by Jet Mykles
She saw her point register in his eyes before he bowed his head. She had no idea if that look of contrition was real, but he understood what she was saying.
“My apologies, sir. Where I come from, simulations are more games than a real test. I grew up on them.”
“Which could explain your skill. But that is not the case with simulations here.”
He looked up, studying her face in earnest. “I understand that now, sir. Again, my apologies. I’m sorry if I’ve offended you.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “But?”
It was brimming in his eyes, something just behind those wide, generous lips. “That wasn’t the only incident, sir. You’ve singled me out.”
“Have I?”
“I believe you have.”
She cocked her head to the side, studying him. This was her first private conversation with him, and she found herself acutely aware of his presence. Even though he conveyed respect for her rank, he was clearly in control of himself and not the least bit deferential. It was no wonder the young man was a natural leader. “You’re probably right, Ensign.”
He blinked, obviously not expecting her to admit it.
“I have singled you out. And, to be honest, I have been picking on you.”
“Why?”
She flattened her palms on the table and leaned slightly toward him. “Because you’re better than the others.” She kept her voice low. “You are probably the best pilot ever to come through this station, and you haven’t even stepped foot on a real veeby yet. The kind of instincts you have can only be something you’re born with. But that does not mean you can just take it easy and have fun. Because you’re better, you need to do more. You need to anticipate what the others can’t, simply because you can. The others need to think hard about situations that come naturally to you, and you need to use that advantage to think beyond. You can’t take your craft for granted, simulated or real, because you personally can do so much more with a well-cared-for ship.”
He sat straight, gaze glued to her face. One orange eyebrow lifted in stunned amazement.
She sat back herself. “I expect more from you, Ange, and I’ll get it. I’ll keep picking on you and testing you because that’s my job. You’re not going to step foot on a real ship until I say you’re ready, and I won’t say it until I think you fully appreciate your situation.”
His eyes mapped her face, memorizing it like it was the first time he’d seen her. A lot of the brash young man dissolved into fierce thought.
She inhaled and exhaled slowly, reaching for the pad she had put aside. “Is there anything else, Ensign?”
He cocked his head to the side. “This doesn’t have anything to do with my being Krystanni?”
She scowled, clutching the notepad. “Are you accusing me of prejudice?”
“Sir, it’s a well-known fact that I only got my position because I’m Krystanni --”
“You’re here because your abilities as a pilot were too good to pass up.” Which was mostly true. “But rest assured, if you don’t live up to your potential, you will not see the inside of a real veeby. Is that understood?”
He nodded. “That’s a relief to hear, sir.”
Chapter Five
The clanging alarm jolted Drake out of his light slumber. Dressed only in his skivvies, he bolted from the small bedchamber, down a short hall, and up the steep, narrow stairs into the cockpit. The shieldscreen showed him open space. Whatever threat had set off the alarm was either out of visual range or something internal.
Wiping sleep from his eyes, he dropped into the pilot seat and visually scanned the instrument panel. Ah! An enemy ship approaching from starboard, fresh from hyper jump. He opened hailing frequencies, determined not to fall into the trap Dana had last month by shooting first, only to learn that she’d taken out a friendly tanker.
But this simulated enemy didn’t hail. It came barreling toward him. His sim-veeby’s alarm beeped, and bright flashes were his split-second warning that he was under attack. A firm grip on the flightstick took him into a roll, letting the missiles flash past. He opened frequency again and took evasive measures as he hailed the other craft, inquiring its purpose. He wasn’t going to let Fox nail him for not trying to avoid the fight before he dove in.
“This one’s just you and me, Dragon,” came a familiar voice over the comm.
His jaw dropped. His blood tingled, and she almost caught him with her next volley. “Fox?”
“Come on, kid. Show me what you’ve got.”
Stupid! Fox knew this was idiotic. She was Ange’s trainer. She was supposed to be helping him, not fighting him. But after months of guiding him, admiring his natural abilities, and watching him grow, she simply had to know.
This late-night attack was her best opportunity. It was unorthodox, although not entirely out of the realm of acceptability. Ange was in his third night of continual simulation, going through the motions of a week-long mission. It was training regulations for her to throw a sim opponent or two at him at unexpected times. After all, that could very likely happen in real life. It was quite out of the ordinary, however, for her to attack from another sim-cockpit. In normal procedures, she should send a computerized scenario his way. But it was late at night, no one else was around, and she was dying to fly against him.
He twisted out of range of her fire, and she sped after him. She’d watched him enough in the past months to know that there was no way to predict his moves. Part of his genius was that his actions were a constant surprise. Like the one that spun him around and behind her. Cursing, she flipped over and barely evaded his return fire.
They danced. It was as best as she could describe it. She was rusty on the flightstick, but more than held her own. He had a larger craft and a load of cargo to hinder him. But for that, they flew around each other in a tango through simulated sky. He fired; she rolled. He spun and she dove. She couldn’t have told who led this dance, but quickly lost any particular desire to win. This was far more enjoyable, the joy of flight with the danger of destruction.
In fairness, she’d attacked from a regular sim and not from the trainers’ booth. That meant that she couldn’t monitor him. She was as blind to his words and reactions as a true enemy would be.
They danced for hours, it seemed, neither letting up. In actuality, it couldn’t have been more than an hour. Battles just didn’t last that long. But it seemed he was getting as much of a kick out of the flight as she was. At one point, she realized that neither of them were really firing seriously, only doing so to make the other speed away in order to follow.
Her sim’s instrument panel told her that it would have to end. She was running out of fuel, and he would have to switch to his next tank. His veeby was better equipped for the long haul, but she hoped he was watchful. He still needed fuel to get him through the next few days.
She geared herself up and fought in earnest, hitting his dorsal wing. It wasn’t anything disabling, but it slowed him. When he hit her tail rudder, it took her by surprise. Cursing, she tried to compensate, but his hit had been much more solid than hers.
Laughing in sheer adrenaline joy, she opened the frequency between them. “Good show, Dragon. I’ll surrender this one.” Then took herself into a hyper jump and out of his space.
Because she’d rigged it, her evasion into hyperspace clipped off the simulation. She didn’t need to go through the proper shutdown or docking sequence. She sat back in the pilot’s seat as the pod settled into its cradle.
Incredible! She hadn’t felt like that in years. She did miss part of active duty. Flying like that, for the sheer joy of it, put an ache of remorse in her heart. But the flying wasn’t everything. The fact that she’d left the playing field without finishing him off -- or letting him finish her off -- perfectly illustrated why she was no longer an active fighter pilot. She lived for flying, not for killing. Unfortunately, in real life, the two went hand in hand.
She left the simpod, glad to see that the pit was s
till deserted. She gazed across the darkened area at the larger pods that held her recruits during their week-long trials. The third from the right held Drake. She glanced at the training booth. She could go there and see what he was doing. How he was reacting to her surprise visit. Was he cursing her? Was he wasting fuel trying to find her, or had he stayed on course? The trainer in her wanted to check. The woman in her did not. Seeing him right now with the adrenaline coursing through her system would be ... bad. Just the fact that she ached to see him, that her sex was wet just from the thought, turned her toward the door and out of the simpit.
Breathing deep in an effort to steady her heart, Beth emerged into the relatively deserted hallways outside of the simpit. It was still a few hours before the “day” began on Rainier, so she made it back to her quarters without seeing hardly a soul.
Alone in her quarters, she didn’t even bother to turn on the main lights. She stripped in the dim blue of the track lights along the ceiling, then flopped back onto her bed.
Her body was keyed up. Her skin tingled. Her palm itched with the desire to wrap around a flightstick. She hadn’t flown like that in years. No, ever. Even the real battles she’d fought had been nothing like it. Ange had caught on. Despite the fact that she “attacked” him, he’d danced with her. She really should scold him for not taking her out, for not fighting in earnest. But she wouldn’t. If he told no one, then no one needed to know. Of course, he would tell someone. She couldn’t imagine he wouldn’t. But she couldn’t worry about it tonight.
Closing her eyes, she slid a hand down her bare belly to rest on the neatly trimmed curls guarding her sex. Here, in the dark of her own rooms, was the only place she could give in to the fantasy. She wanted Ange. She wanted to know if that creamy pale skin was as silky as it looked. She wanted to know if he fucked with as much skill as he flew, if he had a natural instinct for that as well. Groaning, she slid fingers into her sex, smearing wetness up and around her aching clit. Would he be as fiery as that blazing hair promised?
Drake stood in the cleaning stall within the miniscule latrine in the sim-veeby. Eyes closed, he had one hand flat on the tiles before him, his back braced on the wall behind him, his other hand busy at the hard-on Fox had caused with her surprise visit. The latrine was the only place in the simcraft where there were no monitoring cams and was therefore the only place he could jack off thinking of the woman who’d attacked him and the sheer joy of flying with her.
That was what it was all about. Thoughts of the flight warred with imagined flashes of the woman’s dark, naked skin. He couldn’t tell which turned him on more and stopped trying to sort it out. He came to the impossible image of her straddling his lap while he sat in the cockpit of a veeby while she was still flying her own ship. It didn’t make a bit of sense, but it did it for him.
He groaned, leaning forward to thunk his forehead against the tiles. What the hell was she doing to him? Had she visited all the recruits like that, or just him? He hoped to heavens it was just him. Although it was likely only his own twisted mind that had made a simulated dogfight into a pseudosexual encounter.
Sighing, he reached over to the dispenser and pumped Blue into his palm. He had to clean up the sweat, or anyone watching through the monitoring cameras -- like perhaps Fox -- would know what he’d been doing. He rubbed the cool gel substance over most of his sweaty body, leaving only his now-flaccid cock and his hair. When most of his skin was covered, he flipped a switch. With a quiet whir and a blast of what felt like air, ions found the skin covered with Blue and cleaned it. Stepping from the stall, he used a washcloth and reclaimed water to clean his cock. A look at his hair in the mirror showed that it didn’t need more than a comb-through with his fingers.
He left the latrine and didn’t glare at the monitor cameras. Was she watching? Had he passed her test? He was naked. Did she like what she saw?
He put on a fresh pair of skivvies and dropped back onto the narrow cot in the small bedchamber.
Would she visit him again?
Chapter Six
She ended up at the Cross Flight, a cozy little dive in section twelve. It was located in Rainier’s inner circle, so there was no stunning picture portal of the starry space surrounding the station. Because of this, the Cross Flight didn’t attract tourists. It was far more of a popular local bar.
Getylminc, the bartender and co-owner, waved when she arrived. Beth waved back and sat on a barstool. When Getyl was done with her customer, she shuffled over, her blue skin an eerie violet in the bar’s dim lighting. “What can I get you, Fox?” she asked in that sonorous, sibilant voice of hers.
“The usual.” Beth looked around. Many of the booths were occupied, and the bar itself was mostly full. Most of the crowd was on the dance floor, moving to the beat of a popular older tune. “Is Darren around?”
Getyl shot her what passed for a smile in the non-human, toothy face. If you didn’t know it was a smile, it’d be downright scary. “He just went to take a call. He should be back any minute.” She poured a shot of straight whiskey.
Beth nodded and sipped her drink. She looked around and amused herself with watching the dancers.
She was here to resist the temptation to fly with Ange. She was out because sitting in her quarters had proven to be a horrible experience. It hadn’t been so bad during the day. Other training matters, meetings, and some time to work her personal ship, the Kitsune, had distracted her. But once she was alone, all she wanted to do was sneak out again and fly with Ange. So, instead, she was here waiting for what she hoped was a cure for what made her itch.
“Fox.”
She turned to see him approach. Darren was a good-looking man. Her type. Well, her normal type. Skin a few shades of brown darker than hers, tight curls of short black hair, big black eyes with long lashes, and a body full of muscles. It only lessened the attraction a bit that she knew those muscles came partially from medical augmentation.
He put a hand on her shoulder and leaned in for a quick, soft kiss. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”
“I’ve been on training duty.”
He laughed as he sat on the stool beside her. “I fear for the would-be pilots.”
She sniffed.
He laughed. “So, what brings you by?”
She looked him dead in the eye. No sense delaying. “I was looking for company.”
He stared right back. She knew he didn’t mistake her meaning. The two of them had developed a clear understanding over the past standard year or so. They had sex and that was it. She knew of his numerous other lovers. She’d visited medical earlier in the day to update her contraception and STD shots, as it had been a few months since she’d seen him. It was none of his business that he was her only sexual outlet other than her own hand.
He smiled that smile men do when they know that sex is in their immediate future. “That’s what I like about you, Fox. No nonsense.”
“Why bother?” She finished her drink in one gulp, pausing only for the burn to mellow before turning back to him. “So?”
Chuckling, he stood. “You know the way.”
She nodded. A quick glance at Getyl, who acknowledged her with a wave. She’d be back to pay her tab. She was only going upstairs. It wasn’t like any of the three of them didn’t know what was about to happen.
She stood and headed for the back stairs, keeping to the shadows, trusting Darren to follow. His suite of rooms was two stories above the bar, which he owned with Getyl. His full-time job was as a finance engineer for the Emirate, but he owned the bar for extra cash. She stopped at his front door and waited for him to open it.
He pressed his palm to the pad beside the door, but stopped her progress inside by wrapping an arm around her waist. She froze just inside the threshold, letting him wrap her up in his embrace. He was only a few inches taller than she, but he was far bulkier. “Mmmm, Fox,” he breathed onto her neck.
Don’t talk, she silently pleaded. She liked grunts and moans, but wasn’t a fan of verbal
communication during carnal activities. It was usually more embarrassing than anything.
To halt any further attempt at seductive small talk, she spun around, placed her palms on either side of his head, and pulled it down for an involved kiss. Once he was engaged, she slowly backed into the room, keeping her hold on him.
He followed willingly enough, his hands finding a place on her hips. His thumbs brushed the bare skin above her waistband.
She stopped when she heard the door swish shut. They stood in the entryway of his apartment, tongues dueling for a long moment. She wondered if Ange kissed as well. Stop it! It was just plain rude to think of one man while having sex with another, even if there was no love lost.
Abruptly, she pulled away, stepping out of reach before he could recover. The growl she expected poured from his throat, and she smiled. Quickly, she put her hands to the hem of her midriff top and yanked it over her head. She tossed it aside and made eye contact, backing toward his bedroom as she reached behind her to unhook her bra.
He followed with a hungry look in his eyes, almost stalking her. He smiled, whipping his shirt over his head to reveal hard muscle underneath a black mat of curly hair. “You’re amazing, Fox.”
“Shut up and fuck me,” she demanded. She knew that most women preferred to be wooed, but she wasn’t here for that. She wanted sex, good, hard, raw sex, not any dirty talk and not a soliloquy on her beauty. She got her bra off as she cleared the darkened bedroom door. Sensor lights came on as she tossed it aside and managed to toe out of her slip-on shoes before the backs of her shins hit the bed.
He pressed a pad just inside the door to dim the lights, then came to stand before her, pushing down his pants. She did the same with her own and sat on the edge of the bed. She admired the trail of crispy black hair that led down to the jut of his cock. She didn’t even let him fully get out of the pants before she grabbed his cock and aimed it for her mouth.