Honey Moon (28 page)
Over in the corner, another naked woman posed provocatively, leaning over the edge of a nicely padded sofa, showing off the soft, pale skin of her delicious arse.
Now, she’s just begging to be fucked!
When his fantasy female realised she’d captured his attention, she cupped her boobs in her hands and gave him a smoochy air kiss. Ethan groaned and increased the speed of his masturbation. As he did, the image wavered slightly, the blonde tresses turning russet red and her features morphing into those of the uptight, snooty Doctor Sinclair.
Where the fuck did that come from?
Ethan snorted and forced the unlikely scenario away, concentrating instead on the way the woman’s breasts spilled over her slim hands. His own were itching to take their place. The speed of his rubbing increased, and all the different strands of tension that had been bugging him for weeks transformed into rivers of blood that funnelled into his cock. Boy, was he hard! Fucking someone as hot as that doggie-style woman had to be his ultimate fantasy. Maybe she was the one he’d choose. The slick wetness of his cock couldn’t wait to delve into that tight c—
An ear-piercing screech rang out, driving the images away.
Damn.
Ethan lifted his head and reached across to shut off the alarm.
Big mistake.
The walls threatened to collapse in on him as the room spun crazily.
With a groan, he collapsed back onto his bunk, both hands pressed against the sudden pain in his stomach.
Shit, Abu said I was drinking too much!
The softly voiced warning rang in his head again, ‘
You’re getting a stomach ulcer, Ethan, and your liver has been compromised. If you don’t stop drinking, you won’t live to see forty
’. Except it wasn’t Ethan who had died, but Abu.
The rivers of blood halted as if they were snap frozen—in this case, chilled by memories of a more recent tragedy. All had been going well until most of the aliens headed off in the shuttle to join their starship, leaving only a few to look after them until the replacement ship arrived. Shortly afterwards, the remaining aliens started dying and nothing Abu or his team had been able to save them.
Then Abu had died.
All the MedPath personnel who had been looking after the aliens were immediately isolated in strict quarantine and the rest of the contingent had been ordered to stay in their quarters as much as possible. Now all they could do was wait until Dana Sinclair determined if Abu had caught one of the aliens’ diseases. If so, all their lives might be at risk.
Time to get up. He couldn’t put it off any longer. No doubt the Commandant would be hassling him for an update from MedPath. In the last two weeks, he’d tried to heed Abu’s advice about not drinking too much, but his friend’s sudden and unexpected death had been the straw that broke the camel’s back. He’d grown to like and respect the man. At least he’d been better company than the other three humans who had been awake during the journey from Earth to the space station.
He hadn’t seen much of the Commandant or Ramirez and often wondered what they got up to behind the closed doors. They certainly spent a lot of time together, but given their age difference, he found it difficult to imagine them having sex. He hadn’t even been able to get to know the Saa’ar, because Isaac, the only person who could understand what they were saying, was always in his cabin with one of the alien females, and there was only so much conversation you could do with pointing fingers and smiling. That had just left Ethan and the tall African doctor together to spend their free time playing chess and chatting about life, the universe and everything in it. Now Abu was dead too. Seemed that becoming one of his friends was a death sentence.
Ethan sat on his bunk for a few minutes, staring at the cartoon on the wall in front of him. His nephew had given it to him as a farewell present before he left.
A frog had its hands wrapped tightly around the throat of a pelican that was trying to swallow it. Its skinny legs were planted against each side of the bird’s beak keeping them apart. The caption said ‘
Never Give Up’
. The hopeful expression on the frog’s face got to him every time.
Pushing away all memories of things he would rather forget, Ethan dragged out a cloth and wiped over the top of his prosthetics. Usually he cleaned them before going to sleep, but last night he’d been lucky to find the bed.
Automatically, he went through the routine of checking the skin on the end of his legs and putting on fresh stump socks. Bitter experience had taught him to be careful. Finally he put on his fake legs, adjusting the suction. The doctors had been amazed when he told them he didn’t want the latest bionic ones that screwed straight into the bone. How could he explain to them it wasn’t that he liked the old fashioned ones? They were all he deserved.
My reminder…
Once his prosthetics were in place, he staggered into the bathroom.
Fuckin’ head
. With shaking fingers, he fumbled for the packet of painkillers he’d stashed away.
As he swallowed the capsules, he glanced at his reflection in the mirror.
Boy, do I look like crap. Time for a shave.
After lathering up, he raised his old straight razor and turned his head. The sight of the pale, puckered scars triggered his usual reaction.
Coward
.
Finding some clothes to fit him took a few minutes. He laughed sadly when he pulled on his last possible pair of fatigues. The top button wouldn’t fasten. Either he’d put on more weight, or the clothes were shrinking.
Abu was right.
Time to give up the grog
.
* * * *
Giving his stomach a final rub to ease the burn, Ethan entered the two-room office he shared with Dreher, Ramirez and their computer expert, Hu Chang. None of them had arrived yet.
He sat at his desk and logged on. The young Asian arrived soon after and put some ComPads onto his own desk. “You look like shit this morning. Been hitting the Skootch again?”
“Yeah, well as of today, I quit.”
The look of disbelief on Hu’s face made Ethan wince. Seems his friend thought he already needed AA.
Bit far to attend meetings.
Ethan snorted and returned to his examination of the screen in front of him.
What a come down. Ethan Patrick O’Reilly, former leader of the world famous UN Ranger Rapid Deployment Team, feared by the whole merc army…now a desk job Johnnie in charge of counting panels and rivets. It wasn’t the hardware that worried him. They could always use the materials they found when they arrived on the planet. It was the food situation that had him bothered. When the aliens realised they were dying, they sealed off a large section of the Space station. Despite all his skills at breaking people out of captivity, he hadn’t been able to open a simple door. They’d tried everything—explosives, drills…you name it.
Who knew what foodstuffs the aliens had stored in there? Their own supplies would last for a couple of months, but they still didn’t know when the Saa’ar would return.
The door opened again. “Good morning, gentlemen. How are you?”
Ethan gave a perfunctory nod in response. He’d taken an instant dislike to the Commandant shortly after lift-off. She was the oldest member of the mission. Over fifty if the BioFile was to be believed. A walking tribute to modern plastic surgery. He hated the way her short grey hair was permed. Looked like a bloody helmet. But what really gave him the shits was the way she peered at him over the top of her spectacles.
“How are you progressing with your game installation, Mr Chang?”
Hu opened the machine in front of him. “It’ll be ready for everyone who wants it by tomorrow. The source code Isaac brought with him is loaded. Now I need to put the game on all their ComPads and link them to the server.”
Hu and Isaac had come up with the brilliant idea of installing an online computer game. While the majority of personnel were confined to their rooms, only allowed out for short periods of exercise, morale had become a real problem. Anything to keep them amused. Personally, Ethan couldn’t see the attraction of running around shooting arrows at people. He’d done enough of that in real life.
“The sooner we can put an end to this quarantine the better.” She approached Ethan. “Mr O’Reilly, we need a definitive answer from MedPath on how Dr Abu-bakara died.”
Without waiting for an acknowledgement, she swept into her adjoining office.
Yes, ma’am, no, ma’am, three bags full, ma’am
. If he’d been twenty years younger, he would have pulled a face at the door as she left. After a lifetime of receiving orders from superior officers, you’d think he’d be used to being told what to do, but the way she gave the orders annoyed the shit out of him. Too much like the old dingbat of a teacher who’d turned him off History forever.
Ethan flipped off his stock report. Time to send another IntCom to MedPath.
About the Author
Sci-fi, paranormal, thriller-mystery, indefinable—I’m an author who adds sweet and spicy layers of romance to any genre.
I was born in upstate New York, USA, land of cows, snow, drizzle and sometimes a ray of sun. I spent my childhood reading whatever I could get my hands on. Adolescence found me questioning the validity of everything I read. Early twenties, I headed for the Pacific Ocean. A stop off to visit a friend turned into years in Tucson, Arizona. My late twenties found me running family owned greenhouses and florist shops back in New York. When the reality of retail life became too mundane to handle, I began an obsessive love of creating more interesting worlds.
Email:
[email protected]
Arlene loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at
http://www.totallybound.com
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