Swapship Troopers

by Walker Long

  “And this!” Hardaway ran his rough fingers through Quantrill’s silky, blonde hair. “How did you ever get long hair in one afternoon?”

  “They’re extensions,” Quantrill shrugged. “I sat under this hair gluing robot all afternoon.”

  “Well, your afternoon was more productive than mine.”

  “What did you do?” Quantrill asked. “You said you had a meeting with Major de Coverly.”

  “Yeah,” Hardaway grumbled. He rolled onto his back and scowled up at the ceiling. “The Major wanted to tell me he’s moving to intelligence.”

  “Damn,” Quantrill breathed. That must be why Hardaway seemed in such a pissy mood. “Who’s going to be the new company commander? Not that asshole Wakefield I hope.”

  “No,” Hardaway said with a weary sigh. “He is recommending me for the position.”

  “That’s awesome!” Quantrill exclaimed. “That would be a huge promotion for you! What an opportunity!”

  “I told him I didn’t want it.”

  “Why the hell did you say that?” Quantrill blurted. He was looking forward to maybe, someday earning Sergeant’s stripes. That would be a big deal for a dead-end ghetto kid. Turning down a promotion like that was incomprehensible.

  “That job is not for me,” Hardaway insisted.

  “Bullshit! Don’t sell yourself short!” Quantrill urged angrily. “You would be fucking outstanding.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Hardaway turned to him with a pleased smile. “I’m not selling myself short. I’m just already doing the job I want to do. I belong with the platoon. And with you.”

  “Awww,” Quantrill cooed. He leaned in and kissed Hardaway and then cuddled into the crook of his muscular arm.

  “This is nice,” Hardaway said softly.

  “It is,” Quantrill agreed. “It’s awkward, though.”

  “Do you need a pillow?”

  “No! I mean this place. It’s weird being here,” Quantrill explained. “Like, last week we were in the middle of an all-out war. Now we’re in Montego Bay where – where people’s biggest worry is ‘Does my hair look good?’ It’s fucked up.”

  “I know what you mean,” Hardaway agreed. “The war doesn’t touch places like this. Not anymore.”

  “Exactly! Every day in the Corps they tell us we’re fighting for the survival of the human race,” Quantrill groused. “But these fuckers don’t seem real worried about survival.”

  “Hey,” Hardaway soothed. He cupped Quantrill’s little, round face in one big, warm hand. “We do help a lot of people. Some planets don’t have three Fleet battle cruisers in orbit to scare Bugs away. Those are the people who need us.”

  “That’s something, I guess. I’d rather buy a farm protecting people than go down over a fucking iridium mine or a battery factory.”

  “You’re not going to buy a farm,” Hardaway assured him.

  “I don’t know,” Quantrill said. He felt a sudden wave of emotion wash over him. Feelings he had stuffed down deep and tried to ignore for months bubbled to the surface. He was afraid – he didn’t want to die – he didn’t want to leave his mother with no one to look after her – it was all so horribly unfair! Why did this have to happen to him?

  He tried to push the torrent of feelings aside, but he was powerless in the face of it. In the past he could detach himself from these kinds of emotions; let them wash over him like water. But now the sorrow and the fury penetrated all the way through him. He was soaked in it. No, it was more than that – the emotions were a part of him. He was made of feelings.

  “Ever since I was drafted,” Quantrill explained in an unsteady voice. He could feel a single tear slide down his cheek. “I had this feeling. This feeling that I was never going home again.” He finished with a quiet sob.

  “Q,” Hardaway said softly. “Q, listen to me.” He put one finger under Quantrill’s chin to lift his face then wiped away his tear with a calloused hand. “I will never – never – let anything happen to you. Do you believe me?”

  “I believe you,” Quantrill said with a reluctant smile. And she truly did believe it. Of course, she knew people died in war. That was a fact and not even Lieutenant Bale Hardaway could change it. But she also trusted Hardaway’s word more than anything else in the universe. And that was enough. She closed her eyes and snuggled closer to the big Marine. She was safe there. She was protected.

  She was a happy girl.

  Chapter 18

  Rhona

  The next day, Quantrill and Hardaway ate a leisurely room service breakfast in the sitting room of their suite and then went down to the pool. They spent most of the morning relaxing on lounge chairs, drinking mimosas, and basking in the warm sun. New Caledonia’s star didn’t have the blazing heat of Earth’s sun, but since Montego Bay was down near the planet’s equator the sunbathing wasn’t bad at all.

  Quantrill had been worried she would stand out in her microscopic bikini like a whore in church, but it turned out it was a popular style. Some women wore even more revealing bathing suits, which she hadn’t even known was possible. Although, she noted with some satisfaction, none of the other women around the pool could come close to matching her assets.

  “Have you seen that waitress?” Hardaway asked.

  “Not in a while,” Quantrill looked up from the book she was reading and glanced up and down the pool deck.

  “I’m going to get a drink,” he announced and stood up. “Can I get you another one, babe?”

  Quantrill’s heart did a double take. He called her babe! She absolutely loved the sound of that. They were like a real couple! It was so sweet. “Yes, dear,” she answered with a silly smile.

  Hardaway leaned over and kissed her. Then he strode across the deck like a man on a mission, effortlessly clearing a path across the crowded pool area. Hardaway wasn’t the tallest or the most muscular man at the pool – there were plenty of bloated gym junkies preening like peacocks – but even the bulkiest guy on the deck hopped out of the way when the Lieutenant needed room. He had power that went beyond muscle and sweat. Quantrill felt heat building inside her that had nothing to do with the hot sun. “I am so lucky,” she sighed.

  She happened to glance over to a quiet corner of the patio and saw a skinny, young girl who looked about sixteen. Her swimsuit was such a bright, neon pink that it practically glowed, but it was her pained expression that caught Quantrill’s attention. A tall, overweight man with over-tanned skin the color of a Thanksgiving turkey had cornered her behind a gigantic potted fern. She seemed to be trying to slip away but he wedged his bulk between her and freedom. As Quantrill watched, the man put his hand down the front of the girl’s bikini bottoms.

  “Mother fucker,” Quantrill growled under her breath. She leapt up off her lounge chair and rushed toward them. She approached the man from behind, grabbed his free hand by the middle finger, and twisted it behind his back.

  “Arrggh,” he grunted in pain.

  “You keep your hands off her, mother fucker,” she ordered.

  “Wha—? Huh? Who are you?” he sputtered.

  “I’m your worst nightmare, asshole,” she hissed. “A woman with hand-to-hand combat training.”

  “Do you know who I am?”

  “You’re a dirty old bastard who’s going to cool off,” she told him. Quantrill levered him toward the swimming pool. There were several counter-moves he could have used in that situation, but the fat asshole apparently didn’t know any of them. Instead he tried to brute-force his hand loose, which would have worked if he had been willing to dislocate his finger. He wasn’t, so it didn’t work.

  “Listen,” he pleaded when he saw the edge of the pool approaching fast. “She liked it. She wanted it!”

  Quantrill glanced over at the girl who was cowering down behind the plant and sobbing quietly. “Those aren’t tears of joy, shithead,” she said and put her whole body into launching the much heavier man into the pool.

  He sank like a stone and came back up
sputtering and thrashing. He said something that might have been “You’ll hear from my lawyer!” and grabbed onto the side of the pool to pull himself out. With one quick hop, Quantrill stomped on his fingers with the heel of her bare foot. He howled and dropped under water a second time.

  He tried a second time to climb out of the water, but as soon as he saw Quantrill lift her foot he dropped back into the water. After that he gave up and dog-paddled toward the other end of the pool. Satisfied that she had made her point, Quantrill left the poolside and went to check on the girl.

  “Are you okay?” she asked in a soft voice. Sometimes soft voices are an advantage.

  The girl looked up with a vacant expression and Quantrill helped her to her feet. In the meantime a small crowd had gathered around to see what the commotion was all about. The girl saw the watching faces and shrank away. She crossed her arms and tried to hide her bare skin. Quantrill imagined her putting on the tiny bikini that morning – looking in the mirror and feeling good about how she looked. Now she was embarrassed and ashamed of her body. Quantrill wished she had done more to that fat predator than throw him in the pool.

  “Make a path!” a deep, throaty voice called out of the crowd. “I say, make a path. That’s my granddaughter!” A stout, elderly man with a round, frog-like face elbowed his way through the crowd. In his wake an equally stout older woman followed along.

  “You!” he bellowed at Quantrill. “That was a respected businessman and one of my closest associates you tossed about, you … you … wild harpy. And here now, you’ve frightened my granddaughter.”

  Quantrill glared back and clenched her fists. If he wanted to stick up for that fake-tanned groper, he was going to end up going for a swim, too. She was about to let him have it, but the girl spoke first. “No, Grandpa,” she said softly. “This lady saved me.”

  “Saved?” the old man blared. “Here? What possible need could you have…”

  “That will do, Gerald,” the older woman interrupted with a gentle hand on the old man’s arm. She stepped around the blustering geezer and put a protective arm around the girl in the pink bikini. “Thank you for your help,” she said to Quantrill with a knowing look. “I am grateful for your … intervention.”

  “My pleasure,” Quantrill replied.

  “What?” the old man continued to fume. “What in blazes?”

  “We girls understand,” the old woman said with a nod.

  We girls? Did Quantrill really belong in that category? Sure on the outside she was all woman but on the inside … she … she! With a jolt, Quantrill recognized that she had been thinking of herself as a woman for some time. Not as a man in a woman’s body – but as a real and actual woman all the way through. Did the female genes finally catch up with her? Or was there something more – something beyond just having the right body parts?

  She wasn’t sure, but she couldn’t deny the feeling. It felt natural – like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle finally falling into place. “Yes, we girls have to stick together,” she agreed.

  “What is going on?” the old man demanded.

  “I’ll explain later, Gerald,” the woman said calmly. She gave one last nod to Quantrill and turned to lead her granddaughter away.

  “I can’t take you anywhere,” a voice remarked from over Quantrill’s shoulder. She turned and saw Lieutenant Hardaway wearing a wry half-smile and holding two long stemmed glasses.

  She took one glass and sipped the cold, orange liquid. Hardaway was so incredible! Being around soft, lazy, predatory civilian men made that all the more apparent. He was strong – he absolutely exuded power. But he was also gentle and caring. He made her glad to be a woman.

  “What’s that smile about?” Hardaway asked.

  “I’m a woman,” Quantrill replied.

  “I noticed,” Hardaway agreed dryly.

  “No, I mean…” Quantrill giggled. How could she explain it? It barely made sense to her. It was a feeling – vague and indistinct. She didn’t have the words. “Take me up to the room and I’ll show you,” she suggested with a wink.

  “Excellent idea,” Hardaway agreed eagerly. He set their drinks down on a nearby table and took Quantrill by the hand to lead her inside the hotel to the elevators.

  Once the glass doors slid shut and they were alone – at least, as alone as one could be inside a glass tube ascending hundreds of feet in the air – Hardaway grabbed Quantrill and pulled her to him. They kissed urgently and Quantrill could feel her body responding. She wanted Hardaway more than she could ever remember wanting anything. But more than wanting the pleasure he would bring her –she craved his pleasure. She longed to show him the change he created inside of her.

  Quantrill broke away from their kiss and dropped to her knees. She slipped her small fingers into the waist of Hardaway’s swim trunks and pulled. “You don’t have to…” he began to protest.

  “Shhh,” she admonished him. “I want to.”

  His long, hard manhood sprang free. She wasted no time taking him in her hand and guiding him into her mouth. Hardaway moaned softly and leaned back against the clear wall. She could see the busy resort town stretched out below them as the glass elevator ascended into the tower.

  At the same time she slowly pushed Hardaway’s erection into her mouth. She lapped at the ridge of his mushroom head with her tongue and savored the sensation of his cock growing steadily harder and filling more and more of her mouth. She pulled away, sucking in gently to collapse the insides of her cheeks against the sides of his thick member.

  “God that is so good,” he moaned.

  “Glad you like it,” she replied with a grin before diving back onto his dick. She rocked her head back and forth along the length of him. She lathered him in her saliva so her plump lips glided over his hardness with little resistance. She drove the hard cock into her hot mouth again and again.

  She looked up and saw the globe at the top of the tower approach. This damn elevator ride seemed so much longer the last time! Time flies when you’re having fun. He oozed salty precum onto her tongue, but he hadn’t reached his peak – not yet. She needed something more.

  Quantrill felt a cool, clammy feeling on her chest and glanced down. Her saliva had run down her chin and into her cleavage. The tight channel between her bulging globes was slick with her spit. That gave her an idea.

  She flipped her tiny bikini top up and over her pendulous breasts. Then she rose up into a crouch and positioned her chest on Hardaway’s cock. His thick member fit perfectly between her tits. She held her chest with both hands to squeeze the Lieutenant tight and bounced up and down.

  “Oh fuck!” he cried out. His cock head popped into view and then disappeared into her cleavage again and again. Quantrill’s rock hard nipples ground against the firm muscle of Hardaway’s midsection, making her dizzy with lust. The shadow of the tower globe darkened the elevator and Quantrill redoubled her efforts.

  “God I’m going to cum!” Hardaway cried out. He grabbed Quantrill’s shoulders in a vice-like grip and pressed his body against hers. He pumped himself up and down between her breasts two more times and then she felt his hot, sticky seed splatter against her chin and neck. He let out a huge breath and collapsed against the glass wall.

  At that moment, the elevator arrived at their floor with a quiet ding. Quantrill jumped to her feet and flipped her bikini top back in place in one swift motion. Hardaway managed to pull up his shorts and tuck his softening cock inside just as the door swept open. A middle-aged couple was waiting for the elevator.

  “Lovely day,” Hardaway remarked casually, if a little breathlessly. He walked out of the elevator and Quantrill followed, hoping the cum oozing down her chest at least slightly blended in with her pale complexion. That would be awkward to explain – but she didn’t regret going down in the elevator. Not in the least. It was indescribably hot. She was still worked up.

  “That was close!” Hardaway chuckled when the elevator closed behind them. “It was amazing. But way too close
.”

  “Well you could have cum a little quicker, mister,” Quantrill said with a smirk.

  “Now don’t blame me,” he replied. “I thought when you said you wanted to go back to the room that you actually wanted to get to the room.”

  “You can still take me in the room,” she told him with a seductive smile. And he did.

  ***

  That night Quantrill and Hardaway were sleeping soundly, sprawled naked on the big bed in their hotel suite. Quantrill woke suddenly to the sound of someone banging on their door and yelling angrily. They were under attack!

  She was awake instantly and somersaulted out of bed, landing in a crouch on the floor. Hardaway pulled a pistol out from under his pillow, checked the safety, and crept slowly toward the door. He had a gun! Where did he get that? She never even knew it was there.

  Where was she going to get a weapon? She grabbed a grey t-shirt that the Lieutenant had tossed on the floor that morning and pulled it on. It draped over her body like a curtain and hung down to her thighs, but it was better than being naked. Then she grabbed the cheese knife from their room service tray and followed Hardaway. The knife was only about 15 centimeters long but it was pretty sharp. It was also literally the only serviceable weapon in the room. She dearly wished for her AR316 at that moment.

  Hardaway glided silently toward the door with his pistol out in front. Quantrill followed right behind with a white knuckled grip on her cheese knife. The banging continued – violent enough that she could see the door rattle in its frame. What the fuck was going on? Was it the sunburnt jackass from the pool? She could handle him – even with no more than a cheese knife. Or could it be a Formid attack? Had the Bugs found a way through the blockade? They were in deep shit if that was the case.

  Hardaway put the finger tips of his free hand against the door and slowly moved to look through the peephole. “Just some drunk,” Hardaway said with a shake of his head. “Can’t find the right room.”

  “I guess it’s no big deal then.”