Only his mechanical sensors didn’t register a change in temperature. His quantal core hummed with its usual high pitched resonance that told him the end was near, but no nearer than it was this morning.
“Stop it.” Boson’s voice cut through Her command. “Please stop.”
Beckett reeled as his body was once again his. Sweat and pain soaked his uniform, but he was otherwise unharmed. Boson stood before the Queen. They had the same iridescent orchid eyes.
“I am the one you want.” Boson’s voice trembled.
“Did you think that a century would make Us forget or forgive?” Her Majesty’s child-like voice was like granite. “Of course, We would come for you. You are heir and will take your place. We did not spend decades building you to have you disappoint Us.”
“No, Mother.”
Her Majesty leaned closer to Boson, spite in her eyes. Boson shook, but he held his ground.
“You will be corrected as you should have been long ago.” Satisfied in the terror She saw in Boson, the Queen turned to leave. “Come.”
“No.”
“Defiance?” The Queen’s laugh was heartless. “Another flaw to be corrected.”
“Worse,” Boson reached out and put his hand over Beckett’s quantal core. The touch sent an electrical impulse that lit up Beckett’s ribcage. When Boson clenched his hand, the quantal coal in Beckett’s chest fluttered erratically. “Treason.”
The old man accompanying Her Majesty pulled out revolver with a glass tube instead of a barrel. Electricity sparked within it.
“That won’t be necessary.” Her Majesty waved and the old man lowered his weapon. “Dearest Child, what are you doing?”
“The quantal coal within his chest is verging on critical.” Boson clenched his hand and another surge rushed through Beckett. “All it would take is a little nudge.”
The Queen’s child-like face contorted.
“Insolent boy.”
“I won’t be corrected any more,” Boson said. “Did you think I would have come crawling back to you begging for forgiveness? Maybe once, but I’ve seen much since you banished me. How many people died for the soul crystal in my chest or the titanium in my body? How many more will die to preserve your dominion?”
“They serve, that is their birth right. And if some die a few decades early what consequence is it to Us. We have seen centuries rise and fall. Their lives mean little in the span of galaxies. Without Us, they would have annihilated themselves long ago. We have made it possible for humanity to extend its reach beyond one measly planet.”
“There is no humanity left in us.” Boson tightened his grip. “Without us, they will be free.”
Beckett’s mechanical parts rebelled. The quantal surge threatened to overload his relays as well as his nerves. Beckett wasn’t afraid to die. The life of a man like Beckett didn’t mean a damn, but Boson was different. Maybe he could bring about change but not by dieing.
“Not here.” Beckett fought to regain control of his body.
Boson’s eyes pleaded with him to submit to an end for a greater cause. Beckett reached out. His fingers encompassed Boson’s skull.
“What are you doing?” Boson’s voice was tight. He sent a warning surge through Beckett that caused his obsidian hand to clench. Boson winced.
“There won’t be anything to correct if I crush your brain.”
“Release him.” The Queen extended Her small hand towards the boy. “Or We will take you apart piece by piece.”
“Not without killing him first.”
“How dare you!”
The Queen’s mouth convulsed open and shut, but no words came out.
“Now get off my ship.” Beckett’s mechanical body ignored Her mental tantrum that had the rest of the crew writhing in agony. “The Icarus’ Revenge is going to leave this station. You are not going to follow us or else you will have only a lifeless shell to rebuild from.”
The Queen’s porcelain face was the portrait of indignation.
“We will find you.” The Queen’s voice shook ever nerve in Beckett’s brain. “We will have Our child back, and We will take pleasure in killing you slowly. Cell by cell. Molecule by molecule.”
“Get off my ship.”
The Queen glanced at the crew. They convulsed anew. Becket clenched his hand, and Boson moaned in pain. The Queen hissed but released her hold on the crew.
“You cannot run.” The Queen looked at Boson as she spoke. “Neither of you.”
Beckett kept his death grip on Boson’s skull until the hatch was sealed and the lift departed.
“You can let go now,” Beckett said to Boson who continued to stare at the hatch long after the Queen had gone. “Blowing me up now won’t kill her.”
Boson fell against Beckett and clutched his chest with both hands. Tears over-filled his eyes. Beckett held the boy as he sobbed. The quantal core inside Beckett ached for Boson as much as Beckett’s flesh did.
“Nelson.” Beckett wasn’t going to press his luck any further by lingering. “Get us the hell out of here.”
“With pleasure, Captain.”
Beckett lifted Boson’s chin until he was staring into orchid eyes. The resonance that pulsed between their bodies echoed in Beckett’s quantal core. Boson’s soul crystal stabilised Beckett’s quantal core. The boy would either be his destruction or his salvation. Probably both.
“You should have let me die.” Boson blinked away the last of his tears.
“My fire requires your spark.” Beckett placed Boson’s hand on his shuddering quantal core. “Report to Nelson for your assignment. You’ll be bunking with me. There are no free rides on my ship.”
Boson raised his hand to his forehead. “Aye, aye. Captain.”
Les Lettres Dangereuses
By V.C.
Chapter 1
Edinburgh, Scotland. 5 September 1847
Dear Marquise Francis Blake,
I type to you on this aged bronze typewriter that once belonged to your late husband who was once my Master. Not out of disrespect for you, or out of your disrespect for him, but because a heart such as mine needs expression, and the best way of doing that is on this invention. My expression is as aged as this, and yet it’s as new as all the clockwork gadgets and steam powered boats and spaceships of this current technological age that our times has been blessed with. I’m tempted to type fast, for my heart, how fast it beats for you. And yet, how slowly I type, because I am like steam. Hot. Contained in a tiny place - my conscious - about ready to burst out from its confines. Not wanting to be locked anymore. Like steam, I’m blasted tired of being held in.
I want to be free.
I’m breaking free for myself by admitting this to you in print. I’d be damned to ever let you see it through your gold-tinted goggles that shimmer more brightly than the gold collar around your neck. It will be my little secret. My hidden invention - the invention of a servant’s confession.
Forgive me, my Madame, for I have sinned. I know you are not my priest, for you are, after all, and always will be, my Highness, who I’ve served these past sixteen years as your most devoted servant. But I have always looked up to you as a Goddess, bowing at your presence, worshipping the very ground you walk on. I must confess, as of late, I have adopted a shinier new Goddess.
That Goddess is your daughter. Lady Olivia Blake.
Forgive me, Madame, forgive me! I’m afraid that your precious Olivia has seduced me.
How so, you might be asking yourself? After all, it is I that have helped you raise her from an infant. I have seen her grow from a drooling, screeching, difficult babe to the beautiful young lady of twenty that she is today. It is downright ludicrous, you must think, that me, a commoner, your lady’s maid, can admit to such a wicked confession in regards to a woman so young, proper, class
y, and - you never let me forget it - rich. That she is Madame. More divine than the finest of jewels - gold, rubies, diamonds, and pearls - that I’ve seen both Olivia and you wear on your clockwork collars, wrist cuffs, ankle cuffs, and opulent masks to the grandest of balls. She sparkles, glitters, and shines like the most opulent of them all - teeth as white as a pearl, eyes as clear as a diamond, lips as red as a ruby, her beauty - oh her beauty! To me, it’s far more magnificent than gold! She mimics you to perfection, Madame - you’ve trained her well. She’s a perfect mimicry of you, a doll-like version of you. Poised like you. When she walks into a room, it’s as if she’s walking on air, or floating like the solar powered blimps in the sky. One can’t help but admire her like that wondrous invention. More wonderful than that though; it’s as if she were an angel gracing us with her celestial presence from Heaven to Earth. She’s demure, as innocent as a lamb, and in her pureness, as white as one too. She’s a shy one - often quiet, especially amongst men. She’s all the more coy when she’s around women her age.
She’s a good girl. Even when she was an infant of two, excusing her animalistic temper tantrums - especially when she was wild with hunger, constipation, or plain ol’ upset, whining for affection and attention - she’s always been such a sweet child. So kind towards me, looking up to you as I have to you. And she’s so smart. I’ve never seen a girl her age as ravenous a reader as she is! Her nose is always wedged so deep in a book. She’s in one so often that I’m usually afraid that she will get lost in it. That might also explain why she has such a grand imagination Madame - what creative, silly, whimsical, and flamboyant ideas she has for her stories! They’re far larger in imaginative scale than even I could comprehend. All of which I have read them all dozens of times, until they have stuck in my head. So far in my mind I could even dream of them. I can and very easily repeat each of them to you heart , Madame.
My apologies if I’m digressing. I have not yet given you an explanation as to how Olivia has seduced me. She did not do it on purpose, I swear. It was an accident, one that I could have easily avoided and ran away from at the instant it happened, but instead, I froze, stuck in the moment.
You may not want to read about this since Olivia is, after all, your daughter.
In your eyes, she is Innocence. She is the embodiment of your Aristocracy. As glossy, glamorous, wealthy, and elegant as the day she escaped from your womb. But I think it’s about time that you must see that she is far from pure and innocent. Not everything is what they seem.
As I was cleaning Lady Olivia’s room, I discovered a diary. It was made of tough dark brown leather and embellished with brass, copper, and silver gears from watch parts. I knew I shouldn’t have even been touching it. In the end my curiosity got the best of me, and I couldn’t help but open it and read what stories laid inside of it. In her first diary entry, dated 29 August 1847, she wrote:
Dear Diary,
There is this boy I met at one of mother’s evening parties. His name is George. He’s son of a Duke. I know what you must think. George? What a common name! But he is not common at all, Diary. He has the prettiest blue eyes I have ever seen. He is handsome and pretty. He is charming, smart, witty, and funny. He makes me laugh so much that it makes my sides hurt. He offends me a lot, for his language is at times so vulgar and infantile for such a rich and proper boy. I like him for that. He is different. He knows his high noble place in the world and yet is not afraid to challenge it. He takes such care in his physical appearance, as all noblemen should. His cleanliness is immaculate like his linen shirts, high collars, perfect cravats, and exquisite dark coats. He also wears these bronze aviator goggles- (he owns his own airship!)that matches the colour of his magnifying monocle and its chain that hangs on the side of his coat. It sparkles and shines like his teeth. His pantaloons and trousers are snug on him; they remind me of the type of clothing that I see the working-class wear when mother and I pass by them in our solar powered vehicle. How bold of him! Those pantaloons and trousers, are almost a little too snug . One time, as of recently actually, while we were taking a walk in the park after our studies , I couldn’t help but look between his legs, for what I saw pleaded for attention. It was...his cock! It was hard against the dark-blue fabric. What definition! I could see everything Diary - the head that reminded me of a mushroom. The shaft was thick; I’m sure the lines I saw were veins. I tried to ignore it but I couldn’t look away. He knew I was staring, which explained why he was smiling at me so devil-like,. When he saw that I wasn’t doing anything to stop myself from looking at him down there , his devil-grin becoming even more devilish, and then...can you guess what he did?
I held my breath, Madame, as I continued to read, not aloud, but only inside my head:
He touched that bulging groin. He didn’t merely touch it. He was petting it, groping it and massaging it with his fingers.
“What are you doing?” I asked him, slightly in fright, for I never saw a boy be so bold as to touch himself down there like that, at least not in front of a girl like me in plain view.
“Have you ever seen a cock before Olivia?” he asked me.
“Of course I have!”
Only in pictures, not the real thing. That must have counted for something, right Diary?
“Have you ever touched one?” He was so crass to ask me.
“No...” I started to blush.
“So I wager that you have never sucked on one either?”
“No but I’ve thought about it,” I admitted.
“What do you do when you think about it?” he snickered.
“I touch myself.”
Oh Diary - what came over me? Why did I make such a confession as loud as that? Girls aren’t supposed to admit something that personal to boys. What came over me? What was it about George that made me so open, so honest, and so...dirty. And can you guess what he did after?
He laughed at me. “You’re such a silly girl. Someone needs to teach you how to be a proper lady.”
“I am a proper lady,” my mouth gaped a little. I took offence by him thinking that I wasn’t a ‘ proper lady.’ “Don’t I dress like one and act like one? I’m the most proper lady in Scotland.”
“Is that so?” he laughed at me mockingly once more. “Well, take my word for it miss, a lady is not truly proper until she knows how to serve her Lord.”
“How does a lady properly serve her Lord, then?”
“By knowing the art of cock sucking.”
I suddenly became embarrassed Diary. I knew nothing about this “art” that he spoke of.
“I’d like to learn,” I bit my lower lip.
“Really?” He smiled with satisfaction, his eyes brightening up a bit.
“Can you teach me?”
“It will be my pleasure.”
He took my hand and led us to a tree. He stood behind it, with his back against the tree’s bark. I was so still when he loosened his tight pantaloons, pulling out his member from it. My jaw dropped - it was huge! He smiled at me and said, “Is this too much for you to start with, my dear?”
“Not at all!” I was sure of it. “I can handle it.”
“You sound rather confident for someone who has never done it.”
“I will show you.” I went down on my knees. “How a lady properly serves her Lord.”
“Then shut your trap and be quiet. You want to learn, don’t you?”
“Yes!” I exclaimed. “Very much, my Lord.”
“Then listen, and do. Open your mouth.”
I obeyed him. My mouth was wide open; I could feel it watering.
“When I put it in your mouth, I want you to suck it like you do an ice-lolly, okay?”
I nodded, and the moment I blinked, that mushroom-head entered my mouth. I did what he told me. I sucked on it. It did not taste like a ice-lolly; it was more salty . And it was warm and soft. I
t felt nice, having his cock in my mouth. My tongue motioned along his shaft and around his cock head. That made him moan quite loudly, but I didn’t care if people could hear him, as I should have. I didn’t give a bloody damn because it made him happy. He smiled while I did it then put his hand around the base of his dick, motioning it up and down, slow at first. He caressed my hair, and said a phrase that had me blushing pink for it sounded so sweet, so foul, and so naughty all at once.
“That’s a good slut!”
I had never been called that phrase before: a good slut. I couldn’t pin-point what it was about that phrase that drove me wild. I sucked on him harder, so hard. I was making a slurp-slurp-slurp noise that was almost as loud as his moaning. I didn’t even care if my suckling sounds were heard . It was my declaration of my new-found freedom of being not only a proper lady, but a good slut.
“Are you sure you never done this?” the back of his head knocked against the tree, his lips trembling.
I couldn’t respond to him Diary, not with his mighty dick in my mouth! I bounced my mouth up and down on moving at the same time as his hand.. He let out a moan; it was loud, louder than ever, so I thought I must be doing it right . I kept doing it over and over again, going a little faster, because it excited me so much to suck his cock in public, in broad daylight. When I looked up I saw he had closed his eyes for a while while his breathing quickened. Oh, that was living proof that I was doing something right. He was more than happy. He was...oh, I couldn’t even find the proper word for it. Maybe that word is...sublime?
“Oh Olivia,” he called. “You are such a GOOD slutty girl!”
Then, dear Diary, something happened. This warm goo crept all over my tongue. It was a little in the beginning, then before I knew it, it thickened and increased in amount. Some of it even went to the back of my throat! I swallowed it. It did not taste sweet like an ice-lolly, it was far saltier . I liked it. I wanted to swallow more of him, but I think I devoured all that he had. I continued to suck on his prick anyway, hoping that maybe I can get another drop or two out for me to drink.
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