by Jean Johnson
“I’m sure they thought they had the best of reasons. Such as, your superiors believed most of those reasons involved the bottom line and whatever they could milk out of you, and your inferiors believed if they did speak up, they would lose their jobs and be blacklisted out of the industry. The real point, Doctor, is that you have legal leverage in your hands now, with those gathered depositions,” Victor stated. She glanced over at him and he nodded at the pad. “They have breached their contract with you, violating the Terran United Planets ordinances governing the limit of how many hours any company may work its employees in a single year, whether it is private, public, or government-run.
“Worse, they have isolated you from your friends and family, and from making friends and family. They have robbed you of your right to have a private life . . . and with the same contractual obligations they have forced upon you with those clauses about ‘maintaining a strictly professional atmosphere at all times,’ they have forced these unnatural, restrictive viewpoints upon everyone else who works with you.” Victor knew he was playing with fire by admitting his own role so bluntly, but something within him prompted him to be honest with her. “Your friends, family, and colleagues all know that you are a force to be reckoned with at the institute. They asked me to ‘wake you up’ to your situation and everything you’ve missed knowing as a result.”
“Including being kissed?” she asked, giving him a suspicious look. “Was that really necessary, Captain?”
He met her gaze steadily. “As necessary as breathing. At least, to me. You’re still learning the possibilities of what it could mean for you.”
His honesty took her aback. “Really?”
“Really. I will admit I’ve been dared into doing any number of things involving women,” he added, that same inner urge prompting him into possible verbal suicide. “But I was only asked to wake you up to all the things you’ve been denied by your captors. Including the fact that you are a real person and not the creative little robot the Lunar Intelligence Trust has tried to make of you.
“I have done that, as requested. You are aware of your glass hill prison, and you have met me at least halfway, which means you are halfway to your freedom. Whatever I do from this point onward, I do of my own free will. Not because of a bet, or a dare, or a contract, but because I honestly want to do it.” Pausing to let her absorb his words, Victor smiled slowly at her. “Would you like to know what I want to do next?”
He watched her nibble on her lower lip a moment, then lift her chin. “Why not? What do you want to do next, Captain?”
“Well, first, I’d like to be able to call you Evanna instead of Doctor, and hear you call me Victor instead of Captain,” he told her. “Titles distance you from people. Yes, they induce a certain respect which can be needed, but they also rob you of emotional intimacy. After that, Evanna . . . I’d like to shuttle you over to Earth, to a place called Sol Duc. It’s in a rich, lush, evergreen forest on the North American continent, and it has a series of mineral hot springs, a hotel with several private cabins, some restaurants, and all the peace and privacy and reality a woman desperately in need of a vacation could want.
“Once we’re down there and have rented a cabin for a few days, I would like to change into a silver outfit,” he teased, referencing the fairy tale, “and take you hiking in the woods, since I’ve been there a few times before. I want to take you somewhere far away from your glass hill, somewhere colorful and filled with an excess of life. Or if you prefer a mix of civilization with your wilderness, we can go to visit some forested land my family owns near Bucureşti. There aren’t quite as many trees, since the land is a bit more developed in that region, but you could see how a normal family lives.”
“What about my own family? Why shouldn’t I visit them first?” Evanna inquired.
“Because they still live on the Moon, and that’s far too close to the influence of your precious Intelligence Trust to risk,” Victor reminded her. “You can visit them after you’ve had a taste of real life, which you will only find far from this lunar glass hill. I’ll take you myself, if you like. To Sol Duc, to Bucureşti, and even to your family, but the latter only after you have visited at least one of the others.”
“Only after I walk among real trees . . .” she murmured. “You keep referencing the story of the princess on the glass hill, but what about Snow White and her seven friends? Are you going to take me to meet six other men in these woods of yours?”
Hesitating, Victor shrugged and gave her the truth. “I suppose I could scrounge up six more men, between my brothers and cousins and their friends . . . but I’d rather spend my time with you figuring out just how quickly you can master the art of kissing. After all, you can only kiss one person at a time. You’re very good at it, for someone who has never been properly kissed before. A natural, even. But . . . there is still plenty of room for improvement.”
“Is there really that much more to learn, then?” Evanna asked.
“Quite a lot left to learn.” He started to say more, but the comm beeped, warning him the Lunar Ceramics Institute was attempting to contact them. “I believe you are being paged by your overeager, earnest, well-meaning captors, Doctor. Would you care to reply?”
Picking up the datapad, she thumbed a few commands into it, studied what came up, and nodded. “Yes, I would. And I’d like to go see that forest you recommended. The first one, with the hotel and the hot springs. And then I’d like to see the second one, where your family lives. After that, I want to visit my own family. And after that . . . we will see. Because my contract does not specify I have to use each year’s vacation time solely within that year. With twenty years of vacation accrued, I could take off for a whole year and then some, if I wanted to.
“I’m not sure if I want to, just yet, but I do want to get away. With your help, Captain,” she allowed, giving him a courteous nod. “Erm . . . Victor.”
Plucking her nearest hand free from the datapad, Victor lifted it to his lips for a kiss. “I am pleased to be of any service you desire, Evanna.”
With his other hand, he flicked on the comm unit, connecting her with the image of one of the institute’s administrators.
“A webwork! That’s what I need!”
The exclamation made Victor blink. Evanna pointed with her free hand at a spiderweb glistening with dew from the fog misting the forest. He dutifully peered at it, though he didn’t know why. “What about it?”
“Right before you arrived, I was working on a problem with lightening the mass of the ceristeel hull platings for the military. The problem is annealing the thermal layers of the ceristeel for strength and durability while still permitting sensor integration,” Evanna explained, her attention more on the orb spider and its web than on him.
She was also smiling, which she hadn’t stopped doing since arriving at this resort last night, with its damp, mossy rain forest waiting to be explored. Still, she had a lifetime of thinking about work as a habit, and this was an important idea to explore. And to think, it’s because I’m here that I thought of this solution to my problem.
“If I patterned the foam with a webwork of intercrossed annealings—vertical ones as well as horizontal,” she stressed, “it would mitigate the shearing stresses of a glancing impact while cutting the overall mass of the thermal tiles. Not by as much as I’d hoped, but it would be enough to . . . I’m boring you, aren’t I?”
“Not by that much,” Victor teased. “I do fly a spaceship, so the protective factors of its ceristeel plating are important to me. Besides, wouldn’t long lines of annealment cause the potential for parallel stress fractures? If the manufacturing process can be pattern-worked as you suggest, wouldn’t a honeycomb be more efficient? There aren’t any long straight lines in a honeycomb pattern, so any potential fracture would find itself blocked after fissuring only a short distance.”
“Of course—why didn’t I think of that?” she murmured, hazel eyes gazing somewhere beyond the boundaries of the trail th
ey were following. They weren’t far from the two-bedroom cabin they had rented, having just begun the morning’s walk in the woods. “It’s an incredibly simple solution to the problem, so why didn’t I see it earlier?”
Victor wrinkled his nose. “Because you’ve been isolated from life too much?”
Facing him, Evanna smiled. “That I have. Care to de-isolate me again, Capt—Victor?”
Happy to oblige, he shifted closer and met her upturned lips with his own. If kisses were apples, he had shared a basketful with her so far, never mind a mere three.
Evanna sighed happily, returning each touch and taste. As the kiss progressed, her arms ended up looped around his silver-clad shoulders, and his wrapped around her flower-printed waist. Colorful, patterned clothes were among the first things she had bought after arriving on Earth. She had yet to find a supplier of the same metallic shirts he preferred, but that was all right; she had discovered the allure of nature, and liked how her flowery shirts and dresses reminded her of the real world. This world.
Laughter from a couple of kids broke them apart. The kids were at that age where they weren’t really children anymore but not quite teenagers, and they pushed at each other, racing to be the first one up the trail. Behind them, their parents followed at a more sedate pace. The indulgent look the adults gave Victor and Evanna made her blush, because it was the kind of look that said the two of them just had to be a couple, given their intimate closeness.
She might not know much about interpersonal relationships yet, but she was learning, and she was learning that she liked the idea of being a couple. Looking up into the light brown eyes of her host, she found them moving over her face with that same penetrating sense of life. “You know what?”
“What?” Victor asked, distracted by the sight of her hair, left down this morning. Last night they had shopped, dined, talked—and kissed—and parted to their separate rooms to sleep. This morning, she was a different woman, much more approachable than the crisp, impersonal, lab-coat-wearing scientist she had been yesterday. Now she was as soft and silky as her hair looked, and he was the one who seemed colorless by comparison, clad in a silver shirt and matching pants today. He didn’t feel colorless inside, though; just watching her delight in these new experiences refreshed his own view of their birthworld.
“I have just realized I can research microannealing patterns and the integration of bismuth isotopes into ceristeel compounds any old day. Today, I am on vacation, and I am on vacation with you. And you promised to teach me more about kissing. You . . .” She broke off as a large drop of water plopped onto her forehead. It was accompanied by the pattering of several more starting to fall around them. Glancing up through the trees, she wrinkled her nose. “I see that a real forest has real drawbacks. Holographic ones don’t get you wet.”
“They also don’t have bugs. But we can get an umbrella and better coats, and the rain will chase away the bugs,” he offered. “You didn’t get much of a walk in the woods last night when we arrived.”
“I’d rather not overdo it on my first day, and the forest will still be here in a few hours, when the rain has hopefully faded. Why don’t we go back to our cabin, and you can show me all the different ways someone can kiss?” Evanna asked, flinching as more drops pattered down through the trees, cold and wet. “We can do that indoors, where it’s nice and dry.”
“If that is what you wish.” Victor wanted her full cooperation before he went as far as a kiss could be taken. He just wasn’t sure she knew what that meant yet. Walking faster and faster as the rain started falling in earnest, they reached their cabin quite damp, though not actually soaked. Shutting the door on the now hissing drops, Victor turned to face her, only to find himself crowded against the door. Startled, he eyed her warily.
“I did some research, you know,” Evanna murmured, rubbing her hands over the slippery, damp fabric of his silver shirt. “Last night, while you were sleeping, I crept out here and used the workstation to look up all manner of kissing techniques. Some of them were . . . very personal.”
One of her hands slid down his chest to his stomach as she spoke, and slipped a little lower still. Victor sucked in a sharp breath. He caught her wrist. “Evanna . . . are you sure about this?”
She looked down at his silver-clad chest for a few moments, then shrugged. Her free hand rubbed gently over the material as she spoke. “Well, as I said, I did some research. The descriptions for the things I’m feeling apparently fall under the category of adult interpersonal interactions. I find you an attractive specimen of male humankind, I admire your wit, I am aroused by the way you kiss me, and I am intrigued by the passion you invoke in me.”
Her other fingers fluttered slightly, making him stiffen. Evanna smirked.
“Judging from your reactions, you find me equally arousing, and my intelligence hasn’t scared you away. At least, as far as I have been able to tell. Given that we are attracted to each other, it makes perfect sense to pair up as research partners. After all, the things you’ve said and done suggest you do have some empirical experience in researching passion between men and women, which would make you an exemplary assistant in this matter. You do, don’t you?”
Nodding, he released her wrist, allowing her the opportunity to cup him fully. “I’m sure I could instruct you. I, ah . . . nice . . . In fact, the first lesson is all about hands-on research, which I see you’re already eager to explore.”
“Hands-on?” Evanna repeated, lifting her brows. “I thought this was supposed to be lips-on.”
“Hands-on first,” Victor corrected her. Catching her hands, he tugged them up to the top button of his shirt. “In order to kiss your research partner everywhere, you first need to remove any and all impediments to your lips, and that usually involves using your hands.”
Nodding, she began unfastening his shirt. “Yes, I see you’re right. I also understand that the best research environment—or at least the most comfortable—is a bed. Do you have a preference for which one?”
Lifting his fingers to the buttons of her own dress, Victor started removing it. “I think the nearest one will do.”
She looked up at that. “I read that a sofa also works, if you really want the nearest comfortable surface.”
“I think we should stick to traditional comforts the first few times,” Victor countered wryly, amused by her pragmatic approach to passion. Sweet scientist-lady, you have a lot to learn, don’t you?
She was staring at his chest with a bemused look. “Victor . . . if I may ask, why do you have all these muscles? Surely you don’t use primitive, brute force to haul around all those cargos you carry?”
“No, my cousin and I use exosuits and hydrolifters, just like any other crew. But we fly an in-system ship, so we can literally go days and weeks between destinations—Please move your arms like . . . that, yes, thank you,” he murmured, navigating her shoulders and elbows out of the constraints of her garment. “As a result, hauling cargo gets rather boring at times. There are only so many hours one can spend watching netshows, so I bought some fitness equipment a couple of years ago and have used it ever since.”
“You must get bored quite a lot, to have developed all of this,” Evanna observed, shoving his shirt off his shoulders so that it joined her dress on the floor. She skimmed her palms over his chest until her fingers reached his waist and began figuring out the intricacies of his trousers. Then she stopped and shook her head. “I almost forgot a step. We have to remove our shoes, then I can take off your pants and you can remove my underthings. After that, I have to give you a ‘blow’ or whatever it’s called, and then . . . what?”
Wincing, Victor shook his head. “You do not have to give me one, Evanna.”
She frowned at that. “Why not? Admittedly I didn’t research the topic of sex exhaustively, but the preliminary research I did suggested it’s best to satisfy the man first, so that he’ll last longer the second time. It also suggested that a male should take extra time preparing a virgin
female so that the pain is minimized and the experience overall is as enjoyable as possible. Logic suggests that if men are so quick on the first round as all that, then the man should be satisfied first. And the best way to satisfy a man the first time around is to blow him.”
He stared at her a moment, then rubbed his palm over his face. “I can’t believe you’re turning me on with a dry, clinical recital of what we should do . . . Regardless, I’m afraid your research is incomplete.”
“It is? But I read seventeen articles and watched twenty-three vids,” Evanna pointed out. “That should be a sufficiently large enough sampling for preliminary instruction, at the very least.”
“Passion is not meant to be treated like mixing up a batch of chemicals, even if it’s been compared with chemistry for centuries,” Victor corrected her, amused. She really does throw herself into her research projects, doesn’t she? “And I don’t need to be satisfied immediately. Such things are more for men who haven’t bothered to put in a lot of research on self-control, which I have done. Besides, until you know what real passion is, how will you know if you’re giving it adequately?”
Evanna tilted her head, thinking about that. “You mean I have to empirically experience passion in a practical application before I can grasp the theory correctly for future usage?”
“Exactly. Real life isn’t a hologram, or a set of formulas on a screen,” he agreed. Before she could react, Victor scooped her off her feet, hefting her into his arms. She was average in height and average in weight, and not too difficult to carry the few meters across the sitting room of their cabin to the nearest of the bedrooms. Once there, he laid her on the bed, knelt beside it, removed her shoes and socks, and pulled her undergarments down her legs.
Squirming up onto her elbows, Evanna watched him toss her clothing aside and remove his own shoes, though he left his silver trousers on.
His eyes, which she had heard his cousin call “fox eyes” during their brief meeting on the trip from the Moon to the Earth, flicked from her face to her pelvis. She could see why his cousin had said that, for while the rest of the man kneeling before her parted legs was controlled and methodical, those light brown eyes were as free as a wild animal, roving all over her. The mixture of control and freedom fascinated her; Evanna realized that the dichotomy between the two made her want to make his body just as free as his eyes. I wonder what he’d be like if he unleashed some of that physical control . . .