Subject: Forbidden thirst
Date: 12/12/2382
Location: The End’s cockpit,
En route to Fort Duress, The Traveller
Caroline had seduced Weston in a manner that was both surprisingly and unsurprisingly proactive, given her generally demure way of doing things. That said, Weston had known her long enough by now to expect such initiative on occasion. He didn’t know exactly what made her so prone to having her way with him – he did have his suspicions – but he considered himself a very willing victim of her loving. Because for all of her earnest ardour, she was still gentle, innocent, and clearly longed for him in a way that he found hard to believe any man could deserve, let alone himself.
It never failed to warm Weston’s generally cautious heart when she embraced him fiercely, whispering her gentle, but earnest, confessions of love, while she pressed herself against him as if she wished for him to take her with him. And she was so earnest with her loving that, whether Weston could bring himself to feel worthy of her feelings or not, he couldn’t do anything but honour her confessions with belief.
“You’re still my favourite snack,” he murmured in her ear as he kissed her neck gently. “What have you done to me, woman?”
Caroline shivered at the contact and made a happy little sound, even as her cheeks and ears went a deep red.
“I didn’t do anything!” she protested, despite thoroughly enjoying the attention.
When they finally fell apart from each other, it was only for a moment to catch their breath. Then, slowly, Weston gathered his wife into his arms and just lay there beside her, enjoying the sensation of her bare back against him as her breathing slowed gradually. Not for the first time – and he knew it wouldn’t be the last – he wondered what on Terra had happened to make such a thing possible.
“You make me … incredibly happy,” Weston sighed over her shoulder. He was mildly gratified by the little shiver that shook her naked shoulders and the lovingly annoyed little noise she made at the way his words tickled her ear.
“Yes,” she confirmed, always at her most feisty immediately after lovemaking.
Weston laughed, a rough chuckle in her ear to which she protested again. “I’d better not be gone too long, huh?”
“It doesn’t matter how long you’re gone,” she finally whispered, staring at the wall opposite the bed while she chewed on her lip. “Just … make sure you come home.”
The End rolled over lazily and The Traveller was splayed out in all its hostile glory above Weston’s head. Whisps of white cloud streaked across emerald jungles before bunching about the mountains that sawed through the moon’s crust like monolithic teeth. Great expanses of steel-blue sea were spread out between sprawling jungle-covered continents that contrasted brilliantly with the stark red and white of Mars.
“You keeping an eye out for organic matter?” asked Weston, hardly believing he had to ask the question.
The End replied, just as doubtfully.
“Could be true, could just be the government’s way of keeping civilian away. Not that it would stop a lot of freelancers … but I suppose that’s where the outpost guns come in.”
murmured The End, uncharacteristically softspoken.
“We’ll keep alert,” Weston promised, even as he wondered if enough of the old Weston was still around to watch every shadow and categorise every misplaced pebble. I hope so. He grit his teeth. I can’t disappear on them.
“I have a lot of problems,” Weston muttered evasively.
“What? Jezebel?”
Weston grimaced. “I don’t know,” he muttered, looking at his knees. “I know it was necessary. She was practically insane … but I focussed too much on deniability and not enough on taking responsibility myself. I don’t like that I asked Paranoia to do that.”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“She’s a child, I’m her mentor. I pulled her out of Dark City. There is a serious power imbalance there, and she has an obvious misconception of her debt to me because of that. Yes, she took on what I asked her … and, you’re right, I don’t think I coerced her and I don’t think she felt coerced … but …”
“She’s not a problem,” Weston said, a warning in his voice. Seriously? Already?
Weston pursed his lips and did his best to be objective, little as he enjoyed it in this case. The End was more or less correct, and while Weston wished she could have been a little more tactful in her labelling of Caroline, the fact remained: Weston had a glaring weakness, and it was his family.
“I’d rather be distracted than take them onto that moon,” Weston said grimly.
Weston growled, low in the back of his throat. “Bloody hell, I …” He sighed ruefully. “You must feel strongly about this to push back so hard.”
“On that note,” Weston interrupted, “what do you have on The Traveller?”
“So King could be dead already.”
“My thoughts exactly,” mused Weston. “And we’re not going to know much for sure until we actually get there. Were you able to find out where he was stationed?”
“Was that among the recruitment centre’s information?”
“So they’re more careful with information about The Traveller than the ethically questionable Orphan Legion,” Weston laughed drily. “Classic.”
“Let’s make contact at Fort Duress first,” Weston decided. “We can see how forthcoming their top brass are with the information we’re after. If need be, we’ll shift onto another tack.”
“That will depend on their defensive infrastructure. Being so isolated, they could be just as dangerous as the jungle outside. And who knows what interior systems they’ve set up.”
“In-house rewards for loyalty and obedience.” Weston frowned. “Isolated hierarchies based on discipline and strength are rarely … wholesome. The strong are right. The weak are possessions. It was the same in Dark City. People who can get away with anything usually will.”
“How bad this place is will have a big say on how we play it.”
“Nukes aren’t a standard part of your loadout,” Weston noted with some regret. “We’ll wait and see. Good people pop up in surprising places.” He said the last sentence with a nostalgic smile on his face.
“I would be far more distracted if they were here,” Weston said frankly. “I can’t prove it to you … but I hope you will believe me when I tell you that I am extremely committed to returning to my family.”
…
If she’d had teeth, she would have grit them at Weston’s senseless appeal to her trust. Even so, she felt an odd sort of tension consume her at his request. That trust was something one part of her wanted to yell he already had … and another part of her wanted to spitefully withhold it because it was asked on account of that woman. That weak, squishy, woman who, without even realising it, had put some sort of indicator on Weston that he could be trusted. It still frustrated The End that something so simple could trigger an instinctive compliance in her towards a human man.
But what I hate even more is that … it felt nice. When I was in that woman’s head … looking up at him … feeling like he was holding me … it felt nice.
"Curse them..."
AI-rendering of original characters and narrative by T. Sharp
The End had no heart to break. She knew, objectively, that even her mind was just code, her brain a remarkably advanced processor … but glorified soft and hardware all the same.
It’s not fair, she thought bitterly, replaying that perspective again, when it had felt as if she were being cradled and cared for … as if someone for once had taken the time to protect her. Even as she said