Wild Space Pt. 02

After a week of settling in, Jules thought that he could crawl the bulkheads with boredom. The other men and women he was serving with were the same brand of sailor he had met so far, but he was already tired of them. And they him: when his initial newness had worn off they had drifted away.

They all settled into their separate routines: morning formation and PT. Breakfast. After ten days the fresh food started to turn and they were back in to the recycled. The officers had a replicator, but not the lower enlisted. Jules was still appreciative of so much food, whenever he wanted it, and never seemed to have the wherewithal to complain like most of the others.

The Militia's duties consisted of cleaning, cleaning their weapons, standing watch, doing what minor repairs that the engineers deemed beneath them, and staying out of trouble, which was harder for some more than others. One could read anything they wished to on the Saber's entertainment center. The recreation and sports officer organized tournaments: combat sports mostly or a half dozen other less violent varieties. There were dances and concerts. Kara, a woman in Jules's outfit, had a fine singing voice but only liked coarse drinking songs. One could take classes on mathematics or language courses. For the latter, Jules was surprised that so many sailors could not speak Centralian well. The Navy truly was a diverse place, far more so than the impoverished metropolis Jules called home.

After that first week, very little "racking up" took place for him, i.e. nighttime visits. All the women had wanted a turn with Jules, just for variety, but he'd gone to the other men who were so inclined first. He also spent his days standing watch or cleaning or eating talking with the others in the Militia. After they had all learned every possible thing about one another, assholes to eyebrows, their first kiss, their favorite teacher, the other child who had bullied them, dark secrets, the talking largely ceased to be interesting. He knew any of them far better than he had ever known Esmond or any member of his family. Talking seemed unnecessary.

"You seen the political officer?" A sailor named Moyuno asked him one day as they stood watch, in an accent thick as Bulwark fog.

"No, I haven't," Jules answered that day, or perhaps it was ten days later. It made no difference when it was all the same.

"Some noblewoman, they say. She charged the third officer for collusion with an enemy after a month on the ship. Convicted him, too, and the captain executed him in front of all the other officers. She's the new third in command now."

"Is that so?" Jules said, perking up.

"Yeah," Moyuno said, and raised his eyebrow. "I thought you'd be used to an execution, being from the home world."

"Doesn't happen near us," He told him truthfully. "Nobles don't need to kill us. We do a fine enough job on our own."

It was true, too. Just yesterday, Jules had received word from the latest drinkers who called himself his stepfather on Centralia: the old neighborhood was in flames after a food riot. The news reels said it was a terrorist attack, and if he had not heard from someone his mother trusted he would have believed it. Jules's mother had had time to escape, but of Esmond there was no trace. He found himself surprisingly unaffected by it. Lying in his lover's arms the night before he shipped out to boot felt remote and distant, a lifetime ago. As if it all happened to someone else.

"Alright, Jules, but watch yourself. Don't collude with the enemy." Moyuno said, and Jules dutifully smiled after his brain had unclogged the other man's accent.

What enemy? Was a question that Jules would ask himself often. Militarily, he wasn't quite sure what the Empress's Saber's mission was. How could one possibly collude with an enemy that didn't exist? Or perhaps they did exist and Jules wasn't aware. He found such a degree of political awareness and patriotism among most in the Navy. He attended mandatory briefings once a week, which included indoctrination and propaganda. As someone who wasn't accustomed to it, who lived scant miles, not lightyears, from the empress, it was quite amusing:

"Like the triumphant sea predators on the homeworld, our glorious Navy, captained by well trained officers and nobles, stalks the outlying fringes of our Empire. They bring criminals to justice throughout space. They defeat the enemy in combat. They safeguard our borders."

More disturbing and amusing than week after week of that was that most of the sailors believed it in some form. None of them were over the top with proclaiming it, but they knew all the words, probably could have recited them by heart, and took them all to heart, more or less. Apparently, such things were common in the better parts of Centralia and everywhere on the colonies and farm worlds.

After a handful of weeks, even Jules didn't know how long, he was called before the political officer. He'd been frightened when the summons had came, but Kara, Moyuno and his other friends reassured him that the political officer met with everyone. The longer it took for them to meet with one, the better. The less important a sailor was, the better. One couldn't get any less important than Seaman Apprentice Jules, as far as he was concerned.

His appointment arrived after another passage of interminable time. Sometimes the Saber was going full bore, its engines pushing to the maximum. Other times it sat still for days, silent and quiet like a hole in space. His meeting with the political officer came during one of the quiet times.

She had taken the accommodations of the third officer after condemning him to die, it was said, and so Jules stood in a spacious-as far as a Navy ship was concerned-room. The door clicked open behind him, and he went to the position of attention.

"Hello, Jules."

Magdalena, Ensign Magdalena now, walked from behind him to her desk, standing tall in an officer's uniform.

"You didn't hear I was aboard?"

"...no, I didn't. Ma'am." Jules replied. "I'd heard the political officer trained on Bulwark about the same time as me, but no."

"How have you been?" She filled out her uniform well. Whatever Specialty School she had gone to looked rougher than Militia training. Magdalena was still buxom, still full figured, but there was a hardness to the angles of her body and face. Her eyes were piercing blue, not the wide eyed innocence from boot camp or the fearful anger he had seen during their final field training exercise. He noticed she moved with a distinct, prowling walk, like a lioness stalking her pride lands. Predatory too was her gaze. If he hadn't met her before Jules would have been mesmerized, both attracted and afraid.

"I am well, ma'am."

"Jules, rest. We've shared a battlefield. I've had my fill of boot licking on this ship."

"Understood. I mean...okay, ensign." He had never stood at the position of rest before in front of an officer. Jules felt awkward and had to think about what to do with his hands and how to stand.

"I'll take it," Magdalena smirked. "How are you liking the Empress's Saber so far?"

Mundane conversation followed, about his position on the ship and leadership and team. Though she had bade him to relax, neither of them sat. After a few minutes, she got down to the heart of the matter.

"If this ship we're to fly into combat, what would you do to prevent from being captured, should capture be inevitable?"

"Well, respectfully, ma'am, if capture is inevitable, all Capital troopers are to submit to capture and attempt sabotage or escape."

"Correct. And if you should need to die defending your ship from an enemy boarding action?" She wanted to know.

"That's my job, ma'am." Jules was beginning to get annoyed. It was his job to defend the Saber with his life, was it her's to pester him with pointless questions?

"I imagine you'd kill if you had to." Magdalena said with a raised eyebrow.

"I would. I imagine you would too."

"Not all of us have a hard heart required to kill. But I think we both know you do. Thank you for your time, Seaman. If you hear of anything you know where to find me. Dismissed."

****

For days afterwards, he found himself even more put off than usual. Jules went through his conversation with Magdalena in excruciating detail every day: in his dreams, waking up, morning PT, meals, on duty and off. Did she know about Ebon? For ten weeks, Jules had not thought of the incident that took place the night of his boot camp graduation. His Speciality School to become a Capital Naval Militia rifleman had been on the other side of Bulwark, far away from the people suffering through boot. It had been easy to ignore. Now, it was all he could think of.

As if to complicate matters, Magdalena kept popping up in his daily routine. She would watch the Militia perform their morning PT. Sometimes he would catch her looking at him from the officer's table in the mess. And once she had attended an arm wrestling tournament. Officers were generally nowhere to be found during these crass enlisted competitions. It all made Jules and his unit quite uncomfortable.

"Maybe she's got a crush on you, Jules." Kara has said once while they stood watch.

"You mean she'd crush me if she could." He joked back lamely. He was worried sick.

***

Jules was distracted by the most exciting duty he had known in his Navy career so far: a smuggling inspection. The Saber caught up with a merchant ship traveling at top speed. In practice, they could have been outrun, bit a single warning over the comms was enough to halt the other vessel for inspection. He was assigned to the inspection team.

The crew consisted of an old woman and her daughter, or so they said when they answered the Saber's hail. Medical scans quickly revealed that that was a lie, but no one mentioned it. More important was to figure out why they had lied. They also claimed that they were merchants and that their freighter was running legitimate cargo. It was up to him and a team of two Militia and the commander to determine the truth.

Jules had met the commander of the Empress's Saber once and passed him by in the passage ways a few times, but never worked directly under him. Commander Leon was a weather beaten man in his early 50s, with a full head of salt and pepper hair and a narrow beard. His eyes were watchful and alert, but strangely detached, devoid of any feeling. His body looked and moved as if it had been broken down and mended too many times. The scuttlebutt on the Saber was that their commanding officer had had to kill so many times in battle and other officers over the course of his career that he saw his sailors as a commodity. Something to be used up and disposed of. Indeed, it was Leon's hand who had slain the third officer and promoted Magdalena to the chair. A disquieting thought for Jules.

The civilian freighter was sleek, cramped the way any ship was, but with more modern facilities than the Saber. He had been tasked with the common area and quarters, with more experienced Militia taking the larger and more difficult cargo hold and engines or remaining with the crew.

Jules brushed his hands over a deluxe laporizer booth and frowned. Their living area consisted of a modern food replicator and a new pair of holographic VR goggles. These women had it better than he did.

Jules opened a cupboard and rustled through it with the butt of his rifle. Cutlery rattled and some dishes broke. He scooped out the pieces and let them clatter onto the deck.

"You're supposed to be searching, not destroying, sailor," A brittle voice said behind him. "You can't find contraband if you're wrecking their ship."

"Sir," Jules responded instantly. It was the commander. "I'll search more carefully."

"See that you do."

After that heart attack, Jules made sure to diligently and slowly go through any container or drawer. Lots of every day items. He paid special attention to the bed: he used a small knife to slice it open, and then diligently checked under it. Nothing. On impulse, he opened a rationpak from the ship's emergency stores. All that was inside was blocks of rations. He made his way back to the docking port.

The two women had been standing at the position of attention, or near enough that a pair of civilians could manage, with Kara guarding them. The Militia woman glanced at him as he entered, and smiled. She was a short woman, with frizzy looking midnight hair, and a crooked grin that managed to look both sleazy and charming at the same time.

"The daughter is getting jealous and lonely. Come give her some attention."

Kara had one of her hands hooked around the waist of the female civilian captain's waist, cupping her buttock through her ragged flight pants.

"Nice and firm, lady," Kara said, appreciatively jiggling the handful of flesh. "You keep up. Does your daughter?"

"She's not really my daughter," The captain said nervously and then seemed to regret it. "I took her in a few years back."

She had short blonde hair, large blue eyes, and a fair amount of wrinkles on her face, but all of it put together made an outstanding impression. Even Jules felt himself stirring at the sight of her trim body. It had to be because she was new, he thought. But a closer look at her full lips, the smattering of freckles on her face and how she addressed them without fear, he found himself genuinely intrigued.

"Jules, if you're not down for some fun, maybe you should question them? SOP and all." Kara was murmuring into the captain's collarbone, hand busy below the waist. "Standard operating procedure is important."

"Right," He said. Jules had no writing material, but it was not as if he could read or write all that well, anyway. He'd have to remember and record it for the commander later.

"You, captain. Name?" He asked.

"Jessa." The older woman said breathlessly.

"Ship name?"

"True Venture." Jessa's eyes followed Kara as the latter slung her rifle behind her, knelt, and worried at the button of her flight pants with her mouth.

"What was your last port?"

"Juno IX."

Kara finally got the button open after just barely helping herself with her hands. The zipper was much easier to drag down with her teeth. Jessa wore no garments underneath, save for a layer of prickly pubic hair.

"And your destination?"

"Juno IV. T-the mining colony. We've got bauxite and rhodochrosite."

Kara had stripped down Jessa's pants, inch by inch, and was kissing the expose flesh: her thighs, hips, the scratchy hair that did not even hide the cleft of her sex. In response, the captain could barely contain what little military bearing she could muster.

"And you, so called daughter," Jules said, turning to look at the other woman. "Name?"

"Marena." Where her mother was tall, skinny, and blonde, the younger woman was a thick redhead, with very pale skin, green eyes, and a mouth that was large and vaguely carnal. The flight pants she wore were stretched over a wide pair of hips, sturdy thighs and legs. She had breasts that were struggling to out of her hand me down shirt, showing generous milky white cleavage. She barely came up to Jules's chin, which given his own stature, was short indeed.

"What do you do on the True Venture, Marena?"

"I just help out Jessa." Marena's eyes were glued to her captain and the sailor kneeling before her. She looked repulsed but did not stop watching.

Kara had removed one of the captain's legs from her pants and had it hitched over her shoulder. Jessa had to brace herself on her "daughter's" shoulder as her pussy was eaten out from below. Kara's flyaway black hair was brushed back from her face, and all Jules could see was her forehead and happy eyes as she went to work on the older woman with her mouth.

"You hear that?" Jules asked.

Kara turned her head and they both heard a crash of something toppling over. Immediately, she stood and gestured at the civilian captain, who rapidly dressed herself.

Commander Leon shambled over to the group, accompanied by the other sailor on the inspection team.

"Report?"

Briefly and respectfully, Jules explained what he had been told regarding the True Venture, the crew, and their destinations.

"Mining. I don't think so, ladies. Seaman Brooks, show them what you found."

The third sailor held up a small, wrapped paper ball. It had been peeled open to reveal a slow leaking, orange liquid.

"That's not ours!" Jessa protested. "I swear to Ana I've never seen that before in my life!"

"You've never seen enough sun syrup to kill a man?" Leon asked them. "I find that hard to believe. We found it in your hold, after all. Seaman Kara! Seaman Jules!"

He had been so focused on the conversation that he nearly jumped when the commander's voice snapped like the scourge at his waist. Jules and Kara immediately yelled an acknowledgement.

"Take these two aboard and throw them in the brig."

Kara was far more vicious than he. She locked a hand around Jessa's bicep and squeezed so hard the older woman cried out in pain. Jules only had to motion with his rifle and Marena leaped to obey.

"What's going to happen to us?" Jessa asked, panicked.

"I don't know, honey," Kara said sweetly. "But I can guess. We're not returning to port for a long time, *captain*. I'd say you're staying right here with us."

****

Later, in the showers, word was getting around about the two captives. There seemed to be a great deal of excitement among the Militia complement aboard. Jules didn't understand why.

He did understand that watching Kara at work had awoken something in him, something that had been sleeping ever since his meeting with Magdalena. He had had the sailors on the Saber that would have him, both men and women, but now he needed sex, more so than he had when he'd first come aboard, and it didn't particularly matter from who.

Jules approached Kara, who had tilted her head back and was washing the day's grime out of her thin black hair. When she sensed someone behind her she half turned and smiled.

"Hey, Jules! Want some of this soap? My folks sent it to me."

Civilian toiletries were hard to come by, but the crew with families did get mail and packaged fairly regularly. Jules, who had no family in a position to send anything but well wishes, was stuck with Navy issue everything. Gratefully, he accepted and was soon smearing his chest with a raspberry colored, thick liquid that smelled like a fruity garden. It was much more feminine than he usually preferred, but Navy soap was harsh and antiseptic, so he wasn't about to complain.

Kara made room for him under her shower head. When she felt him brush suggestively against him for the third time, she smiled a little.

"I guess the day's events got you going, too. I'm glad. You've been in a funk, I can tell."

"Really?" The notion that Kara or any other member of his outfit would care enough to notice was touching, if a little confusing. He wasn't used to anyone noticing if he lived or died. No matter how many times another sailor accepted him as a brother, it felt new and strange. But not entirely unwelcome.

"We all did. I hope you're on the mend." Kara playfully slapped his naked skinny ass. "In any case, I know I am not exactly to your tastes and to be frank you're not to mine, either. Besides, we've both been there, done that. Wouldn't you rather wait for tonight?"

"What's tonight?" Jules hadn't been rejected before. Like most novel experiences, it wasn't welcome.

"I keep forgetting, you're new. I'm done. Finish up and meet at my bunk."

Curious, Jules did as she asked, lathering himself up with the strange raspberry soap until the water ration started to peter out. Hurriedly, he rinsed off, and made the most cursory of stops at his own rack to change into a fresh uniform. He was still buttoning up his uniform blouse when he found Kara.