“Stasis,” I hear George’s voice. “Stasis chambers, for safety.”
“Yes, that is correct, Stasis,” Dad nods. “Tomorrow, or sometime later today, there will be a Jump event, we are told.”
“Oh!” I exclaim. “Yes, yes! You will be Jumping in order to cross an immeasurable distance across the universe! We had to do that too, when we traveled to Atlantis! It’s basically a space short-cut.”
Dad smiles at me, shaking his head in mild disbelief. “An amazing thing, for certain. I admit it’s a little scary to imagine, and to anticipate. The fact that we get to be ‘frozen’ for it, is definitely unsettling to consider.”
“Oh, don’t worry, it’s perfectly safe for you in the Stasis chamber,” I say with emotion. “Just make sure to listen and do exactly what they tell you, and when you wake up, you’ll be on the other side of the universe, close to us!”
“Of course. And ah—I believe, our fine Pilot is telling me we need to cut this short,” Dad says, glancing in the direction of Quoni’s quiet voice, off screen. “We’ll call again tomorrow, right after it’s over.”
“Yes, please do! Okay, promise! Please be sure to call, Dad, love you! Love you, Gee One!” I hasten to say and we disconnect.
It occurs to me, the fact that they are coming up on the Jump means that the velo-cruiser is halfway to its destination.
Hard to believe, but Dad and George will be here so soon. . . .
Aeson returns home to his Palace Quarters in the early evening, following a long day of international meetings, media appearances, and SPC business. He immediately consults with those still on duty in the workroom, presently Erita and two other, unfamiliar astra daimon whom I didn’t have the chance to meet formally. They are all running analysis programs, and observing the golden grid around Helios and the lesser one near Rah from all possible directions.
I overhear from their conversation that numerous automated research probes of all types have been dispatched from various starting points around the system including Tammuz Station to rendezvous with the grid light objects, and they should start arriving on location in the coming hours all throughout the night. That will be the crucial moment of truth—whether they will be permitted to approach the golden light grid unharmed, or be destroyed at a certain proximity. If they manage to make it through, then we’ll start getting new, critically important data.
“Keep watching and let me know immediately if anything changes or significant new data comes in,” Aeson tells Erita and the others in a drained voice of exhaustion.
“Will do, My Imperial Lord,” she replies with a small frown. “Now, please get some rest, Kass. Go see your Bride, she’s been worried sick about you.”
Aeson allows himself a tiny smile, then turns around and heads directly toward me.
I rise from the sofa where I’ve been quietly and half-heartedly watching TV feeds, and move toward him.
“Aeson . . .” I say softly.
“Let’s go to your room,” he replies in a parched voice, taking me by the hand. At the warm touch of his fingers over mine I feel a familiar jolt of electricity.
And then we go into my bedroom together, shutting the door behind us.
As soon as we’re alone, Aeson closes the distance between us and I am crushed in his embrace. I close my eyes and exhale with pleasure, feeling the planes of his hard body press into me, engulf me with his muscular strength, hearing him let go of his own tensely held breath with a shudder, a moment of profound relief. . . .
I wrap my arms around him, run my fingers over his soft, pale hair gathered in a thick segmented tail at the nape, then stroke his powerful neck, pulling him closer to me, and we simply breathe in each other, saying nothing for several long, sweet, mindless seconds.
“Oh, Gwen . . . Gwen!” he says thickly, his warm breath washing over my cheek, and then places both his palms on either side of my face and turns me to the light to look into my eyes. “My sweet Gwen . . .”
I stare up at him with a kind of awe, a revelation, seeing a sudden feverish rise of energy in his lapis lazuli, deep-blue eyes, and a widening of his night-black pupils. It comes like a whirlwind out of nowhere. The force of his gaze is the weight of a mountain and it physically moves me and sears me. . . .
Even as I reel under the sheer living force of him—feeling like a blade of grass in the wind, being taken by the storm—he leans into me, his strong hands guiding me, so that I end up stepping backwards until he backs me into the nearest wall.
“Oh . . .” I breathe in surprise. “Aeson—”
He continues staring at me, consuming me. But now his attention is on my throat and then, focusing lower down, on my otherwise demure neckline. . . . The top I’m wearing is not particularly low cut, but the neckline curves downward slightly, so that only the faintest dimple shows in the middle where my cleavage begins, mostly concealed by the fabric.
Before I can anticipate it, he slides one hand over my right shoulder, tugging aside the shirt and pushing down my bra strap on that side, baring my shoulder. His strong fingers dig into my skin almost painfully, and he holds me there for several heart-pounding seconds. He lingers, staring at my bared skin strangely, slowing down. . . . Suddenly I’m aware of the controlled, labored sound of his breathing.
And then his fingers continue downward while his other hand moves in, and now both hands are underneath my breasts, cupping them. Abruptly he pushes them up and close together, so that the tops rise past the neckline, creating a bulging cleavage, while still contained in the bra.
My breath hitches, then escapes in a moan. . . . It is followed by a flush of scalding heat. A mad, swelling tide floods me—so much sensation that it’s numbing. I am overpowered, suddenly bereft of strength in my limbs—as though all of me has dissolved into a puddle of warm, thick, flowing honey. . . .
Time dilates as he brings his head down, burying his hard mouth in the dimple that is now a crevasse between my full breasts. His stubble grates my delicate skin, and it hurts so sweet, and I don’t give a damn, as his lips move hungrily over the tops of my breasts, while his fingers squeeze on both sides.
He raises his head at last and then staggers forward, pressing me up against the wall, then slamming me into it. . . . And for the first time, he is in such aggressive, close contact with my lower body that I can feel him down below—something large and hard—and then again his face is buried in my chest and he’s gasping for air, and I’m panting with surges of desire, washing over me in a pulse of concentric circles. . . .
We’ve gone completely insane.
“Oh . . . oh, sweet . . . oh—” I pant, grappling with him.
“To hell with everything. . . .” He inhales raggedly, speaking in a drunken voice, slurring words, as his hands now stroke and squeeze my bottom. “I need to have you right now, do you understand, my sweet amrevu, I need—”
And then he’s devouring my neck, mouth fiercely clenched with suction against the fluttering beat at the base of my throat—a bruising pulse kiss that will leave a mark . . . and I don’t give a damn.
I tilt my head back, offering myself up, and let him be a vampire.
“What . . . about . . . the Wedding?” I moan.
“Rawah bashtooh, to hell with the Wedding, with tomorrow—”
He groans, low and hoarse—the deep, beautiful, male sound of his voice sends another surge of desire through me—then grabs me by the hair, his fingers digging into my scalp, while his mouth opens with hunger and crushes mine.
And even as I’m sweetly drowning, I suddenly understand that he’s drowning too. Right now, in this exact moment, he’s holding on to me for dear life. . . .
My Bridegroom is in despair.
With a shudder I push back at him, reluctant to let go, freeing up my bruised mouth. “Aeson, wait—no!” I say.
At once he stops and moves back, breathing raggedly. His hands are still on me, gripping me. “Gwen—are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine, but you’re not,�
� I say gently. “I’m sorry, sweetie, but this is wrong. Our first time shouldn’t happen this way. This is sad, and you are overwhelmed with all the horrible things happening.”
“But I—” he says. And then he exhales again, then inhales deeply, to slow his crazy breathing down.
“Sh-h-h-h. . . .” I reach out and smooth back a fine tendril of damp hair on his forehead, then stroke his flushed cheeks and jaw calmingly, as he continues to breathe hard and stare at me with a serious, grim look of thwarted desire.
“Ah, bashtooh,” he says a few seconds later, as his breathing quiets down. “I’m sorry. You’re right.” He runs his hands over mine, stroking my skin, then raises my wrists up and plants soft kisses on the inside, butterfly-light pulse kisses of gratitude.
“I want you so much,” he says, looking down at me with his impossible, beautiful eyes.
“I know . . . I want you too,” I whisper, melting in his gaze. “Now—are you okay?”
And involuntarily I glance down at him there, at his lower body.
He notices the direction of my gaze and a light flush again surges in his cheeks.
“I am—under control,” he says with a smile.
“Good,” I say. “Because you know what happened the last time my bra was involved.”
He looks at me curiously, raising one elegant eyebrow.
“I mean, during our journey to Atlantis with the Fleet, up on ICS-2.” I bite my lip quickly, suddenly feeling breathless. “What happened in your cabin, during the Jump.”
There, I’ve said it.
Oh . . . my . . . God.
Aeson’s expression is—well, let’s just say that he blinks and then turns fiercely red, considerably more so than he was a few minutes ago in the middle of our make-out session.
“Gwen. . . . I was—” He shakes his head, unable to continue.
“Back then, you told me it was Jump sickness,” I say with mild reproach, watching him.
He exhales loudly, glances away, then finally makes eye contact. Did I mention, he is flaming red?
“It was not,” he says at last, softly. And his lips hold back a tiny smile. He exhales again. “Not Jump sickness. It was all you.”
I stare at him in wonder.
“All right—I was completely out of my mind,” he says. “You were suddenly naked and you were beautiful. I wanted you so much. . . . My body—I lost control completely. And yes, I was weakened by the Jump, but only in the sense of having my defenses down. I might’ve mentioned before, but Kassiopei are generally immune to the detrimental effects of the Jump. However, we are still vulnerable to some aspects of it.”
Aeson pauses. “Besides, I was always vulnerable to you.”
Oh, my lord . . . my heart melts.
“I think you also kind of like these,” I say, looking down and pointing at my own chest.
Aeson chuckles and then shamelessly ogles my breasts. “You know I do.”
“All right,” I say cheerfully. “So now we know you totally lied to me about the Jump incident. I forgive you.”
“Thank you,” he says, tilting his head slightly to look at me. “And I’m sorry. You already know the many reasons why I couldn’t be honest with you then—how I felt about you.”
I punch him in the arm. “Aeson, you silly man, be glad I love you.”
He chuckles again.
“Oh, and speaking about the Jump—”
I tell Aeson about my interstellar conversation with Dad and George.
“Looks like Quoni is setting an excellent pace. They’re making very good progress,” Aeson says, watching me warmly. “Soon, they will be here.”
“In time for the Wedding, you think?” I’m almost afraid to ask.
Aeson pauses before answering. I see a tiny flicker of doubt, a shadow in his eyes, but he hides it quickly. “Yes . . . the Wedding,” he says with a smile while his gaze involuntarily goes to his wrist comm light band that’s blinking with incoming data. “If all goes well—”
If we and Atlantis are still here tomorrow and the next day, I can almost hear his unspoken words.
“There will be a Wedding,” he concludes. “So yes, I see no reason why they wouldn’t be here in time for it, or shortly after.”
I hate hearing it expressed so bluntly, but I understand exactly what he means, why he says it this way.
There are still twenty days until our Wedding Day. A lot of things can happen in twenty days. Right now, with all the chaos and uncertainty that’s happening in the world, we can only think so far ahead, live so far ahead.
Yes, right now the sense of logically deduced hopelessness is strong, especially for him. As head of the SPC, he must be realistic and continuously look at the grim big picture, since he’s responsible for so much—in a sense, he’s responsible for all of us.
It’s why he wanted to have this moment of sweet oblivion with me just now.
But, right now, it’s my turn to be strong for him.
“Of course, there will be a Wedding,” I say, squeezing his arm. “No crappy alien light objects with their crappy super weapons and ancient invasion plan will get in the way of you and me being together at last—the right way, with our families there to witness! If I have to take out these aliens myself, singlehandedly, and stuff them all up the nearest black hole, I will. Better yet, let the Venerable Therutat take care of them for us—they’ll be sorry. Deploy her and the First Priest of Amrevet-Ra together with their Bridal Books and Event Lists and flower selections. Make the aliens put on weird, sexy dresses and memorize the Imperial Consort Protocol—”
Aeson starts to laugh, watching me blather, listening to my idiot bravado nonsense.
For the moment—change of mood and distraction achieved.
“Now let’s eat,” I conclude firmly, giving Aeson a tickle on the cheek. “Right now, a solid niktos meal will do us both the most good.”
Chapter 47
We’re supremely lucky because we get to enjoy the rest of the evening without any dire new events taking place. First, we have our entirely uneventful niktos meal. Aeson goes to the workroom a couple of times to check the status of incoming data and deployed tech probes, then returns and we stay on my bedroom side of the Quarters. We go out through the other door and hang out on the balcony terraces and watch the crazy big moons (including the ghostly weirdo fourth) in the star-spangled night sky, talk softly about nothing in particular, giggle, come back to snuggle, and then collapse on top of my bed covers and just stare at the ceiling while I play with Aeson’s long golden hair. . . .
Yes, I’m not kidding—he lies on his back with has hands tucked under his head and watches me with amusement as I braid one fine long strand of his nearly waist-long hair and giggle. Wrapping the finished skinny braid around my finger I pretend it’s a finger puppet.
“You know, Anu and Laronda kissed, yesterday . . .” I announce.
“What?” Aeson raises one brow and parts his lips, and almost sits up in surprise.
But I push him back down on the coverlet and tell him the whole story of the Bride Show Day afternoon, until he shakes with laughter on the bed.
Finally, I make him leave and go to his own bedroom and get some desperately needed sleep.
The next morning is Green Ghost Moon 16, and when I wake up around seventh hour, I find out that our luck continues, and again, nothing awful has occurred.
The workroom is busy with astra daimon officers. So many people—yet, they comprise only a small percentage of the SPC international military and government personnel with whom Aeson interacts on a daily basis. I only get to see the ones who visit him here at home, since they’re necessarily the ones he’s closest with, the daimon.
Apparently, the first batch of the closest tech probes is starting to approach the golden grid of light near Rah, while others are nearing the original mega-grid around Helios. As the automated equipment makes its approach, so does data on our end.
Everyone works and waits. Aeson leaves for another seri
es of meetings.
Then, later in the afternoon, my brother George and Dad call, sometime after fourth hour of Khe, Poseidon time, to say they achieved the Jump safely.
“I must say, the Stasis experience was entirely like getting anesthesia before surgery,” Dad tells me calmly, with considerable relief. “You go to sleep and remember nothing, and that’s the best thing about it. In short, we’re feeling fine.”
“You made it! You are now in the cosmic neighborhood of Atlantis!” I say with a surge of joy.
“So, looks like we’re coming to invade your new planet soon, Gee Two,” George says with a little flippant smile. “Be saying, ‘take us to your leader.’ And then what will you do? Take us to your fine and dandy fiancé, is what you do.”
George is being George and joking like the wry jester that he is. But in that one moment when he mentions “invading” I get a sick little twinge of guilt. . . . I still haven’t told them about what’s happening here, about the real-life alien threat hanging over us.
However, I force myself to push back the guilt, stuff it deep inside and bury it for now—no need to worry them needlessly.
That will come later.
Afterwards, I call Gordie and Gracie to tell them the good news about Dad and George getting closer and closer to us. Gordie is at work, doing agricultural design, and I can hear the sounds of his busy office, voices of coworkers chattering in rapid Atlanteo. “Yeah, good. They better get here soon,” he mumbles. “Before the alien invasion.”
“Hush, silly,” I tell my younger brother. “Don’t say that.”
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