“She’s trembling,” the leader says to the Missus. “Is she innocent or something?”
I clench my fists tighter and drop my eyes to the floor, humiliated that my body has betrayed me, and that he’s talking about me in front of me. If it were Sheralyn she’d give him lip. Indeed, it should be someone like her in my place.
“Of course she’s trembling,” the Missus says with a laugh. “Look at you brutes, all staring at her like a pack of hungry lions.”
The blond lets out a humored snort. I lift my chin to find everyone still studying me.
“This is Reesa,” the Missus says. “Twenty-five years old. She’s spent the past seven years under the Vestoship of Colonel Ravarsh—”
“Colonel Ravarsh?” The captain’s tone holds an ounce of respect that quickly turns to something else as he eyes me again, sending a shiver over me. “You mean to tell me the Colonel has been her only Vesto? And your people are willing to put her on this ship with my men?” He says it as if I’m a virgin being dropped into a munitions camp on Mercury. Are the Hornets complete savages? Peering around at their severe gazes, I think I know the answer. My body heats and I begin to sweat.
Several of the men share meaningful looks, as if this is a mistake. As if I’m unqualified to be aboard their ship. And maybe I am, but it’s too late now, and their attitudes against me are not helping. I see the Missus squaring her shoulders, preparing to defend her choice of a Nevesta for their vessel, but I intercept the conversation, pushing past the shake in my voice.
“For a crew who’s in a hurry to leave, this seems like a waste of time. I’m your Nevesta. I will care for each of you to the best of my ability. You have nothing to worry about as far as I’m concerned.” I send my gaze around the half-circle of men, my stare snagging on each of theirs in a way that makes my heart thud in my throat. They’re hardened and unpolished. I don’t know if I believe my own brave words, but I need them to believe it. When my eyes finally meet the leaders’, the all-seeing intensity there nearly knocks me back. I feel like a fawn under that hunter’s gaze, and I’m suddenly terrified at the prospect of him visiting my bed. The low, unamused chuckle he gives tells me he knows it.
He crosses his arms and nods at the Missus, muttering, “Fine.”
Approval, albeit begrudging.
She gives me a relieved look. “All right then. Reesa, meet your crew. Master Sergeants Rawko and Devlar, both of Earth, are the pilots of the ship.” She motions to the blond with bright blue eyes, who flashes another troublemaker smile. The other is a redhead with hair like Earth’s autumn and a dusting of cinnamon freckles across his chiseled face and forearms. The ginger doesn’t smile, though his green eyes devour me. Both are medium build with bulging muscle through their black uniforms.
I stare in awe at their features as I nod at them. Over time, the humana of Mars have become nearly one race with hardly any variation in coloring. Most of us have thick brunette hair with brown eyes and light brown skin. To see all of these shades is mesmerizing.
“This is Lieutenant Tiko, communications specialist, also of Earth.” The tallest man with broad shoulders that taper into a thin waist eyes me. His skin is shades darker than mine, and his hair is plaited into rows. He gives a slow nod.
“Sergeant Yahni…” She clears her throat almost nervously as she turns her attention to another. “Was born and raised here on Mars. He’s a technical and electronics specialist.” A golden-brown skinned man with wicked black eyebrows over icy eyes crosses his arms, making his biceps flex. I’ve never seen eyes like that—so light they’re nearly clear. His dark, long, wavy locks are tied back at the nape of his neck. Across his upper cheek is a pink scar that crosses up his eyelid and through one of those severe eyebrows. I could be wrong, but I got the impression the Missus was leaving something out about his bio. The malevolence of Sergeant Yahni’s stare makes me quickly nod and look away to the next man.
“Sergeant Milaz of Earth is in charge of aerial tactics, including paratroop and airborne procedures.” Milaz’s head is shaved completely smooth with a layer of brown hair dusting a square jaw. He appears older than the others, more mature, and his skin is honey-tanned as if he’s spent time in natural sunlight. Like Tiko, he gives a single nod.
“First Lieutenant Tripoli is a mechanic and tactical specialist. His father is a soldier of Earth and his mother is of Mars. He was raised here.” He gives his eyebrows a quick bounce in response. Tripoli looks to be of old Roman decent with an arched nose and chocolate eyes. He’s the shortest of the men, of lean wiry build, but still taller than me.
“And lastly is the vessel’s leader, Captain Lexon of Earth, a jack of all trades. He can do all of their jobs combined—”
“Enough.” The captain runs a hand roughly over his dark, cropped hair. “Let’s get the ship fly-ready. Thank you for your time, Missus. If you don’t mind showing the girl to her room while we prepare, I’d appreciate it.”
The girl? My feathers are officially ruffled by his rude brush off. I square my shoulders, look at him, and say, “Reesa.”
They all go still. Captain Lexon narrows his eyes and I work up the nerve to say it again. “My name is Reesa, Captain.”
“Right,” he says in that low voice. “Reesa.” My name slips past his lips like a thinly-veiled promise of danger. Abruptly, I’m reminded of the men in the old novels, the ones the women swoon for, even in their rudeness, but I am not swooning. I’ve never met such an abrasive person. He sizes me up again with that look that shouts, You cannot handle this placement, girl. I grit my teeth and lift my chin.
And with that, he practically stalks from the room, the other men on his heels. The only one who looks back is Master Sergeant Rawko, the blond. He gives a jaunty rise of his chin and then the Missus and I are left in the sitting room alone. She clears her throat and I allow myself to shudder.
“It will be okay,” she assures me. “They’re under quite a lot of stress before a mission, and they’re not the most trusting group of people initially. Things will settle down on the journey.” She tries to smile, but I’m not having any of it.
“I’ll show you the ship,” she says.
I match her brisk steps through the shuttle’s tunnel-halls. The ship has one living level, but its oblong shape is practically the size of a small town. The engine and cargo room encompass the entire underbelly of the vessel. She shows me the gym and massive drill room complete with a shooting range, the dining quarters, the kitchen, an official meeting room, a recreation room with games of all manner, and the cockpit, which I’m not to enter without permission. We pass the captain’s quarters, a sizeable corner suite for Captain Lexon, followed by smaller “barracks” rooms, which are basic single rooms for each of the men. Lastly I’m led to a room at the end of the barracks hall. My room.
I nearly gasp at the loveliness of it. My room at the Colonel’s was modern and sparse. This room has been painted a soft blue with matching, plush bedding that is just feminine enough. The carpets are white and thick. But it’s the ornate bed I can’t stop staring at. It’s a four poster, like something from a museum, made of dark wood with delicate, hand carved vines and flowers. I run my fingers over the etchings on one of the posts.
“It can’t be real wood,” I murmur. Nothing is made of wood on Mars. Wood has to make the trip from Earth, so it’s outrageously expensive. Our people opt for synthetics, metals, and a more modern style. This room and its divine Earth paintings are like something from the past.
“Real mahogany from Earth. The Captain himself chose the room’s décor after I spoke to your mother about your tastes—it was purchased directly from the Emperor’s Palace. It’s the most valuable room on the ship.” My cheeks heat as I try to imagine that brusque man choosing such posh luxury for his Nevesta. Does he regret budgeting so much to my room now that he’s met me? Then again, he and his men would get to enjoy the bed too. I swallow hard.
“It’s too much.”
“Just enjoy it.” She sque
ezes my shoulder. “Over here is your bathing room with a standing shower and soaking tub.”
A tub? I marvel. It’s like a small pool!
“The ship has its own water processing unit and filtration, so no rationing necessary. Over here is your hair and makeup station. It does everything, Reesa.” I touch the wall mounts that can do my hair in any style. My mother earned one of these at her retirement, but I never thought I would have one of my own. I smile at it.
“And of course, your closet.” She presses her hand to the wall and a rounded door opens. Inside, a circular rack is rotating with all of my clothing and rows of shoes. I clap my hands in delight—I can’t believe the luxury! Lastly, she shows me how to work the laundry mechanisms.
“Now, then. What do you think of the ship?”
I nod in response, still staring around. It’s as nice as she promised. If it hadn’t been for the larger-than-life men aboard, I would have thought the place was quite spacious. But knowing they’ll all be around any given corner makes everything feel smaller.
The Missus clasps her manicured hands together. “It’s nearly time—”
“Wait,” I blurt, nerves and uncertainty overtaking me. “Why did you choose me for this assignment? There are so many others…” Others who are strong and not easily intimidated. Others with more experience.
Her eyes soften and she runs a hand down my long, chestnut hair. “Because you are the most nurturing Nevesta I know, and these men need that.”
I shake my head. I’m too soft for them. I’m realizing for the first time that I’m too soft for my own good. I curse the easy, sheltered life I’ve lived so far.
She pats my cheek. “They will warm up to you, Reesa. I promise.”
A pleasantly feminine robotic voice sounds from speakers in the hallway. “Ten minutes until takeoff. Ten minutes. Please take your seats.” My heart gives a great thud against my ribs. This is really happening. The message repeats, and I grasp the Missus in a hug. She holds me tight and rubs my back. She then presses the flight chair button on my wall near the door. With a swish, a panel opens and a folded seat comes out, then the panel closes.
“Safe travels into the stars,” the Missus tells me. “I look forward to hearing from you when it’s all said and done.” My gut lurches. I won’t have any outside communication until the mission is over because those sort of wavelengths can be traced.
“Thank you. Please give my mother my heart.” I kiss my fingers and press them into her palm, which she clutches.
She pulls the safety seat down and I sit on it. Once I’m buckled securely, she exits. I listen to the robotic voice as she counts down each minute until take off. And then I close my eyes as the ship vibrates and hums before pushing forward so fast I feel my insides press back against my spine. We climb and climb, gaining altitude as Mars and its atmosphere are left behind, along with everything and everyone I’ve ever known.
CHAPTER THREE
“Your afternoon tea,” says that robotic voice as a panel opens on my wall from the kitchen, which is in the center of the ship. From the kitchen, food and drink can be delivered via wall panels to any of the surrounding rooms. I take the tray and set it on my small table.
Two dainty butter cookies with intricate designs of lilies sit on a plate next to a steaming, miniature metal pot. I pour tea and take a sip to warm myself and distract my mind. It’s been hours since we reached cruising altitude, and I’m waiting. I have no idea when anyone will come to me, or what else might be expected of me here.
I sip again and nearly slosh tea on myself at the sound of a bleep from the wall monitor. My hand is already in the virtual glove with fingertip remotes that control different aspects of the room: wall monitor communications, wall monitor entertainment, and kitchen orders. I tap my thumb to my ring fingertip and the captain’s roguishly handsome face fills the screen. I rush to stand, bumping the table with my hip.
Before I can give a greeting, he says gruffly, “I’m sending your schedule now.” He raises a large hand and the side of the screen opens my personal note tab, which I’ll be able to access at any time. “From one in the afternoon until two, the gym is yours. I know the hour after lunch is not ideal, but the men use it throughout most of the morning and afternoon.”
That’s apparent, I think, eyeing his brawny shoulders.
“Thank you,” I say. “That time is fine.”
On the wall panel, he is larger than real life, and I stare at the light gold flecks in his otherwise dark eyes. It gives them a caramelized candy appearance, though there’s nothing sweet about him.
The Captain gives a single nod then shifts. “I’m limiting your services to one Vesto per day. They will visit your room after eight in the evening, and are to leave no later than eleven.” Three hours. My tummy wobbles.
“All right,” I say softly.
“You are to come to me at any time if you have any issues. You are not to fear my men. If you have personal preferences about what you will or will not do, outside of the normal rules, you must verbalize those.”
“Thank you,” I answer.
He pauses, looking off to the side as he seems to contemplate what he’s to say next. His hand clenches and a joint pops. “My men are not like the Colonel. They’re not gentle. They need various types of relief. They’re…”
“I understand,” I say, feeling the need to reassure him, though I’m not so certain I do understand.
“Good.” He runs a hand over his cropped hair. “You’re expected in the meeting room in one hour for our destination briefing.”
My eyebrows go up with interest at this. “Yes, sir.”
He looks down at some papers, and without looking back up, flicks a finger in the air and the screen shuts off. I’m left staring at the place where his rugged features had been, and pondering how he discussed my Vestos as “they” and “his men,” as if he’s not included among them. Sure enough, as I browse the rotation chart, his name is not among those listed. Part of me feels slighted, while the other feels relieved.
I finish my tea and cookies before returning the tray and pressing the button to send it back to the kitchen. I press another button on the wall panel and my closet slides open. It’s filled with everything from silken dresses that drape across the body to Earth style jeans and tops. Shoes of all varieties. Beautiful new undergarments. I feel almost guilty at the amount spent by Mother, but in all fairness we didn’t know how long I’d be gone.
I opt for a sea green sleeveless dress that cuts low in a V on my chest, cinches at my waist, and flows down to my ankles. As I pull on a lacy strap of panties, I wonder who my first Vesto will be, and if he will come to me this very evening. The thought nearly makes me stumble, and the captain’s words come back to me. They’re not gentle.
I swallow my nervousness and tap the tip of my middle finger to bring up the schedule Captain Lexon sent. It simply has the men’s names listed in the order they’ll come to me: Rawko, Tiko, Yahni, Devlar, Milaz, Tripoli. I can’t help but wonder how the captain will remain sane without release. The way he scoffed at the mention of a soft body tells me he won’t have one of those. I suppose there’s the old fashioned way, pleasuring his own self, but that’s not quality. Oh, well. Not my concern.
Still, six soldiers. Stars help me.
I hit the button on the wall panel that sends a spritz of calming lavender scent down upon me and breathe in deeply. I’ve had countless conversations with Sheralyn about sex. She used to tease me about the Colonel, asking if I ever got bored during intercourse. I didn’t think of it as boredom—it was simply my job.
“Don’t you ever climax?”
“Never,” I told her. Not unless it was by my own hand while I was alone. I’d had several lovers in my youth—boys I met at parties and clubs, and while a romp in the sheets was a bit of fun, and I enjoyed the attention and affections, I never physically relished it the way Sheralyn and other girls did. It was always more about the males than me. Sheralyn had a fit of giggl
es when I explained how the Colonel would place his elbows above my shoulders as if to leverage himself as he rhythmically rut, and I stared up at his neck the whole time.
“Black stars, you poor thing!”
“It’s not that bad,” I’d say, wondering why I couldn’t admit just how wearying it was. Afterward I would massage his feet or his head, whatever part of him needed attention those nights. He’d close his eyes and murmur that I was a gem before he’d fall asleep and I’d leave him.
“Glad I don’t have to massage,” Sheralyn had said. “Feet are disgusting.”
I never minded. I’d taken top marks in masseuse courses for my ability to find and release knots from a body. It was like a game I could always win. Watching the healing effect my hands have on a person gives me far more satisfaction than sex. I’d never massaged men with muscles as large as these, though. I imagine it will be quite a feat.
I go to my mirror and brush my hair, then activate the styling center. A lever comes out with a claw-like device at the end. I pull my hair back, wind it into an elastic at the tip, and pressed the “bun” button. The device captures and winds my hair expertly, then clamps down around the bun, inserting hairpins and giving a quick spray to keep it in place. I pull down several strands of long bangs to frame my face.
Next I turn on the makeup station. I lean my face into the soft mask with my eyes closed and press the button. The scan buzzes lightly, and a cool press of liner runs along my lids, then a puff of powder at my eyes, followed by a pat of blush on my cheekbones. My lips are last to be painted with digital perfection. When I pull away, my eye makeup is a perfect blend of granites and silvers, my cheeks and lips like iced mauve. Next I clamp the eyelash device, which warms as it curls my lashes, and then applies an even coat of mascara as I slowly pull it away. I give the other eye the same treatment.
After a few deep breaths I place a palm against the door and it slides open. I take my first steps into the hall since we took off. I’m a bundle of nerves as I walk briskly to the meeting room, my dress flowing out behind me.
Into the Stars Page 2