Westrons Pt. 02

I did re-think Major Gomez's offer. After all, the prospect of continuing to fight AFOTA was more than a little daunting.

But I was partly serious when I told Gomez that I didn't want to give up a promising military career. Maybe - just maybe - there was one commander, somewhere ... who would actually want an officer who could show initiative, and act independently.

Plus it really irked me to give in to these pinhead martinets. They were wrong. I knew it in my bones. The fact that I hate to lose was secondary, at most.

And Vanova ...

No, I didn't jeopardize my whole career for a woman. My career was already in jeopardy before I met her.

- "Thank you, Vanova."

- "You're welcome, Cook."

Ah - progress. Calling me by my name, instead of 'Cadet'.

- "You have to admit, Vanova," I said, "you'd be disappointed if I stopped coming in and asking you out."

She didn't respond right away. I was playing it cool, so I wasn't looking directly at her. That's why her response caught me off guard.

- "That's true." she said, softly. "Alright - I'll go out with you."

I was shocked. "Did you just say 'Yes'?"

- "I guess I did. So where are you taking me?"

I'd like to think that I recovered my aplomb quite swiftly.

- "The Thousand-Year Theatre." I said.

- "The what now?" said Vanova.

- "21st District. Art students. They revive 1,000 year old plays. Would you like to see an ancient play with me, Vanova?"

She grinned. "What did I just get myself into?"

The play was crappy. I read up on Christopher Marlowe before we went, but ... I don't know. Maybe the art students were high. Vanova didn't complain; in fact, she followed the whole thing attentively.

We had a drink afterwards, and she agreed to go out with me again. For our second date, I took her to the park in 6th District. The plants were exotic, and many of them were real. There was plenty to see, even if she'd probably been there before.

As for me, I only had eyes for Vanova. It was a warm day, so she'd worn a light, short-sleeved shirt, and Capri shorts. It was the first time I'd seen her in anything other than that shapeless sack she hid behind when she was working.

She'd been concealing a great body, and rather sizeable breasts. Her auburn hair had grown back in, to the point where it was just above her eyebrows, and several inches below her ears in the back. And I wasn't imagining things when I noticed just a hint of makeup around her beautiful green eyes. Her lips also glistened a bit: lipstick, or just moisturizing gloss? Either way, Vanova was definitely making an effort.

On our third date, I took her to the hill overlooking the southern quarter of the city. I put down a blanket, and began to spread out the treasures I'd secreted in my light pack: a bottle of cheap wine, a hunk of cheese, and a badly crushed loaf of bread.

The crumbs in the bottom of my pack made Vanova laugh, until she started choking, and I had to pound her back.

- "I should have said 'yes' sooner." she said. "That bread might've been fresher."

- "I think that you said 'yes' at exactly the right time." I said.

Vanova frowned.

- "Cook - I still don't get it. Why do you want to be with me? You're a nice guy, but ... I'm too old for you. There are younger, better-looking girls all over this city."

- "You're the most interesting person I've met on this planet, Vanova. Or in the past year, if you prefer."

- "So the hotel is the only place you've been in the last year?" she said. I loved the way she tilted her head, and raised one eyebrow.

- "I told you: I love that hotel. Great decor, great ambience, and the music ... you know, you never told me who does the music."

Vanova stared me at me as if I'd grown a second head.

- "Are you serious?" she said.

- "Serious? I'm just asking -"

- "Don't play with me, Cook."

- "Pardon?"

- "Are you telling me that you didn't know?"

- "Know what? I'm sorry, Vanova - you just lost me."

- "You really like the music?

- "I said I did."

- "Cook -" she said. "The music is mine."

I was a bit lost.

"I did the music." she said. "The lyrics are mine. I programmed the music. And ... and that's me, singing."

- "It is?"

She was staring at me. "Are you seriously telling me that you didn't know that was me?"

I shook my head. "Vanova - I had no idea. I just ... liked the music."

- "I thought it was all flattery - that you were just trying to pick me up. You ... really liked it?"

- "I don't remember ever flattering you." I said. "I just ... told you the truth. About how you make me feel."

- "And why you like the hotel." she said. "You liked the music. But that was ... me."

Vanova leaned forward, wrapped her arms around me, and put her head on my shoulder. "I'm such a fool." she said.

- "I don't think so." I said.

- "Oh - I am. Cook - could you take me home, please? Now?"

I jammed the cork back in the wine, and followed her to the surface rail. Vanova lived in the 9th. She kissed me, in the back of the train - and it was every bit as glorious as I'd hoped, or as I'd dreamed.

"I'm still too old for you." she muttered.

- "You keep saying that. Forgive me for being indelicate, but ... how old would that be?"

- "I'm 37, Cook." Her eyes were on me the whole time, to see how I'd take it. Honestly, she could've said 47 and I wouldn't have cared.

"What are you, 25?" she asked.

- "22."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, I feel so much better now. For a minute there, I was worried that I might be robbing the creche!"

I'd been wrong. I thought that Vanova was calculating the years before getting involved with a cadet. Best-case scenario: I'd be here for another 3 years, before shipping out, posted who knows where. The odds of me ever returning to this planet were minuscule. And no matter how close we got, young officers were not permitted to bring wives or girlfriends with them.

I thought that maybe ... Vanova was concerned about her own age, that she could hear her 'biological clock' ticking. She'd be 40 when I shipped out; would she still be able to find a man, after I left? Start a family - if that was what she wanted?

Completely wrong. She was genuinely concerned about me, first. Now I suspected that she hadn't wanted a relationship at all. Somehow, I'd won her over with charm and persistence. Okay, mostly persistence.

So I took her hand, and looked into her eyes.

- "Vanova, if someone better - someone better for you - comes along, I'll gladly step out of the way. You just say the word."

She reached up to touch my cheek. "That's sweet, Cook. But I wasn't looking for anyone. Or waiting, either. Now, kiss me again - before I change my mind."

Her apartment was small, the furnishings spartan. She had an old computing device and a home studio sound system. That was about all I noticed.

She helped me unbutton my shirt. I kissed her neck as I tried to return the favor. Vanova wasn't shy, but she was hesitant.

- "Are you sure you want to go on?" I asked. "We don't have to ..."

- "No. I want to. It's just ... been a long time. For me. Can we go slow?"

We undressed each other carefully, pausing frequently to kiss. She had no reason to be embarrassed about the body we gradually revealed; no reason at all.

- "You're spectacular." I breathed.

- "I bet you say that to all the old waitresses." she whispered.

- "I haven't been with anyone for 2 years." I said.

- "Really? Then we'll both take it slow."

Vanova was solidly built, with powerful thighs and strong hips. She had large, heavy breasts, with very little sag. It was hard to believe that she'd never been sculpted.

Naked, we lay down on her bed, facing each other. I let my hand roam across her leg, her hip ... but I couldn't resist the allure of her massive breasts.

Vanova showed that she really wasn't shy, either, as she reached between us, and took hold of my erection. She began to stroke it, from root to tip.

I wanted to go down on her, but she wouldn't let me.

- "Another time." she said. Instead, she slid down my body, and took my length into her mouth. There was no need to get me any harder, but she did a thorough job of getting me wet. Then she rolled me onto my back, and straddled my hips.

She looked me in the eye as she reached for my cock, and nestled the bulbous head between her nether lips. Then she sank down on me, slowly, all the way.

She sat atop me, my root fully sheathed inside her. Vanova's eyes never left my face.

- "Mmmmh." she said.

Then she placed both hands on my chest, to support herself, and began - ever so slowly - to undulate her hips.

- "Aaah ..." That sound came from me.

She rode me to completion, for both of us.

We rested in each other's arms, for a while. Later, after a shower, she allowed me to explore her body with my lips and tongue, and then bring her to another orgasm.

She'd been teasing me with her hands for most of that time, so that when she took me in her mouth again, I had to warn her that I wouldn't last long. That only spurred her on to greater efforts; within moments I ejaculated forcefully into her mouth.

She swallowed it all, and then crawled back into my arms. Vanova rested her head on my chest. "Why did we wait so long to do this?" she whispered.

- "You kept saying 'No'." I reminded her.

- "I'm a fool."

Later, she began idly tweaking my nipple with her fingernail.

"Can you stay?" she asked.

- "I have to be at work at 8 in the morning." I told her.

- "Then you should make love to me again. After that I'll let you sleep."

***

Once she'd decided to sleep with me, Vanova's reluctance vanished. No more games, no hesitation, no shyness. The last week of that summer interval was simply glorious.

There was one obstacle to overcome: I worked days, Vanova nights. We came up with an ingenious solution: I slept while Vanova worked, and she slept while I worked. That gave us almost 6 hours together, between the end of her shift, and the beginning of mine.

We shared a meal, talked, and went to bed.

Vanova was no shrinking violet; as much as she enjoyed lying in my arms, caressing each other, and making love slowly, and gently, she wasn't averse to energetic fucking, either.

- "You've re-awoken my appetites." she said.

She wanted to ride me, hard, while I sat in her chair. She liked doggy-style, on the floor ("The bed creaks too much." she said), and showed a marked predilection for cowgirl. I never objected to that, because it put her magnificent breasts within range of my hands, and my lips.

There was only one fly in the ointment, if you could call it that. While she opened up to me, physically and sexually, Vanova didn't like to talk about her past.

She had no photos of family or friends on the wall, or on her computer stand. She didn't tell me any stories about growing up, or of how she came to be working at the hotel. I didn't press her, which I think she appreciated.

But there was some heartache, some sort of tragedy in her past. When she was ready, I imagined she'd tell me. And if she didn't ... who was I to complain?

All too soon, the interval was over - and second year began.

***

None of the other cadets even acknowledged me, at our first assembly. Only Karpov, who nodded in my direction. It was just about what I'd expected, yet I still found myself mildly disappointed.

The fix was in. The counselors didn't bother calling me in for a talk. They just set out, from the get-go, to show me the error of my ways.

My first UC session was with Mongo. I considered that sparring match a victory of sorts, because I didn't let him put me in the hospital again. Instead, I attacked, and goaded him into knocking me out before he could do significant damage to the rest of my body.

My first TacSim under another Cadet's command was also instructive: I was given the weakest unit on our side, and then placed directly in the path of our opponent's strongest forces. The Sim began with an all-out attack directed at me - and me alone.

I stayed awake during lectures, read and studied, and trained hard.

Two evenings a week, I continued to go to the hotel. It was our little ritual. If anyone else was there, Vanova would treat me just like any other customer. But if we were alone, she would sit and talk with me, or play me selections of her music.

We discovered quite quickly that the night was too short for me to go home with her after her shift. The one time we tried it, I got back to dorms just in time for my first class of the day. It wasn't going to work.

But Vanova knew a sympathetic woman on the Hotel's housekeeping staff. She could get us a room.

- "Is it expensive?" I asked. I wasn't sure how much I could afford to contribute.

- "Free." she said.

I made a face. I was going to say 'Nothing's free'. Instead, I said: "I find that hard to believe."

- "It's a favor for a favor." said Vanova. "And my favor is neither onerous nor embarrassing, so don't worry about it."

We got into a nice rhythm. I would go to the hotel twice a week; on one of those occasions, Vanova got us a room. And on the seven-day, I spent all of my free time with her.

One night, when I arrived at the hotel, the bartender called me over. He gave me a long, long look.

- "You be good to her." he said.

- "Yes, Sir."

His name was Samir, Vanova told me, and he looked out for most of the female staff, like an uncle, or godfather.

- "You and he ...?" I wondered.

- "He's married to the Head chambermaid. So, no, Cook."

She still wouldn't open up to me about her past, but I couldn't complain. For my part, I didn't tell her what I was going through at AFOTA. I didn't want her to worry.

I also hesitated to tell her how important she'd become to me. Even before our first date, Vanova had become my lifeline - my island of sanity, the one source of kindness in the daily shit I was experiencing.

But I think she knew.

When I arrived with bruises, or fresh abrasions, she would fuss over me. I noticed that she was especially tender and attentive if we made love on those occasions.

My classes were no big deal. I sat there with a smile on my face, thinking of her. Tests were no trouble: study, regurgitate, repeat. Easy enough.

I took my lumps in UC, and avoided serious injury in AC. I don't know if Karpov had anything to do with it, but the very best fencers and knife fighters didn't try to cut me up too badly. Meanwhile, the few assholes who were trying to hurt me weren't good enough to get past my guard.

There was no way to know if they were doing this on their own initiative, or if the Profs had put them up to it. I resisted the temptation to cut them up; that wouldn't have done me any good, other than the fleeting satisfaction.

TacSims were a mixed bag. In team sims, I was inevitably the sacrificial lamb, left exposed with the weakest unit or units, so that I could be comprehensively crushed, early and often. None of my 'superior officers' were ever penalized or reprimanded for losing a part of their force.

The fix was in. The profs were behind it, and every cadet in AFOTA knew it.

Individual sims were interesting, though. Oh, yeah, they cheated there, too. My opponents got better units, better weapons, advantageous terrain - you name it.

But I was in control of my own side. No matter how badly they tilted the table, or skewed the balance, I could try to find a way to salvage a draw, or even pull out a win.

I was given a North African desert campaign of the early 1940s. My opponent was none other than Cadet Fong - my Commander in the TacSim when I'd shown initiative - only to end up in my first disciplinary hearing.

Fong was licking his chops, because he had the British forces (with some anachronistic weapons and armored vehicles, just to sweeten the deal). I had Mussolini's Italian army. Most of my tanks were of the M11 variety, which their own crews called 'flaming coffins'. No Afrika Korps in my order of battle.

But I'd read several histories of that war. My immediate retreat caught Fong off-guard (historically, the Italians were on the offensive). But he was happy to go over to the attack, pursue my 'fleeing' forces, and invade my territory.

- "You're going down, Cook." chuckled Fong.

I retreated until I was close to my homes bases - and, more importantly, my supply depots. The British force was far from its own sources of petrol. Much too far. When his tanks ran out of gas, I swung my mechanized units through the desert, around his forward positions.

My little tanks suffered mechanical failures and broke down all over the place. I didn't complain; that was historically accurate performance. Happily, though, enough of them survived the journey, and then had a field day shooting up the British supply lines, blowing up trucks and tankers.

Out of fuel, running low on water, the British were forced to surrender. The fact that the instructors had expected that to happen to my army made it all the sweeter.

I quite enjoyed that one. Fong was grinding his teeth

Survival exercises were no longer quite so enjoyable, though, because they cheated there, too. No cadets wanted to be on my team, so I was always alone. I got faulty maps, broken compasses, or incorrect orders that led me into a swamp, or a forest of thorns. It was tiresome, more than anything else; they really lacked imagination.

***

Most of the cadets got the message: Cook is poison, stay away. A handful of my peers, however, got a slightly different memo. They seemed to think that they could score a few points by piling on.

There were the ones who tried to pound on me, or to do me serious harm with a variety of weapons. And then there were a handful who took it a little further.

I was looking forward to my beer - or maybe two, followed by some private time with Vanova. This was one of the nights when she would have arranged a room for us. But the moment I set foot inside the hotel, I knew that something was wrong.

For one thing, Samir was behind the bar - and he didn't look too happy.

And then I heard Vanova's voice.

- "I'd prefer if you didn't do that." she said. Her voice was flat, and without emotion.

- "C'mon, sweetie - don't you want a nice tip?" said a young man.

- "Yeah, I got a nice big tip for ya - right here." said a second.

I knew those voices. I made straight for them. Vanova somehow heard, or saw me coming. She held up a hand.

- "I can handle this." she said.

- "Yeah, you can handle this." said the second voice.

Cadet Fong was ensconced in the corner of the booth, a big grin on his face. His was the first voice I'd heard. "Hey! Look who it is - the Cookie Man!"

To his right was his caddy, Schott. To his left - Stedemann. The very same Stedemann whose head I'd held so that he wouldn't puke on himself.

The second voice belonged to Mikel - the big lout I'd stood guard for while he shtupped a groupie in an alley. He still had his hand on his crotch as he leered at my girlfriend.

I gently steered Vanova away from the booth, shielding her with my body.

- "Hey - what are you doing? I was talkin' to her." protested Mikel.

- "You can do better than this old skank, Mikel." said Fong. "We'll get you a hooker later."

Mikel slid out of the booth. There wasn't much space, so he ended up right in my face.

- "Don't go cock-blockin' a fellow cadet -" said Mikel. Then he jabbed me in the chest with his fingers, to push me back.

That was a mistake, on his part.

I hammered my hand into his nose. Strictly speaking, I should have struck his forehead (for his safety, not mine), but I was angry. I grabbed his jabbing hand with both of mine, and twisted it in a savage wristlock. Mikel had no choice but to follow as I took him to the ground. Then I used my foot to break his forearm.