Aurora - Wings of the Goddess Pt. 03

Father. Watson cringed inwardly at the very idea. "Until she figures out how much work she has to do."

"Nuh! She'll be such an amazing pilot, I know she will. Just imagine, Beck and Alana, flying all over the world-"

"On matching broomsticks. Right."

"On matching which-whats?"

"Broomsticks, Vicky. You know, as in witches. Broomsticks. Aerial conveyances. For the use of."

"Pretty flash broomstick if you ask me. The Stream." There was a brief interlude of silence then Vicky said, "Her poor mum. She would have been so proud."

Probably not. Even as they spoke, Beck's 'mum' was busy sleeping off a massive drug overdose, in an unmarked grave in an outback town, itself slowly expiring under the pall of an open-cut mine.

"Time for bed, Vick." Watson sighed. Bed, but not sleep.

"Already?"

"Unless you want to hit the casino."

Vicky looked up at a vast, luminous banner, the Milky Way, stretching to eternity overhead. "Know what?"

Watson shook his head. "No."

"Bed has such a nice ring to it."

"It's actually just sleeping bags on a double-bed air mattress."

"Luxury!"

"Guess what?" Watson said then offered his arm, "I managed to sneak a bottle of French Champagne into my pack."

"Really?" Vicky looked at him, beaming. "Dammit, Captain. You think of everything."

"Be prepared, I always say."

"So shall we?"

"Lets shall? What do you reckon? It's not everyday you get to stay in a hundred billion star luxury hotel. Champagne, bed..."

"And rampant dirty sex."

"Let's face it, Macca, you don't deserve one skerrick less."

* * *

Aurora sped through the night at one thousand six hundred kilometres an hour, heading due east for the dawn. Beck lay back on the settee bed, half drunk and blissfully stoned, dildo-ing her vagina to the brink of delicious orgasm while fantasising about Vicky. About kissing her, sucking her tits, eating her out. About fingering her sweet little pussy while tonguing her to a big, gushing cum. Only recently a virgin, Vicky would be a deliciously tight fit, and that little pink tic tac would pop right into her mouth.

A few hundred meters away, paralleling Beck on her night flight, Watson was busy turning Beck's fantasy into juicy reality, fucking Vicky doggy-style first, on a beach towel under the stars, then a thirty minute medley in the tent starting with cowgirl, then working their way through another bout of doggy before finishing off with good old fashioned missionary. Replete, they all slept, Beck tucked up under a sheet in her cabin on the boat, Watson and Vicky under a sleeping bag, in a tent on an island under the palm trees.

* * *

The sound of an approaching outboard penetrated Watson's sub-consciousness enough to elicit a brief, lucid dream. When a hand shook the tent and a voice cried, "Wakey, wakey!" he grumbled awake while Vicky came-to with a start beside him.

He could tell the moment he opened his eyes it was still early. As he rolled onto his back his flaccid cock flopped flat onto his belly, all fat and happy, caked with the residue of a young female's slippery insides. "What time do you call this?" he croaked, while Vicky flapped around in a panic to hide her nakedness.

"You said bright and early, old man." Beck said, setting off to light up the camp stove.

"You're a disgrace to idle youth, you are." the old man grumbled. "Aren't teenagers meant to sleep in till lunchtime?"

"It is lunchtime." Beck retorted blandly, "Somewhere."

Vicky shimmied into her bikini bottoms and shorts, then pulled a T-shirt over her pointy little tits. Far more used to bras and business shirts than such unfettered lack of confinement, her girls were jiggling and bouncing with glee. Unzipping the flap, she crawled out of the fabric womb into the light of a brand new day. And what a day it was, with a cobalt-blue vault of clear, cloudless sky overhead, stirred by nary a breeze, the temperature a few degrees below absolute perfect. She arched her back, stretching, then joined Beck at the side of the burnt-out campfire. "Good morning Little Mermaid."

Beck stood and they exchanged a breast-to-breast hug, while Watson threw their bedding out and crawled into the daylight. Beck pumped up the Shellite stove and flashed up the preheat, setting three enamel camping mugs on the fire-blacked rocks before assembling the components of a morning cup of tea. Emptying the tent, Watson set about dismantling the flimsy structure, in a hurry to get the housekeeping done so they could devote the rest of the day to more important matters. "Umm..." Vicky said, turning on the spot, "are there any public toilets around here?"

Beck straightened, then spun the lid off a waterproof plastic drum and held out a roll of toilet paper. "About a hundred meters over that way." she said, gesturing with her chin in the direction of the scrub. "Make sure you bury it if it's a... you know... and be careful you don't sit on a scorpion."

"Scorpion?" Vicky cried in alarm. "I might get stung?"

"No." Beck shook her head.

Vicky shrugged as if to say, 'Then why?'

"Think about it." Beck said, her sky blue eyes big and sincere, "You're a teeny weeny animal just minding your own business, then all of a sudden, some dirty great human the size of a mountain, squats over the top of you and-"

"Becky!" Watson snapped.

"Just saying, is all." This, in fact, was the very same warning that had come straight out of her old man's mouth and she couldn't see why she shouldn't just pass it on.

"Maybe I'll just hold on." Vicky said nervously.

"Pfft!" Beck blew a raspberry. "This is as nature intended. Do you know, the Earth actually selected for animals that could fix nitrogen in their wee? That way, they could help nourish the grass that fed the animals, that fed the-"

"For pity's sake," Watson cried, "the poor girl just wants to go to the loo."

"That's okay," Vicky said unconvincingly, "a girl's gotta learn. Still, I don't really fancy being bitten on the bott-bott by a pissed-off bug."

"Or pissed on." Beck snorted.

"Rebekah!" Watson barked, "That will do. Look, Vick, I can run you out to the boat if you'd prefer. You can just use the dunny."

"No, no," Vicky raised a hand, "Becky's right. It is our natural state, isn't it? How deep do I need to dig, oh Teacher?"

"You'll work it out." Beck replied, "In fact, tell you what, I'll come with if you like. To keep a lookout."

"Would you?"

"Sure." Straightening, Beck looked at Watson. "Old man! The preheat needs relighting. Handing over."

Watson crouched down beside the cooker. "I have the con." he said, dribbling fuel into the little pump-up camping stove. "And don't be all day." he called as they set off hand in hand. "Places to go, people to meet..."

A smile crept unseen onto the old man's face. 'And you, my dear Macca, are in for a little surprise.'

* * *

The island hosted an enclave of Koalas, in a swathe of eucalypt forest a few hundred hectares in area. Beck and Watson had been there so many times they were on first-name terms with most of the creatures, whom they'd christened collectively the Beastie Kids. Beck led the ascent, as usual, but had to pull up at regular intervals to let the others catch up. She looked every inch the explorer in her khaki cargo shorts and sleeveless green T-shirt, a war-weary pack on her back and a pair of bird-watching binoculars slung round her neck.

When the other two caught up, halfway up the hill, Beck was gazing through the binoculars at the skyline. "Well would you look at that." she breathed.

"What can you see?" Vicky panted, hands braced on her knees. "The grim reaper? Is he looking for me?"

"My totem." Beck said in a quiet voice.

The old man tapped her arm and she handed him the field glasses then pointed. While Watson set about trying to pin the target, Vicky propped an elbow on Beck's shoulder and swiped a beading of sweat from her brow. "You little mountain goat you. I think I'm about to have a cardiac arrest."

Beck whipped off her bush hat and pressed her ear to Vicky's chest. "Aww..." she smiled with a faraway look in her eyes as Vicky blinked in surprise, "Listen to your sweet little heart go pitter-pat."

Vicky went to pin Beck's head against her breast but stopped herself mid-flight and dropped her arm by her side. "Give it to me straight, doc. Am I gonna make it?"

"D'oh," Beck scoffed, looking up, "it's doing a hundred and twenty, max."

"I thought you were a runner." Watson teased, his own heart pounding at the bars of his ribcage.

"Plodder, Damon, not a jolly gazelle."

"Can you see my bird?" Beck asked.

"Nuh," Watson shook his head, scanning the treetops. "He must have landed."

"She." Beck corrected as she turned on the spot. Her arm shot out. "There she is."

"What are we looking at exactly?" Vicky asked.

"My totem." Beck replied, "A Brahminy kite."

Watson nudged Vicky's arm with the binoculars. "Here, take a look, just above the treeline. There's a raptor, with chocolate brown wings and tail and a bright white head and chest. You can't miss it."

Vicky pegged the target and tried to slow her breathing. "That's beautiful." she quavered, still partially puffed. "What's it called?"

"Brahminy kite." Beck announced, "Haliastur indus."

"And what was the other thing you called it? A totem?"

"No. My totem."

Vicky handed the binoculars back. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Beck fell briefly into a flashback.

The first time they reached land after the trauma of her escape, they anchored in the river of a small coastal city. Watson was far too paranoid, and Beck far too frightened, for her to go onshore, so she was left, hiding out, while Watson went through the process of buying her clothes- shorts, shirts, dresses, intimate apparel- and reprovisioning the yacht with an extra mouth to feed. She needed other stuff as well, girl stuff, like soaps and shampoos, like brushes, hairclips and scrunchees, all of them utterly alien to the old man. Even buying them cast Watson into a state of squirming self-consciousness, an old man buying stuff for someone young enough to be his grand daughter.

And every time the old man left and the frightened little runaway fretted alone on the boat, a pair of visitors would turn up, chocolate-winged, white-bodied birds of prey, come to look after her. Brahminy kites.

By the third and last day of the layover, Beck was looking forward to the old man leaving just to see if the two birds returned. And they did, as soon as he disappeared in the RIB. And from then on, whenever they were near land, she was always on the lookout. And as often as not she would see them- the very same birds she insisted, the same individuals, and old man was not about to argue. Besides, it was he who decreed them her totem, her spirit animals, who would see her safely through the rest of her days.

"Becky? What's that mean? Your totem?"

"Oh," she shrugged, "you know, like a mascot. Never mind, I'm just being silly."

"No sillier than I was back in the day." Vicky said darkly. "At least you can see the jolly things."

"We all done with the mytho-ornithology?" Watson rumbled.

"Mytho-ornithology?" Beck scoffed, "Did you just make that up?"

"No," Watson glared, "I did my PhD in it."

"PhD? Bleeding... Psycho... hyper..." Beck searched the bush for a 'D' word, "dementia."

"Ah hah!" Watson levelled an accusing finger, "So you have heard of it." He snapped his fingers. "Water bottle. Raus!"

Each taking a gulp from one of Beck's battered plastic canteens, they saddled up again and steeled themselves for the rest of the climb.

Beck was standing under a tree, jumping up and down, when the others plodded panting to her side. Making sure not to look up in case she gave the game away, Beck offered her hand to their sweating guest and towed her into position. "What can you see?" she asked excitedly.

"My whole life..." Vicky gasped, "flashing past... in front of my eyes."

"Anything else?"

"You mean that beautiful white light? Should I walk towards it?"

Beck shook Vicky's arm. "Come on." she twirled her finger, "Look a-round."

Vicky did so, expecting something at eye-level, a plant, a ruin, some Aboriginal art, but in the end she just shrugged her shoulders.

"Vickyyyy..." Beck said, then gestured upwards with her eyes.

Vicky looked up. "Oh my god!" she cried, startled off the ground, "Oh my god! It's a Koala!"

"Not a koala."

"Oh my god," Vicky squealed, jumping up and down with unbridled delight, while a brace of addled marsupials stared back, "there's two of them!"

"Uh huh. So. Do you like my surprise?"

"Oh my god!" Vicky gushed, "Look at that. You know I've never, ever seen one in the wild."

"Well you have now."

"We had them nailed up there especially." Watson affirmed. "Just for you."

"Oh my god," Vicky breathed, shading her eyes, "aren't they just so flippin' cute? Look at those cute little ears. Just look at those cute little noses."

Vicky went to take a step underneath and Beck pulled her back. "Woah, woah, not too close."

Vicky looked at Beck with a furrowed brow. "Why not?"

Watson turned away, pretending interest in some object on the ground, so Vicky wouldn't see him biting his lip. "These are no ordinary koalas." Beck said gravely, an arm around her victim's shoulders, manoeuvring her clear.

"What do you mean?"

"You've never heard about the Saint Bees Koalas?"

Vicky shook her head, suddenly wary. "No."

"I'm not surprised. The government's been trying to keep a lid on it."

"Lid on what?"

"The mutants. You see, these islands were used for weapons tests in World War Two."

Vicky peered deep into the blonde's big blue eyes, searching for any sign of artifice. "What sort of weapons tests?"

Beck returned Vicky's scrutiny with poker-faced sincerity. "Biological weapons."

Vicky nodded, vaguely recalling a case she'd studied in law school, something involving Wold War Two, North Queensland and weapons experiments. "So what happened?"

"They couldn't get guinea pigs so they had to use koalas." Beck said gravely. "And they mutated."

"These koalas?"

"Uh huh." Beck nodded, eyes wide-open and disarming.

"They mutated how?"

"They turned into a brand new species." Beck breathed. "They became flesh-eaters."

Vicky snorted. "Oh bull-plops."

"Nuh uh. They're called Phascolarctos carnivosa. Look it up."

Goosebumps sprang up all over Vicky's sweat-sheened skin. She looked over her shoulder at Watson, who was down on one knee with his back to them, peering under a rock. "Damon? Do something about your girl, would you?"

"Sorry, Vick?" the old man replied, not turning around.

"It's true," Beck declared, taking Vicky by the arm and dragging her attention back to the bewildered marsupials. "Look at their hands."

Vicky ducked and weaved trying for a clear view of the little grey furballs. "What about them?"

"How many thumbs can you see?"

After staring long and hard, Vicky put a hand over her mouth. "Oh my god!"

"Exactly." Beck nodded. "Two thumbs. And look at those claws. You don't see those on your average herbivore."

Vicky's hair was standing on end. "Damon? Is Beck telling porkies?"

Watson, by now, had his nose on the ground trying to bite back the laughter.

"I'm not telling porkies!" Beck protested. "Just look at those claws."

Vicky shot Beck a disparaging glance then looked up. "Well what do they eat?"

"Meat!" Beck said in a low, ominous voice.

"You mean they're scavengers?"

"No." Beck shook her head, "They eat live prey."

"Those sweet little munchkins? Pull the other one."

"It's true." Beck insisted. "They drop down on their victims and dig those claws in," she said and her voice dropped to a whisper, "then crawl up to their necks and sever their spinal chords..."

Vicky looked at Beck from the corner of her eye. "Rebekah Watson, as I live and breathe. This is the biggest load of malarkey I've ever heard."

"It's not," Beck shook her head, "honest. Tons of papers have been written on them."

"Really?" Vicky retorted dryly, "Well how come I've never read any."

"Exactly. You've never heard of Saint Bees either, have you? Yet here we are. And there are the koalas."

"Oh, Becky. There's got to be a logical explanation."

"There is..." Beck said in Vicky's ear, "it's called a mutation."

"I'm gonna Google this young lady, and if I find out you're fibbing..."

Vicky looked up feeling distinctly uneasy, as the koala looked back with vacant, beady eyes. Timing it to the heartbeat, Beck drew a short, sharp breath and suddenly barged her.

"LOOKOUTHE'SCOMINGFORYOU!"

Vicky left the ground with a shriek that made even the koalas blink, then stood clinging to Beck as the shock did a quick lap of her spine. She heard laughter, and looked over her shoulder to find Watson rolling around on the ground clutching his ribs. Pushing Beck away, she stood for a moment, jaw clenched, puffing like a freight train. She lunged. Beck darted nimbly out of reach before dropping to a squat, apoplectic with hilarity.

Vicky stood over the laughing girl, fists on hips. "Why you little rascal, Becky Watson. I've got a good mind to spank your bottom."

"P... promise?"

Watson struggled to his feet then staggered in circles, similarly stricken. His apprentice had done well. Climbing to her feet, Beck sashayed past him and they slapped palms. "This whole thing was a setup." Vicky fumed. "Wasn't it, Damon? You were in on it too."

Gathering her into his arms, Watson gave the irate brunette a loving embrace. "See one, do one, teach one. We'll come back one day with someone else and you can have a go."

"Flesh eating koala." Vicky fumed. "Like I even believed it."

"You just about shat yourself." Beck cackled, then doubled over in another fit of side-splitting laughter.

"I've got a long memory, Rebekah Watson." Vicky wagged her finger. "One day when you least expect it..."

"I really must remember to bring a camera next time." Watson sighed. "That was gold."

"It... would... go... viral!" Beck declared, smearing her eyes.

"I'll give you viral?" Vicky snarled, hooking Beck into a headlock and knuckling her skull. "You little brat."

"Oh, well," Watson said, "mission complete. Fifteen out of ten, by the way, Moosh. Extra marks for the story about those biological experiments. Very creative." Duly praised, Beck performed an elaborate bow. "Now, if we've finished scaring the pants off our guest we'd better get back."

* * *

It was mid morning by the time they reached the top of descent, where they paused for a drink and a breather. Watson scanned the visible world with the binoculars, then handed them over to Vicky. "There's your ride." he said, gesturing with his chin in the direction of the shapely white yacht, riding at anchor in the small horseshoe bay. Another vessel had turned up in their absence, a beautiful big cat, and another was inbound a few miles away.

Clear of the bush and all its prickles and barbs, Beck commenced stripping for the descent. Vicky looked on, patently bemused, as the diminutive blonde peeled off her T-shirt and dropped her shorts to reveal her favourite bikini. Watson was in two minds whether to intervene in the impromptu striptease, but, no. They would be crammed together on a forty-five foot yacht for the next ten days so she might as well get used to it. And besides, the old man was betting Beck would have Vicky comfortably naked by the end of their voyage. Turning her back on Vicky, she swept her hair forward and dropped her chin. "Remember that day in the pool, Macca?"

Vicky reached for the bow of Beck's bikini top and hesitated. 'In front of your old man?' she wondered, then looked askance at Watson. He eyed her levelly from behind the lenses of his Sun-Smart sunglasses. Licking her lips, she took the proffered bow and gave it a tug.