“It’s shame to take in such a sight alone. Mind if I join you?”
The deep voice behind her belonged to Healey, one of the Double Helix Contractors that Hoost had brought along to man the yacht and provide shore security. Since Jay and his team had jumped to the Ice Age back in the English Channel a month ago, all four of the scumbag military contractors with their steroid bodies, Rayban sunglasses and high-and-tight haircuts had been undressing her and Selene with their eyes and hitting on them anytime Hoost was out of sight.
Physically they were all attractive, but they were a bunch of apolitical baby-killers as far as she was concerned. She didn’t like their type, and, as horny as she was, she didn’t want to risk losing Hoost’s respect by satisfying her carnal needs at the expense of operational protocol, not to mention her self-esteem. Truth be told just hearing this bastard’s voice made her wet, knowing as she did what he wanted to do to her. But she was stronger than her lusts, and a team-leader besides, so she cut him down.
“What’s the matter Healey, did that brat Swanson kick you off of his World of War Craft all-star-team again?”
He sounded amused and she did not turn to look at him. “That’s hitting below the belt Higgins. You know I can’t hang with these kids at the console. When it comes to things that require subtlety and discretion, though, that’s when you need a mature man.”
Kick him in the teeth.
“That’s right you served in Panama right? Was that a ‘police action’ or an ‘international incident’?”
“Damn Higgins I’m only forty-two. Let me show you what experience brings. You’re fuck-buddy’s been gone for a month, and you don’t really want to be putting yourself on the market in ancient Greece. Hell they might decide to keep you with that Spartan body and fire-red hair.”
“Oh, so you are just offering some pre-op comfort for a junior sister-in-arms?”
He got closer and whispered, “Look, Nelson is on watch and Swanson and Teller are slugging it out with Chuck Norris and his big white tiger. We can use my cabin.”
Bust his balls.
She whispered with a deep hissing sound, “It’s a deal if you can guarantee me ten inches—on display, right here right now.”
That was nasty.
His tone darkened, “Go fuck yourself you jar-headed bitch!”
Rub it in.
“That’s what I had in mind. It’s better than getting humped by some Army grunt that couldn’t make it through Ranger School.”
His tone got lower, “That was across the line Higgins.”
Yes GI Joe, this pussy has teeth.
“Well then, you shouldn’t have gone there with the Corp. I patched up a couple of you grunts on my last tour in Afghanistan.”
He sounded conciliatory. “Alright, you’re the Principal; and I shouldn’t have come up here. You have a good night. It’ll be all business tomorrow.”
“Thanks Healey. I’ll see you at the briefing.”
The sounds of his light foot falls, light for such a big muscle-head, heading down to the deck was music to her ears.
So I’m just some hard-hearted Marine Corp bitch? I’ll take it, every Navy Corpsman wishes he were a real Marine, and I’m no different.
She leaned on the rail and day-dreamed, walking her way through conversations with Aristotle that somehow she could still barely imagine taking place. Then, as the seaward breeze abated for a moment she felt—no sensed—something behind her. As she tensed her back to turn, wondering if Healey had snuck back up the stairs, she heard the serene voice of Hoost. “You handled that well Arlene. How are your visualizations going?”
“He never says anything back to me. I have no problem visualizing—and even hearing—my questions. But I cannot visualize his answers, even his tone of voice. It’s driving me crazy.”
“Do not let it. You will have the answers soon enough. Keep visualizing questioning him under varying circumstances: while fleeing; while he attends to personal affairs; while he frets over the details of his legacy. Imagine how you might insert the occasional unobtrusive query into a potentially chaotic setting. Your subject will be aged and under multiple conflicting stresses, not to mention threatened.”
It is a shame he is gay—and celibate at that. What a waste!
She turned to admire the tall perfectly formed red-headed future-man; a purpose-built special operations soldier from the 24th Century.
And red-headed at that! Mom would be thrilled. Imagine what beautiful babies we’d make.
Hoost seemed to sense her thoughts, and responded matter-of-factly. “Any unrealized desires should be channeled into your operational construct Arlene. You shall be required to live up to the image you present to the primitives. You are to be an intellectual and physical companion to high status men. Look within to find a concordant desire of your own. There shall be little need to ‘act’ or lie if you tap into latent desires that might be compatible with the needs of such men.”
The tall model of perfection dressed in pinstripe suite, descended to the main deck, leaving her to contemplate his words.
He was watching and had no intention of letting Healey touch you. He may even have sent Healey to proposition you to gauge your resolve and state-of-mind.
Arlene, he is suggesting you stay horny and keep it bottled up for when you need it. He is suggesting you seduce Aristotle!
He’s got a point. How many sixty-two-year-old men with a death sentence hanging over their head are going to be able to resist the advances of a twenty-seven-year-old woman with the brains to converse at their own level?
Not many—hell, not any!
Thanks Hoost, for reminding me that I’m packing a hellfire missile. I’ll keep it in mind.
Sixty-two, for Christ’s sake!
You better get used to the idea.
