Gears of Troy: A Scifi Fantasy Harem

by Daniel Pierce

  17

  I sponged myself off and climbed back down to Earth—or wherever I was—and took some deep breaths. There was nothing to be stressed about. We had plenty of water. There was already enough for a few days before I set out to refill anyway, so we would be fine. There was definitely enough to hold us over for the next twelve hours.

  “Your turn, Helen,” I said, walking through the galley.

  She glanced before I went into the back room to check on Cressida, and in passing, we touched each on the shoulder, unbidden. It was an accord of sorts, and it was welcome.

  Cressida was asleep in my bed. I gently put a hand on her forehead, worried she might get sick from everything that happened. She felt fine—nice and cool. Half the crackers were gone. Her glass had been refilled, so it looked like Helen had done something for her. I was happy with her for that.

  I went up to check the readings, surprised to find how fast we had been traveling before we reached the Cyclops’s island. If we had to, I could step on the gas and really speed things up, but it would be best to wait for an emergency. It was unlikely that I would be able to fill the tank again.

  Helen joined me before long and read the dash. Her cinnamon scent drifted my way, carrying with it hints of metal. It had not registered before, but since I’d smelled the same scent so recently back in the cave, my mind must have become more attuned to it.

  When I thought of Helen, I accepted that there was a major robotic element to her, but when we spoke, it was as if I was talking to another person. The idea that she was anything but a person was just that to me. An idea. I never treated her differently than I would any other person who had my respect. But here was that smell, reminding me that she was not a person, not completely. I thought of her strange slow-blink, her tic, and the port in the back of her neck—all evidence reminding me of the fact.

  “We need to change our headings, Troy.”

  “Which way?” I asked, gesturing to the wheel.

  She took it in her hands, and began to turn, smiling as she did. “This way to Ilium.”

  The waves passed below us as we stood in silence at the wheel, looking out over the horizon. I wondered what she was thinking about as the scent of her filled my senses. I thought of possibilities. She smiled. I knew she thought of them too.

  18

  I left Helen at the wheel when night fell, more as an exercise of trust than anything. I was hoping little gestures like that would help her feel more human even faster.

  “I’m going to check on her, see if she will eat some more. I’ll bring something up for you in a bit, too,” I said.

  “Peanut butter?” she asked, hopefully.

  “Done,” I said. Her answering smile was luminous, and suddenly, I wished for a barrel of peanut butter.

  Cressida was sitting up on the bed in the back room when I came in, the blanket pooled around her waist.

  “Hey, I thought you could try and eat a little more, maybe not make yourself sick this time.” I tore open the MRE in my hand and gave it to her.

  She took it and peeked inside. “What is this?”

  “That’s a Meal Ready-To-Eat, an MRE. It’s a favorite food of warriors where I come from. Which is far away. Eh, not everyone likes them, but I think they’re pretty good. They’re healthy, too—got everything you need to stay strong—but take your time if you feel like trying it. I’ll refill your water.” I took her cup and headed to the kitchen.

  When I returned, she was already digging in. The meal was another beef stew, just like I had given Helen.

  “So, what do you think about it?”

  She looked up at me, a small streak of gravy on her face. She had dug right in, not using a fork or anything, just like Helen. I thought maybe utensils might not have been invented yet. I was pretty sure I learned back in school that some cultures considered it an insult to not eat with your hands. She held a clump of the stuff in one of hers and said, “It is delicious. I have never eaten anything like this.”

  We were going to get along. Something in my gut told me so.

  “Here, drink some water. And remember, go slow.”

  I watched her sip from the cup and take a few more bites. She showed no signs of wanting to gag.

  “That’s probably enough for now,” I said, reaching over to take it from her. She did not protest. I looked inside to see the main course was almost finished anyway. Maybe she was eating a little too fast.

  I turned to toss it away, saying, “I’ll get you some more later. If you don’t mind, I have some questions I would like to—uh . . .” My eyes almost jumped from my skull when I turned back around. In no time at all, she had gotten up and was standing behind me—completely naked. A slight grin formed at the corners of her mouth.

  “F . . . uh, what are you doing, Cressida?” I suddenly had a hard time thinking since all the blood in my brain was rushing down between my legs.

  She stood in a ray of moonlight shining from the tiny window overhead. Her body was radiant. The beam from above shone on her fair skin like a spotlight, making her features impossible to ignore. On her neck were two small freckles I hadn’t noticed before, forming a loose line with a slightly larger one below the collarbones that coerced my drooling stare down to her perky breasts. They slowly pushed outward and drew back again as she breathed, beckoning me forward like the crashing of waves on a summer morning. Images of our chests rubbing against one another danced around in my mind’s eye.

  She moved closer; her hips swaying from side to side drew me in with their hypnotic rhythm.

  “I wish to thank you again for saving me, Troy.” She was so close I could feel her breath on me. Crystalline eyes looked up into mine, her jaw hung slightly open, and I could see a few of her upper teeth peeking out at me from behind succulent lips.

  “Wait, are you sure—” I was interrupted by a finger on my mouth.

  She leaned in, pressing her breasts against me, and, without breaking eye contact, whispered, “I give myself to you now, to show that I will follow you.” Her other hand was on my chest. “I am a daughter of Ilium, and you will be our hero.”

  My shirt was on the floor before I had time to protest. I didn’t know if she removed it or if it was my carnal instinct, but Responsible, Clear-Minded Troy was no longer in charge of the situation.

  Over the course of a year completely without intimacy, I had worried it would be difficult to get back into the swing of things, but that was a nonissue. Although I had not known a woman in that way in all that time, Cressida’s beauty jolted the animal in me into high gear.

  I stepped out of my pants. Her hand was on me, stroking back and forth. I felt her touch on the back of my neck, pulling me closer. She leaned in and planted a wet kiss on me, sucking my lower lip before pulling away.

  I smirked, feeling the beef stew on my face, and reached for a cloth on the counter behind me to wipe it off of both of us. She giggled and licked her lips as I pulled my hand away, tossing the rag to the side.

  She stroked me harder, and I ran a hand down her hip, circling the dimple at her buttocks with my fingers. She closed her eyes and kissed me again, her tongue tickling mine.

  I reached behind her and grasped a cheek in each hand. She wrapped her arms around my neck as I lifted her up. Her legs locked around my waist, and I held her still for a moment, my slow, expectant breaths washing down like a waterfall.

  Cressida watched me, a small creature, eager for what was to come but at the same time her face showing hints of nervousness. Be gentle, it whispered.

  I lowered her and crept my way inside. Her eyelids flashed, the embrace of her arms and legs tightening around me. In . . . Out . . . Up . . . Down . . . As I found a rhythm, her grip relaxed, and her breaths became heavier. Neither of us dared to look away for the longest time.

  I held her closer, supporting her with one arm and moving my other up her back to cradle her head. I breathed in her flowing chocolate hair and caught scents of the ocean.

  “Like ridi
ng a bike,” I murmured, keeping my thrusts at their slow and steady pace.

  She gasped as she slid down and tried to speak. “What is a . . . bike?” The word came out slowly, cautiously.

  “Just . . .”—Thrust—“ . . .something you ride on.” Thrust. “Here, I can show you.”

  I tossed her on the bed and whirled her around, cheeks in the air.

  “Oh, I believe I am familiar with this demonstration,” she enthused.

  I plunged inside, her head back, shoulder blades squeezed together. I rode her firmly, using my pelvis to push while at the same time pulling her to me at the waist with an iron grip. She yelped several times as I explored deeper.

  “Is it too much?”

  “No, harder. Do it harder.” She rocked back and forth on her hands and knees, and I followed her wish.

  I leaned in and wrapped an arm around her waist, placing my free hand down next to hers, occasionally reaching up to squeeze her breasts while they jiggled all around. The feeling of her plump, silken skin between my fingers was heaven. I kept thrusting.

  She turned her head to look at me, her eyes glassy like she was on the verge of crying, pleading, “More, Troy. Please, ride me like a bike.”

  I tore into her like a battering ram at the gates of Troy. She buried her face in the sheets, yelping louder. “More, more!” she shouted and reached back to touch my legs.

  I interlaced my fingers with hers and let loose my most powerful lunge yet. She bolted upright, face to the ceiling, her hands rigid in mine. I took her trembling as a green light to keep plowing. Her plump lower half rippled each time I came ashore.

  “Yes!” she screamed, the trembling growing in intensity with each push. “Yes!”

  She began to push back in sync with me and let go of my hands, reaching behind her and pressing on the back of my head. I grabbed a breast in each hand and dug my face into the base of her neck, taking in sharp breaths while I licked her.

  Soon after her wetness spilled over me, I let loose as well, hugging her close. We both collapsed onto the mattress, our energy drained. Holy shit.

  She snuggled up to my side, resting her face on my chest and wrapping an arm around my waist. “Thank you, Troy. You are the warrior my people and I have been looking for.”

  19

  I watched her fall asleep in my bed as Responsible Troy re-entered the room. Damn it. I covered her with a blanket and put my cloths back on before going into the other room.

  My ass greeted the couch with a loud plop, and guilt rushed in to drown out any positive notions I had about what just happened. It was never a good idea to have sex with a woman who was recently victimized. She was in a vulnerable position, and I should not have responded to her advances. There was no doubt her emotions were running wild, and the fire of Helen’s rage, which Cressida admitted to noticing, could only have made things worse for her. She may have just needed to know someone was on her side.

  The sex was amazing—unlike anything I’d had in a long time—but I should have put my foot down. She did not need to show her thanks to me in that way. If we took some time, got to know each other, and she still felt that way down the line, then I would definitely oblige, no hesitation. But this way . . . this way reeked. There was nothing honorable or passionate about it.

  I hung my head, scrubbing my hands over my face. “Ugh, you guys.” I held my prosthetics out, palms open. “You guys.” They were the only ones I had been intimate with for a while. Before that, it was my actual hands. During that time, I let the will of Troy Jr. grow too strong. He was doing so much of my thinking these days. I needed to tuck him in, zip up, and take back control. Lack of a love life was no excuse for my behavior. I was an adult and should never have abused my position of power.

  I thought maybe some fresh air would clear my head.

  Helen was standing at the top of the steps as I came up. “Oh, hey,” was all I could think to say. I had completely forgotten about her while I was below. The thought that she could have walked in on us made everything ten times worse.

  Her arms were crossed. “You said that you would bring me food. You did not,” she said through pursed lips. She had to have known.

  “You . . . saw?”

  “Why do you do that with her and not me? Is it because I am not human? Hmm?”

  I did not want to deal with any more of that, so instead of saying anything, I walked past her to look out over the railing. She was not ready to drop it yet.

  “Was I not clear enough on the island before we were interrupted by the Cyclops?” She was already at my side again, leaning over the rails into my periphery.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I was prepared to have sex with you then, Troy Weston.”

  “Well, yeah, I gathered that much, but . . . I mean, we’d just met, and you were”—

  “I was what? Choose your words carefully, Troy. I am a woman, and not a thing. Not anymore.”

  “That’s just it. I didn’t know, and I don’t think you did either. Did you?” I asked.

  “Know what? That I had human feelings? Of course I knew. And I have them for you.”

  “We both agree that free choice it important. I wanted your choice to be just that. Yours.”

  She huffed, then turned back to me, and I saw frustrated acceptance in here eyes. My logic was solid. So was my erection.

  She grabbed my hand.

  “Hey—” My protest was only verbal. I allowed her to move my arm where she wanted.

  She stuck it inside one of the leg openings of her tunic and guided it to her vagina. The tips of my fingers only just slid inside. It was already a little moist. Well fuck me, I thought, and also, you certainly feel one hundred percent human.

  After a moment, she took the same hand and moved it up to the back of her neck. I felt her metallic port for the second time, the only physical sign that argued against her humanity. She was looking at her feet while I felt her. We stood quietly, listening to the gentle crash of waves and the breeze. I could hardly hear her tic then.

  “I do not make myself available to every man.” The tension in her voice was present but fading. “I am not that Helen. I may talk as if I am, but it is complicated, truly. You have felt me now, Troy. You now know two of my most private pieces—one of which has not been known by any other man—not in the way I wish for you to know it.”

  I didn’t say anything, but I did look at her then. She took a few deep breaths before continuing. “I wish to be with you that way. When I am near you, I feel more human, and despite my origins, I believe we would fit well.”

  She looked back up, and our gazes met. I breathed and listened to the waves, and to her.

  Her only noise was breathing.

  20

  My hand still felt her port. I had no idea what to say. Being a guy, I’d had a tendency to overestimate feminine interest in me in the past. Through the years, I learned to proceed with a little more caution and usually just took things as they came. Plenty of women were interested in me back home, so there was no need to go chasing the ones that weren’t, no matter how badly I wanted it. That kind of behavior could get degrading fast.

  I wanted Helen. Bad. Well, I at least wanted her body. But I assumed my desire was clouding my judgement. Even though she was practically on top of me back on the island, I told myself I knew her game. This was Helen of Troy. The Face That Launched A Thousand Ships. I had heard about some of her exploits. She didn’t just run away with some new boy toy to Troy in the heat of passion and that was it. No, no, no. That was her life. Any time things went South, she would jump ship and swim for the biggest, nicest boat she could find. It was not hard to believe that was my situation. She had literally been in the water floating on the wreckage of a ship when I came along and extended an organo-metal hand. Her options were limited, and my vessel was big and shiny.

  But still, she seemed so sincere in the moment. It was hard to not trust her in person. What she said was true, that I was not looking into the
eyes of the real Helen of Troy. Perhaps this new version of her was different. Hell, the entire world was different. Why not her?

  It never crossed my mind that she was attracted to me on an emotional level. Yet, there she was, standing before me, not confirming any suspicions I held, but bringing to life my fantasies. I was caught off guard. When I happened across the thought, as I did on occasion, it was hard to gauge if I was interacting with the programmed behavior of a sophisticated machine or that of a living, breathing woman. I kept returning to it over the days we had known each other, chewing one idea for a while and spitting it out for the other, only to come back to the old one later and gnaw at it some more. She could be a human. She could be a robot. Perhaps the intricacies of her conscious mind were more complicated than either of the two. Although, a new thought occurred to me then.

  It was possible she was a full robot and was lying to me, knowingly or otherwise. Maybe it was some scheme to humanize her in the eyes of the people she met. Maybe she was programmed to lie her way into anyone’s heart. I had not considered before that her actions might be malicious. I did not want to think it then, but I couldn’t help what came to mind, and now that I had thought of it, I couldn’t dismiss the possibility.

  Ugh. So, those were the potential scenarios as I saw them: she was becoming human and had genuine affection towards me; she was becoming human and was still a man-eater like the old Helen; she was a robot and did not realize it, her emotions nothing more than crafty artificial intelligence; or she was a robot built for some nefarious purpose that would possibly lead to my sudden and unexpected death. Maybe she housed a blender in her lower lips, there was no telling, though as a red-blooded male, even that wasn’t a deal breaker.

  My head swam with all the possibilities. Rationally, I knew only time would tell and that I had to go with current. There was no use fighting in the moment, so I silenced the noise as best I could and proceeded as if she were nothing more than any other jealous pretty young thing that had caught me having sex with someone else minutes earlier.