by H. E. Trent
“I think she would have liked you touching her instead.”
Murk scoffed and picked up Trig’s hand.
“What?”
Murk dropped his hand and picked up the tablet. He wrote, “You smell of her. You’re driving me crazy.”
“Imagine how I feel.”
Trig had gotten but one taste of her, and hadn’t even had permission to have that one. It was such an intimate thing and something one of their women wouldn’t have allowed, but he hadn’t been able to resist taking a sample. He slipped his fingers between his lips and moaned around them.
“You must hurt.”
Trig closed his eyes as Murk brushed his hand over his cock. “Go ahead. Doesn’t hurt.”
After a moment’s pause, Murk increased his grip on him and began a slow, but purposeful, pumping of his cock.
Trig licked around his fingers until there was nothing left to taste and laced them through Murk’s loose hair. If he and Courtney were ever intimate, he’d let his hair down for her to see. Hopefully, she’d appreciate the specialness as much as Trig did.
“I don’t know if I did enough for her, Murk. She seemed angry when she left.”
Murk’s squeezes slowed for a moment before he took up the pace again. He added a little spit to his palm and looped the fingers of his other hand around Trig’s sac.
Trig hissed. “Gods. You have to fix things, Murk. I don’t know what I did wrong. I’d always thought you’d be there the first time to tell me what to do. Maybe I hurt her.”
He looped his fist around Murk’s hair and put his head back to brace himself for the pain of release.
His loins tightened and balls quaked as liquid heat flowed through him, but as he bucked off the bed, there was no stabbing pain. No debilitating burning.
Just pleasure.
She’d done that—pushed back the tide. Gave him time.
“Gods, Murk.”
Murk gave Trig’s slick cock a few more finishing tugs, and let it fall against Trig’s belly.
Trig sighed. He’d need to get up and clean himself, but for the moment, he just wanted to enjoy the sensation of melting into the bed and having no cares in the world except for his cock.
Murk wrote, “Let us hope she returns home willing to endure our company. Then we will see if we can serve her.”
“She might be late. I overheard her on her com. She’s going out with that woman again. Amy.”
“It is good that Courtney has people she can call friends in public.”
“Maybe. I don’t trust that woman.”
“Why not?”
Trig shrugged. He didn’t know. Jealousy? Fear?
Both, maybe. He didn’t like admitting his envy because doing so would mean confessing that he’d fallen for her just as Murk had, and Trig was still trying to exhibit some reserve. His will was gradually wearing away, with each easy smile of hers and with every heated gaze she gave Murk.
They would be so beautiful together.
When she returned, he could make sure she understood what he’d been trying to tell her. She’d endured his touch and he thought she’d been enjoying his attention, but then she left without saying goodbye. And early. She’d said she didn’t need to be at work so soon.
He rubbed his eyes with the meat of his palms and let out a breath. “I’ll try harder, Murk. I promise.”
Murk needed Courtney in his arms for the night, and Trig would do whatever was necessary to get her there.
___
Court pulled her legs up beneath her on the bench and looked out at the river in front of them. She and Amy shared a bag of sugared confections from the bakery between them and enjoyed a pleasurable silence as they chewed.
She’d needed the decompression time after the shitty day she’d endured. Between having her brain scrambled by her Jekhans at home, Festus berating her for not being productive enough when she hadn’t yet been assigned a job, and some unsettling revelations about her grandfather she’d discovered while poking around in the police databases, she’d been ready to blow her top.
Her grandpa Owen had a 100 GB record, three-quarters of which was encrypted. The quarter she was able to access hinted that there’d been a watch on him even before there was official contact from the Jekhans. That didn’t make sense to her. According to her grandmother, he’d never even been arrested before the Jekh trouble.
She’d need to open a secure channel and call her grandmother and ask some questions before she did any more snooping. The last thing Court needed when she was being so closely monitored was to be on a wild goose chase.
For the sake of her careening blood pressure, she fixed her attention on something else. “What’s on the other side of the river?” she asked Amy.
The river had to be a kilometer wide, and she couldn’t make out exactly what she was looking at on the other bank. The coast was too dark. Apparently, the other side of the river wasn’t populated.
“I understand there used to be a resort there. Closed now, of course. The buildings are probably in shambles. I’m sure some speculator will come along eventually and renovate the place for profit or else raze it completely to use the land. I bet Marquise already owns it. Seems like someplace they’d snap up.”
“There’s no bridge. How do people usually cross the river?”
“There used to be a bridge. Uh…at least, that’s what I heard.” Amy cringed. “Um. I heard that it was blown up during the tussle.”
Court pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. “Tussle may be putting things far too mildly, Amy.”
“I was trying to be diplomatic.”
“No need to be with me. You can speak plainly. I’m usually pretty good at working out bias.”
“Cop thing?”
“Nah. McGarry thing. We’re innately cynical.”
“Well, that’s not necessarily bad.” Court opened her eyes in time to see Amy’s crinkled at the corners as she grinned. She leaned into Court and said in a conspiratorial, low voice, “Excuse the abrupt change in subject, but when we were in Spilled Milk and you were ogling the pretties in the display case, Headron asked if you’d be amenable to a little chat.”
“A chat about what? What would the baker possibly want to talk to me about?” Court had looked him right in the eyes and he hadn’t said anything but his usual pleasant salutations.
“Oh, you know. The usual. The weather. Your hobbies. Favorite color. Things like that.”
“Why?”
“If I had to venture a guess, I’d say…you know. Because he wants to bone you.”
“Shut up.” Court swatted Amy’s arm and crumbled the food bag into a wad.
“I’m serious. There’s nothing wrong with a little casual boning between two consenting adults. Rumor is he’s very good at it.”
“I bet. You always have to be careful about the quiet ones, right?” Court had been reminded of that before breakfast. Trigrian had been plenty unpredictable.
She rolled her eyes and tried to push the thought from her mind. She’d have to go home and deal with him and his lover soon enough if they were still there. In spite of everything, she hoped they were.
“Are you playing matchmaker?” Court asked on a sigh.
Amy shrugged. “Maybe. I figure, what’s the harm, especially if Festus makes good on his threat to assign you to Zone Seven. You could have a little afternoon delight during your lunch break every day.”
“Ha ha.” Court walked the bag to the trashcan near the river wall, dropped it in, then leaned onto the stone barrier and stared down at the gentle current. “I think Festus believes that if he assigns me here, I’ll quit. And then what’ll happen? I’ll get thrown out of my house and will either have to go home with my tail between my legs or—”
“Or marry some guy you’ve never met and whose picture gives you hives.”
“Yeah.” Court turned around and pointed to her fount of Jekh knowledge. “Random question. What is chipping?”
Amy scrunche
d her little nose. “That’s out of the blue.”
“Obviously you know, so spill it.”
Amy shrugged. “Okay, I do. Native Jekhans were implanted with identification chips during the last census. Made them easier to round up, I guess, though at the time, the new government said they’d replace other forms of identification in Buinet.”
“But none of the Terrans have them.”
“Of course not.” Amy snorted. “For the same reason folks on Earth stopped using those cybernetic com devices.”
“They’re carcinogens?”
Amy nodded. “Of course, your—the scientists say that the complaints are just fear mongering and quackery and that they’re fine for the Jekhans to use, but if that’s so true, why don’t the scientists have them?”
“You said it yourself. Fine for the Jekhans to use. So, Headron has one?”
“And most, if not all, of the other Jekhans in the zone.”
“They can’t leave without being tracked, then.”
“Not unless they remove their chips. Even then, if they go off the grid, the cops will come storming in to make sure they’re just dead in their apartments and not missing.”
“That’s sickening.” No wonder Trigrian and Murki had chosen to hide instead of get counted. Maybe they’re just as skeptical as the McGarrys.
At the beeping of her com, Court turned her wrist over and checked the cause for the alarm. “Oh, shit. I need to go walk my dog. We’re still trying to adapt to the schedule here.”
“Poor critter. Better get that doggie door installed soon, but ooh! Before I forget, I have something for you.” Amy excitedly patted her jacket pockets and after a moment, pulled out a sleek, thin, dark metal cuff. “There you go. A guy here in the zone traded with me for some dyes I picked up during my last trip to Delius Secundus." She dropped the bracelet onto Court’s palm. “Good color for you, I think.”
Court turned it around in her hands and studied the intricate engraving. Tiny squares formed a sort of mesh atop the surface. In the middle was a shape that seemed to be an old-fashioned wagon wheel, but made of knotted rope instead of bent wood.
She tried it on for size. A perfect fit, actually. She could fit a single finger between her wrist and the metal—a big enough gap for comfort, but not enough for the cuff to slide much. Not that she’d be able to lose it, anyway. The fasteners were small, flat screws. Little chance of breakage or theft while she was wearing it.
“That symbol is…” Amy’s eyes narrowed and she worked her mouth as if she were trying to shape the right word and couldn’t. “Well, from what I understand, the symbol will bring you luck.”
Court pried loose the bracelet and handed it back. “Thank you for thinking of me, but you need the luck far more than I do. Those deathtraps you travel through space in don’t have the greatest safety record.”
Amy groaned, and nudged the bracelet back to Court. “You just had to go and remind me about that, didn’t you? But, hey—if one of those rust buckets explodes in the sky, at least my death will be an instant one. Besides, I’ve got other accessories with that symbol. The rope wheel is a pretty common motif in Jekhan accessories, and if they like you, they want to share.”
“Are you sure?”
“Mm-hmm. Go ahead! Try it on again.”
Court tightened the cuff around her left wrist next to her com. She’d never been much of a jewelry wearer, but the piece was understated and lightweight. She couldn’t help but to wonder, though, if Trigrian and Murk would be the sort of Jekhans who’d share such an object with her. Normally, she wouldn’t have given a damn, but when it came to those two, she couldn’t stop herself from caring. Maybe she was a masochist. Or maybe she was desperate and far too accepting of the circumstances because she’d been on her own for too long.
Gonna break my brain with that train of thought.
Sighing, she stood. “Thank you again for this.”
“No worries.” Amy zipped up the jacket pocket she’d pulled the bracelet from and walked with Court toward the zone barrier. “So, Saturday? I may not see you for a while after that, but we’ll be able to keep in touch by com depending on where I am in the universe.”
“Sure. Bright and early. I’ll pack us a lunch.”
“Nice. Just meet me at my place. I live near the depot. Might be a trek for you, though. I’ll tell you the directions later.”
Court held up her wrist. “You don’t want to tap coms and program the address in now?”
Amy shook her head solemnly. “Friends don’t let friends tap coms. These things are too easy to hack, and you transmit way more user info by tapping than by manually programming.” She waved at Herris, who was sweeping the steps of his brownstone from the open doorway.
He perked up noticeably and called, “Miss Courtney! Amy, wait.” He leaned his broom against the doorframe, and disappeared into the building.
“What’s he up to?”
“Don’t know,” Amy says. “Maybe he wants to trade.”
“You got anything good on you?”
Amy snorted. “Always. Got to make use of all these ridiculous jumpsuit pockets, right?”
“I don’t understand why you have more than me. I’m a cop. I’m supposed to carry a lot of junk. My pockets are too shallow to be functional.”
“Maybe the person who designed these flight suits wanted to make up for centuries of women not having deep enough pockets or something.”
“I wish they’d talked to the dork who designed my pants.” Court stuffed her hands in to her own shallow pockets and cringed. She might have to start wearing a fanny pack. The men at the station didn’t seem to have the same problem with their pockets. They could actually get their hands into theirs.
Herris returned carrying an electronic pad not dissimilar to Murki’s, but longer and a bit wider. Kneeling, he tapped the side of Court’s right boot. “Could you take that off?”
“What in the world for?”
Amy sighed. “Lucky. He’s measuring you for shoes. Nobody ever offers me shoes.”
“Bring me chocolate for my daughter and I might. Oh. Thank you for the bolt of material, by the way.”
Amy shrugged bashfully. “Aw, saw it and thought you could use it.”
“Starting to use it right now. Place your sole right here, Miss Courtney.” He pointed to the highlighted area on the tablet screen. “Stand as you normally do. The screen will read how your feet distribute your weight.”
Court stood on it, feeling a bit bashful as people in neighboring buildings leaned into their windowsills…including one familiar little face. Court waved and dug into her breast pocket.
The girl ran outside.
“I don’t have a chocolate bar on me right now, but I’ve got chocolate caramel chews. They’re awful for the teeth, but satisfying in a way smooth chocolate isn’t.”
“You didn’t tell me you had chocolate on you.” Amy pouted.
“I always have chocolate on me. You would have guessed that if you’d read the ship manifest.”
“Perhaps I should start doing that. Did you transport enough to trade?”
“Maybe. Depends on how I ration it.”
“Let’s have a chat about that.”
Giggling at her opportunistic friend, Court dropped the candies into the child’s hand then rustled her loose, shoulder-length hair. “Don’t want to grow your hair long like your daddy?”
“Our women tend to prefer their hair shorter, and Dania yields to her mother’s wishes.” Herris tapped Court’s other foot and she switched feet on the tablet.
“How’s your mother?” Court asked Dania.
“Better. Thank you.” Dania started unwrapping one of the candies, and her father sighed and muttered something about her having her stepfather’s lack of impulse control.
Stepfather? Court had thought Herris and Dania lived with Dania’s mother.
Maybe I missed something.
“Jekhan influenza is making the rounds,” Dania said. “Did y
ou get your shot?”
Herris squeezed Court’s ankle and rolled his gaze up to her. “I don’t imagine the shots are…ready for us.”
Court nodded slowly. Or good for them.
She knew the score. He wasn’t about to take his kid to a Terran-run clinic, and he wanted Court to know where he stood.
“You know, I’m not a big fan of shots,” Court said. “I might skip this year’s. I’ll probably regret it if I get sick, but that’s the risk I’ll take.”
“I don’t like shots, either.”
“You’d think these scientists would come up with something else, right?”
“The last thing some of them need to do is more thinking,” Amy muttered.
“I just need to take a few more measurements,” Herris said. He pulled a tape measure from his pocket and measured the heights of Court’s feet at four different points.
“How long do you need to make a pair of shoes?” she asked.
“Depends on whether or not the government is giving me a hard time on any given day.”
“What are they harassing you about?”
“It’d be easier to answer what they’re not harassing me about.” He rolled up his tape and stood. “I’ll let you know when they’re done. Try not to grow between now and then.”
“Ha ha. Everyone’s got jokes about the short person.”
Amy gave her a hearty thump on the back. “You’re just pocket-sized. Say goodbye to the nice people so we can go while the guards at the gate are on their nightly smoke break. They always insist on engaging me in conversation, and I’m not in the mood.”
“People stopped smoking ten years ago when Big Pharma came out with that addiction suppressant.”
“Amazing what habits people pick up when they’re afforded the opportunity to access them, huh?”
“Like hookers and blow.”
Amy apparently needed a moment to catch on to the old Earth reference. She said low, “More like sex slaves and cannabis.”
“We should talk about that,” Court whispered back. If Jekhan women were being shipped off-planet as commodities, she wanted proof. As hostile as most Terrans were about the native Jekhans, there couldn’t have been many who would stomach the idea of innocent women getting raped for some shadow organization’s profit. And if that were truly going on, Court knew there had to be more. The whole where there’s smoke, there’s fire thing.