Chapter 3
What had he just said? Ember was lost. He hadn’t truly said that?
Humiliation, embarrassment, relief that she was alive, anger too – all those mixed up in her head and vied with a sort of recurrent blankness. She was supposed to be dead. Had given up. Had been wondering if when the Xatar broke in she’d be sensible enough to blow out her brains with Hoss’s gun, if he let her. Though Hoss was one of the most caring individuals she’d met, so likely he’d just go down trying to shoot the enemy.
Damn him.
Not that it’d come to that. She was alive.
What had she done?
You couldn’t fuck with your life more than dying so screwing the orc had seemed the only sensible thing left to do. The number of clubs she’d visited on days off, just to catch a glimpse of the big guys. Andurians, orcs. Her wet dreams had been all about them.
Go out with a bang.
Anger though, she felt livid anger, to the point of her head exploding, when she should be grateful for her savior.
He’d called her a slut. How dare he!
Princess slut. She supposed he had a point, since he had surprised her having sex with an orc.
What had she been thinking?
That they were going to die any second. That she may as well do what she’d been dreaming of since puberty hit. Excuses, she had a few. Except...no one would forgive her and she might lose her job over this.
Her forehead wrinkled.
He’d also said she was lucky he hadn’t killed her. Why? She didn’t know him. This cyborg was not reacting as he should to an employee of CESS, one of the biggest, most powerful corporations.
She glared at the cyborg and he glared back.
“Princess Slut? Really?” Her indignation had caught up and scythed through all the other emotions.
“Urrr.” Scowling, Hoss held up his palm. “You. Don’t call her that.”
“It wasn’t an insult. ’Less you want to deny where your cock was?”
“Wait!” she barked.
Was this why he wanted her dead? Sex with an orc? Was he a pure-species believer? If so, the Xatar would love him.
“It’s okay, Hoss.” She’d play this down the line, until she figured out Baz. “I will not feed you more arguments, captain. We were about to die. People do things when death is closing in.”
At the things, Hoss turned and looked to her. That look was almost sad. She down-quirked her mouth. What did he expect? It was a moment of weakness. He was an orc and would forget her in a few hours.
Sure he was in rut. She’d sort of known it, had banked on it in the heat of the moment. The rut was also why he’d forget her, an insignificant human. She wasn’t his kind.
She transferred her attention. The cyborg captain was steaming with anger. A muscle or two on his face spasmed in a tic. Even through the concealment of his red coat, she could tell his biceps were tense, bulging. Such a display of irate manhood. She wanted so badly to poke this guy, taunt him but after she was cleaned up. Difficult to be superior when you were filthy dirty with come.
She was still sprawled where Hoss had tossed her. Her ears rang and she’d hurt her lip. From the tang in her mouth, it was possibly bleeding. She should get up and ask for a shower.
“I guess I was hasty. I’ve run up against CESS before and it wasn’t pretty. You are just a girl...”
“Just a girl? Another insult? You’re good at this.”
“Look. A new introduction. My name is Baz Rutland, captain of the Floating Leaf.” More civil, yet his gaze drifted and zeroed between her open legs. A taut smile grew.
The crotch in her tights was split. Feeling a blush heat her face, Ember snapped shut her thighs, wriggled demurely into a sitting position, then stood.
“Please regard me as a senior representative of CESS. I am Ember Trinity.” A last name made up long ago. Sometimes she forgot it. “I swear I’ve never heard of you, Baz Rutland. I’ve personally done you no wrong and guarantee you will be amply rewarded for delivering me to a CESS ship or territory.” She yanked the skirt of her dress into place. If this ship hit zero G suddenly, not only would she be bouncing off the ceiling, she’d have every male in the ship staring between her legs. “I would like to be allowed to shower and would appreciate a change of clothes.”
“Would you now? I’ll give you some facts, free – you and your orc guard...”
Hoss lifted his head. “Hoss is the name.”
“Okay. Good. Hoss. We all have names now. Really good.” He nodded, his smile a little maniacal for her taste. “Ember? We have no clothes to give you. No women in my crew. We have no time for showers, even if I had the water. Soon we’ll be going zero G and entering a wormhole, leaving this system. That is, if the Xatar don’t shoot us down.”
“Oh.” It made sense. If there were intact CESS ships nearby, they’d have come for her. This system was not safe.
“Yes, very oh. We detected a few CESS ships earlier but they engaged the Xatar and seems as if they’re lost and are dust on the stellar winds, or suchlike. Our path so far avoids interception but if we zig and zag and you two aren’t secure, the walls will be red with your blood. You.” He nodded at Hoss. “Can fit the hyperspace cocoon I had for an Andurian. You, Ember, will have to use a one-size fits all cocoon.”
She blinked. “Fine.”
“One problem. The cocooning program glitched out on those.”
“Meaning?” She frowned.
“Well, firstly, my repair guy sucks, and secondly, all tubes have to be manually guided in.”
That was so wrong. To survive hyperspace you needed a standard cocoon or a crew-enabled one. Unless you liked being turned inside-out on the way through the hyperspace wormhole.
“So who does it then?” She knew. She knew the answer to this. He was looking smugger than a caterwauler about to pounce on a whole nest of xigs.
“Me. I’m the best qualified on board.”
A physician would be normal backup if a cocoon failed. She’d bet her non-existent underwear he hadn’t one on board.
Hoss joined the conversation. “That’s not allowed.”
Baz smiled. “Her call.”
She wasn’t having this asshole shoving anything up her just so she could...fucking survive hyperspace.
The silence grew.
Baz cocked his head. “Time is blipping past.”
And this asshole held all the cards. Too little time to ask anyone else if this was true.
“Fine,” she snapped. “But if I discover afterward that –”
“You won’t.”
His crew would probably swear he was made of chocolate if he prompted them.
Ember narrowed her eyes in a laser-like glare. This cyborg had no idea who he was fucking with. Revenge was her middle name. Well, it would be if she’d thought of it.
Ember Revenge Trinity did have a certain ring to it.
Though Trinity was her own label, Ember was not. Her parents had vanished into the aether of the galaxy when she was young. The only name she was certain of was Ember.
They might’ve been anything humanoid. It was rumored cross-breeds were possible in exceptional circumstances of conception.
Maybe she was a small part orc...it would explain her fetish for big cocks. If only.
I like big cocks and I cannot lie.
This captain Baz...she was sure he had a tiny one. Ember bit back a smile and almost giggled.
Baz walked closer, the floor vibrating beneath his weight, and Hoss rose to his full height – close to touching the ceiling with his head – as if he aimed to protect her from this cyborg who wanted to shove tubes into her.
“You’re certain about this?” He regarded her steadily before drawling, “I wouldn’t want to push you.”
Oh sure. As if the alternative of being made into a slurry of human parts was appetizing.
The air seemed to bristle with excitement and anticipation. He was thrilled at this. Something about CESS had him all in a lather, somewhere within that part-steel body. Did he wish to humiliate her?
Well, humiliation took two.
“I’m sure.” She straightened then added nonchalantly, “By the way, where are we going?” She expected him to answer with the name of a CESS territory.
“Planet Omm. To the cybermonks. Once there, once they see you, you can go where you like.”
Her mouth surely dropped open. She’d been trying to discover their location since forever. Data access was a big part of why she worked for CESS. The monks were legendary. Any history was within reach within their database it was said. She could find out who her parents were...had been. What species they were. Where and when she’d been born.
Everything.
Everything.
“You okay?” Baz dared to touch her chin.
Ember flinched and stepped back. “Of course! I just always wanted to see their library. I have a thing for databases.”
“Hmmm.”
That hmmm seemed ominous. What did he know? Were the monks secretive with data? She had a way in that no one else knew of, invisible to all except her..
The shadow of wings flapped slowly across the walls, circled. Ig was back.
Her little glass dragon, who wasn’t a dragon. Who no one but her could see.
She followed Baz through the ship, watching while he showed Hoss his cocoon, then trailing after him to a larger room stocked with five simple, white cocoons. They were crammed into a small space, lined up in a row. Cocoons that would adjust to most humanoid sizes.
“Five? I can see you don’t have many guests.”
“No, we don’t. And when we do, they pay well.” Baz swung around while slipping his leather-look coat from his shoulders. The low grind in his voice seemed new, threatening.
“You’ll get paid. As long as I’m unharmed.”
“Hmmm.” With the coat off, his cyborg status was fully confirmed. His gray-and-red body-hugging suit was short-sleeved and partly unzipped. Gods. Muscles.
His right arm was completely of artificial construction. When he shifted and tossed the jacket to the deck, metal fibers and joins shone, intersected, shunted, and spun. His cyborg muscle imitated the bulk and arrangement of humanoid anatomy. Between the V split of the zip, the landscape of his chest shone. Silver, pink, and red synthmuscle dipped into skin and merged – the join was ragged, but one side was cyborg, the other flesh.
“Aren’t you the catch.” She couldn’t help teasing, not after what he’d called her.
“Huh.” He leaned over the cocoon.
In the most rugged sense of the word he was probably handsome. Deep etch marks and ridges decorated the back of his head, showing starkly against his short, whisky-colored hair. Claw marks? A weapon blast? Fragments of the scars trailed down to his collar.
What did she expect? Perfect muscles and a square jaw? The man wore his past on his body. Something or someone had tried to kill him.
In a way, this intrigued her.
Baz applied himself to tapping on the display of the head console of one cocoon. It livened with various squares and circles of light and the transparent lid rose.
“Am I a catch?” He kept adjusting the console. “I can outrun any man or woman, pull him or her apart, leave him...or her, bleeding. Though becoming me wasn’t easy. Someone had to pull me apart first. Is that the answer you want?” At the last words, he lifted his head and looked at her.
Here was not the consideration for humanity she expected from a captain. She saw pain and anger, regret, amusement at her reaction...and a smidgen of civilization.
“Not really.” Throat tight, she wasn’t courageous enough to say more.
“Climb in.”
She waited for him to leave. “I can get in by myself.” The tube insertions could be done remotely.
He came nearer, bending as if to touch foreheads with her. She leaned back.
“I don’t trust you on my ship, Miss CESS agent. Strip. Unclothe. Get naked. Understand? Climb in. Then I leave.”
“The orc is more your enemy.”
“Him?” Baz chuckled. “No. He might attack someone if provoked, but no.”
Then he simply waited.
He couldn’t understand her. Not this well. It was true that given a moment alone she’d be trying to weasel into the ship’s system, but that was need. Pure need.
Okay, it was compulsion.
“You are a dick.”
“Thank you,” Baz replied tersely. Again with the tic on his cheek.
She’d gotten to him with that, somehow. Good to know.
Ember undressed, economically, with no wasted moves, placing everything in a waiting sealable cube, including the DSU. Then she sealed the cube with a thumbprint and climbed into the cocoon, ignoring him, pretending he wasn’t watching. He’d have seen a thousand naked women. This was nothing. She curled up on her side in the fetal position, with her knees tucked up. The foam gave beneath her weight and molded to her shape. She waited as the lid was lowered, refusing to stare at Baz Rutland, captain of a dick ship, mister dick of the ages...what was it about being called a dick that bothered him?
She needed to find out.
The first hiss of the sedative permeating across her skin made her eyelids drift. She barely noticed the man leave the room.
Soft but firm restraints slid over her at neck, waist, and ankles, locking her down.
Ig settled into the angle of her lap, folding his translucent wings, and chirruping. He was cold but he soon warmed from her body heat and she smiled. Wherever it was he’d gone to, he was back.
That he’d flown through the lid of the cocoon didn’t shock her. It was what Ig did, even when he was thumb-sized and she was a child. He’d been with her since forever, maybe since her parents left her.
The mouth tube headed for her face and she grimaced but opened to let it in, despite knowing he was steering it. A huff of anesthesia inside her throat heralded it surging deeper. There was a worse fate than her mouth being forced wide, wider, until her lips might split.
It would divide inside so that one tube went into her lungs as well as branched backward into her nose, while the other tube went to her stomach and beyond.
Breathing was impossible for a second. The sedative cradled her, rocked her, and she closed her eyes, settling into a new cadence.
Breathe...
If body cavities weren’t filled, protected, the body suffered microtraumas that slowly widened as the ship burrowed through the hyperspatial wormhole. Those rifts in tissue eventually tore. By the end, all that would often be left was a shredded, bloody mulch.
The alternative to this was a navigator or pilot cocoon. Those drained a sunload of energy from a ship but allowed movement and did away with the need for tube fucking.
Tube fuckers was the civ term for spacefarers who did more than system hop.
To go where nobody wanted to go, was another street saying.
Despite the haze of the sedative she resented what was coming, this almost perverted act.
Forget the invasion of her body. Forget.
Hyperspace was coming too, and she’d get to see the cybermonks. Like this was a hop-up-and-down squealing moment. A present of sorts. Tomorrow was her pretend birthday – the one she’d been given when she was two, because nobody knew her real one.
What if she could find out the true date?
The whimsy of that what if faded into nothingness as what she truly dreaded began – two tubes nestled into her ass area, pushing, prodding, trying to open her and worm inside.
Despite the straps, she resisted, wincing, squirming.