Express Delivery

When I returned, Jenala sat on the foot of the bed, holding on to the glittery undergarment. She looked up when I entered. "If you absolutely have to know, my previous lovers did not have 'balls,' as you call them, to suck on."

"This is getting more and more mysterious," I said. "You don't have to divulge more if you feel uncomfortable."

"Sex is not uncomfortable. Seeing a male perform is just... new." She stood up and turned her back on me. "Do you know how to measure a person?"

Way to change the subject. "Actually, no."

"Lucky for you, I took an advanced sewing course during Basic Training. Mother thought it wise her scouts knew how to garb themselves in hostile territory. Neckline first." She tapped her bracer, the only item she still wore.

"I need to get rather close to you if I were to do that."

"You didn't seem to have any issues getting close to the animal hybrids."

"Good point." I reached around her neck and looped the tape. "Like this?"

"I don't want a collar, I'd like a robe. Please measure along the biggest vertebra and over the collarbone then give me your measurement. Since we will be using your-"

"Synthesis engine."

"Device anyway, it won't make sense to convert it into the measurements I'm used to."

I replaced the tape measure according to her instructions and gave her the figure. She noted it down on her bracer, in strange, blocky symbols made from angular triangles and octagon slices. "When there's time, we'll find out exactly how many nakron a 'centimeter' is. Now, shoulder width." She tapped the point just above her rotator joint. "From here to the other side."

A small shiver ran through Jenala as the cool metal tape touched her skin. I gave her the measurement.

"Now, upper bust." She raised her arms over her head. "Keep the tape at around armpit height." Satisfied with my announcement, she had me measure her full bust. To my mild disappointment, she took the measuring tape into her own hands and threaded it around her chest, leaving me to read the measurement off from around her shoulder blades. We worked our way down her body, including bicep, wrist, below her breasts, waist, leg width, and several length measurements which had me kneel in front of her as I ran the tape up the inside of her legs. She was utterly hairless from the eyebrows down and despite her trying to remain calm, it was obvious all the enforced closeness and my hands -- or the tape measure -- on her skin had an effect on her. She smelled nice. A bit musky, a bit flowery and a bit alien. And her nethers looked rather familiar -- like those of human, Nor, Gravon and Zuthrian females -- or Felinoids, for that matter.

"One question, if I may," I asked her after giving her the distance between her hips and the floor. "You didn't need to be naked for this, did you?"

"Not necessarily. I only have this one last combat shell left though. I don't want my arousal to seep it through. My only logical option was to get naked."

"Sorry."

"No need. I find the whole experience utterly fascinating." She looked at her bracer. "We got all the measurements you'll need. Do you have towels?"

"Of course." I opened a cabinet and produced two large ones. "Do you need a walkthrough of the shower controls?"

"I think I will manage," she said, walking into the bathroom. "While I take care of myself, would you be so kind and replicate two sets of robes? I prefer white, but I'll take what you colors you can make."

"Sure. Have fun." I waved and left the room, heading for the kitchen. The synthesis engine could create almost anything. Food and other "soft" materials were easiest and required the least amount of reaction mass but, given enough time and raw matter, I could print any spare I needed for my ship. A quick search through the pattern library of my unit told me I could create simple flexible one-size-fits-all coveralls but to make more advanced garments I would need a firmware update and the proprietary editor program. Sighing, I climbed back into the cockpit and fired up the long-range communication system. The Nor kept a stranglehold on synthesis technology, so I had to download the necessary files off a server in Nor space which would cost me a couple grand on distance alone. While my communication system bounced my request at FTL speeds through the TransNet, I did something I had little desire to. I called Neira.

After the sixth ring, she finally deigned to answer. Audio only.

"Salvador." She sounded out of breath. I heard another female's muffled moan.

"I won't be long, promise. Here is the next rate. Also, I'm on a long-range delivery job for the next six months." I tapped a sum of two million credits into the transfer form and hit 'Enter.' Her gasp of surprise sounded genuine.

"I thought I'd let you know. No need to send your party boys after me. I'll be back in six months, with another cool two mil in my pocket. Adios. And have fun."

"Don't you dare hang up on me," she snarled. The sounds of heated sex close by abated then I heard naked footfalls on parquet. "What are you carrying? Where are you going?"

After three years of being under her thumb, the idea of six months of relative freedom was highly appealing. She wouldn't activate the Nano-Shot just to spite me, that much I knew. Also, she wanted the money. Which meant, I could risk a little rebellion. Our contract didn't specify I had to give her all the details of every run. What to tell her?

I allowed myself a quick peek into my bathroom. I had surveillance equipment in every room big enough for a potential attacker to hide in. Strictly aftermarket, of course, and a modification Neira especially did not know about. Jenala leaned against the shower's rear wall, the faucet running at full blast. She had both hands between her thighs, caressing herself. She obviously was in no hurry to finish. Fine by me. And then inspiration struck.

"My client has forced a vow of secrecy upon me. I am carrying thirty kilos of a classified substance and I am to deliver it somewhere south of Nor space. That's all I am allowed to say."

"You're shitting me."

"Nope. My client is very formidable, highly trained and armed to the teeth. When faced with the choice of you being a bit pissed and her being really angry, I'd have to take my chances with you."

"Sal-" Her voice took on the unmistakable tone of someone wrestling with the last remnants of their patience.

"What?" I snarled. "I just sent you two million credits, literally ahead of schedule. You will get another rate the moment I've delivered my cargo and if you're so fixated on receiving the maximum possible, I'll whore myself out on the way back to get you that third rate. Calm the fuck down."

Her gnashing of teeth was music to my ears. For all her power over me, for all the threats, now it was me ruining her evening. I had already yanked her out of whatever filthy party she was enjoying -- probably having one of her Marked maids fuck that "Fading Stars" actress from earlier -- now I was slipping right from under her thumb.

I took a deep breath and adopted my most reasonable voice. "We've been doing this particular spiel for the past three years. I am fully aware of what you're going to say next. 'Don't fuck with me, Sal. Don't even think about it.' I like my chest whole and complete as it is, thank you. I won't try to fuck with you, all right? I just sent you a shitload of money. Isn't that enough evidence of my unwavering loyalty?"

"I don't like this secrecy bullshit one bit."

"Neither do I. But you know what I like even less? A fricking sword going for my neck. So there. See you in six months."

I cut the connection and took a deep breath. All things considered, messing with Neira went better than I had expected. I didn't piss my pants, for starters. And I couldn't believe I got away with that stunt. On another screen, the download for the firmware update and editor program inched ever closer to a hundred percent.

I waited until the data package had arrived and transferred it to my wrist-mounted comms. Back in the kitchen, I poured myself a mug of coffee and busied myself with updating the synthesis engine. I was on my second mug when Jenala joined me, wearing a towel as a makeshift skirt over her silvery onesie. She dropped her old robes onto the bench and took a seat.

"I was worried you might have forgotten about me already," she said.

I shook my head. "Nah, not even close. But I'm not good at designing clothing. Here, have a look. Maybe this makes more sense to you." The editor for new synthesis patterns looked deceptively simple on the surface but it was a rabbit hole of options and resource ratios which had my head spinning.

"You don't have to create something from scratch," Jenala said. "We can modify existing designs to fit my needs. Do you have something akin to cultist robes or the likes? Something with multiple layers, options for pockets, sash loops and maybe a hood?"

I dug through the myriads of options. "Yes. Something like this?" My comms could project holographic images into space, eliminating the need for the both of us to squint at my wrist-mounted display.

"Perfect. Now all we need to do is enter my measurements, adjust the material composition, decide on coloration and save, right?"

"For a fighter, you sure do know your high-tech stuff. It took me nearly two cups of coffee to even get to grips with the UI."

Jenala offered a thin-lipped smile. "My exact designation is 'scout.' I'm a decent fighter but that's not all. Strength and intellect are the most desired traits in my caste. After all, I need to be able to analyze and react to the new impressions I'd encounter on away missions. Would you mind if I tried this 'coffee' of yours?"

"Caste, huh? Cups are in the cabinet over there. Be warned, I like it strong."

Jenala poured herself a mug and sat down again, sipping the black brew. "At first taste, this is nothing I'd voluntarily repeat," she said, making a face.

"It's an acquired taste. If it's too much, I could synthesize some sweetener."

"Then I'll get acquainted with it. Yes, castes. My species has specialized castes for specialized tasks."

"Speaking of which, what exactly is your species? You don't look like anything I know -- and yet, you seem to have much in common with every single one of them."

"I'm not sure if I trust you enough for that particular revelation yet. Besides, we have more pressing issues, like my replacement clothing."

"If you want to get rid of the old one, just stuff it into the synthesis engine and hit the 'recycle' button. The green one with three arrows."

I watched her deal with the Nor machine. For someone not used to our technology, she adapted with incredibly ease.

"Since questions into your love life are off limits, as are questions regarding your species -- may I ask what exactly a 'battle shell' is?" I put the finishing touches to the new robes pattern.

She watched me over the lip of her mug. "I see no harm in answering that. It's unlikely you'll try and steal it from me, right?" A playful smile twinkled in her eyes.

"Highly unlikely. I think I'm done." I gave the holographic mannequin a spin. "Let's try it." Two button presses later, the new pattern had been stored in my synthesis engine and the machine was busy turning reaction mass into thread.

Jenala brushed her hand over her shoulder, caressing the glittering silver garment. "A battle-shell is specialized body armor made from a psycho-active fabric. Not much use in hand-to-hand combat, because the emphatic nature of the weave doesn't protect from slow, slashing weapons, but it helps absorbing small-arms fire from both projectile and energy weapons. In conjunction with my force-field emitter, it's my version of battle armor."

"Hold up, hold up. Can I have that again, in simple Galactic Basic?"

Jenala sighed. "In layman's terms -- this battle shell reacts to incoming danger and diverts incoming energy by hardening or reflecting it away from me."

"You said 'psycho-active.' Does that mean you are a Mentalist?"

She shook her head. "No. We do have a psionically gifted caste but they are rare and kept in stasis unless absolutely necessary. Our personal equipment is highly empathic though. Here, look." She drew her sword.

The weapon had the shape of a slender longsword, the blade maybe two fingers wide and just a meter long. But it wasn't made from any metal or alloy I knew. The general color was a strange purplish hue, with silvery and sparkly veins running through the blade in an eye-catching damascene pattern.

The grip was wound with fabric similar to the battle shell she wore and I caught some rosy crystalline glimmer through gaps in the hilt wrap.

"I'm by no means a weapons expert but this is a beautiful piece," I said.

Jenala sheathed it again and leaned it against the wall next to the bench. "In this case, looks aren't everything. Thanks to the psycho-active crystal hilt and the conduits in the metal, this weapon literally amplifies my anger." She flashed a tiny grim smile. "Consider yourself warned." Jenala took another sip from her coffee. "I think I could get used to this. Once the first shock of bitterness has passed, it's really not that bad."

The synthesis engine pinged. I fetched the robe from the delivery chamber. "All right, give it a try." It was of a pure white, with a silvery sash and like-colored accents at the seams and trim.

My client removed the towel and wrapped the robe around herself. "A bit heavier than what I'm used to but it will do." She shot me an appreciative gaze. "It fits well, which means you didn't screw up the measurements. Good job."

"All that despite having to serve a naked goddess," I quipped. "It wasn't easy." Despite the second coffee, a yawn struck me. I checked my comms. A little more than an hour until we reached the portal. When was the last time I had actually slept? Stifling a yawn, I programmed the synthesis engine to run the program once more.

Jenala had taken a seat again and sipped her coffee. "May I ask a question for a change?" she asked, glancing my way.

"Sure. We'll be spending the next three months this close together. I won't mind getting to know you better. In return, it's only fair you're allowed to ask any question."

"Oh, any question?" Jenala's grin turned vicious for a second. "Before we go there, I was wondering. Who are they?" She pointed at a small photo I had taped to the door of my fridge. It had been taken what felt like ages ago, on our hacienda, in front of the main house. Mom, me and my sister.

Consuela wore her dress uniform, proudly displaying the star-and-eagle motif of the UNSF on her right breast and brandishing the quad chevrons of a newly promoted captain while I wore the uniform of a Junior Spaceman. Mom beamed expansively, her arms draped around both our shoulders, so happy both her children would actually amount to more than just simple chili farmers in a dustpan somewhere in Mexico. A pang of guilt hit my stomach. While Consuela had her own command, the UNSF Eric Magnusson, I didn't even manage an officer rank before my... let's say rebellious streak got me kicked out of the UN's Space Fleet program. Luckily, I got kicked out after receiving my capital ship piloting permit which made me eligible for owning and operating any kind of civilian space craft. Finding employment with my kind of credentials was easy enough. I worked almost ten years on gas freighters and in-system haulers until I had enough scratch to buy my own tub. Dispelling the memories, I told Jenala about the picture.

"So, that's a 'family?'" She sounded highly intrigued. "Another question though: Usually, a Precursor species family includes a-" here she consulted her bracer, "'father.' The male progenitor. Where is yours?"

"He died when I was still very young. He ended up between a drug cartel and the Border Patrol. A stray laser shot hit the fuel tank of his truck."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

I shrugged. "I barely knew him." The synthesis engine pinged again and I got Jenala her spare. "If you need more, just let me know."

"Thank you." She neatly folded the robe into a tight package. "Now what?"

"We'll reach the TransNet portal soon. I will program a route to a Waystation a few days away where we can stock up on a few more essentials like non-synthesized food, extra clothing, maybe a board game or two."

"We are not using your fabled x12 FTL engines?"

"Not unless absolutely necessary to reach the destination. The TransNet allows us to move much faster and we'll save on fuel besides."

"I see you have everything mapped out." She afforded me a curt nod of respect. "Carry on then."

"And you were serious when you offered to baby-sit the autopilot?"

"Absolutely. I'm used to long hours in the cockpit, minding my own business."

"I have enough entertainment saved on my local server," I said. "You won't have to count stars to entertain yourself. We should probably think about some kind of shift rotation, with just one bed."

"Which looks big enough for two," Jenala said. "Or three."

"That's because Nor standard cabin modules also take Gravon physique into account." I rapped the bench we were sitting on. "As captain and contractor, I'm just trying to afford you a modicum of privacy and comfort."

"Duly noted. Compared to the barracks I've grown up in, these quarters are luxuriously spacious. We were ten girls in a space maybe twice the size of your cabin."

"And you didn't kill each other?" I asked, intrigued. "I mean, if they were as strong as you are..."

"Our instructors knew ways to channel our excess energy. Chores, training, mandatory mutual release..." She shrugged. "As such, I think the two of us will be fine."

"Now wait just a minute. 'Mandatory mutual release...?'"

"It's exactly what you think it is," Jenala said, grinning. "When we've entered the TransNet, I can tell you about it. And you could enlighten me on what exactly I had witnessed when we first met."

Oh boy.

* * * *

Before I could educate Jenala about the finer points of foreplay, I had to thread Consuela into the TransNet. Thanks to the reality-bending properties of this particular bit of Nor technology, manual action was required. Before I had to deal with the portal though, something else threatened to make my day even more interesting.

Usually, a token Nor guard was stationed next to the portal, a battleship "assisting" UNSF in keeping the peace and offering quite a lot of firepower should unwanted elements slip through the portal. They also checked each incoming vessel for contraband -- more or less effectively. Today, the NRS Kairi had company. The moment the sensors had resolved the tiny speck of reflected light into the ship's class and designation, I knew my day was about to become really interesting -- and even more awkward than before. The medium cruiser parking alongside its heavier battleship brother was none other than the UNSF's showpiece -- the Eric Magnusson.

Jenala popped her head into the cockpit. "Are you all right? I heard your sigh back in the kitchen."

Before I could answer, my main comms screen turned blue, with the white star-and-eagle motif of the UNSF -- and a stern 'Incoming Connection' warning -- bathing the cockpit in bright colors. A moment later, the screen cleared, leaving behind a high-def image of a spacious office, a star-speckled porthole screen -- and my sister, sitting behind a simple fake-wood desk.

"I knew I had seen that flying dildo before," she said. It took me a few moments to recognize her. Captain Consuela Rios was about ten years older than me but she looked as if she had skipped her forties and went right for the late fifties look. There were gray streaks in her tightly braided hair and her face showed more furrows and lines than any single person had any right to bear.