The Passenger Ch. 02

"And suppose there's something right ahead of us?"

"Then the computer either has enough time for an emergency collision avoidance maneuver, or it doesn't. If it does, we'll end up spending a fortune on fuel getting back on course and this trip will a bust. If it doesn't, then all our problems will be over, so I tend not to worry about that possibility."

"And you do this for a living?"

I chuckled.

"Yes. In all the history of hyperspace flight there are less than a hundred recorded cases where an incoming ship had a collision immediately after reversal to realspace. Compared to everything else that can go wrong, that's a very acceptable risk. Besides, there's a much better chance, for lack of a better way to put it, that you will get killed by a mugger while you're in port."

"And what about the unrecorded incidents? The ones that nobody's ever heard about?"

I shrugged.

"There will be a few, I'm sure. But still, it's extremely rare. Which means we do a scan anyway." I looked at her seriously. "You're going to hear me say that a lot, Anne. Until you get sick of it, probably. Because that's what this is all about: even though you know the chances of something going wrong are practically zero, you take precautions anyway."

I pointed at the instrument panel.

"Take our cabin pressure, for example. We know it's fine, or we would have noticed. So why do I check it every day?"

"Because that's what you do?"

"Almost. The real reason is that space is trying to kill us."

I expected her to make a face at me, but she didn't.

"I know it sounds paranoid, but it isn't," I continued. "So listen to me: space is trying to kill us, every single moment, all the time. Only by being constantly alert we can keep one step ahead of it most of the time, and only by always being prepared we have any hope of surviving those times when we can't stay ahead of it. Which brings something up."

"What's that?"

I gave her my serious, no-nonsense look.

"When I tell you to do something, you do it. You do it immediately, and you do it exactly as I tell you, and you don't stop to ask why or what's going on. I tell you to suit up, you do it. I tell you to strap in, you do it. If I tell you to run to the cargo hold and seal the hatch behind you, you do it. I'll explain my reasons later if I have to, but chances are that by then you'll already know. The bottom line is, I'm not going to give you orders unless I have to, but when I do, I need you to trust me and not question me. When I say "Jump" you jump. Immediately. Because if I say "Jump" it will be absolutely necessary that you do so, and if you don't, you may get yourself or both of us hurt of killed. So when I give you a direct order, you trust me and you follow my orders exactly and immediatly, and you ask questions later."

"Aye, aye captain Bligh."

"No. That's exactly the sort of attitude we don't need. I'm not saying this to pull rank on you or to assert my male superiority over you or some crap like that, Anne. I'm saying this because we're in space, and a life-or-death situation can happen from one moment to the next. Chances are that it won't. But it may. And if it does, there may be zero warning and we won't have time for discussion or for fooling around. A million things can go wrong in space."

"Such as?"

"Anything. Meteorite punctures, computer malfunction, hyperdrive failure... Hell, pirates, for all I know."

"Pirates? Oh, that'll be easy. I'll stand in front of the viewport, I'll strip, and I'll go like this!"

She stood up and wiggled her body in a way that I hadn't seen her do before. Her butt moved inside her flight suit in a way that I found quite distracting, and the way her breasts bounced under the smooth fabric was the stuff of adolescent dreams. Very distracting indeed.

"Okay. That just might do it." I admitted. "Fine, so we've got pirates sorted. Not that there's any know case of piracy in space, of course."

"Oh?"

I nodded.

"Space pirates look great in a 3D drama, but in real life that stuff simply doesn't work. Ships in hyperspace are completely isolated, and in realspace it's impossible to board a ship that doesn't want to be boarded. All the crew has to do is vary course and speed randomly so another ship can't match it. Sure, you could install some heavy weaponry in a ship and hope you won't completely destroy it when you try to cripple it. Fat chance of that. But even if you can pull that off, which isn't too damn likely, you'll still need a base for such a battlewagon. I mean, where are you going to land and service your ship when you've got a missile launcher sticking out of your fuselage? Unh-unh. Ain't gonna happen. It's way too impractical."

She shrugged.

"I guess there's a first time for everything."

"That's exactly what I'm trying to say here. So when I say 'Duck', you plant your face on the deck as fast as you can. You don't stop to ask. Is that clear?"

She nodded.

"I can do that."

"I know you can. But I needed to say it anyway."

The computer beeped, and data started to scroll across the main display.

"That's the countdown for our reversal to realspace," I pointed out. "Strap in."

She did.

"This is one of those things," I continued. "Our chances of having an emergency course change upon reversal are almost zero, and if we do, the inertial compensators will keep us from being thrown around in here. But we strap in anyway. That's the thing about most of what we do: it's never happened before, it's extremely unlikely that it will happen now, but we check and we take precautions nevertheless, each and every single time, until we're both sick of it, and then we still do it. Most of the ship's systems have never failed during flight before, but you've seen me run checks twice a day anyway. I've done that for every day of flight time I've logged. It may or may not have made any difference, but that's not the point. The point is, we do it regardless."

The lights briefly dimmed as the computer began to charge the jump capacitor, right on time as the countdown ticked on and the board slowly turned green. Ten seconds, nine, eight...

"Here we go," I said.

A hollow thump rang through the ship as the jump capacitors discharged into the hyperdrive warp field coils. Space turned itself inside out around us, spitting out the ship as if it were a fruit pip. The featureless, blackish non-view of hyperspace outside disappeared in a flash and was replaced by a reassuring background of stars and a yellow, slightly bluish sun ahead. Next to me, Anne took a deep breath.

"Feels weird, doesn't it?" I said.

She nodded.

"How long did it take you to get used to it?" she asked.

"I don't know. I still haven't. But it does get a little less weird after a while. Still... Every hyperspace jump and every reversal feels like my insides are trying to jump out of my skin."

I checked the instrument panel.

"Short, medium and long-range scans are all clear. Position and course, check. Next stop: Ursa."

I keyed the 'Transmit ID' sequence on the instrument panel.

"I'm now sending our ID, our transponder key, our current course and speed, our destination and everything else to Ursa Traffic Control. They will come back with instructions on approach vector, speed, beacons and all that."

Anne nodded.

"So is the landing procedure standardized? I mean, is it more or less the same for different space ports on different planets?"

"Good question. No, it's not. Kantir, for example, handles enormous volumes of traffic because it's a big freight hub, so you can expect to spend up to three days in orbit under remote control as soon as you enter the system. On Qm'ra, on the other hand, things are so primitive that the best you can do is try to find a homing beacon, pick a landing spot that looks good, set down on it while flying on manual all the way, and hope you can find the admin building when you've got both your feet on the dirt. It all depends on local conditions and on what sort of customs regulations, quarantines and politics the locals like to inflict on you. Sometimes it's easy, sometimes it's a major pain. Ursa is somewhere in between."

The computer pinged, and the incoming data transmission began to scroll across the screen.

URSA TC TO PV SLOWBOAT REG ID PNG48934928K -- MAINTAIN CURRENT COURSE AND SPEED TO BEACON THREE THRESHOLD -- ACCEPT VECTOR DATA UPON BEACON ACQUISITION -- SWITCH COMMS TO 17442.49 -- SLAVE NAVCOMP TO UTC REMCON...

"Shit, I hate that," I muttered. "Landing under remote control. Damn. Well, we've got no choice. They didn't do that the last time I was here, but that's been a while..."

... CHANNEL 278 FINAL APPROACH -- ACKNOWLEDGE RECEIPT OF THIS COMMUNICATION BEFORE PROCEEDING -- STAND BY FOR THIRD PARTY COMMUNICATION TO FOLLOW -- END

I tapped the 'Acknowledge' button.

"A third party message?" I said to myself. "Never had that before."

Myself agreed, but had no further insights to offer.

As if to answer my question, more data began to scroll across the display.

VERGENCE SIGMA URSA TO PRIVATE VESSEL SLOWBOAT REG ID PNG48934928K -- PLEASE PROCEED DIRECTLY TO VSU PRIVATE DOCKING FACILITY AS PER COURSE DATA PROVIDED THROUGH URSA TC -- ACKNOWLEDGE -- END

That raised my eyebrows.

"Private docking facility? Wow. That's a first. They must be doing some serious business here."

I keyed 'Acknowledge' again.

"How big is Vergence Sigma, anyway?" I asked.

Anne thought for a moment.

"Big. I don't really know how big. Vergence is multi-system, but the Radix branch is the only one I've ever been at, and I've never worked with the one on Ursa. But if they have private docking, I guess they've got to be huge here."

Ahead of us, Ursa's blue-tinged sun had grown imperceptibly larger. The system had seven planets, one habitable, with three hot, barren ones in the inner orbits, and two cold solids and a relatively small gas giant on the outside. None of them were close enough to our approach vector to matter. The third and sixth planet were visible as tiny specs of light. The others were lost either in the black distance of space or in the sun's glare. Ursa itself was on the other side of the sun, which meant our initial approach vector would have to curve around it.

I entered the necessary settings into the navigation system, along with instructions to the onboard computer to follow the prescribed course to the traffic control beacon. And if you're thinking that piloting a freighter these days is mostly a matter of pushing buttons, you're right. It is... If you're lucky. But things seldom go exactly as planned, and it's at times like those when you need your skills and experience to keep things from going wrong in a big and sometimes messy way. Which is I kept a wary eye on the course plot and the scan reports, just to make sure everything went exactly as it was supposed to.

The computer checked the course data to make sure we weren't about to fly into a moon or something like that, and then implemented the required small course change. Slowly the sun swam out of the center of our field of vision and drifted off to one side as we started our arc around it. The sublight drive began to whisper behind us as the computer initiated our braking sequence. Because the good ship Slowboat is equipped with bilateral thrusters in external nacelles, there was no need for a reversal maneuver. In what is sometimes so ironically referred to as the good old days, when ships had their thrusters build into the hull, it would have been necessary to turn the ship around and fly backwards while the sublight drive reduced its velocity. But while the Slowboat is not exactly new, she's not quite that old.

The next three hours were uneventful. That may sound dull. But when you're in space, uneventful is good. Excitement is bad more often than not. The sun grew gradually larger, off to our port side, than shrank again, and the tiny spec that was Ursa started to emerge from the glare. As we watched, it slowly took on a pale blue color and finally grew into a small disc ahead of us.

When we got within range of the beacon, the computer beeped as it downloaded our updated course data. I changed our comm frequency as per the instructions from Ursa Traffic Control and sent them a confirmation of our ID, course and speed. Ursa steadily continued to grow larger.

"Exciting, isn't it?" I said dryly.

Anne smiled.

"At least the view is improving."

I nodded.

"Yep. Other that that, nothing much happening. Which is good. Dull and boring is the safest way to go."

Anne looked at me suggestively.

"Well, maybe I can think of something to help pass the time. These chairs are adjustable, aren't they?"

She moved her hand to the collar of her flight suit and ran her finger a few inches down the fastener. The front of the suit opened, exposing her cleavage.

"Don't tempt me, my loyal crew," I said, smiling. "I'm sure there is some sort of regulation against seducing your captain while he's piloting the ship."

"But you're not piloting. The computer is."

The look in her eyes spoke volumes, and I felt the first stirrings in my groin.

"Don't confuse me with logic," I said.

But my voice didn't sound very convincing even to me. She knelt before me and gave me a come-hither look that melted my insides. I felt myself begin to harden against the fabric of my flight suit.

"Well," she said softy, "If I disobey that order, you'd have to clap me in irons and find a way to punish me, wouldn't it?"

I pretended to consider the matter.

"Probably," I said, "and given your penchant for seducing your captain, I'm sure such measures would be warranted in any case."

"So..." she said. "What are you waiting for? Disciplinary actions should never be put off, don't you know that? I think you need to have your way with me. Brutally, if discipline is to be served."

She put her hand between my legs, her palm cupping the bulge that had begun to form there.

Gods, I was tempted. But no. It was a bad idea and I knew it.

"Anne..."

She looked at me and licked her luscious lips with the tip of her tongue. The bulge in my crotch grew larger. Then she got up from her chair and sat down on her knees next to mine. Her fingers found the fastener on my flight suit and before I knew it my cock sprang free.

"Anne..."

"Sshhh... "

She took my rapidly swelling length in her hand and began to stroke it with her fingertips. Within seconds I was as hard as steel under her touch.

"Harvey, what the hell?" I said to myself.

Myself agreed.

"Yes, what the hell, indeed," he said. "This is all wrong. This isn't you. Tell her to stop that, right now."

"Yeah. I really should."

"So why don't you?"

Myself was right and I knew it, but by then Anne had bent down and started to lick along the length of my cock with the tip of her tongue, slowly, teasingly. It drove me crazy and she knew it.

"Harvey..." I said to myself.

But myself had stopped listening. Maybe he knew it was useless. I knew I shouldn't be doing this. But I was, because Anne's tongue had reached the tip of my cock, and then her fingertips brushed my balls, and tiny jolts of pleasure shot through my groin. I felt myself grow even harder in her hand.

I should have stopped her already. Why hadn't I? Why didn't I do it now?

She looked up at me and smiled. Then she put a light kiss onto the head of my cock, and it was such a wonderful feeling, but not just in the usual way. It was such a loving gesture. It made me feel loved, like only a really good, loving woman can make you feel.

Then, ever so slowly, she let the head of my cock slide between her wet, luscious lips, and I felt her tongue play across that sensitive spot at the underside as she wrapped her lips around the crown. She drew back a little, and the feeling of her lips around my cock made me moan softly. Then she lowered her head again and I slid deeper into the warm wetness of her mouth. Slowly she bobbed her head up and down, holding my throbbing shaft in her one hand, brushing my balls with the fingertips of the other.

Yes, I was still in the pilot's seat. Yes, I still had a clear view of the instrument panel, and space ahead of us was still clearly visible through the forward viewport. But none of that mattered right now. We could have flown straight into a planet and I'd never have noticed. I was in heaven.

Anne's mouth worked magic on the head of my cock. Her lips slid back and forth across the taut, sensitive surface, caressing its most sensitive spots in a loving embrace every time she moved her head up and down. Her lips caught around the crown, her tongue played across the underside, licked playfully across the taut surface, occasionally flicking over the little hole, and every now and then she held still at exactly the right moment. I felt the familiar tension begin to build. Then she began to suck, gently at first, and I moaned.

She took her time, moving slowly, and whenever I felt my pleasure begin to rise, she seemed to sense it and she'd back off the moment that happened. But at the same time she began to take me deeper, and soon I felt the tightness of her throat around the engorged, bulbous head of my cock. She held still, then slowly pushed down, and I slipped and deeper into that wonderful tightness. My pleasure continued to rise.

Then, drawing back, she suddenly sucked me, hard, and I felt the head of my cock expand lightly in the vacuum of her mouth as she did so. Jolts of pleasure shot through my groin like electric sparks, and I let out a loud moan, so intense was the feeling.

Her saliva was a wonderful lubricant, and her mouth made soft, slurping sounds as she moved her lips back and forth around my cock, sucking and licking me as she went, and her fingertips traced patterns of pure pleasure across my balls. I was gasping with every breath now, and if the collision warning or the decompression alarm had gone off right then, I doubt I would have noticed it.

Up and down she bobbed her head, her lick, wet lips caressing my most sensitive spots with every stroke. The slick, warm, wet caress of her mouth slowly became more insistent, and I felt the beginning of a massive eruption building at the base of my cock.

She must have sensed my rising arousal. Her strokes became slower but longer, adding yet another level of pleasurable sensations on top of what was already an almost unbearable delight. Her hand grasped my hot, rock-hard shaft a little firmer, holding it still and gently pulling the skin down, and the head of my cock seemed to swell in her mouth. The feeling was unbelievable.

She sucked harder now, her tongue playing across the head of my cock as her head bobbed.Her lips gripped the crown more firmly, and all these increased sensations suddenly had me rushing toward that final point of no return. I felt myself grow even harder in her hand, and I knew I wouldn't be able to last much longer.

"Anne..." I managed, my voice sounding hoarse.

She gripped my shaft with both hands, withdrew until only the head of my cock was still in her mouth, and started to work on it with short, fast strokes. Her lips and tongue slid up and down around the head, which seemed to be fill with pure pleasure, more and more and more, until it infused my shaft, my balls, my groin...

And suddenly the pleasure burst from me and exploded, filling her mouth with stars, and I shuddered as it hit me. I think I screamed. It was as if an electric current ran from my balls to the head of my cock, radiating outward in a blinding flash of pure ecstasy.

And then she sucked, hard, and the pleasure increased even further.

Ye gods! My orgasm seemed to burn hotter and brighter than ever, almost painfully intense, and this time I knew I did scream. Then my cock began to pulse and the first jet of my cum blasted into her waiting mouth. Another one, and another, and she held my spurting cock as it jetted rope after thick rope of cum into her mouth. Her hands moved along my rigid, pulsing shaft, prolonging my orgasm and keeping my pleasure at maximum level for as long as she could.