feeling himself throb against her motionless fingers which still gripped him.

  He moved his fingers to her lower folds, testing…

  No, she was ready.

  He tried to catch her eye, to ask silently if she…

  But her eyes were closed.

  So, he just did it. Moved her fingers away from his cock and slid it against her slick, sweetness until he slipped inside.

  And then he shut his eyes too, because it was good. So good. Warm and snug and slippery and…

  He shifted his hips, a shallow thrust.

  She dug her fingers into his shoulders and made a small strangled noise.

  His eyes popped open. Was that bad? Was she…?

  He put this thumb back on her clit.

  She gasped. Her hips bucked.

  And he couldn’t think again. All he could do was drive himself into her over and over again and let himself fall into a tunnel of building, taut pleasure. He was lost to it. It was dark and good and warm and it went on and on, moments spreading out like water droplets beading up on a string.

  Until suddenly, she was spasming around him, her hips moving in jerks as she sighed out moan after moan and he crested, exploding into her.

  He panted into the crook of her shoulder, and she gasped and clung to him, and for a long time, neither of them moved.

  * * *

  Kerxe bowed his head before Councilor Trakh. He felt as though it was a bit stupid, however. He, always stuck in this vidya form, towered over Trakh’s diminutive human form. Not that the forms were really that much different in mass—they couldn’t be, after all, mass had to go somewhere. It didn’t disappear during a shift. But humans were shorter and thicker. And weaker, like open, writhing larva, if you asked Kerxe.

  He didn’t understand the new fascination with the humans.

  But as he was often told, that was because he had been vidya for too long. Biology was destiny in so many ways, and having the shape of a vidya—its brain and instincts—made him more and more a vidya. So much so that he couldn’t shift back anymore, at least not at will. He understood that there were ways to force the shift, but they were all painful and stressful, and he rather liked his form. He liked being strong and tough and fearful.

  Maybe that was what seemed so stupid about bowing his head. Showing obeisance when he was a vidya, when his kind had been made to rule the galaxy.

  Not that they did. The real vidya, that was. The vidya were extinct, hunted that way by the Xerkabah.

  Sometimes, he read poetry by Xerkabah with too much time on their hands about the tragic beauty of loving something to death.

  Kerxe didn’t muse too hard over such things. He was told that, too, was a product of his vidya mind, but he didn’t care what they said to him. He knew that the reason that the Xerkabah went to war was because of destiny. Xerkabah from time immemorial had seen visions of their ruling the entire galaxy, crushing anything that stepped up to challenge them. The Xerkabah obeyed the visions, which were sent to them from El Kadhom, the timestream force. What the visions decreed was law.

  Well, that was the way it used to be, anyway.

  Since the new obsession with human form, the leadership had grown strange about it. It started with appointing a councilor of the Donem way of thinking, a radical sect that had never been part of the official leadership of their race. Instead of following every vision exactly, the Donem favored a kind of selectivity, helping the visions that served them come to fruition while actively working to subvert the visions that were unfavorable.

  This was against the way of El Kadhom. It was meant that the Xerkabah should take what they saw, both good and bad, as their portion. After all, good and bad was subject to interpretation, and it was something that was assigned in a moment, and the Xerkabah were one with eternity, which was above such notions.

  But the human form had tainted everything, and now the Xerkabah were trying to kill a woman who would one day have a child who would end their reign.

  The argument went that the Xerkabah were destined to rule the galaxy, so anyone who would stop that should be stopped, because that person acted against El Kadhom. However, the vision of the usurper had come through El Kadhom, which rendered the argument moot, at least in Kerxe’s opinion.

  No one cared about Kerxe’s opinion.

  And truly, thinking it all through made his head hurt. He was not a member of the council, and thus, such decisions were not up to him.

  “Kerxe,” said Councilor Trakh. “We have been unable to contact Yerthe, but we know his last coordinates. We fear that he may have been killed.”

  Kerxe waited for the councilor to continue, although he knew what was coming next.

  “You must go to his last coordinates and discover his fate. If he has died, his mission will become your mission, and you must destroy the usurper.”

  Kerxe bowed his head again. “Yes, Councilor.” He hoped he wasn’t being sent to his own death. That was one limitation of the visions sent by El Kadhom. No one ever saw his or her own death. That final mystery was always left open.

  “Do not fail us as your brethren have,” said the councilor.

  “El Kadhom willing, I will not.”

  The councilor made a face at the saying, which was now positively antiquated. The new council took destiny into their own hands. The visions were a tool to twist, not a decree from the universe. “Go, then,” said the councilor.

  Kerxe went. He headed for his ship. He had to admit that no matter what the philosophy of the regime, being given kill orders was always sweet. Of course, that was just his vidya instincts talking. Vidya loved viciousness, loved violence. And he was not really a vidya. But he felt like a vidya, and knowing he was going on a hunt? Well, that felt good.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Eve’s legs were shaking. She clung to the captain for dear life, and she felt as though she was coming back from some kind of strange, wonderful other-plane. That had been nothing like being with Tane all that time ago. The mechanics of it were all the same, but the sensations…

  Well, for one thing, the captain was different than Tane. H
is body was different. His shoulders were broader and he was stronger. And other parts of him were different too.

  He was thicker. When she’d put her hand on his erection, she’d almost been frightened at his thickness. Her fingers barely met around him. She’d been terrified that he wouldn’t fit inside her. But he had fit—perfectly, sweetly, and he was still there, and she never wanted—

  “Hey,” whispered the captain.

  She gazed up at him, her heart thudding in her chest. She smiled at him. She wanted to kiss him again.

  He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and smiled back. “So, uh, I guess we can go back to being normal.”

  What? Oh, right, she had said…

  The captain disengaged, and he slid out of her.

  She winced at the sensation, a sudden emptiness.

  And he was moving away from her, and they weren’t touching, and she was cold.

  He bent down to pick his pants up off the floor and stepped into them. In seconds, he was covered.

  She felt exposed, embarrassed, confused. She flung her arm over her breasts, pressed her legs together. She wanted to cover herself too. Where were her clothes?

  The captain looked up. “You need help getting down?”

  “I can do it myself,” she said, and it came out more defensive than she’d meant it to.

  His eyebrows shot up.

  She blushed. She tried to climb down, but couldn’t do it while she was still covering her breasts. So she moved her hand. Not like he hadn’t seen everything already, anyway. Hell, she’d gone to his room and exposed herself to him.

  But he looked away when she did it, clearing his throat.

  She scooped up her underwear. They were ripped somehow. Really? She didn’t remember that happening. And her supporter… Never mind. The captain hadn’t bothered to put on his underthings. Where was her jumpsuit? She looked around, and then spied it on the other side of the captain.

  It was lying there, next to his shirt.

  He bent down to get his shirt, picked up the jumpsuit too. He handed it to her. This time, his gaze seemed to explore her bare skin again, lingering on her breasts.

  She hunched her shoulders.

  “Sorry.” He looked away again.

  She snatched the jumpsuit from him.

  After that, they dressed in silence. She shoved her undergarments in the pockets of her jumpsuit.

  The captain tucked his shirt in, and then untucked it. Then he picked up his belt. He looked at his shirt and then set the belt back down. He tucked the shirt back in. Then he put on his belt. He picked up the plaspistol she’d been using and handed it to her.

  “Thanks,” she murmured.

  He massaged the bridge of his nose. “Look, uh…” He raised his gaze to hers.

  She waited.

  “You okay?”

  She nodded. “Sure.”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets. “You’re not… hurt or… did I…? I’m sorry if I—”

  “I’m fine,” she said. “We had to do it, and we did, so that’s good.” She ran her hands through her hair, sucked in a breath, and then started for the door out of the room.

  He caught up with her as she got the door open. His voice was quiet. “It’s been a really long time since I did that. I’m maybe out of practice.”

  She shook her head. “No, it was very, very nice,” she whispered, and she was suddenly worried that she might start crying. What the hell was wrong with her? She fled into the hallway.

  He grabbed her by the arm, turning her to face him.

  “Let go of me,” she said, too loud.

  He dropped her arm like it burned him. “Sorry,” he said.

  She swallowed. “Stop apologizing to me.”

  “Well, uh, I would, except I’m feeling like I really fucked up here. I don’t know what I did wrong or—”

  “Nothing.” She shook her head. “I wanted it. You did what I wanted.”

  “Yeah, but did you like it?”

  “Yes.” She turned again, stalking up the hallway.

  “You sure?” he called after her. “I mean, I could have sworn you came at the end, but I’m not really an expert on all that, and now you seem like you’re—”

  “What does it matter?” She kept walking. “It’s done now. It’s over with. Like you said, now things can go back to normal.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  She walked faster.

  His voice from behind her, further away. “I’m going to go to the control room and turn off the coolant system to the target range.”

  “Fine.” She turned a corner and kept going, walking as fast as she could. She hurried back to her room. Inside, she walked back and forth in front of the bed, a lump in her throat.

  What was wrong? Oh, hell, it was awful. Because it was half like she’d thought, half everything she’d ever wanted, but half so very, very wrong. When she’d had sex with Tane, she’d been disappointed, but she’d hoped that when she was with the captain, it would be different and she would understand what the fuss about the act was.

  She did.

  The way he kissed her, the way he stroked her. She could still feel the pressure of his fingers on her clit, the way she’d burst against him, around him. And the way he’d fit inside her, the perfect way he’d thrust himself—

  Tears started to leak out of her eyes and she dashed them away angrily.

  She couldn’t have imagined anything better. And now all she wanted was to be back in his arms. She wished she could crawl into his bed and sleep wrapped around him and never let go of him.

  When she was young, she had hoped she would love the captain.

  And she did.

  But he didn’t feel it back.

  And that was worse than anything she could have dreamed of.

  The query button on her door sounded. “What?” she said and was horrified to hear that her voice sounded full of tears.

  “Eve?”

  “Just… go away.”

  It was quiet.

  She sucked in a shaky breath, trying to get herself under control.

  “Okay,” said the captain. “I’ll give you space. I can’t imagine…” A long pause. “I’m really sorry. I never meant to…”

  “Don’t be sorry,” she said. “Stop being sorry.”

  He sighed.

  Another long bit of silence.

  Finally, “Goodnight,” said the captain.

  “Goodnight,” she said.

  And then she heard his footfalls as he walked away from her door.

  She threw herself back on her bed and shut her eyes. How was she going to be around him now?

  And then she had a worse thought.

  Her hand went to her stomach.

  Oh. She was pregnant now, wasn’t she? Terror shot through her, bright white and hot. How was she going to do this? How was she going to be a mother?

  * * *

  Gunner couldn’t sleep.

  He sat on his bed and stared at the wall and felt like a piece of shit.

  What the hell had he done?

  What? She said the word cock, so he completely lost his mind and ripped her clothes off and took her in the middle of a target range? What was he thinking?

  Well, he hadn’t been thinking. He’d been turned on. And he was half-insane over the loss of Calix.

  And his ship. Hell, he didn’t even have his ship.

  He was not in his right mind.

  But none of that was an excuse, because he should know better. The girl was younger than him. Not so young that it wasn’t conceivable for them to be together intimately, but young enough that he should have kept himself in check. He never wanted to screw her anyway. He wanted nothing to do with it.

  It was a puzzle, though, because he could have sworn she was enjoying it while it was going on. He could have sworn he was pleasing her. But he’d obviously been wrong. Read it all wrong. And now he felt like he’d violated her or something. He felt disgusting.

 
He lay down on his bed and stared at the ceiling, but he couldn’t even close his eyes, let alone go to sleep.

  Instead, he left the room and went out of the station. He went to the place where Calix was buried, and he sat down outside in the muggy dark warmth and looked at that mound of dirt.

  He wanted to talk to Calix, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

  Calix wasn’t there anymore. He wasn’t trapped inside the decaying flesh underground. Calix was gone.

  So, he just stared at the mound of dirt, and he thought about Silvi. She’d probably gotten pregnant at one of those times she’d met him for planetleave. Those times, he’d be off base and off ship for only three days and two nights, and they could never keep their hands off each other. Being with Silvi hadn’t been like being with that girl, where he wasn’t sure of himself or sure of her. And he’d never felt as if he hurt Silvi.

  Of course, he’d killed her in the end.

  She died giving birth to his child.

  The child that shouldn’t have been conceived—wouldn’t have been, if he’d been more careful. The war was on, and the contraceptive implants weren’t being manufactured at the same rate anymore. Women couldn’t get them. Silvi had said, her fingers undoing his pants, breathless, “It’s okay, just pull out.”

  He meant to.

  And now this.

  That damned girl in there, who he’d practically ravaged, and she was probably pregnant too.

  He buried his head in his hands. What the hell was wrong with him?

  Well, he couldn’t let anything happen to Eve now. She was his responsibility. He’d failed Silvi, but he would make sure this girl was okay.

  Of course, hell, she probably didn’t even want to look at him anymore, because of what had happened between them. When he’d gone to her door, she’d been crying. He’d made love to her, and it made her cry.

  He didn’t sleep at all that night.

  * * *

  The next morning, he didn’t know how to act around her. He got up and showered, and then stopped in front of her door, hesitating. But he didn’t query. He went to the kitchen put together some kind of breakfast for both of them.