Dirty Girls

by Rodzil LaBraun

  "Cinn?" I asked. She turned to me with a smile. I got the impression that she was beginning to get used to my nickname for her. She even stepped closer to me. I teetered on whether to ask the question that I had in mind or use this rare opportunity to get romantically involved. Coffee and Honeysuckle had made a move on me? Why couldn't I also do so with Cinnamon? But the timing wasn’t right for that option.

  "What is in the forward hold that Sage doesn't want to talk about?"

  "Well," she replied, almost disappointed that my question was not of a personal nature. "I don't know that she refuses to talk about it. It is more that she doesn't want those containers moved. And for a good reason."

  "What good reason?" I asked. When she hesitated to reply, I queried again. "What is in the forward hold?"

  "Kash," she answered. "Some of our cargo is alive."

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN:

  A ten percent chance of falling to my death was still unacceptable in my mind, but most of the ship's crew was ecstatic by the cargo shifting adjustment. I was repeatedly thanked and congratulated by everyone, including Sage. It felt good, naturally. It was also a big step toward being accepted as a new member of their crew. But I just couldn't stop thinking about what kind of creatures could be living in the forward cargo hold.

  It wasn't like they had stowed away and needed to be trapped in there for our safety. They weren't going to dart out if we opened the door. Cinnamon explained to me that there were three different exotic animals, each confined to their own cage, which were the same size as the cargo cubes. It was a transport standard unit size for the industry. The crew had been feeding them twice a day from another cargo cube filled with an approved food source, also in the forward hold. Everyone aboard knew of their existence. So why all the secrecy?

  The Arketa Koreta did not have the required licenses and permits for carrying animals, I was then told. Only human passengers were permitted by their registration with the Interplanetary Merchant Association. They were not allowed to purchase or sell anything that was alive, either. A whole division of the Association was focused on that trade privilege to eliminate the enslaving of alien creatures that might classify as intelligent entities.

  Not only was buying, selling, and transporting of creatures illegal, there was an additional risk of carrying harmful bacteria and disease between planets. Such a mistake could wipe out an entire species. Though interstellar law was incredibly hard to enforce, extinction of a life form was looked down upon by nearly all. Violations of the live cargo law would get reported by almost anyone that learned of it.

  Allowing animals on board was therefore a big risk. Sage and the others didn't really know me. The way that I kept my story vague surely had them wondering if I was hiding something. I was, after all, keeping the fact that I was a convict a secret. But could they possibly think that I was some kind of inspector placed on this planet to earn their trust, then turn them in for illegal activity?

  No, that was a far-fetched paranoia. However, if I was with another company of their time, I might be so inclined to blow the whistle. Regardless of where I came from, if we got rescued it was a risk for me to know about the exotic animals aboard. The entire crew except for me would be considered criminals and locked away for a while if it was discovered.

  I laughed to myself at that thought. I guess we had something in common after all. Does that mean I should come clean regarding my past? No. Decidedly no. Revealing that now means that I lied before. Even if it were to be considered understandable, it would cast doubt on anything that I claim in the future. Worse yet, they might think that I was actually guilty of killing all of those people.

  Cinnamon was my closest friend among the crew. She was not as sexually assertive as either Honeysuckle or Coffee, but she was my crack in the armor if I was to think about it that way. I meant these people no harm. I just wanted to belong, make friends, have a purpose. Even contribute to their successes. Achieving that goal with strategic planning was not a crime.

  When my new best friend insisted that we return to the upper level after shifting the cargo, I didn't push her. But it was my intention to learn more about our live cargo, even get the opportunity to see them with my own eyes. There was a possibility that Cinnamon's claim was only half true. I had been just partially truthful with them. I was not so naive to think that I was the only one skilled at playing that game.

  Which half was true? Live? Probably yes. Animals? Maybe no. There could be people down there in the forward cargo hold. If so, I would hide that from everyone as well, if I were them. I would have to seriously reconsider my desire to be a part of this team if that turned out to be the case. Beggars can’t be choosers, but slave trading?

  I didn't know the details of how they crashed onto this planet. Their claim was that they were flying low to scan the surface. Interference in the upper atmosphere preventing do so from a safe distance. But what triggered their impact with the ground? Pilot error? Or, maybe they were being pursued. They may have been shot down. I would have no idea how to look for clues of that scenario. Burn marks on the hull?

  My mind ran wild as I laid in my bed. That was how I fought the boredom when I was in prison. A vivid imagination could keep a man from going insane, or lead indirectly to it, if you got too caught up in a fantasy world. It happened sometimes. There were documented cases. Altered perception caused prisoners to get paranoid and make ridiculous claims. I even heard of one guy trying to persuade his entire block that aliens had taken over the outside world. He even had some convincing arguments, for those that weren't in a position to know any better.

  I left my cabin door open as an invitation as I rested. Though I wanted Cinnamon's company the most, either Honeysuckle or Coffee would be a welcome surprise. Perhaps we could continue what we started with the parting embrace the last time that they visited. After a couple hours of dreaming up all kinds of conspiracies while wishing for female companionship, I nodded off to sleep. My door remained open all night.

  It was impossible to know what time of day that it was outside. Vanilla had warned me that my sleep cycle would get disrupted if I focused too much on this planet's daylight since a day here was nearly twenty-seven hours in length. Based on my body's rested condition, I assumed that it was early morning. However, I didn't wake up naturally. I heard a sound that had occurred only once before since I had arrived here.

  The triple chime indicated that someone had just entered the ship from outside.

  The question was, who? Did one of the crew exit the ship this morning and then return? When all three of the women that slept on the same side of the ship as me appeared in their doorways, I considered it a cause for alarm.

  "Help!" a voice cried weakly from the rear entrance to the craft. Vanilla, Coffee and Cinnamon all sprinted for the stairs. Sage and Honeysuckle joined them at the bottom to greet a dirty, exhausted, red haired woman. Strawberry.

  I stayed out of the way as they carried her up the steps and directly into the medical bay. Once situated on the examination bed I recognized the expression on her face. She was so worn out, holding on to consciousness by a string. Once inside a safe place, in the care of her ship's doctor, she let herself slide into the oblivion of much needed sleep.

  There were scratches and cuts on several parts of her body, enough to see clearly despite her scent-masking skin paste that resembled dirt. She looked to be the smallest member of their crew, petite in every regard except for her bubbled buttocks. Pale skin with freckles went naturally with her scarlet red hair, the exact same shade as her fingernails.

  With all attention on Strawberry's return, I crept away silently, considering it a gesture of respect for the injured woman. I opted for sitting alone in the galley instead of my room. The only thing I learned how to prepare in the futuristic kitchen so far was coffee. The preferred morning drink, not the sexy black girl on board. I liked mine sweet with a bit of cream. They had dozens of flavors available, none of them plain like the powder in the prison mess hal
l. I decided to try the Arcturus Amaretto. It was surprisingly good.

  Cinnamon was the first girl to join me at the table after collecting her own cup of java. Vanilla had eliminated much of the concern of Strawberry's condition explaining that none of her injuries were classified as critical. She did expect the new arrival to need medical attention and rest for a few days before returning to full form.

  The petite redhead had a rifle with her when she returned. I remembered hearing Sage refer to it when she exuded confidence in Strawberry's ability to survive a little longer on her own. I was trying to make a mental list of things that I would like to learn about the crew and the ship without raising any red flags. Questioning them about their weapons could create an issue, unless I tailored the conversation correctly.

  "So, we won't have to go venturing out to look for Strawberry after all," I said.

  "No, thank the stars," Cinnamon replied as she sipped at her hot beverage.

  "Are there any other reasons to go outside?"

  "Boredom," she replied. "Considering the dangerous world that we are stranded on, we shouldn't let that send us out, though. More water, definitely. We do have enough food to last us quite a while."

  "I don't mind going back out with you," I told her. "But it would be nice if you had a better weapon than just your cutter. I noticed that Sage had a pistol and Strawberry a rifle."

  "Yes, those are the last two guns that we have left," Cinnamon explained. "King and Koradd insisted on each of them having two weapons when they left the ship. Otherwise, we would still have three energy rifles and three bolt pistols. That was the full complement of our weapons locker when I came aboard."

  "Bolt pistol?" I asked. Why not shoot bullets? Or lasers, since this was the future?

  "Yeah, they shoot flat headed metal slugs with a spiral groove cut into the sides. I'm not sure how they work, but they are only for on a planet. We can't carry them when on a ship or a space station. The risk of the projectile causing a hull breach is a big no-no."

  "How do the energy rifles work?" I asked.

  "Again, not my department," she replied. At least she wasn't acting suspicious of my inquiry. "You pull the trigger and a ball of energy shoots out. There is some kind of thin membrane or force field around the sphere to keep it contained until it makes impact. I've heard of programmable energy weapons that only release their contents if they don't strike someone identified as friendly. I have no idea how that works. And we don't have any like that, so it doesn't really matter."

  I wanted to ask about the animals trapped in storage, but more of the women came into the galley to have breakfast. I listened carefully to their conversations and answered any questions directed at me. There was no mention of locking me in my room, so I tried to act like I was just one of the crew.

  I carefully watched the girls operate the food processors but didn't ask for instructions. I believed that I could figure it out when I had some time in the room alone. There was no need to point out how useless I currently was with their technology.

  When Sage informed us that we needed more food from downstairs, I happily offered to assist. Instead of Cinnamon joining me in the cargo hold, though, it was Coffee. Her temptress personality had me excited about the task, but I probably wouldn't get to learn any more about the life forms in the forward hold.

  "The food is packed into these long rectangles and sealed with foil," the sexy black girl explained. It was hard not to be distracted by the pulsing lines on her skin, especially her slender legs with the long taper from her high calves to her narrow ankles. I really liked the way she looked in those boots with heels.

  I noticed that she kept her top sealed up to a more presentable cleavage exposure when around the two more authoritative woman. With the smaller breasts there wasn't much cleavage per se, but the exposed skin was still tantalizing. Having touched one of those breasts recently myself contributed to the distraction.

  "We have twenty-seven different food products that have to be stocked in the processor," Coffee told me. "Most of these are meat, dairy, fruits and vegetables. The spices come in these narrow tubes instead. I can use my tablet to pull up an exact inventory of what is in the machine and how much space there is for more." She showed me the display. I leaned up against her as I watched. "I just press this button here, and it generates a report telling me what to pull from storage."

  After the list materialized, my slinky dark-skinned friend showed me how to find and gather the necessary ingredients. A collapsible cart held everything that we needed, but it was much too heavy and awkward to take up the stairs. The situation provided the first motivation for me to use the lift. It was roughly six feet square, the door as wide as the compartment, and could hold a single large cargo cube with just inches to spare.

  The galley was empty when we returned to stock the processor. Some of the crew were checking in on Strawberry in the medical bay. Others were resting in their rooms. The food loading process was extremely easy, though it was possible to accidentally put one edible product in the slot intended for another. The error might not be detected though until that package was opened by the automated food dispenser. Correcting the mistake at that point would be more difficult, and annoying, so I was instructed to make a concerted effort to avoid it.

  Squatting and bending over was required for the task, which gave me an opportunity to inspect Coffee's lovely booty and exposed narrow waist. I was caught looking repeatedly. Not the least bit offended, she laughed it off.

  I took a chance and touched the skin in the small of her back, tracing one of the pulsing circuit lines on the surface of her skin. She stopped abruptly when she felt the contact.

  "Is this okay?" I asked.

  "As long as that line doesn't lead to by butt crack it is," she replied looking back over her shoulder with a smile.

  "What if it leads to your breasts instead?"

  Coffee chuckled. "You liked grabbing my titty, didn't you? I wasn't sure if it would be a big deal," she said as she turned to sit on the floor, causing my hand to lose contact with her back. "All the other girls have nicer boobies than me."

  "I wouldn't call them nicer just because they are larger," I told her. "I think yours are exquisite just the way they are."

  "Have you groped the other girls yet?" she asked.

  "No, not yet."

  "So, you don't know for sure until you have fondled them all."

  "That may be true," I replied. "But right now, the only ones that I am interested in are these two right here in front me."

  Coffee flashed me a seductive smile just before pulling apart the fancy fabric connection, to expose both nipples. When she continued to hold them open, I reached with both of my hands, eager for the contact.

  I had touched many of breasts in the past. I was not a fourteen-year-old boy feeling up a classmate. I was able to control myself. Instead of pinching and squeezing I softly ran my fingers over the tiny mounds of chocolate flesh, brushing against the nipples with my thumbs. The smell of fresh brewed coffee came on strong then. She must not have been joking when she told me before that her scent increased when she got horny.

  I leaned forward longing to taste her nipples. She took it as a desire for a kiss instead, which worked just as well for me. Our mouths met with conserved passion, testing each other's desire while making occasional eye contact. Once we committed to a lengthy battle of tongue wrestling, I felt her tiny hand slide up my thigh. Her slender fingers slid right under the material of my cargo shorts. Quickly, she had my growing erection in her hand through the thin fabric of my boxer briefs.

  I gasped into her mouth as she tugged on my penis, groping her breasts more firmly. When she tilted her head back, I dropped my mouth to lick and suck on each tiny nipple. Her taste was stronger there and added to the intoxication. I moved my right hand down her belly to the front of her shorts. Would she let me touch her between the legs? She did not appear to be resisting, and her own hand was quite busy in my pants.

&nb
sp; "Excuse me!" I heard a firm voice from behind.

  I stopped all progress and turned toward the doorway. Coffee did the same, my dick still clenched in her soft hand. There stood Vanilla with the distinct look of disapproval. We slowly retracted ourselves from each other.

  "First of all," Vanilla said as she approached, her voice taking on a quieter and possibly more understanding tone. "This activity should be limited to your quarters. Secondly, I hope that you are not touching our food after diddling each other's privates. And finally, are we sure that this is a good idea?"

  "I'm sorry, Vanilla," I apologized to the doctor.

  "Why would it be a bad idea?" Coffee asked.

  "There are six women on this ship," the doctor told us. "We have our differences but tend to get along regardless. A sexual relationship with a stranger aboard our ship would surely cause more than just ripples across the dynamic of our crew."