My Prize (6 page)

And if what he taught her could help her win some respect in the Frallien Olympiad—then even better.

All things considered, it appeared that she'd be a fool to turn him down. "Oh rass," she muttered to herself.

The sharp ears of the Laird picked it up immediately. "Hmm. Rass. You say that a lot, I've noticed. I wonder if it would be the local equivalent of one of our most valued expressions."

"Possibly. What would that be?"

"Fuck."

Boralle seemed lost in thought for a few moments. Then she straightened her shoulders, gave a little nod and looked Rory straight in the eye. "Very well. I agree to your request. You may begin." She lay down on the bed near him, and straightened her arms and legs.

Rory chuckled. "You look more like someone awaiting a death blow than a woman waiting for a lover," he said, trying very hard not to laugh.

She glared at him. "You are not my lover. And how
should
I be lying? And what do we do first?"

"How about we talk a little, and you tell me about this place you live in, the things you like, and things I should know about the Fralliens."

Unbeknownst to herself, Boralle pouted. "I thought you were going to awaken my sensuality."

"Oh I will, lass, never fear." Rory answered her quietly, leaning over and sliding his big hand up her neck, over her ear and around to cup her head. "But there's steps to be taken. Small ones at first..." He dipped his head and just barely touched her lips with his. "So let's take it slowly, shall we? At least right now."

He moved away, delighting in the small sigh he heard as he withdrew from her mouth.

In truth, his mind was spinning a little. Just that one touch had been enough to tease his senses, tantalize his palate, and tell him that this was a woman who would be unlike any other he'd loved in the past. He'd been told that he would be compatible with his target, otherwise the entire exercise would have been futile, but he'd had no inkling of exactly what "compatibility" meant.

Now he did, and the realization had shaken him a little.

He attempted to regain his balance. "Tell me of this...this...thing, will you, sweetheart?" He nodded at the TUNG booth.

Boralle sighed and swung her legs off the bed. "It's called a satisfaction booth, and it allows space travelers to find sexual release whenever they want it. It comes in both male and female versions—this one is the latest female version, obviously—and it delivers an orgasm in approximately five minutes or less, depending on the subject."

She stood in front of it dispassionately, considering how best to explain the workings. "One can achieve either direct stimulation of the clitoris to orgasm, or one can also program internal stimulation, with or without G-spot interaction. The programs are entered here..." She placed her fingers on several small indentations. "And once you step in, the system is self-activating."

Rory found himself coloring at Boralle's blunt description of the sexual functions of the machine. "But...is it fun, then?" He knew he sounded naive, but this technical sex thing was outrageous to his mind.

"Well, I don't know about fun. It's certainly relaxing. And it takes the stress out of sexual intercourse. And, of course, on board ship it's an absolute must."

"It is?"

Boralle laughed, bringing an answering smile to Rory's lips. She was beautiful when she forgot to be Major North and just let the woman inside peek out.

"Rory, space voyages are long and arduous. There are very few single sex crews. Therefore, sexual interaction becomes an issue. It can be fraught with the problems of jealousy, possessiveness, and lust, and can give rise to any number of situations that would be fatal in deep space. It was considered vital to eliminate these difficulties early on in the space program, so sexual substitutes were eagerly sought after and perfected. This..." she nodded at the TUNG, "...is the result."

Rory sighed. "To think that humanity explored the stars and left their cocks behind."

Boralle grinned again. "Not really. We all enjoy a good orgasm whenever we want one—did I mention this comes in the male version too? But we don't have to face the problems that sex brings with it. It's quite logical."

"Logical yes, but impersonal and cold, Boralle. There's more to sex than a quick fuck, you know. More to sex than just...just...having a good come." Rory gulped, overcoming his warrior-like reluctance to discuss the nitty-gritty of the sexual act.

"Not a whole lot, my fine Scottish Laird," answered Boralle dryly. "When it all boils down to the fundamentals, what else is there?"

Rory stared at her, wondering where to begin. "Ah, lass..." He let his lips curve slightly as his eyes left her face and wandered over her body. "You ask me what else is there. That's what I'm here to show you..."

Her body moved slightly as if in response to his gaze, which had reached her feet and was now traveling back up—slowly—to her face.

She blushed.

He smiled.

"Is there somewhere we could walk, Boralle?" he asked, eyes fixed on her breasts.

"Um...walk?" She cleared her throat awkwardly.

Her nipples were beading as he watched them, and a little zing of pleasure ran through his balls at the knowledge she was responding so well to him. "Yes, walk. This is a small wee room. It's a bit stifling in here and I need to stretch my legs. Do you have someplace we could just walk?"

"Well...I...er..." She stuttered a little and shifted her gaze awkwardly away from his face. "We could walk the corridors I suppose...how do I explain you to the crew?"

"You won't have to. I am here for you, Boralle. No one else. You are the only one who can see me."

"Really?"

Rory smiled and took her hand in his, raising it to his lips and brushing them back and forth across her knuckles. "Really."

"You need clothes."

"I'm wearing a..." Rory glanced down. "I forgot. 'Tis no my plaid."

"Your what?"

"My plaid. My tartan. Fabric that bears the colors of my clan." He sighed. "I can't describe it. You'd have to see it. 'Tis as bright as the heart of a Scottish lass and vivid with the colors of sunshine." He smiled.

Boralle smiled back. A genuine smile that warmed Rory's heart.

"Well, I don't think we have any of that in the Clothation vent, but let's find you something." Boralle walked to a small control panel, threw a measuring glance over at Rory and twiddled dials.

"Stand under the vent, would you please? And remove the blanket?"

Unhesitatingly, Rory followed her instructions, letting her have a good look at the McAllen weaponry while he was at it. He was gratified to see her eyes widen and he watched her throat move as she swallowed.

"Ahem. Now, just extend your arms upwards and we'll see what we can manage."

A draft brushed Rory's skin and stirred his hair, then a thick and viscous black liquid oozed from the vent and began to slither over his body.

Within moments a pair of dark shiny pants, not unlike leather, had firmed around his lower half, but his top was left bare.

Boralle frowned. "That's odd."

"They fit well enough?" said Rory.

"No, I meant that no shirt was provided." She twiddled knobs again, but the vent emitted nothing but a sigh.

"Well, I'm sorry. It looks like that's all we can provide for you."

"It'll do me fine, lass. They're excellent braies, don't you think?" Wickedly, Rory grinned at her and turned around, knowing she was looking at the planes and contours of his broad, naked chest.

"Um, yes."

"I like them, and I thank you. Now. We were going out?"

Boralle swallowed once more and dragged her eyes away from his body. He hid his satisfaction and kept his expression calm, in spite of the demons that were dancing within his mind. He really wanted to arouse this woman. She had fire buried in her, he was positive of it.

"All right. Let's take a walk, shall we?"

He followed her from the cabin into a long, dismal, gray corridor, and listened to their feet thudding on the steel lattice beneath them. It seemed endless.

"Are there no windows in this rather dreary ship of yours?" asked Rory, feeling even more claustrophobic in the corridor than he had in Boralle's quarters.

She chuckled. "Oh yes, we have windows. But you have to be in service for several years on the same ship before you get a cabin that has one."

Rory sighed. "This is not the greatest walk I've had," he admitted.

They passed more corridors, equally gray, equally dreary. It was quiet, almost hushed.

"Where is everyone?"

Boralle glanced at the chronometer that was part of her suit. "Right now, most everyone is working. Preparing legal arguments, working on negotiations, researching, writing, filing, meeting with higher ups, kissing ass with higher ups..."

Rory picked up on the bitterness in her tone. "Problems with higher ups, Boralle?"

She snorted. "Only that when you're the youngest and most recent crew member, you get the real shit jobs. I wish I had an IMU for every time I had to make a duplicate datacard of something we've already got twelve duplicates of. Or the times I've had to run and fetch javeine for people who could perfectly well have fetched it for themselves."

"So you're not working now because..."

"Because the mighty powers-that-be have decided to make me the sacrificial goat for the Frallien Olympiad. I'm allowed more off-shift hours now, so that I can practice with the TUNG booth. Got to have bigger and better orgasms, so that I can score bigger and higher numbers and make the CGC look good."

"The CGC?"

"The Central Galactic Court."

Rory raised an inquiring eyebrow as Boralle slowed her march to a stroll and allowed him to casually slip his hand into hers.

"The Central Galactic Court," she began, "was formed several hundred years ago, when Earth Central began seriously exploring, colonizing and interacting with nearby neighbors in our quadrant."

Rory squeezed her hand slightly, indicating his interest.

"It was quickly recognized that some kind of regulation would have to apply to such interactions, otherwise lawlessness and anarchy would run rampant. As indeed it did, for a short but bloody time." She shook her head. "I'm not even going to go into that. It's over, thank God."

She glanced up at Rory. "We needed laws. Laws that were fair, applicable across the board to all species, and that could be easily translated and administered." She stopped before a very small porthole that gave Rory his first glimpse outside the ship into the wonderful universe full of glittering stars and magical worlds.

He stood behind Boralle, looking over her head into infinity, and caught his breath at the beauty of it.

"It was a new frontier, Rory, and it needed order, and some semblance of justice. Not all planets were advanced enough to contribute representatives, or to fully embrace the complex legalities that were developed. So, in answer to this need, the Central Galactic Court was formed. It's sort of like..." She paused, searching for a way to describe it, "...like a traveling judicial system."

She turned away from the porthole.

"We visit planets who don't have their own interspatial legal system set up yet, and we help them with their legal issues. We adjudicate, offer them a court system if they need it, and help them understand the intergalactic laws that are currently in effect. Occasionally we negotiate for them in disputes, or assist them in settling internal problems."

She raised her chin proudly.

"My last assignment was in helping Lesser Canis create its very first charter. It was a great job and the Canisians were most appreciative."

Her lips curved into another of those delightfully genuine smiles.

"Gave you a nice party, did they?" said Rory, grinning back at her.

"Well, not so much a party as a rite of purification. Very important on Lesser Canis, and quite beautiful. It's said to restore innocence and virginity." Boralle's smile gave way to a blush.

"Really?" The interest in his voice gave Rory away, and Boralle turned with a cough to continue their walk.

"Yes. Really."

"So, did it work then, lass?" He could no more have held the question back than he could have stopped breathing.

"I guess we'll be finding out, won't we?"

*~*~*~*

Rassing hell, what was the matter with her? She was acting like some low-gig pleasure droid, getting all silly over a man.

Mind you, he
was
one hell of a man to get silly over.

She slanted a quick look at him as they strolled down another of GSC-131's endless miles of corridor.

His bones were strong, lending a look of masculine beauty to his face as the high cheekbones and firm jaw told a tale of man at his most attractive. She knew his body was damn near perfect, honed, muscled and warmly hard to the touch. Her fingers tingled at the thought of touching him again.

As if he read her thoughts, he once again slipped his fingers around hers, encompassing her hand in his larger one, and making her feel...feel...what?

Safe? Protected? Secure?

She didn't know. An assortment of new emotions were running wild through her flesh, and not a one of them made any sense to her.

Of course she was safe and protected. And secure too. She was on familiar territory in a CGC ship. Why should another's touch make her yearn?

Gently, she eased her hand away from his.

"Perhaps you might like this, Rory," she said, to cover her withdrawal.

He let her go, but she had the funniest notion he had seen her maneuver and acknowledged it for what it was. A scared retreat. But before she could lead him off the corridor, footsteps interrupted them.

Boralle tensed, then remembered Rory had said he was invisible to all but her. She hoped, for once, that such an impossible thing might be true.

Coming down the corridor at a brisk clip was the one person she'd rather have avoided. Officer Durwood Lefton. The same sig-ops Officer Durwood Lefton who'd been harassing her about her limited sexual skills for the last few weeks.