Book 6: Chapter 5: Guppy |
The flash of a Maekyonite helmet, moving through the skeletonized second floor. Recoil kicks into Hyax’s shoulder with the buzzing roar of her rifle. A slash of dust sprays across the window. In the bombed-out street, Blue Lead drags his squadmate behind cover, firing one-handed at the target Hyax just painted.
“Red team, bound.” Hyax slaps a new magazine into her rifle. “Green, cover. Move that AFZ up.”
A half-section’s worth of HAK-suited marines move forward, darting from cover to cover. Over their horned heads the Maekyonites attempt suppressive fire, but Green team has their number now. The building’s turning into a killhouse.
“Second floor, copy?” Red Leader’s in the ear of Hyax’s helmet.
“Bring it down,” she says, and watches Red’s AFZ send a sizzling lance of kinetic death scything through the dusty brick. The north corner of the building, already weakened by Imperial fire, collapses.
In its wake, the Maekyonite guns are silent.
“Pause sim,” Hyax says. The distant explosions and gunfire, the roaring outback wind, it all stops.
Hyax paces through the building, past shrapnel frozen in mid-air from a secondary detonation in the ammo dump she was raiding. Past the crumpled, bloody corpses. Is Maekyonite blood really that bright red?
She climbs to the second floor. Bodies and pieces of bodies. Nobody moving—well, of course they wouldn’t be, she reminds herself. “Any surviving hostiles?” she asks.
“Cease sim and give me an after-action.”
“Imperial forces: two major injuries, five minor. All Australian Defense Forces neutralized.”
Hyax looks into the frozen face of the dead Maekyonite. He’s simple and untextured. The simulator didn’t bother to animate his face or give him expressions—this isn’t the emotional endurance module. His impassive face stares at the range’s stony ceiling through the hole Hyax’s men blasted in the roof.
“End sim,” she says, and the tranquil corpse disappears.
She pulls her halfcape off and stows her rifle in its harness as she returns to the armory. She steps from her HAK and loads it back into the rack. Down the gleaming armory-level hall she goes, to her dark, cramped office. She sits on her uncomfortable metal stool and switches on her terminal. Her partway-done document stares back at her:
MAEKYON ANNEXATION COLLATERAL INFORTUNITY ADDENDUM: URBAN WARFARE SIMULATION REPORT
She scrolls past the butcher’s bill of obliterated Maekyonite armies. At the bottom of the list, she writes MELBOURNE ANALYSIS, and pauses.
Present this soberly and with no outward emotion. As you did with Eqtora. That is your task; your own emotions are not to be a factor. Grantyde will appreciate your passivity.
No, he won’t. These are his people. Gods of the Firmament. Can you look into his eyes and tell him the tale of how you will slaughter their warriors?
Hyax cups her hands into a visor atop her forehead, leaning down to hide the report’s stark digital characters. Why is she so terrible at this, at the emotional part? Again she feels the gap in her where a normal person could find these answers.
She stalks from her office and doesn’t realize where her feet are taking her until she’s aboard the lift to the hab level’s second ring.
She salutes a patrolling pair of marines as she makes her way to Hab Block Pekao-5. The Dignitary Suite on the third floor has been converted with a high doorway marked at its apex with a pair of crossed harpoons.
The door opens at Hyax’s hail. Ruaq-nai-Taqa, freshly bathed and smelling like tulaberry tart, smiles down at her. Her willowy slate legs are in a set of itty bitty shorts that terminate above her slouchy, chunky-knit sledger’s cardigan, its sleeves dwarfing her nimble little fingers.
“Hey, Guppy,” she says. “What’s up?”
Hyax belatedly remembers to act annoyed at her new nickname and stop wagging her tail. “I wondered if I might come by,” she says. “Finished up early for the day.”
Ruaq steps to one side and nudges her blubbery, finned tail out of the way. “Then you better get your little blue butt in here.”
Hyax strolls into the meq-Taqas’ cabin. “Is Ipqen home yet?”
“She’s on the way.” Ruaq shuts the door behind her and adjusts the prayer box on the other side. The little wooden family-god charms have been joined by a carved relief of the Black Pike. Ipqen and Ruaq insisted on adding it for Hyax, in place of whatever family god she might otherwise have worshipped. “Stayed over at work to help with the, uh—the engineering thing. The MZI. Did I remember that right?”
“You did indeed.”
“What’s that stand for, anyway?”
“Underdeveloped orbit adaptation.” Hyax takes her boots off and places them next to Ruaq’s agro-level mulch waders. “It’s a suite of modifications for operation in systems where there is no Imperial infrastructure. To ensure that there is no reason to depart the system. Failsafes and such.”
“So were we an underdeveloped orbit?”
“I am not going to answer that.”
Ruaq giggles. She giggles at a lot of what Hyax says, even when it isn’t a joke. Hyax told herself it was annoying when this relationship began and she thought she only wanted Ipqen. She considered it a problem to weather. But Ruaq’s affection is as sweet and bubbly as an effervescent ale and, to Hyax’s consternation, just as addictive. “I thought we were invincible and self-sufficient,” she says.
“Well, now we’re invinicbler and self-sufficienter. Thanks to your fiancée and the protocol she’s instituting.”
Ruaq goes to the mek-Taqas’ music console and combs through a score of playlists on a minimalist digital display. They brought this from Harok—it’s big and bulky and primitive-looking, but Ruaq swears up and down there’s a warmth that its wooden cab speakers bring which the Pike can’t replicate. “They haven’t made any changes on the agro ring.”
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“The agro ring needs none.” Hyax drags the Taiikari-sized adjustable seat over to the cabin’s dining table and winches it into position. “You botany gals are already operating at maximum optimization.”
Another airy giggle. “Flatterer.”
“It’s true,” Hyax protests, hackles raising. “I’m not—”
Ruaq’s thin arms wrap around Hyax’s shoulders from behind. “Hey.” The keeper’s snout brushes Hyax’s crown, sending a shiver through her. “You gonna sleep over tonight?”
Hyax’s belly gets that low-grav feeling in it. “If you would have me.”
“Of course.” Ruaq opens a cabinet and pulls a foil-covered tray from it. “Have some amma crumble. I made way too much for Specialist Mazek’s nameday thing.”
“Shouldn’t you ask Ipqen?”
“I already know what she’ll say.” Ruaq hands her a fork. “Try it and report back. I think I finally know how Taiikari like it.”
Hyax swallows her I shouldn’t and its attending I don’t mean to be a burden, and tucks into Ruaq’s cooking. It’s bold and sweet and decadently flaky, as usual, with an aggressive floral forwardness and a nutrient profile that Quartermaster Kymai would balk at. But Eqt help her, she’s stopped caring.
Ruaq balances on the balls of her feet. “Whatcha think?”
I think I am falling in love with you, Hyax thinks. “It’s good,” she says.
Ruaq beams and returns to the console. “Now do I put on the soothing music or the aggressive music?”
Hyax’s ears flicker with anxious anticipation. “Do you think… um… will she have some aggression to work out?”
Ruaq hums and hits the button.
Hyax blinks at the darkly layered instrumental synth that pulses through the cabin. “Which one is this?”
The door opens again and Ipqen-mek-Taqa barges in. Her gunmetal gray Black Pike jumpsuit is ringed at the chest and armpits with perspiration. “Eqt’s fuckin’ tits.” She underhand launches her heavy canvas duffel into the corner of the room. “Long-ass day.” She arches her back. The fabric of her jumpsuit strains against her broad, full chest. “What’s this song for, baby? Makes me wanna beer and a facefuck.”
She’s halfway unzipped her big fat fish tits out of her uniform when she sees Hyax, sitting wide-eyed at her table. She grins.
“Hey, Ax,” she says, and continues opening the front of her coverall, with newfound, slower intention.
“Hyax is sleeping over,” Ruaq reports.
“Again?” Ipqen crosses to the fridge. “Reckon your bunk’s getting lonely.”
“Let it.” Hyax scoffs. “High time it had a turn.”
Ipqen rummages in the fridge’s shelves and comes out double-fisting a pair of tall, frosty bottles full of oak-dark Eqtoran brew. “You wanna beer, baby?”
“Yes, please.”
“Ax?”
Hyax shakes her head. Her hands fidget in her lap.
“No?” Ipqen slouches in her seat, legs spread out. “What’re you here for, then?”
Hyax blushes at the floor. It’s been a few cycles with these two and she still doesn’t know how to ask for what she needs.
Ipqen chuckles and pats her thigh. “C’mere, little lady.”
Hyax climbs from her seat and shuffles closer. She gasps as her feet leave the ground. Ipqen lifts her into her lap, stretches her straddling across her thickly muscled thigh and, without ceremony, plants her hand between Hyax’s legs. Hyax gasps sharply as Ipqen’s heavy, wide fingers curl up against her.
“Shhh.” Ipqen’s thumb coaxes Hyax’s legs further open. “Don’t squirm now, girl. Damn tail’s gonna knock my beer over.”
Ruaq sits across from Ipqen and the writing Taiikari on her lap, and pops the top on her beer with a bicuspid.
Ipqen tsks. “That’s not good for your teeth, Ru-ru.”
“This one’s wiggling like it wants to come out anyway.” Ruaq places the beer cap with its jangling fellows, in a washed-out nootch canister at the center of the table. “Got a fresh one underneath, probably.”
“Do mine, then.” Ipqen slides the bottle across the table and Ruaq repeats the trick.
Hyax tries to wriggle out of Ipqen’s lap. Ipqen’s big leg bends in and smushes her up against a huge, muscle-packed stomach.
“Fucking manifolds are making this noise on the southspin.” Ipqen’s rhythmically flexing fingers draw a keening whine out of Hyax as she accepts her beer back. “Meena said it’s nothing to worry about.”
“She’d know, I guess,” Ruaq says. “It’s not like ships aren’t supposed to be loud, y’know?”
“Guess not.” Ipqen licks beer foam from her upper lip. “That’s something I should ask the Chief to explain,” she says to the whimpering, squirming Taiikari she’s playing with. “How the hell you little gals get your sound dampening so fuckin’ good.”
“Stop—” Hyax lets out a shaky breath, halfway between a laugh and a whimper. “Stop talking about work while you’re fingering me. Brute.”
“Sheesh, all right. Doesn’t hardly count if it’s over the clothes.” Ipqen’s palm is so big it nearly encompasses Hyax’s entire stomach. She clings desperately to Ipqen’s wrist and tries to ride harder; Ipqen chuckles and rests her other hand across Hyax’s stomach like a seatbelt, stilling the motion. “Needy today, huh?”
“Ipqen.” Hyax rakes her nails up the Eqtoran’s tattooed forearm. “Ipqen, God, please.—”
“Lemme get this beer in me real quick.”
The frustration and humor and arousal alchemize within Hyax into a mad cackle. “Fucking harridan.”
“I only got the one mouth,” Ipqen says, evenly.
“Aww, your horns, Ax.” Ruaq giggles. “They’re so cute.”
Hyax’s face burns. She covers it with the palms of her hands. “They’re—they’re not cute.”
“They’re so cute.” Ruaq leans across the table and kisses one. Hyax barely recognizes herself in the fluttery moan that summons. Her hips buck against Ipqen’s thigh.
“Eqt’s tits. Look at her. Do all Taiikari girls leak like you do?” Ipqen rubs her thumb and forefinger together. “I’m gonna have to change jumpsuits.”
“Shut—shut up.” Hyax’s face burns as Ipqen keeps rubbing and prodding. “Drink your beer.”
“All right, all right.” Ipqen tilts her head back. The cords in her neck stand out as she pounds half the beer in one mighty swig. She holds the rest up to Hyax’s lips. “Sure you don’t want a sip, Ax?”
“You know what I want.”
“Uh-huh.” Ipqen stands up, suddenly. Hyax squawks and makes an ungainly grab for balance, and then she’s writhing and imprisoned in Ipqen’s huge, soft embrace.
The thwack of an authoritative slap on the ass prompts a scandalized squeak from the Brigadier and a “You’re such a—”
Ipqen tosses her through the air and onto the fur-laden bed.
She wriggles upright, eyes flaring, as the Eqtorans join her on the. “Throw me one more time, Lady Ipqen—”
“Shhh,” Ipqen says. Her broad thumbpad clicks the release clasp on Hyax’s uniform.
Ruaq’s legs wrap around Hyax as the fabric falls away, guiding her into the hollow of her lap and holding her in place. “Here she is,” she croons.
“Here she is,” Ipqen echoes, and the solid, musclebound mass of her pushes with gentle insistence against Hyax’s lower body until her legs are fanned up into the air. “You wanna do the thing, Guppy?”
“Please,” Hyax says, and Ipqen’s huge fingers wrap around her neck.
No squeezing, no undue pressure—Ipqen’s grip is wide enough that she can easily keep Hyax pinned to the bed one-handed, like a shackle. Her golden eyes lid lower as Hyax caresses her wrist. Her grin exposes the gleaming points of her many sharp teeth.
“Go on.” Her voice rumbles like gentle thunder. “Push.”
The Brigadier’s muscles fire. She can barely fit both her hands around Ipqen’s wrist. The Eqtoran’s upper arm is as big around as Hyax’s fucking waist.
Hyax’s grunts of effort get breathier and higher in pitch as she strains without success, trying to lift the Eqtoran’s arm off her. Her stubborn struggle melts into squirming, arching desperation. Her pulse thuds in her cheeks. She’s losing again, like she always does, going from a scarred warrior to a whimpering plaything.
She’s helpless in Ipqen’s grip. She could pull and pull and pull, and this thick, tattooed arm would not move. The Eqtoran is barely registering effort. Hyax’s tail slips up between her legs. Her thighs knead together. Ipqen puts more of her weight on her, stilling her swiveling hips and tearing a whimper of frustration from her.
“Bad little Taiikari,” Ruaq whispers. “You wanna be touched, you gotta say it.”
Ipqen’s toothy maw opens and her enormous pink tongue slides up from Hyax’s navel, along the defined ridges of her abdominals and between the canyon of her breasts, to her trembling jaw. That now-familiar exultant fear thrills through Hyax. When she’s with Ipqen and Ruaq, for the first time in her life she’s prey. She’s caught. Sheer instinctual terror collides with desperate, infatuated arousal and lifts them both to dizzying overload. They’ll eat her alive. They’ll make her cum so hard she forgets her name.
Ipqen’s voice is low and vibratory in her ear. “Say it.”
“Iq nuamqiq,” Hyax whispers. They learned that together, all three of them. Rediscovering the words in Ipqen and Ruaq’s forgotten language:
I surrender.
Ipqen seizes her by the tail and tugs her into the center of the bed. She lies on her back, her bare skin striped with tan-lines: pale cornflower on the breasts and stomach and hips. Her soft underbelly, untouched by the Black Pike’s artificial suns and its would-be lovers.
With gleaming sharktooth smiles full of adoring hunger, the Eqtorans descend upon her.
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