Tonight’s pile of dust had been named Erik, and she’d met him at a club on Queen St. W. near Ossington. It was a hip area with young, seemingly beautiful people.
Savannah called them the S and M crowd, or “stand and models”, which she had overheard Nigel say once.
Erik was a definite stand and model. Were these the 50s, he would have been driving the muscle car to the songs of Grease as he combed gel through his hair.
Ninety seconds was what Savannah had timed his orgasm at. It was a reminder as to why she preferred older, more experienced humans. All gave the same sensation on feeding, but experience meant Savannah got to enjoy the sensual side of it more, herself. They might even bring her to orgasm.
She knew better than to bother with a young pretty face, but tonight she was just hungry.
Thus, Erik was now past tense.
A smile spread across her lips as she sensed a Monty Python joke in there somewhere. The tune of “Eric the Half a Bee” began to sing in her mind.
The pile of dust ignored it.
“You humans are funny.”
Humor was something both Emmi and Kettelgians enjoyed, but not to the level of humans. The British style of self-deprecating humor, Savannah found, doubly so. In her time on the planet, she had burned through all the Monty Python material she could get her hands on. She had followed that by turning to the work of George Carlin and found strong affection for his old standup routines.
He’s dead; she thought, of course, there aren’t new ones. Her eyes returned to what had been Eric again. “Soon you all will be,” she whispered.
XV
Darwin’s Sword
March 17, 2018
The speakers on the bridge were louder than Savannah and Gerald’s room. Peter Gabriel’s “Secret World” swept in like a light breeze through wheat.
Zed didn’t understand the words of this song. Secrets were well understood. It was a song Zed often played, enjoying the tone of Gabriel’s voice.
Memory flooded back of the conversation with Savannah when she called for the shuttle to come to Earth. It had been years since Zed had heard from her and after sitting in wait for that length of time, it took little motivation to spring into action.
“Zed, we have a problem.”
A push of the blue button ignited the warming pattern of the thrusters. “A problem? Is eviction not possible?”
“They are space faring,” Savannah’s voice crackled over the bridge speakers.
Zed’s white blob form turned a tinge of red. “We cannot evict a space-faring race,” Zed said, repeating protocol as though reading it straight from the manual. “This is a directive.”
“Fuck it, Zed, I know! This is why we have to stop Graven!”
“Fuck it?”
“A human euphemism.”
“Ah, yes.” This turn of events explained some things for Zed while completely confusing others. The stories of sex, deceit, and mistrust had many thoughts flowing trying to find causation for this mess. Graven was to be the future Kettelgian leader and was well respected considering he was born Emmi. Savannah was one of the strongest warriors and would be on Graven’s arm.
This, of course, was assuming Graven decided to keep the human arms that he had taken on for this mission.
What was with her name change, anyway?
Zed turned green with thought.
Was her given Kettelgian name, Shava not worthy of Earth people? Why did she take this human name? Zed was convinced that the name change was meant to confuse the logical thoughts usually experienced during such missions.
If so, it had done the job well.
Arriving at Earth, Zed had been greeted by further surprise with the addition of the human passenger, Gerald. This, also, was not part of mission etiquette.
Gerald offered a further experience that Zed had not anticipated. The human was a storyteller and, what Gerald called, a writer. The Kettelgian equivalent of writers documented facts only and did offer no opinion nor editorial, never mind creating fictitious situations and lands.
Lies, on Kettelgian, were crimes punishable by death. It was fascinating listening to the stories concocted by Gerald, all the while knowing they were complete lies meant only for entertainment.
Of course, on Kettelgian it was only a crime if one was caught. It was also difficult to prove if there were actual lies or simply misconceptions.
A sensor beeped.
Zed stretched out and pressed a few buttons to confirm the assessment. A double check concurred with the initial beep.
The bridge lights of Darwin’s Sword went red.
If Zed had lungs, they would have sighed.
XVI
“Shava…I’m sorry. Savannah, I have Graven’s ship on scanners.”
Savannah’s eyes popped open. Her dark hair was fanned beneath her on Gerald’s chest. She moved his arm from her shoulder and gently climbed off the bed.
With what Gerald had been through, he needed his rest. Even his telling some of his stories had brought tears to both of their eyes.
After a month in space, he did have the rudimentary idea of flying the shuttle down. However, he would not be much assistance in the battle she anticipated was coming.
Gerald snored as his eyes moved around inside closed eyelids.
Whether it was dream or memory, Savannah saw hints of a smile on his face that she wished could remain.
She was uncertain that he had fully grasped the situation yet. He was still an Earthling that, until not long ago, knew nothing of the galaxy beyond Earth’s bubble. Between that and the shock of losing both of his legs, she was positive his psyche was on a trip wire.
His libido had been strong between sleeping periods during this trip.
She wondered if the sex was his way of escaping the reality of where he was.
He was, after all, the fiction writer. Perhaps he had suspended belief of what was going on for now.
Good or bad, she didn’t know. She was surprised that she felt something about this, likely what humans called worry.
The vessel groaned beneath her feet.
Chapter Three
Welcome to My Bubble
I
Darwin’s Sword
February 21, 2018, five days after leaving Earth
“This button,” Zed said tapping a tentacle on top of it, “is thrusters.”
Gerald nodded. “Thrusters are important.”
“Well, yes, assuming one actually wants to go anywhere. They are not important if one wants to stay put.”
Gerald looked forward at the view screen.
“Am I boring you?”
“Not at all, Zed.” He looked back and grinned. “I often wrote stories of space. To think I’m up here is still hard to fathom.”
“Up is an interesting choice of word. When one lives on a globe, what exactly is up?”
“Good point.” Smile growing, Gerald went to slap Zed on the shoulder. He quickly adjusted with the realization there was no shoulder to slap.
“Gerald, might I make a request?”
His blue eyes returned to the starscape. “Of course.”
“Shava tells me you are a story writer.”
“Shava?”
“Oh, forgive me, Savannah. Shava was her Emmi name.”
“Interesting.” Gerald paused and looked back at Savannah.
She sat at a console behind them. A grin and a shrug were all she could muster.
“Yeah, I did some writing.”
“And I understand you wrote fiction?” Zed turned a banana shade of yellow.
Gerald nodded. “Yes, had a couple of small publications.”
Zed paused and stayed in the banana spectrum of colours, switching to unripe green.
“Why do you ask?”
“Would you tell me a story?”
Gerald laughed and looked back at Savannah again. “Did your mother not tell you a story?”
“Emmi have no mother.”
Gerald grunted. “
You can read them from the computer database, all my stuff is there.”
“Yes, but I am flying the ship at the moment.”
“And I’d like to hear you tell it,” Savannah said.
“Oh, right. Okay, did you have anything in particular in mind?” Gerald picked up one of the computer pads.
“What did you think was your best?”
Gerald considered the question for a moment before typing instructions on the pad. “I wrote a series of stories that I called ‘Welcome to My Bubble’. They were starting to sell just before the end.” His eyes widened and reddened. He cleared his throat and looked back at the stars.
Zed smacked a button on the console. “That will do nicely.”
It took a moment longer before Gerald could speak. “Okay, the first short story is called ‘Old Flames’. It was set in November of 2016.”
“That is two years ago on the Earth calendar, correct?”
“Yes, Zed, that’s correct. It takes place in an old theatre…”
II
Old Flames
November 10, 2013
“This place is perfect.” Maria twirled on the stage arena with her black skirt spreading just high enough to show her thighs.
“It does have some history.” Bill walked along the apron with his black shoes clicking. Right hand shaded dark brown eyes so he could look out over the seats. “Place needs some work, though.” His left hand dusted non-existent dust off the shoulder of the black three-piece suit.
Maria nodded. “Three hundred and seven seats.” She pulled her brunette braid over her shoulder and began to pet it.
“Yes, ma’am.” He grinned at her. “Probably need to replace most of those seats before we can open.”
Her blue eyes searched around the visible offstage area. “I could kiss you.”
“Now, now, that wouldn’t be professional. We work together now.”
“I know, but…” her voice trailed off as she caught sight of them.
“You okay?”
“Oh yes, just seeing ghosts.”
He laughed. “Plenty of those around here. I’ll get the contract and be right back.”
Maria nodded and continued to watch the ghosts that Bill thought were only a figure of speech.
They were between the third and forth wing on stage right, and they were busy. They were also naked.
Well, mostly naked as the freckled redheaded female was seated on what seemed to be an old electric amplifier wearing nothing but a bunched up skirt around her waist. The bald male was older, on his knees, and his face was buried between the redhead’s legs.
Maria took a slow step towards them. Having researched the theatre extensively, she recognized the couple.
Alistair Michaels and Audrey Book had worked together on a show called “The Novice Writer”…
May 3, 1887
Alistair stepped on the stage and raised his right hand to shield his eyes so he could look out at the now empty seats. “Brilliant,” he whispered. “Absolutely brilliant.”
“I hope you’re not being sarcastic.” An unlit cigarette dangled from Audrey’s right hand. A navy blue skirt hung to her ankles with a white blouse on top.
“Street clothes already? I knew you were the master of the quick change on stage, but this is impressive.”
“You could be quicker with your matches.”
He pulled his cigarette from a beat up pack before finding his matches. Stepping closer, he lit his own before offering the flame to the end of the cigarette that was now between her lips as well. “The place wasn’t full,” he said from one side of his mouth, “but I think we got their attention.”
Reaching down, her left hand grabbed his groin. “Alistair, do I have your attention?”
He groaned. “I’m the director here, girl,” he protested playfully. His mischievous eyes showed this game would not last long.
Turning, she led him off to the wing tugging the newly formed erection through his black pants. “Yes, and your leading lady needs service.”
There were no further protests as Audrey seated herself on a small table in the wing and lifted her skirt.
Alistair divested himself of every stitch of clothing and dropped clothes into a heap beside the table. He took one last drag on his cigarette before stubbing it out on the corner of the table. Then, lowering to his knees, he became her slave with his tongue delving between her legs in search of that elusive orgasm. He was as skilled with his tongue as he was with his eye for the stage and soon had Audrey squirming as she struggled to take off her clothes.
His chin, soaked with her juices, continued to delve deeper as she began to let out her orgasm vocally…almost a ribbit sound coming from her mouth as his fingers and tongue worked in tandem.
Her vocals became an outright wail as she squirted right into the middle of Alistair’s forehead.
“Good girl,” he said standing. With a smile, and a strong looking erection, he grasped her hips and pulled her closer to the edge of the table. One hand spread her open and guided the tip of her erection inside…
November 10, 2013
“Do we have an accord?” Bill asked as he stepped back on the stage behind Maria.
“Fuck, yes we do.” Her eyes remained fastened on the ghosts. She was jealous of young Audrey enjoying that massive erection that was now pounding into her.
“I’m sorry?”
Maria turned back to Bill. “Sorry. Where do I sign?”
Seeing the old amplifier in the third wing, Bill continued past her with the intent to use it as a table.
Following, Maria hid disappointment as the ghosts vanished with his approach. Then again, fun as it was to watch, it would be difficult to concentrate on her signature knowing she was signing on top of them. “This place is mine, then?”
He laid out papers on the amplifier. “Sign here, here and here. Then initial these three boxes.”
She took his pen and stroked her name where he pointed.
“General rule of thumb, and you know this, so long as the place makes money.”
“I knew I liked you, Bill. You always do nice things for me.”
“I like getting my agent’s cut, what can I say?”
She picked up the papers, tapped them on the amplifier until even, and handed them back. With a quick flourished turn, she walked back out under the stage lights.
Bill followed.
Again, she spun at centre stage but stopped to face Bill. “Seems I have some work to do.
Past him, she saw Alistair and Audrey once again. Having stopped, they were now in a post-coital cuddle, and each looked directly at her.
“You’ll do fine. Just fine,” Bill said as he folded the sheets.
Alistair winked at Maria. Audrey laughed and gave a slight wave.
“I know I will, Bill. It’s going to be fucking awesome.”
Bill blinked hard and looked over. “Excuse me?”
May 5, 1887
Printed in morning edition of The Herald
A fire at the Waldorf Garden Theatre, last evening, took two lives. The Novice Writer, a critically acclaimed play was only in its second performance. Actress Audrey Book and Director Alistair Michaels both died in the fire. In the opening number of the second act, Ms. Book’s costume ignited. Mr. Michaels rushed on stage to attempt to douse the flames. It is believed a cigarette butt on the floor backstage caused the fire.
III
Darwin’s Sword
February 21, 2018
“I’m speechless!” Zed yelled without realizing saying such was proof against it.
“Wow,” Savannah spoke up behind them. “That was quite a story.”
“I’ve read of ghosts,” Zed interrupted. “With so much time on my own, I did much reading on Earth’s quirks and errors.”
Gerald laughed. “Errors?”
“Could you tell another?”
Gerald turned back to Savannah and saw she wanted more as well. “Okay, the next part of the same set is called �
��One…Two…Three O’Clock’ and set in the same theatre.”
If Zed had hands, they would have clapped with glee.
IV
One…Two…Three O’Clock
November 16, 2013
Maria tugged at her white tank top. A glance down at her blue jeans revealed a number of paint splotches mostly around the knees. For almost a week she had worked with paint and wood in the initial stages of reopening the Waldorf Garden Theatre. Her tiny five-foot-nothing body had been into the most sensual of nooks and crannies that the WGT had. Sweat gave her braided brunette hair a greasy look that lay heavily limp on her tattooed shoulders. It was a look that would gain her entrance to any goth club in the city without hesitation.
Professionally, she had begun as a barmaid. With her stature, many expected that to be her career choice. Her theatre passion kept her dreaming. All through the school years, she had dreamed of being on stage. Her inability to act, dance, and sing kept her off the stages she dreamed of. Thus, she knew her only route was through the backstage door.
Walking out to centre stage, something she had done many times a day since taking over management of the old theatre, she looked out at the empty area where once there had been seats.
There would be seats again, but the old ones had been all removed and replacements yet to arrive.
As was also her habit, she gave a quick spin. Slamming her foot down on the stage and raising her eyes and arms towards the rafters, she imagined the crowd cheering. Lowering her eyes, again, the couple beneath the exit sign caught her eye. Arms lowered, and she stepped to the apron for a better look. This time, afraid to disturb them, she sat cross-legged on the apron.
The couple was busy. The male had greased back black hair that matched shade and shine with his black leather jacket. Blue jeans were rolled up at the bottom showing white socks and black shoes. He stood with his back to the stage and the blonde woman mashed between him and the back wall.
Darwin's Sword: Savannah - Book Two Page 5
