Dry, No Lube Ch. 06: Skulduggery

"What's in it for you?" She held his gaze, the two of them silently raising their glasses and downing the gin before grimacing their way back into the conversation. "She had good taste in booze, your captain."

"I never liked gin." Pixy sniffed. "Sure. What's in it for me?"

"So transactional, Pixy," the colonel chided. "I guess you can take the girl out of Fleet Supply, but you can't take Fleet Supply out of the girl."

"Fuck you, Smith."

"Do you remember my real name?" he asked suddenly. "I told you what it was, months ago. Do you remember it without your implant?"

Pixy scowled. She didn't like the implant. "Reynolds? Something like that?"

"Rennels. Schwick Rennels." He poured himself another glass. "And that is my real name, incidentally, though the Army has it listed as an alias." He smiled again, his scarred lip twitching. "Call me Schwick, Pixy. As long as we're making deals, we might as well not stand on ceremony."

"Deals," Pixy scoffed. "Supply officer-type deals? Is that it? You want me to suck your dick or something?"

"I mean, if you're offering, I'm certainly not going to say no," he laughed lightly. "But you're not offering, I can tell. That's okay. I brought my own mouths to feed, as it were. My women really are excellent, sexually."

"Well. Lucky you. A personal harem, all for yourself." She shook her head. "I should have joined the Army."

"You'd have been a general already." He showed no sign of mocking her. "Seriously. We value people like you."

"Yeah." Pixy touched her Combat Cross, an Army award extremely rare in Fleet. "They like me."

He laughed again. "Value, I said. Not like." He eyed her. "You'd make your share of enemies in my world, but you'd probably make more friends. And that matters. No," he sighed, returning to the conversation, "they're not my harem. They're operatives." He stared at her quietly for a moment before dropping the punchline. "They're assassins."

Pixy's eyebrows shot up. "Could've fooled me. Do all your assassins look like prostitutes?"

"It's important that they be able to get close to their objectives." He shrugged. "Beautiful women with the ability to get men naked have an easy time killing them, in general."

"Do you have men who do the same thing? To female targets?" Pixy was curious despite herself.

"Of course." He shrugged. "I command a unit that does a lot of that kind of thing. Humans and Tygons, mostly, but we'll kill the occasional Korlene or Linder as well." He looked toward the galley."Korlenes are tough."

"They have telepathy."

"Yes. And they're usually better at sex than my people are. But then? One of my assassins is a Korlene too." He chuckled. "She's very good."

"I'll bet." She glanced out into space through the transparent graphene, loving the sight of the passing stars. She sighed. "Where are we going? My helmsman will need a heading."

"It really is lucky I found you."

"Yeah." She sniffed. "If you say so. Where are we going?"

He shrugged. "There's a power struggle in the Army. We've kept a lid on it so far, and it's been decided that it's time to make that lid permanent." He drank. "That's my task. So I'm posing as a diplomatic vessel in distress."

"Posing?" Pixy blinked. "You mean you're not truly damaged?"

"Oh, we're damaged. It's just that it was self-inflicted." He tutted. "You know better. Nothing can hit a diplo ship. They're too fast."

"So, what? The plan was to come limping in from out of nowhere?"

He toyed with his glass. "My target is at a conference. High-level, a staff call. Security is extremely tight, and given the Army's current factionalization, nobody from my side of the fence was invited."

"Your side of the fence."

He spread his hands. "What can I say? It's a power struggle, like I said. We needed a way to infiltrate, and nobody denies a damaged diplo ship."

Pixy smiled cynically. "Until next time."

"True." He sighed. "These are delicate days we're living in, Pixy. The War... some are sick of it, some want to win it, some are making money off it."

"Some of us don't care."

"Yes you do." He nodded decisively. "You'd be sad if the war ended. You can admit it to me. Or not; I know the truth of it, anyway. War gives opportunities to people like you."

Pixy sighed. It was a disturbing and accurate notion. "I follow orders."

"Sure. But suppose those orders came from a faction within Fleet that wasn't operating in the government's interests. But was in charge of you anyway."

"That's mutiny." Pixy slowly brought her eyes back to his face. "You know my feelings about mutiny."

"It's complicated right now, in the Army."

"So... these people you want to kill..."

"No." His voice was flat now, precise. "These people I'm assigned to kill."

"Well. So, they're in favor of what? Peace? Or more war?" She was getting mad.

He shrugged. "Honestly? I'm not even all that sure. But I've got people I'm loyal to, and this is what they need."

"And now I'm embroiled in this bullshit?" Her voice rose. "Fuck you."

"No. You're just aiding a diplomatic mission. My priorities are genuine." He sighed. "These are games, Pixy. People play them from safely above your pay grade. But it'll enhance my cover story if I'm getting Fleet help in my plight."

She could see that. "Still. Fuck you."

"I want your help. Willingly."

She barked a laugh. "That's going to be a tall order, Colonel."

He nodded. "What is it you want, Pixy? More than anything?"

She cocked her head, suspecting a trap. "Galactic peace."

"Really. What do you want?" He smiled. "You might be surprised at what I can help you with. Though, admittedly, you tend to do just fine on your own..."

"I want a captain," Pixy snapped suddenly. "I want another Ledecki, who'll sit in this luxury suite and keep her mouth shut and let me do whatever the fuck I want. I want to run my own show. I want to decide where and when I'll get to fight." She sat up, mouth twisting into a grimace. "You can't get me that."

Rennels nodded, eyes glittering. "You don't want that," he told her softly.

"No?"

"You want to be the captain." He sat back, pouring another gin, letting the silence stretch.

Pixy felt her chest was constricted, that she couldn't breathe all of a sudden. When she trusted herself to speak, it came out as a croak. "You can't make that happen," she managed. "You don't have that kind of pull."

"No," he smiled, "but I've got pull with people who do have that kind of pull."

"I'm a subcommander," Pixy frowned. "I'm not qualified to command the Desperado." Even though she'd been doing it, just fine, for months. "Fuck, Rennels, I'm not even promotable yet. It'll be another two or three years before anyone will think to promote me to commander. And even then, that's the bottom rung of a long ladder, especially for a jumped-up transfer from Service Fleet." She made herself stop. These were all her fears, all her doubts, and she hated that she'd blurted them in front of him.

"You have friends," he pointed out gently, "that you might not even be aware of. People talk about you." He nodded. "Important people."

"Can they promote me?" she demanded.

He arched an eyebrow. "There's a new ship type," he began softly, "I'm sure you've heard of them. They're building them at one of the 114 Basins. Two of them just went into prototype and pulled off a successful raid on some of the Cassavetes moons."

"I heard about that. P/E. The placer/extraction ships." She shrugged. "Big fuckers. Some weird new propellant, OAS, not much maneuverability. Those are slated for full commanders."

"And yet. They're having trouble finding officers who wish to command them."

"Well, big fucking shock there." Pixy leaned forward. "They're not really Fleet ships. They're designed for combined operations with people like you. The Army. The Marines. Lots of shuttles, self-contained fighter ships."

"They're independent," he pointed out gently, "outside the usual Combat structure. That's why so many Combat officers aren't interested in serving in them. Nobody wants to be the Army's ferry."

"They're more than that, though," Pixy objected, shaking her head. "Their own fighters! Think of that."

He was smiling oddly. "I'm not the one you need to convince. You are."

Pixy went still, her breath leaving her. "Wait. You're telling me you can get me a slot on a brand-new K class P/E ship." He just stared. "Bullshit."

His hand swept the table airily. "I mean, like I said, I have some influence with a lot of the right people. But I do know that a lot of Fleet officers see Placer/Extraction as a dead end, career-wise. No chance to get noticed by an Admiral. No battle problems or large-scale maneuvers. No facetime or networking with other captains." He paused. "Know anyone who might prefer that kind of existence?"

She was still short of breath. "This isn't happening."

He arched an eyebrow. "Like I said, your help with my mission would be invaluable to its success. I'd make sure the right people knew who was responsible. And the Army's integration into the P/E world will give my recommendation more weight than it might normally have." He sipped once more. "Which brings us to your Petty Officer Juno."

Pixy frowned. "I'm not going to fuck around all night with this," she muttered, hitting her voxbox. "Send my steward to the captain's quarters," she barked into the device, and then she decided she might as well have more gin while she waited. "You better be right about all this," she warned quietly.

"You're a woman with combined-arms experience, proven command ability, a demonstrated willingness to act in the absence of higher authority, and a well-known aggressive streak." He shrugged. "I'm not sure I'll need to do much to help you, frankly. But, again, Army recommendations would help. And you'd have them."

She opened her mouth to reply, her head still swimming, but at that point the hatch hissed open at the top of the stairs. "Ma'am?" Juno's clear voice rang out. "Did you change your mind about the quarters? Can I finally move my shit into the steward's berth?"

Pixy smirked at Rennels as Juno hopped lightly down the stairs. "She shares a number of my qualities," she muttered. "If she agrees to your little plot, she'll be your problem now." On a sudden, wondering impulse, Pixy laid her hand on his across the table. "If you're lying to me about getting me a ship..."

"Trying to get you a ship," he corrected.

"Well. If you're lying, I'll kill you."

He nodded at her as Juno crossed toward the table. "I have zero doubt."

"So!" The steward plunked her shapely ass in Fustar's seat, immediately starting in on his zhwang. "What's that, gin? Pass me some of that."

The two officers shared a glance. "Your problem now," Pixy said again.

* * *

Part II: Juno

* * *

The walk down to the Main Bay seemed longer than it should have been: that's how eager she was to get started. "Faster," she bubbled to the tall, scarred Army colonel.

He just smiled over at her, like a man with a puppy. "Relax, Petty Officer. May I call you Wrae?"

"You can call me whatever the fuck you want," she sang back. "I'm going to get laid and I get to kill people? On your shekel? You can call me anything."

He nodded. "Might want to keep your voice down, though. About the killing."

"Shit. It's common knowledge on this ship, what I did to the deputy XO. Mr Welson. The stabbing part, anyway." This was true; they'd been talking about it in the crew mess for weeks afterward. How the XO's steward had carved up Lieutenant Welson's kidney with her high-priced Sajusake chef's knife. How she'd saved the XO's life in the process. How she'd jettisoned the man's body out the upper airlock.

The airlocks had been busy that day, practically choked with dead officers. And Wrae Juno had been standing at the pressurization controls of every one of those airlocks. Not that she publicized that part; she didn't really have to. Everyone knew.

So did this mysterious colonel. She'd been able to tell right away, way back when Pfeiffer had told her he wanted to meet with her, that he was fully aware of her involvement in the deaths of all those officers. And more, she thought to herself; Wrae had never really found killing all that difficult to do. And the colonel knew that too, which was why he'd sent for her.

And now he was saying there was going to be sex, too? Shit! her brain crowed. Sign me up!

She guided him down the last lift to the Main Bay, where Pixy had told her the colonel's two whores would be "discussing" supply matters before grimacing back another gulp of gin and then watching them leave the Great Cabin. "I'm telling you, sir, I don't disappoint."

"Yes. Commander Pfeiffer was not too happy to agree to let me have you."

She chortled. "'Have' me."

"Well. Not in that sense," he smiled. "I don't generally fuck enlisted people."

Wrae sighed lustily, arching her back, letting her little tits do their best. "The night is still young, Colonel," she flirted as the lift came to its rest.

"I think you'll see you might have some things you can learn once we get off the lift," he replied with careful diplomacy, and just then the doors whooshed open to the sight of what might best be termed "joint Army/Fleet supply negotiations," complete with artificial passion resulting in natural insemination.

This was news to Wrae. The life and training of a Fleet legal specialist did not involve much exposure to accepted Fleet supply-trading practice. And, though of course she was no stranger to the shenanigans that sailors could sometimes get up to, this was her very first time seeing the Army perform sexually. From the amused tone of Colonel Rennels beside her, he saw it all the time. "Ah. There's my team."

She could barely see Lieutenant Charlatul. He was known to be the hairiest junior officer aboard the whole ship, though, so Wrae had to assume that the bare male legs she saw stretched out toward her, lying on an autopallet, belonged to him. On top of those legs was straddled the gloriously bubbled ass of one of those two Army bitches, the shorter one. Wrae could see her rippling muscles as she rose and fell over Charlatul's cock, squashing his big balls with every powerful heave of her tanned, sweaty thighs. Even here, from the back, the woman's huge breasts could be seen jiggling alongside her upraised arms, her hands buried in her thick hair.

Wrae, still in the lift, felt her open mouth curve into a delighted grin as she craned her head around to see what was happening to the lieutenant's face. Which she couldn't, on account of the fact it was being sat upon by a very lithe, very sexy, very heavily inked woman completely devoid of all her hair. Her body was covered almost everywhere with intense floral tattoos, mostly in green and purple. She arched fitfully atop Charlatul's mouth, his bearded chin poking impudently out beneath her gaping red snatch.

The two women were discussing hockey standings, from the sound of things. The tatted one had some sort of little control device in her hands, too, with which she did various experimental things.

"Wow."

"My girls," Rennels said with satisfaction. "They'll be training you. They're very dangerous, Wrae."

"I don't know whether Mr Charlatul agrees, sir." She heard the huskiness in her own voice, her pussy juicing nicely within her utilities; both women were grinding hard, with precision, and their expertise awed her. "They're... they're beautiful," she managed. The tall one did something with the controller in her hands, leading to a muffled grunt from Charlatul.

"Ooh. That tickled," said the woman with her vagina right over that grunt.

"Yes, they are." She felt him behind her, looming, his hands on her shoulders. They felt good: warm. Strong. Reassuring. "I really am grateful to Commander Pfeiffer for letting me borrow you, Wrae."

She nodded. He was massive behind her tiny frame, the lewd scene before her dominating her senses. She felt something stir at the top of her ass, in her lower back, and she leaned back against the soldier. She chuckled a nervy little sigh. "I thought you didn't fuck enlisted people, sir."

He seemed quite unconcerned about his cock hardening against her. "Generally, I don't. But I can smell your pussy from up here. You're aroused by this spectacle. Is it so strange to think that I would be, too?"

She reached back to his uniform, feeling his dick, straightening it in his trousers so that she could settle the cheeks of her ass alongside it. He was quite still. "That's convenient, Colonel. The two of us standing here, all hot and bothered."

"Look off to the left," he whispered to her, his hands creeping along the front of her shoulders. Down toward her breasts. "You're missing the second show."

"Yeah?" She turned her head away from those writhing women over their hairy man, following his directions. "Whoah." For she saw, off in a fuel-valve alcove in the forward end of the Bay, none other than Acting Junior Lieutenant Wollz, stripped naked and with her wrists electrotaped to a valve cover, bent over with her long legs spread. Colonel Rennels' pilot stood behind her, looking bored as he systematically plunged into her again and again. "She, uh, never really seemed like the type to put out like that." She settled back against the colonel as his hands came smoothly down to cup her breasts.

"Look closer," he murmured, his breath warm in her ear, and she did; she frowned, concentrating despite the little spurt of dampness between her own legs, squinting at where Corcovado's hips met Wollz'.

"What?"

"I need you to focus, Wrae," he insisted softly, his fingers suddenly harsh on her nipples through her loose utilities. Wrae shuddered. "You need to learn to pay attention to detail, and you need to learn it quickly. My girls will soon have their lives in your hands.

"Wait." She blinked through the distraction of his fingers and her own vagina, her nipples sending out harsh pain signals. "Is... is he a mutant?"

The fingers eased, rubbing in gentle circles around her areolae. "Captain Corcovado is a mutant. A double." She caught her breath, fascinated. "Most doubles are side-by side; he's top-and-bottom."

"Holy shit."

She heard laughter in Rennels' voice when he replied. "He's quite popular with the ladies."

"Holy shit." It was all she could say, again, her mouth dropping.

"He's fucking her vaginally and anally at the same time. Two pricks." He thrust his own groin gently against her pert ass; she felt how hard he was. "And look at that midshipman. She's gone. She's not in the same universe we are. She'd tell him anything right now." He kissed her neck. "He has power."

"Like the women do," Wrae nodded, "over Mr Charlatul." She was starting to get this now.

"It's what we do," he murmured, his hands tracing her hips. "We fuck, then we kill. Or interrogate, sometimes. Just one of the many kinds of skullduggery I'm involved in." She sighed, pressing her body against his.

It had been over a week since Wrae Juno had taken a dick.

"And your supply officer?" She rolled her head over to take in Charlatul, once again fucking quiescently up into the woman riding his cock, his hands now clamped to the other one's tattooed thighs. "He'd do whatever they asked. Even without the cattle prod they've shoved into his ass." The tall one messed with the controller again, both women giggling as he squirmed. "Hours of fun. They could disembowel him right now, and I doubt he'd even mind."

"I want to learn this," she gasped.

"Good." His roving hands curved slowly around her hips, suddenly cupping her vagina with crushing force. She nearly shrieked as he jerked her toward him, his cock hard against her. "We'll start now. We'll return to the late Captain Ledecki's quarters."