Victorious Star (40 page)

Seht took his seat on the Captain’s gig across from Ravnos. “Now that everything is settled, all nice and neat, I say we give the crew some leave-time and go on vacation before they find another insane mission to send us on.”

Ravnos reclined next to Victoria. “Vacation?”

Seht nodded. “I know a nice little beach resort…”

Victoria looked up at Seht. “A beach resort? As in, with an ocean?”

Ravnos snorted. “Beaches normally come with oceans.”

Victoria looked over at Ravnos. “I’ve never seen a real ocean. Well, I have, from space, but not up close where I could actually touch it.”

Seht leaned back in his chair. “Barbados Prime has a lovely resort on the Silver Coast.”

Ravnos scowled. “Seht, your skin cannot handle atmospheric sunlight.”

Seht smiled. “It handles atmospheric moonlight just fine.”

Ravnos rolled his eyes. “Oh all right, I’ll see what can be arranged.” He focused on Seht. “But I am not making any promises.”

Seht nodded. “Good enough for me.”

Ravnos turned to Victoria. “Since we have about two hours before we get back to the ship, I think I’ll use that time to paddle your ass. Strip, now.”

Victoria gasped, but stood up to remove her coat. “Is there a reason you’re about to abuse my ass?”

Ravnos nodded. “Yes, as a matter of fact there is.” He grinned. “I’m in the mood to celebrate the acquisition of a fine new nav-pilot. So, hurry up and get that suit off.”

Victoria jerked at the buckles of her suit. “Yes, sir.”

Seht leaned forward in his seat. “Need any help with that paddling?”

Ravnos glanced at Seht then turned to watch Victoria. “I will once we get on the ship. I may need you to hold her down while I reintroduce her to the top of my desk.”

Victoria stilled.

Ravnos raised his brows at Victoria. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“Uh, no, sir.” She swallowed and her fingers trembled as she unbuckled her boots.

Ravnos smiled. “Good.”

Skeldhi --
the people of
Skeldhor
/ ship-speak bastardization of
skeldyht

Kwusehyr --
a principal spaceport

-dhyt --
(pl.) the people of…

Dhe’syah --
moon blade -- a traditional weapon

Tawrhyt --
skeldhi ovulation cycle / implies ‘season of sacred blood’

rahyt
-- blood-rage

Titles:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pshent --
Queen / implies ‘Mother’

Atehf-mehnat --
Queen’s Consort / implies ‘collared prince’

Hedjhyt --
crown princess

Atehf --
prince consort

Mehnat --
royal (ornamental) collar

Kehpresh
-- war prince

Deshryt --
blood prince; direct relation to royal line / …of the blood

‘sey@@ -- lady mistress (pronounced: say)

Seydhyt
-- generic lady mistress /…of an office

a’sey --
respectable ma’am (non-royal)

‘syr --
lord master (pronounced: seer)

syrdhyt
-- generic lord master /…of an office

a’syr
-- respectable, sir (non-royal)

Law & Government

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Maht --
Law - Honor - Truth; the world order, justice, proper conduct

Ehnyad
-- The Council of Nine Elders

Ehnyadhyt --
councilor /…of the council

Mahfeht
-- office of judicial enforcement and legal execution

mahfeht’syr
-- lord master executioner

mahfdhyt --
enforcer, also known as a hunter / …of judicial authority; legal executioner

mehdjay
-- office of security

mehdja’dhyt
-- security guard

mehdjay’a’syr
-- principal of security

uhra’eh --
military / implies ‘a group of fire-spitting serpents’

uhradhyt
-- a soldier / …of the fire-spitting serpents

Pets

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nehkyx
-- a punisher or trainer / implies ‘whip’

nehkyx’a’syr
-- principal trainer

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

shen
-- rehkyt obedience collar / implies ‘to encircle’

rekhyt
-- pet / implies ‘captive bird’

seysehn
-- concubine / implies ‘lotus flower’

seysaht
-- skilled or trained rehkyt (f.) / implies ‘educated female’

deyjaht
-- skilled or trained rehkyt (m.) / implies ‘educated male’

upuaht
-- rehkyt guard / implies ‘canine guardian’

isfeht
-- outlaw; runaway rehkyt / implies disorderly, chaotic, insane

teht
-- rehkyt in ovulation cycle / implies ‘sacred blood’

Morgan Hawke has lived in seven states of the US and spent two years in England. She has been an auto mechanic, a security guard, a waitress, a groom in a horse-stable, in the military, a copywriter, a magazine editor, a professional tarot reader, a belly-dancer and a stripper. Her personal area of expertise is the strange and unusual.

Ms. Hawke has been writing erotic fiction since 1998 and maintains a close and personal relationship with her computer and her cat.

Visit Morgan Hawke on the Web at
http://www.darkerotica.net/
.

Male prosts strutted their stuff, trolled for action and signaled her with empty eyes that they were available. Tight muscular asses, strong pecs, six-pack abs, long-haired, short-haired, bald, black, white, oriental and mixed-race, each eager to please and earn credits to support their drug habits and pimp lovers. They were nothing but one-dimensional eye candy. Helga continued her long-legged stride past the beckoning sights and sounds. She needed a long night’s session with a strong hard man pounding away inside her while she screamed in ecstatic release. At the same time, she wanted…no…she
needed
a warrior lover, not a prost.

Ever since she’d linked body and mind with Silk, Helga craved love and close physical contact with both men and women. It had become an addiction. Living on the edge like they did, risking death with each trip through the wyrmhole, only made the craving stronger. And if Silk wanted her to make love to a man tonight, long and slow, all night long, who was she to deny her symbiotic sister the simple pleasures of life and love within her body and this reality?

Just her luck that there weren’t any male serpent hunters here ready to mate with her and give her the kind of emotional and physical contact she craved for herself and Silk. They were away on their current job assignments, diving deep into the holes and protecting ship and passengers against the formidable wyrmdragons. The only serpent hunters left on station were women. Women were okay for a quick fling but a woman wouldn’t satisfy Silk’s cravings for a male lover for them to share tonight.

A tall Caucasian man with combat-toned body and sad, haunted eyes strode past Helga and ducked into the next entrance. Strong, muscled arms bulged from his sleeveless half-suit of nano-metal. He carried an equipment bag in his right hand. The familiar lines of a samurai sword in a plain scabbard hung at his right hip.

She grinned. The sword on his right hip meant he was a southpaw. It gave him a slight advantage against those who expected a right-handed opponent. He rested his hand on the door’s ID panel. It slid aside. He entered and the door slid shut behind him.

Whoa! Wait a minute. Who the hell was he? Helga ran forward and pressed her hand on the closed door’s ID panel. A holographic genie materialized in response to her request for entry. It crossed its arms and blocked her in obvious warning. No entry. The hologram blared at her. Private combat training at Master level in progress.

Helga stepped back. She tapped her forefinger against her chin and ignored the alterday pedestrians jostling her. Where had she seen that man’s face before?

Slowly, his features crystallized in her mind’s eye from the images she’d seen on the list of new hires. Major Cord Blackstone, Security Chief for Fastron Corporation. Ex-major actually. He’d resigned his contract with Fastron Corporation and accepted a huge financial penalty in order to take the position of a lowly guardsman upon her ship, the Wyrm Runner.

The serpent tattoo coiled on Helga’s left arm unwound itself and shimmered into a living entity. Silk slithered past Helga’s shoulder, lifted her head and rubbed a tiny, scaled nose behind Helga’s ear. Acute interest tinged with a frisson of sexual desire hummed into Helga’s mind. Interesting. Silk had noticed this man too. The possibilities were intriguing.

Helga spun on her heel and strode away. All of a sudden she was very,
very
eager for tomorrow to begin. As for tonight…well…a prolonged session in one of the VR stimulators would have to suffice until she could get the real thing.

Cord bowed. “I resigned from Fastron Corporation two months ago.”

He laid his equipment bag, sword and scabbard on the stand and moved through the traditional stretches of arms, shoulders, legs and feet. The nano-metal fabric of his sleeveless coverall and boots moved like liquid over his body, instantly adapting to every change in position. The equipment bag contained the rest of his spacesuit: sleeves, gloves, helmet and emergency air pack. Only a fool walked a spaceship without his suit components close at hand. Critical seconds lost looking for suit components could mean the difference between life and death during emergency decompression.

“I accepted a position as guardsman on the Wyrm Runner.”

“Ah!” Sen Lui grinned. His dark skin, almond-shaped eyes and short, kinky red hair bespoke his unique racial blend of black, Asian and Celtic ancestry.

He didn’t have to say anything else. Sen Lui understood the reason now for the half-suit. Death was instant during decompression within a wyrmhole no matter what kind of suit you wore. Guardsmen and serpent hunters preferred the slight advantage of more freedom of motion in a half-suit while fighting wyrmdragons.

Cord finished his stretches, walked back to the practice mat with his sword and bowed again. Sen Lui uncoiled himself from his lotus position, unsheathed his sword and bowed.

They began their session with a warm-up sequence of basic strokes and positions. Step by step they moved, forward and back, circling and feeling each other’s movements and patterns. It was both greeting and conversation, a dialogue in steel and motion.

They wore no padding, no blunted swords, no facemasks. A misstep, a failed move meant mutilation and possible death.

The session turned serious. They moved faster, probing each other’s strengths and weaknesses. Circle, step, feint, parry. The blades whirled and caught the light, faster and faster. Beauty and death combined in every motion of their fatal dance. Body and soul joined in deadly battle.

A final clash of steel against steel filled the air. They disengaged and sheathed their blades.

Sweat poured down Cord’s face. He felt perfectly relaxed and tired. His arms and legs ached. Tremors of exhaustion shook his body. It was a good fight. He bowed. “Thank you, Master.”

Sen Lui bowed. “Thank you.” He quirked a sardonic eyebrow at Cord. “If you succeed and become one of the serpent hunters, contact me and let me know how it feels. I might want to change my vocation too.”