In Service to a Goddess,
Book Three
Copyright©2003 by Ed Howdershelt
ISBN 1-932693-12-2
Caution: Some Erotic Content
IMPORTANT NOTES:
Two chapters of this book entail some sensual depictions.
Don't go there if you don't like that sort of thing.
Don't read them and then say that you disapprove.
First, I won't care that you disapprove. :)
Second, if you disapprove of sex scenes you shouldn't read them and then comment, because it brands you as a hypocrite for having read them in the first place.
The chapters to skip are 11 and 12.
I've purposely rewritten the ending of 10 and beginning of 13 to accommodate the timid souls who prefer their SF to be sexless.
You'll miss a psychic bonding that provides a causative base for two later chapters, but I've managed to write those chapters so that the events are fairly understandable, after all.
The scenes of sexual activities are drawn from the willing cooperation and entertainment of three women of my acquaintance who share themselves with me, so don't even consider trying to tell me that women 'wouldn't really do that' or that they
'wouldn't really say that'.
They do and they did.
My heartfelt thanks go to Samantha, Dana, and Lisa - my research team - for taking my 'silly superwoman fantasy stories' seriously enough and long enough during a July weekend to help me speculate about some things and verify others.
THE CHARACTERS:
April: my first wife's good side during our marriage.
Sara: the questionable side of another woman I once knew.
Doris: a lady cop I knew in Dallas years ago. An odd combination of libertine and badge.
Kim: ex-mistress to a drug dealer in Dallas. Her looks got her in trouble and kept her there. Lisa took many liberties with this character by infusing much of her own personality.
THE PLAYERS:
The roleplayings/interpretations of April and Sara were enacted by Samantha, who also suggested that since we have our own bond, our characters should somehow bond, too.
She's kind of new-agey and suggested the imagery of Sara in a feral animal mode after hearing about one of my first wife's uhm... episodes.
It should probably be mentioned that she seemed to overly-enjoy acting out that scene.
She also suggested our bonding should be that of several beings of light on a psychic plane of existence. We voted yes on both and she was so happy she actually volunteered to get out of the hot tub to get the next round of drinks.
Doris and Erin were (appropriately) enacted by Dana, the most conservative member of our group. We call her "Mom" now and then to bug her when she bugs us about nit-picky stuff like shedding clothes on the upper pool deck. (too visible, she says)
On the other hand, we have management when we need it and even when we don't.
Dana commented that she was the best-suited to adopt the role of Doris because she had something of her own to work out last year that was sort of similar in one regard.
Kim was enacted by Lisa, who used her own personality and tastes (yes, a pun) as a model and was the one who first mentioned that I don't taste bitter and brought up the line of speculation concerning the dangers of super-sperm zipping around the room.
Lisa is a recent addition to our group, and the story's speculation about including Kim in our mental link was taken from our own discussions when we first met Lisa concerning how far into our lives Lisa should be allowed, if at all.
We knew her for two months before we told her much about our arrangement. She asked if there was room for one more, and that was precisely what we were hoping for by that time. Thank you for joining us, Lisa.
Final note: We still have no intentions of forming a theater group.
(Sorry, Samantha.)
Ed, 7/99
Chapter One
Lab two is located along route 246 between the towns of Arabela and Roswell, New Mexico, a patch of desert that is easily a day's drive from Dallas.
There's a lone gas station in the middle of nowhere that's been there since some Depression-era program installed it as a refueling station for the Civilian Conservation Corps and their make-work projects.
Nowadays it's also a check-in point for the dirt road that leads to lab two and a few other concealed facilities in the area.
I arrived around midnight. The gas station was closed, so I used the pay phone on the wall outside, punching in three zeroes, then the pound sign.
The phone came alive and a woman's voice asked me to enter my code. I punched in "D-R-A-G-O-N-F-L-Y" on the phone's number pad.
The voice then asked my name. She didn't mean my real name. She meant the name that had for so long been attached to my code word.
I said, "Bruno Stachel," and was told that I was expected. I said thanks and hung up, then aimed the Malibu down the dirt road that led to lab two.
Within a hundred yards, a very slight, moving blockage of the stars let me know that my escort had arrived.
I looked up and could barely discern the outline of the tiny craft. Maybe two feet long and generally invisible against the night sky, it was actually flying backwards, maintaining surveillance of me as I trundled along. You could only see it when it blotted out the stars or clouds.
Nicknamed "the bat", it was capable of several methods of observation and of stopping any vehicle known by a number of different means, gentlest among them a targeted EMP burst that would disrupt the electrical system of an unshielded vehicle.
It would simply ram a shielded vehicle, accelerating nearly instantly to Mach 2 and delivering a narrow burst of plasma that could punch through the hull of a tank.
As I watched it hang silently above my car I hoped that they'd finally knocked all the bugs out of the AI programming in the damned things.
Lab Two is located along route 246 between the towns of Arabela and Roswell, New Mexico, a patch of desert that is easily a day's drive from Dallas.
Most of the facility is underground for concealment from the public, but there's some fencing and a lone gas station in the middle of nowhere to mark the place.
The station's been there since some Depression-era program installed it as a refueling station for the Civilian Conservation Corps. Their make-work projects had been designed to create employment more than anything else. Nowadays the station's also a check-in point for the nondescript dirt road that leads to lab two.
If you don't check in before you turn off the highway, you'll be intercepted inside half a mile by at least two jeeps full of what appear to be ranch hands.
Whoever is in charge of the guard shift will claim to be the owner of the property upon which you're trespassing. You'll be asked to leave, and if you don't, you'll be arrested and turned over to the local law.
If you do check in at the station, your escort will be a "bat". Nobody gets into the area alone.
As I approached the end of the road a large chunk of fake real estate tilted upward, exposing the ramp that leads to the lab complex below.
I stopped at the huge concrete-and-steel blast doors at the bottom of the ramp and waited. My "bat" remained hovering above me as three guards appeared.
Two of them methodically inspected my car while the other one kept me covered with an M-16. After an ID check, the 'bat' left and the blast doors opened.
A guard walked alongside me as I drove the Malibu forward onto the metal platform. He eyed my old Chevy dubiously, obviously wondering why the hell it wasn't in a parts yard, but he maintained his proper guard's decorum and refrained from comment.
"You'll park in space 319, sir, to the left as you leave the elevator. Someone will meet you there, so don't leave the area. Turn off your engine while inside the elevator and have a good day, sir."
I nodded and watched the doors close behind me in the rearview mirror, then felt a slight lurch and watched the walls appear to move upward as the elevator descended.
When it stopped and another set of blast doors opened, I located my space and took my bags out of the trunk as another, more jovial, guard in a golf cart pulled up behind me.
"Taxi!" he grinned at me, "Dump 'em in the back and hop aboard." After I did so, he asked, "Where to?" as he handed me a combination keycard and facility badge.
I grinningly asked, "Why the hell are you so cheerful at one in the morning? Let's go to the front desk."
"My boss is a gorgeous super-blonde and I make good money. Why shouldn't I be cheerful? Front desk it is. Want to drop off your bags in your room on the way?"
"Sounds good. And let's make it the cafeteria instead of the front desk. They already know I'm here and I need some coffee."
Sara met us at the cafeteria. She wore jeans and a green tee shirt that said, 'See Carlsbad Caverns!' and carried a huge travel mug that she filled before joining us at the table.
"Hi, Boss!" said my driver, waving to her.
"Hi, Frank. Okay, I've got him now," she said, waving her mug at him. "Love this stuff," she said to me. She sat down and took a sip.
Frank took the cue and left us with a little salute.
After he had left the table, she asked, "What really brings you here, Ed?"
"April didn't tell you?"
"She told me about you and Doris and mentioned Farley's tests. How are you handling everything? Need to talk? Want a shoulder?"
"Well, I'm okay with things, really, so could I have a leg or two instead?"
Sara grinned and said, "Yeah, you're surviving, I guess. You gonna tell me about it? What made you split up?"
"It'll be gossip by morning, so I'd better get my story in first, right?"
"Right," said Sara, still grinning, "Except that it's already gossip."
I sipped coffee and filled her in on things. My breakup with Doris wasn't really a breakup. It was more a sort of drifting apart that occurred over the last almost-a-year once the "NRS" (new-relationship-syndrome) had faded.
You go through a stage of passion that may last a few months or more, then a stage of companionship punctuated with fairly frequent bouts of lovemaking.
Then you enter the stage of knowing each other entirely too well. There's friendship, but the overwhelming lust just isn't there anymore and both parties wonder why for a while. The answer's simple, of course. It was time to move on.
Doris was a fairly standard thinker and her enhancement hadn't changed that. For all her rhetoric about there being "no perfect man for her", that's exactly what she was looking for and I wasn't him.
I was the equivalent of an interesting summer-vacation fling who worked hard at not working hard and taking life easy at the farm.
Doris began to ask me questions like why I didn't go out and get a 'decent car' and a 'real job'. I showed her my ledger once to curtail those lines of questioning. I had two moderate incomes from previous employers and a monthly retainer from lab two.
I also had credit beyond my needs -- and probably beyond my ability to repay -- available from a number of sources that I never used, so getting a new car wouldn't have been a problem, except that I didn't want one.
My old Chevy Malibu started instantly, it could pull a stump or take me anywhere, and it didn't look like something worth stealing or breaking into because the sound system was hidden behind a drop-panel that looked as old as the rest of the dashboard. If it was wrecked, I could replace it for a few hundred, not thousands.
Needless to say, we'd gone places together in her car.
When asked what I did for a living, Doris once told someone, "He's retired," and changed the subject.
I realized she was somewhat embarrassed that I wasn't as typically ambitious as most other people she knew.
Then the attempts to remanufacture me began. Suggestions about clothing led to gift certificates from various stores. She'd pin them to their ads. I allowed them to pile up on the bookshelf in plain sight.
Doris didn't harbor any great fascination for ballet or the theater, but she began deliberately accepting invitations to events that would require me to wear more than jeans and less than a tux and were generally events we'd have ignored, like ballet and various stage productions.
I told her that if I wouldn't rent it as a movie, I wouldn't dress up and pay thirty bucks to see it, either.
"Deathtrap" and "Phantom of the Opera" were the only shows I attended that season, and neither required more than slacks and jacket of me.
Doris's failure to convert me became frustrating for her and that frustration began to show itself daily.
Things finally came to a head when we were invited to a friend's wedding, which led to a discussion of marriage in general while we were getting dressed, which led to her asking me if I'd given any thought to our future.
I said I hadn't. She asked why I hadn't, so I told her as I zipped her into her bridesmaid outfit.
"This discussion has been developing for some time, so I'm going to be direct, Doris. You wouldn't have asked me that unless you were ready to hear my answer. You're ready for an answer that will make you stay or set you free to search for a man who will be what you feel you need. I'm not him and you already know that. You want a mortgage, a husband, and the usual package of bills and children. You want a family."
Doris gave me the fish-eye.
"And you don't? Aren't you a little tired of living in an apartment that's part of a barn? Have you ever wondered why I don't invite friends over?"
I laughed softly.
"No, I haven't wondered about that at all. Are you forgetting that I had a vasectomy when I was twenty-one, Doris, or were you thinking of shopping the orphanages? Enhancement didn't undo that, you know, and nothing has changed my mind about having children around."
I handed her the jewelry she'd decided to wear with the outfit and continued, "A mortgage? Bills? For what? I like me as I am. I have what I need and I can stay at the farm as long as I care to because I still own the barn. The apartment is separated and modern and you used to love it for the privacy. You like me, Doris, but I don't think you really love me or you wouldn't be trying to change me. You want a standard lifestyle. I can't help you get it, so we'll probably wind up being just friends soon."
Doris had stood like a statue, her level gaze at me in the mirror unwavering as I spoke and for a few moments longer, then she'd said in a rather flat tone, "We could even start being 'just friends' tonight, Ed, if that's what you want."
I touched her cheek and told her, "Yes, we could. But not if I want, Doris. I like you as you are and things as they are. I don't need these changes. You do, so it's up to you. If you have to leave in order to find happiness, then you have my best wishes. I really mean that."
She stared at me a moment longer, then said, "We'll be late. Let's go."
I noticed the way some of her things had gradually disappeared around the house over the next couple of weeks, but said nothing.
One Sunday night Doris told me that she was taking the last of her things with her to work on Monday and that she wouldn't be returning.
We made ferocious, feral love that night, and in the morning I woke her with a cup of coffee and a kiss. Doris was half-dressed when the urge hit her.
She called the office to tell them she'd be late, then pulled me into the bedroom one last time and used me without mercy for an hour, crying even as she came.
When I went back inside after watching her leave, the apartment seemed as empty as a cavern.
Not long after Doris would have arrived at the office, April called.
"Doris came in, told me you two have broken up, and then went home. Are you all right?" she asked.
I said I'd get by. She asked if I needed to talk about it. I said I probably needed some time to get used to living alone after almost a year of living with Doris, but that otherwise I was fine.
"Well, call if you need anything," said April, "And don't be macho about it. Breakups can be a real bitch, Ed. The fallout from them hits at odd times, too. I'm here if you need me."
"Thanks, April. Fact is, I was thinking about putting some time in at lab two with Farley. He never finished all those damned tests and I said I'd help with them a month ago. He probably thinks I've been avoiding him."
"Actually, that's exactly what he thinks. He said so. Sounds good, Ed."
After hanging up, I tossed some stuff in a bag, tossed the bag in the car and told Brenda where I was going, and then hit the road in the Malibu.
"And so here you are," said Sara.
"And so here I are," I said.
She smiled. There were footsteps behind me. A brunette woman in her thirties waved to Sara as she passed us. Sara told her to get her coffee and join us, then told me that the woman worked with the feds.
Glimpsed briefly, the woman seemed to have striking features, but as I looked at the characteristics of her face in profile, they seemed to be fairly common.
Sara noticed my interest and lifted an eyebrow at me. I shrugged an 'I don't know' at her and continued to study the brunette until she turned to join us at the table.
She was concentrating on not spilling her too-full cup as she sipped it down a bit, which gave me a few moments to study her from the front. There was something that bugged me about her. When she looked up, she stopped in her tracks and stared at me.
Sara now realized that something was definitely up. She stood and pulled a chair out for the woman, adding a level of insistence to her invitation. "Erin, this is..."
"Ed?" Erin uncertainly finished Sara's sentence for her, amazement in her face.
"Uh, yeah, Ed..." said Sara, clearly confused.
She looked at me. I gave her a questioning look in return to let her know I was confused, too.
"You can't be," said Erin in a voice full of wonder. "He'd be in his fifties now."
"What are you talking about?" asked Sara, "His name is Ed and he is in his fifties. What's the big deal here?"
I stood and put a hand on Sara's arm and said, "She looks vaguely familiar to me and she seems to know me, so why don't we find out how? Have a seat, Erin."
"You are him!" said Erin, "How..?"
She sat down in a rather dazed way and continued staring at me as Sara and I also took our seats.
"Where do you know me from?" I asked, "You look sort of familiar to me, too, but I would have written it off as someone who looks like someone."
Erin gave a weak laugh. "You don't remember me at all? Well, I guess that's understandable. You were more concerned with the hole in my chest than my face, and there were a couple of burning cars to get away from."
That did it. I remembered in a rush of images.
"You're the woman from the wreck."
"That's me. But it's been more than twenty years... how..? Oh, hell, of course! You're here with Sara. You're an enhancee. That explains why you don't look fifty."
"You're holding up pretty well, yourself, lady. You don't look any different to me."
"Thanks. I'm... um... I'll let Sara tell you about me. It might sound better from her."
I looked at Sara. Her one word response was, "Later." She patted the table quickly to emphasize her interest as she turned back to Erin.
"So how do you know Ed, Erin? What happened?"
Erin thought a moment and said, "We... met once. I looked for him for about a decade, off and on, but he virtually dropped out of sight once he got to Europe. I saw his picture so often in the files... But I never expected to actually meet him again, Sara..."
The element of wonder was still in her voice. She paused, then asked, "How did you come to be here, Ed?"
"Luck. Fate. I ran into April one night a couple of years back. She decided to keep me around. Now I'm a minor part of things on permanent standby status."
Erin had a thoughtful look.
"I'd like to hear your version of the wreck, Ed."
Uh-huh. My version. She was looking for confirmation of something. "My version is about the same as the way the cops wrote it up, Erin. Nothing new."
"Indulge me, please," said Erin. Something about her tone caused a sharp look from Sara.
***
My Honda 250 had died on Interstate 80, almost ten miles before Cheyenne, Wyoming. A cop gave me a ride into town and dropped me off at a motorcycle shop. I made arrangements to have my bike retrieved and the shop owner gave me a ride to a nearby motel. I cleaned up and went to the Denny's for dinner, after which I opened my battered copy of 'Alas, Babylon' to read and watch the world go by through the restaurant's window.
Motion caught my attention in the parking lot of the bar next door. A very agitated guy was staggering to his car, so drunk he was bashing his legs on bumpers.
He fell once between cars and bashed his head, too, but that didn't stop him. Weaving to his feet, he used the other car for support as he fished through his keys.
I put my book in my pocket and started outside with the idea of trying to talk him into either taking a cab or sleeping it off in his car. When I heard the car start I hurried a little faster.
He revved the engine a few times as I jogged across the parking lot. When he saw me coming, he gave me the finger and floored it, shooting straight out of the parking lot and into the street.
The bozo hit the brakes too late, slamming to a halt against the curb on the other side of the street, but that didn't stop him for very long.
He backed up, cut the wheels hard left, and straightened the car in the direction of the interstate service road. He grinned at me again and gave me another finger, then floored it again, burning rubber and accelerating quickly.
All I could do was watch him barrel down the street as he approached an intersection at close to seventy. He swerved slightly to avoid hitting the stop sign at the corner, but he didn't even slow down as he passed it.
The drunk's car hit the dip at the edge of the intersection and bottomed out, then bounced back upward hard enough to lift his front wheels off the ground as another car screechingly skidded into the intersection from the right.
The driver of the other car had seen the drunk's car and was standing on his brakes, but it was far too late to be of any help.
The bumper of the drunk's car impacted the oncoming car almost three feet above the ground, making the drunk's car climb on top of the other car and literally tearing it almost in half.
Everything from behind the door post to the front bumper was crushed and wedged under the drunk's car and the rear half had twisted to slam back along the side of the drunk's car.
The whole spinning, mangled mess dragged itself to a halt on the grassy embankment just beyond the street.
When I got to the wreck the drunk had gotten out and was limping badly as he wandered around the front of his car. He stumbled and fell, then got up and leaned on the wreckage beneath his own wrecked vehicle, swearing loudly into that wreckage.
I truthfully didn't care about the drunk's condition and wasn't going to waste any time or effort on him. I ignored him and ran around to the less-crushed passenger side of the bottom vehicle to see if anyone was still alive.
The guy inside was sprawled across the seat and floorboards, battered and mangled beyond hope, but I reached into the wreck past a foot-long protrusion of ripped steel and checked the his pulse. Dead.
Something flashed near my face.
Looking up through the windshield hole I saw fiery droplets of oil or plastic dribbling on the crushed remains of the dashboard and smelled burning plastic.
There was a whoomping noise above me as something under the hood of the drunk's car caught fire. I backed away from the wreck fast.
A woman who appeared uninjured was lying face down on the grass maybe twenty feet to one side of the ripped-open car's rear half.
As I checked and found her pulse, she feebly struggled to roll over, so I helped her, and that's when I saw the blood on her chest.
It looked as if she'd been shot. The front of her shirt was soaked with blood. She tried to say something, but couldn't quite gather enough breath to speak.
I ignored her efforts to speak and grabbed her shoulders to drag her farther away from the wreck.
The fire that had begun under the hood of the drunk's car dribbled down into the car below and quickly spread to fill the interior with roiling flames and smoke as fabric and plastic burned.
Fire trucks and ambulances must have been based in the nearby industrial area because they arrived rather quickly, but not quickly enough.
The first firetruck was still a block away when the drunk's car's gas tank exploded.
A ball of flame enveloped both cars briefly and lifted the rear of the drunk's car about ten feet. That fire set off the other gas tank and wave of intense heat passed over us as the flatter fireblast from the second explosion almost reached us nearly forty feet away.
The woman looked up at me in confusion.
"Who? Who are you?" She had finally gathered enough breath to speak, though her voice was barely a whisper.
"I'm Ed. Hold still."
I pulled up the remains of her shirt and saw that there was a field dressing on the wound.
"There's nothing more I can do here," I said, pulling down her shirt, "But help is coming. I'm going to go tell them to get right over here, okay?"
She nodded weakly. I got to my feet and ran towards the ambulance, waving my arms to get their attention.
"Over there!" I yelled, pointing in the woman's direction.
They saw her and drove the ambulance right up the hillside to her position, followed by a firetruck and two cop cars.
I walked behind the other firetruck that had parked itself to block the intersection and looked around for a moment. Everyone's attention was on the flaming wreck, so I blended into the midst of the small crowd of onlookers that was assembling.
It wasn't long before a cop showed up to tell us to move farther away to keep the equipment clear. I walked back to the motel.
***
"...And that's about it," I said. "All I really did for you was drag you clear of the explosions and fire."
"Well, that was enough, wasn't it?" asked Sara, "What happened to the drunk?"
I glanced at Erin before speaking. She had an odd, sharp gaze as I said, "The flames got him."
Erin's gaze continued. She knew. She'd seen what had happened to the drunk.
"Good enough," said Sara, "One less asshole in the world."
Her comment caused Erin's gaze to switch to her for a moment, then it returned to me.
There was silence for a few moments at the table. I silently remembered a part of the story that I hadn't mentioned. The part about what happened to the drunk...
***
I was kneeling by the woman to see if I could do anything for her. The drunk was beating on the warped and crumpled passenger door of the car beneath his and screaming at the dead driver.
"Hey, asshole! Wake your ass up and look what you done to my car! I'm gonna sue your ass after I beat the shit out of you!"
He kicked the door and tried again to get it open, but it was too warped and mashed to come free.
I didn't think about it. I just stepped over and tapped his shoulder, and when he began to straighten up, yelling, "What the fuck do you want?", I simply pushed him about a foot to his left and shoved hard.
He screamed as the flat, pointed metal protrusion next to the door entered his chest with a sound like a knife being driven into a melon.
First he looked down at his chest uncomprehendingly, then his face turned to me in a mask of shock.
I looked back at him as he died and said, "Nothing, I guess. Sorry to have bothered you."
I left the drunk impaled on the shard and went back to the woman. Her eyes were open and she asked who I was. If she'd seen me shove the drunk, she said nothing about it. I dragged her clear of the wreck just before it blew up, then slipped into the crowd as soon as I could.
***
The silence at the table ended when Erin said rather flatly, "We have to talk, Ed."
Sara laughed. "Well, I guess so, after all these years. Tell you what, I have a few things to do before I can hand things over to the day shift. Why don't you two get reacquainted? I'll see you later."
Sara refilled her mug and waved as she left the cafeteria. Erin peered into her cup and stirred it unnecessarily when I looked back at her.
Her voice was almost a whisper. "I... I thought I saw you do something, Ed..."
"You want to know about the drunk? Whether you saw it or imagined it?"
"Yes. I began to wonder about it after a while. They found what was left of him on the ground beside the wreck. The piece of metal was still in him and they figured it happened during the explosion. I was in pretty bad shape and I couldn't be sure that I hadn't just imagined it, so I never told anyone what... I see no point in telling anyone now, either, Ed. I just wondered."
"He was a waste of skin, a drunken asshole, and a danger to everyone who'd ever meet him on a highway. He'd have been driving like that again the day he got out of jail. Sara said you worked for the feds. That usually means FBI around here. Is that why you were looking for me? I didn't think the FBI handled stuff like that."
"No, you're right. The FBI doesn't handle murder. I asked around. The motel manager remembered you and gave me your name. At first I just wanted to thank you for what you did for me, but you were hard to catch up with. Then you disappeared for several years, and rumor had it you were working for Solutions during some of the African wars. Were you a mercenary, Ed?"
I could hear the total disapproval in her tone.
I answered carefully, "I was a medic, Erin. I was paid to fix people, and I never shot at anyone who wasn't shooting at me."
Her expression belied her words as she said, "I guess that helps a little, but why did you go that route at all?"
"Money. Adventure. Travel. I knew the job and they needed me."
"How convenient. Did you ever wonder about me? Whether I lived or died?"
I nodded. "Yeah. Now and then I remembered the beautiful woman from the wreck and wondered about her, yes. Sometimes I even wondered what would have happened if I'd stuck around, but I suspect not a hell of a lot. Your total avoidance now of talking about the guy who was driving your car leads me to believe he was someone special to you. I think you would have said thanks and maybe had me over for dinner and drinks, but maybe not even that much because of the drunk."
Erin just stared at me.
"You decided he was special to me because I didn't mention him at all? Do you realize how little sense that makes? Think about it. You talk about the special ones. You don't talk about the others."
"When you say it like that, it seems to make sense. When I try to feel it that way, though, it doesn't add up, particularly since you're so insistent. I still think the guy was very special to you."
Erin's eyes narrowed a little, then relaxed. "He was," she said, "Very special. We'd only been married for two weeks."
"Um. Damn, Erin. Sorry. That's a lousy thing to have happened. But I was right. My leaving didn't matter. Still doesn't. Done is done, the drunk included, right?"
She just sat there for a moment in silence.
"Right," she said at last, "Have I thanked you yet for pulling me away from the explosions that night?"
"Let's say you did and move on."
Her eyebrows arched. "Move on? To what? Or are you telling me to go away, now?"
"Ha. Not a chance. You're as beautiful today as you were then. I meant let's get to know each other a bit. We have something in common, after all."
I touched her hand on the table and almost froze in startlement.
"Aha!" I said, "So that's why Sara said, 'later'..."
"What?" Erin snatched her hand back. "What the hell are you talking about?"
I made a boogieman face and made my hands into claws, looming over the table at her.
"You're one of them, ma'am," I said, then, "But you're here, and you're good pals with Sara, so you can't be one of the bad guys, can you..? Very interesting."
Erin rubbed her hand where I'd touched it. Her voice was harsh with tension.
"Are you telling me you got all that from touching my hand? Who told you? April?"
"Think on our meeting a bit. I didn't even know who you were. You can check it out with Sara. She'll think it's funny, but don't get pissed about it."
"Why would she think it's funny?" asked Erin in a very cold tone.
She was getting pissed anyway. I held up a hand placatingly and tried to explain.
"I sense things about people sometimes, Erin. Sometimes a little, sometimes a lot. Sara or April can tell you about that if or when you really want to know."
"Don't patronize me, damn it. If I didn't want to know I wouldn't ask. Convince me."
I thought about it for a moment, but only a moment. What the hell. If she freaked out, she'd be gone, and she'd already been missing from my world for over twenty years. No loss. But if she handled it well, she'd maybe want to stick around, and that appealed to me nicely.
I grinned as I reached for Erin's hand and said, "Let me show you, then."
I gathered all the sensations of my last romp with Doris and let them flood into Erin. Her eyes and mouth opened wide and her free hand flew to her lap.
She seemed to freeze solid for a few moments, then her eyes closed tightly and she let out a little gasping moan. I sent her another flood of remembered sensations and she almost doubled over the table.
"Jesus, Ed," said Sara's voice behind me, "I can't leave you alone for a minute, can I?"
Erin snatched her hand back and flushed bright red as Sara sat down. Sara grinned at Erin and then at me.
"You bozo," she said, "What are you trying to do, scare her off?"
"Hey," I said, "It's a test. I like women with guts. What's so scary about this?"
Erin was staring at me, but talking to Sara. Her voice was shaky.
"D-do you know about this... this thing he does? Has he ever done it to you?"
Sara laughed. "Hell, yes, he's done it for me. Not to me, Erin. I was a volunteer!"
Erin stared at Sara then. Sara laughed again and rose to go to the coffee pot. Erin turned back to me. She seemed to want to say something, but couldn't put it together.
I gave her a fatuous smile, then took her cup and mine and followed Sara to give Erin a few moments to reorganize herself.
I heard her chair scoot and looked back. Erin was walking quickly toward the door without a backward glance. I looked at Sara. She smiled.
"No sweat, Ed. She'll be back after she freshens up a bit."
I nodded and filled both cups on general principles, then carried them back to the table. Sara sat stirring her coffee for a moment, then she giggled.
"Gawd. I remember the first time you did that to me. Oh, sorry... For me. What a shock."
"You liked it. Now is the 'later' you mentioned, Sara. What's an Aktion Beta doing down here?"
Sara looked at me coolly and said, "Did she tell you or did you just glean it out of her?"
"Gleaned it. I touched her hand and it just sort of popped across at me. Story?"
"It's a long one and probably better told by her. She's one of us, though. She's okay, Ed."
"Figured that or she wouldn't be down here. If I ever see her again I'll ask her."
"I said she'll be back. That woman doesn't scare easily."
"Cool. We'll see. She seemed kind of straight-laced about it all, I thought."
Sara laughed. "Yeah. Right. Erin is no more straight-laced than I am, Ed. You just caught her completely off-guard tonight. Twice. Have some patience."
Just as Sara was saying, "Have some patience," Erin walked back into the cafeteria. She was striding as she approached our table and she sat herself down firmly.
Glaring at me, she said, "You won't ever do that again without permission, Ed. Got that?"
"Oh, yes, ma'am. Got it, ma'am. How soon can I get another permission, ma'am?"
Sara giggled. Erin glared at her for a moment, then she giggled, too.
"I'll let you know if you can ever do it again."
"If I can do it again? Not an issue. I can definitely do it again, ma'am. Wanna see?"
I started to reach for her left hand. She yanked it back. It turned into a fist in her lap.
"NO! I mean, just contain yourself, okay? Damn!"
She made quite a production of adding sugar and cream to her coffee, stirring it in vigorously.
Sara was laughing at her. She waggled her hand at me and said, "Oh! Do me, mister! Do me!"
I knew she was just joking, but I couldn't help it. I gathered myself and grabbed her flailing hand, quickly feeding into her the same sensations I'd given Erin.
Sara's eyes unfocused and she sat very still for a moment. I fed her again. Her low moan of pleasure made Erin redden again. I grinned at Erin as I fed Sara one more big jolt, then let go of her hand.
When Sara's eyes unclouded, she looked down.
"Damn it, I was just kidding and I'm wearing jeans over my uniform, Ed."
Erin peeked around the table and reddened yet again. Sara slipped out of her jeans and wadded them into a ball, then took off her tee shirt and wrapped it around the jeans. I blatantly let my eyes travel the length of her.
"From where I sit, it was worth it just to get a look at you in uniform," I said.
Erin glanced at Sara's chair. Sara followed her gaze and swore softly, used her wadded clothes to dry the chair, then sat back down.
"Like she said, never without permission, okay?"
"Oh, but I had permission, ma'am. You were hollering 'do me, mister', so I did."
"Smartass. If you play dumb at the wrong times and you could play hell getting real permissions later, you know. There are other ways to get off around here."
"Ah. Yes. So there are. I believe I understand you perfectly, ma'am."
Erin giggled, then laughed. It was good to hear. It meant that she was coming to terms with things well enough to see the humor in them.
Sara plopped her wad of damp clothing on the table and gazed at it for a moment before speaking.
"It was a good one, though, wasn't it?"
"It was, indeed, miLady. I always do my best for you, you know."
"Uh, huh. Well, maybe you do, at that, but don't try to con me. I'm one of the people who know what you get out of it. Just do it by real invite only from now on."
"Roger that. At least the place isn't crowded at this hour. Think of the commotion if such a thing had happened at lunchtime..."
I nodded meaningfully at the ball of clothes.
"I'd rather not think about that," said Erin. "It's getting late and I'm due in Farley's lab at nine."
"Ed's here to help Farley with some tests," said Sara, "What are they this time, Ed?"
"No idea. He did say they weren't dangerous. 'Course, he said the same thing about the tests that caused that two-day-long fire on level seven last year."
We talked a little longer, then adjourned to work or sleep as required. Heading down the hallway to my room I considered events and decided that I'd probably be hearing from Erin in the next couple of days for matters other than Farley's tests.
The smart ones are almost always very curious, as well. I stripped and just let myself fall into bed.
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