by Eve Langlais
She spent the first few minutes tidying their room. Recycling garments. Spreading the blanket on the bed. Pacing. Lying on the bed.
How much longer? A glance at the time showed they’d barely just arrived.
Sigh.
Michi meant to behave and do as Damon asked. Defying his orders wouldn’t bring them closer, and he was right. There was still a possible danger to her. Not many would yet know of her marriage.
Yet, all her good intentions went out the door when the communicator in the room chimed with a message for Michonne from the planet. A message she couldn’t ignore.
Chapter 9
“Nice place,” Damon murmured to the captain as they disembarked from the ship.
Unlike previous versions of the pleasure resort, La’zuun was truly a paradise. Long gone were the days when the vice lords ran their operation on a barren asteroid. Only the most long-lived remembered the Maestro A’Diabbloh who ran his operation with decadence and mind control until the day a Rhomanii prince destroyed it.
Nowadays Madame Papyon played hostess to those who visited the vice planet. She even greeted them personally, the four breasts of her voluptuous upper body hugged by the finest silks. Her serpentine tresses, a bright shade of green, were lively and snapped at any that came too close. The hem of her gown undulated as her sinuous lower body moved along the smooth polished floors of the arrival building. The spaceport was gigantic—white stone and glass and technology. It had to be high tech to handle all the various ships that came to play.
“Kobrah, darling,” Madame Papyon gushed. “It’s been agessss.” She rolled her S’s, the hiss of them flicking off her forked tongue while her two slitted yellow eyes regarded the captain with avarice.
“You are looking as delicious as ever,” the captain remarked, taking her hand and kissing the top of it. A modification she’d had done, given her kind lacked true appendages.
An artificial pinkness flushed her gray/green skin. “Such a flirt. To what do I owe this pleasssure?”
“Can’t a man stop in to see a friend? I was passing by and thought we could share a drink.”
“What a sssplendid idea.”
Could anyone else read the falseness in their conversation? Damon knew for a fact the captain didn’t like or trust Madame Papyon at all. Just like he knew they’d gone out of their way to come here. What game did his captain play?
Whatever it was, Captain Jameson shot a look back at Damon and said, “Make sure the crates I ordered are delivered. Then take a few minutes for yourself. Check out the market. See if something catches your eye for the new wife.”
In other words, make himself scarce and keep an eye open. What did Jameson think he’d find? The man held his secrets close to his chest. Always had. But Damon knew enough to realize they were here for a reason. Was that reason the twelve crates delivered to the Moth? Sealed tight and without any kind of shipping label, anything could have been inside. Although, judging by the fact Crank stirred himself from engineering to oversee their delivery, he’d bet it had something to do with the ship’s engines and power cells.
“Is this going to fix our secondary power source?” he asked as Crank spent a moment by each crate staring at them.
“Yep.”
“Why didn’t the captain tell us we were stopping to grab supplies for you?” Why the big mystery?
“This isn’t the reason why we stopped. Simply a bonus,” Crank noted. “Now if we’re done wasting time yapping, I’ve got work to do.” The implication being unlike some.
“Have fun unpacking. I’m going to check on the crew.”
While overseeing the delivery, Damon had made sure the crewmembers chosen by lottery to disembark were reminded not to miss their departure time. The captain had been adamant on that point, which meant they’d probably be leaving hot.
The last group had departed, leaving the vessel with a skeleton crew of about fifty. A ship their size could carry several hundred. A small mobile town with people serving all kinds of roles because flying the Moth was only part of it.
With his task complete, he had two choices, wander the planet, perhaps pick up some intelligence or goods.
Or…
He eyed the ship with its glossy gray exterior. Inside was his wife. A wife who waited on him.
A wife he’d much rather see than a raucous marketplace.
However, the captain had more or less given an order that he remain available and alert. And then there was the memory of the lieutenant who thought he could flirt with Michonne. That made him realize he did need to do something to advertise the fact she wasn’t available.
His tongue ran over the emblem on the inside of his lip. Each time he thought of his wife, he felt a spurt of warmth. A thrill.
Was it the mark making him experience those sensations or something else? Perhaps the fact he didn’t mind being married to her?
Would she want her own symbol of their binding? Something she could rub and remind herself of him.
She’d not scoffed when he mentioned a ring, and the marketplace was the right place to shop for one. He’d be solving several problems at once.
With one last look at the Moth, Damon took long strides and managed to make it onto a tram just leaving for the city core. He slung his body into a seat and made himself comfortable as the doors swished shut.
A slight lurch and they were off. The tram rode an invisible track in the sky and provided visitors with a rapid yet beautiful ride to the city. While they travelled ridiculously fast, the holowindows made it appear as if they took a leisurely ride and portrayed stunning vistas lush with orange grass, the gray boles of the trees smooth and perfectly round, the pillow-top tips of them a fluffy white cloud. Wild animals danced among the fronds. Water splashed over scenic waterfalls.
Very relaxing, especially since everyone had their own seat, a plush armchair type that cradled the body no matter the shape. It molded to them for a comfortable ride.
When the tram arrived, a melodious chime rang, and chattering excitedly, the entities on board disembarked. Humans, bipedals that closely resembled them, and other aliens that shared nothing in common with water-based creatures. The universe had a lot of chitinous sorts as well as tentacled.
Emerging from the tram, Damon looked around to get his bearings. While he had been to La’zuun before, each time the vista changed. To keep things fresh and exciting, the downtown marketplace was constantly moving as old sections were demolished and rebuilt. The ultimate tourist destination knew how to maintain a rotation so that guests were never put out.
The majority of those he rode with on the tram split left and right. Gambling one way. Sex and violence the other. He and a few others chose straight ahead, the marketplace being their destination.
It amused him to see the current rendition resembled an ancient bazaar on Earth, the kind held in the sandy cities of Egypt. The buildings were made to appear constructed of ancient stone while the fronts sported bright awnings and, under them, wooden tables spread with wares.
Food vendors worked from rickety carts, spewing mouthwatering smells as they basted meat over coal fires. Fake, of course. No one used real pollution-creating methods of combustion anymore.
The entire thing looked utterly authentic, and for all he knew, some of it was, painstakingly bought and shipped and rebuilt on this alien planet. But for all it seemed real, he knew it was but a façade. La’zuun was a giant stage to give the customer the full experience.
But like any other amusement park, he could enjoy it. He wasn’t alone in finding pleasure in the ancient bazaar setting. As he strolled, he noted some of the crew amongst the crowd browsing the wares. Even waved to a few. Everywhere he looked he saw smiles, a pleasure planet doing its job and pleasing its guests.
The sound of chatter filled the air and yet couldn’t be understood. The vocal dampeners ensured privacy in public, allowing people to converse.
Crowded around the first few vendors were those looking to eat. He was
tempted to join them. The scent of that meat, skewered with some kind of vegetable, was redolent with spice. His mouth watered. He looked away and noticed pastries, fluffy and stuffed with incredible things.
On his way back, he’d purchase some. Nothing beat real and fresh food. Throat parched meant he didn’t resist a drink. He snared a refreshing beverage made from real crushed fruit as opposed to the replicated kind. No alcohol. He was on duty.
One last thing did distract him and cause him to put out too many credits, but how could he resist the bag of oranges? Authentic ones from Earth that cost a fortune but were delicious.
Damon had a runner—a paid La’zuun employee in purple and gold livery—take it back to the ship. A free service. The planet did its best to ensure people would shop unencumbered. An empty-handed guest was more likely to buy more.
Farther into the market, the crowd thinned as the more luxurious items prevailed. Rare fabrics such as the gossamer threads from the At’lantius arachnids, which, when woven, could stop even a direct burst of plasma fire. Extremely rare and valuable since the spidery race only allowed a controlled amount in the market at any one time.
There were premade fashions, the latest in galactic wear, plus tailors on site should an outfit need adjusting. Did you happen to be a pure descended human with only two breasts? They could modify that dress or remove the slack in the groin for the men who possessed only one penis rather than two.
Artifacts abounded, from strange silvery shards that appeared to be broken parts of something larger to items he recognized from Earth. Old Earth. Like a two-wheeled contraption called a bike. And an ugly doll in a flimsy paper box with a plastic shield called a Cabbage Patch Kid—worth a planetary fortune.
Other things were truly alien such as the single black spike that hummed and the thing in a cage that was not a bird or lizard—but something in between—and had an impressive array of teeth it showed when it sang.
Amongst these goods Damon found the jewelers. The display of valuables more sedate than the others. Here they tended to showcase a few items, truly allowing their beauty to shine. The pendant necklace with the swirling orb, a pocket universe that could act as a purse. The matching collars with the filigree that would penetrate the skin and truly bond a couple. A little too much for him.
A golden butt plug with a ruby tip. Again, not his style. Nor were the pincer clamps for nipples and other sensitive parts. The cock ring got a second look, but that was for his and her pleasure, not for showing off.
He finally had to ask. “Do you have other types of rings?”
The vendor, a shrunken fellow, the folds of his red skin hanging, looked him in the face and lower. “Looking for a smaller size?”
The implication didn’t have the ability to embarrass. Not anymore. As the vendor belonged to a race called the Gonnfl, it meant his cock—actually his entire body—could inflate to splendid sizes. The males and females puffing up and bouncing off each other as part of their mating ritual.
“As a matter of fact, I need a much smaller size.” Before the shopkeeper could give him a look of pity, Damon held up his hand. “Something to fit a finger. A woman’s finger. Something fancy. With a good-sized stone.”
“One moment.” The shopkeeper disappeared into his store and eventually returned with a large box. Larger than expected.
Damon frowned. Especially once he opened it. “That thing is bigger than her head.” The giant red stone had smaller stones attached to it to act as buoys to ensure the rock could be lifted. But it was technically a ring. A peek under showed the little loop for the finger.
“That’s not quite what I was hoping for. Do you have something smaller? More vintage. I want an engagement ring, not…” He waved his hand. “That.”
The vendor’s eyes—all over his visage—widened. “You seek a mating relic from Earth. It is your lucky day, sir. We have one of those. Just came in.”
It proved to be exactly what Damon had imagined, and the price reflected it.
“I will not promise you my first born,” Damon snapped.
“What about promising the first female of your line to be engaged with a male member of mine?” The Gonnfl rubbed his hands, and parts of him began to inflate with excitement.
“Let’s keep this transaction to credits or non-living goods only.”
It took much haggling before Damon finally got the ring price to a place where he didn’t feel as if his ass needed a kiss better. His savings, though? They took a big hit.
He’d no sooner sent the ring off to the ship than he heard a commotion.
Damon emerged from the store to see guards, their uniforms a stark black against all the color, invading the marketplace, checking inside every store, stopping anyone with a head covering and making them show themselves.
When the soldiers neared him, he asked, “Who are you looking for?”
“None of your business,” was the grunted reply by the rather porcine fellow, his short tusks blunted at the tips. And to think their ancestors used to pride themselves on the length and sharpness. Then again, once upon a time, humans had five toes. The fifth one being utterly useless and only rarely appearing in babies nowadays.
The soldier moved on, and Damon kept watch long enough to realize they probably wouldn’t find what they sought here. Whoever it was, was obviously worth a pretty penny because Madame Papyon didn’t usually let anything mar the pleasure experience.
About to head back to the Moth, Damon noticed the soldiers stop someone in a blue-hooded robe. Which in and of itself wasn’t unusual. It was the person wearing it that had him cursing.
“What the fuck is she doing here?”
And where did those soldiers think they were taking his wife?
Damon didn’t even think twice; he began following them. The question of why Michonne had disobeyed and left the ship was something he’d deal with later.
Taking a side street, the soldiers marched Michonne away from the city center. Away from everything public.
He did his best to stay close behind, wondering how he’d extricate her. Because there was no way they were keeping his wife, and this didn’t even have anything to do with the mark in his mouth.
This was about them taking Michonne from him. Of laying hands—er, hooves—on her.
A husband had a few lines. At least from what he’d gleaned during his life. Don’t cheat. Don’t gamble. And don’t let anyone do anything to your wife. It was a matter of pride.
He should also add that, in this day and age, the rules also applied for women. She was expected to be ready and willing to come to his aid. A marriage was an equal partnership. And this was where all the equal rights laws could get tricky. Some would say, let her save herself, she was strong and capable.
However, anyone who’d ever fought a battle knew that sometimes you could use a helping hand. Not to mention he couldn’t exactly give Michonne shit—and maybe a sensual spanking—for leaving the Moth if she wasn’t on the ship.
The soldiers led her through a maze of alleys linking the public places to the pleasure zones. Behind the scenes where the tourists couldn’t see.
Oddly enough, no one questioned his right to be there. Not yet, but Damon knew cameras watched him, hoping he’d do something epic—and possibly stupid—that they could sell to the galactic entertainment stations.
Actors just never managed the same emotion and reality of those caught on a candid camera. The oddest individuals could become stars.
The guards took his wife through a matte gray door, the dull metal not even reflecting light. He stood outside for a moment. Looked up. Could almost hear his captain say, “Do you have to do it?”
And since he could emphatically reply, “Yeah, I do,” he pulled open the door and entered. Went through a kitchen prep area where gray-faced beings glanced in his direction but didn’t say a thing. He meant to take his time and not rush in. Then Michonne screamed, and he kicked in the door to the next room!
Chapter 10
“How did you find me?” she gasped. She’d not even known where to go when she’d left the ship. Good thing those soldiers she found in the market place offered to guide her.
“Get behind me. I’ll figure a way out of here.” Damon still had his fists clenched, ready to fight. Because he’d yet to realize she wasn’t in danger. Currently. That could change rather quickly.
She laughed. “Lunilla, I’d like you to meet my husband. First Mate Damon Faulkner. Damon, this is my sister Lunilla.” A sister who looked nothing at all like Michi with her platinum locks piled in intricate loops atop her head, her very voluptuous figure, and electric blue eyes, a modification she claimed made her see in the dark.
“Sister?” he repeated, his hands falling to his sides.
“Yes, sister. She’s the reason I left the ship. She somehow found out I was on board and sent me a message that she was here.” Actually, the note bragged about the fact that Lunilla had birthed her latest child, another son to inherit, and as a reward, her husband had brought her to La’zuun for a pampering vacation. But it was the postscript that sent her hustling to see Lunilla.
“He’s your husband?” Lunilla murmured. “So this is the man Father is going to hate.” Her sister’s gaze tracked Damon head to toe. “He’s attractive. Pity he isn’t at least a captain.”
“He could be,” Michi staunchly defended.
“It might not be too late. Mutiny now and have him take control. Also, be sure to get pregnant and maybe, just maybe, you can convince Father not to kill him. Unless you’d rather be rid of him. Say the word.”
“Luni!” Michi gasped, her shock loud. “He’s my husband.”
“Only because he saved you before that Kanishqui lord could claim you. Pity. I hear he owns two planets.”