How did I get outside?
She slumps down next to a dripping water spigot. Amye twists it on and collects water in her cupped hand before splashing it on her face. She won’t release the bottle in the other. Blood refills a cut on her face. She takes a small compact from her belt. Inside, an orange cream glistens. Amye takes a small bit onto her finger and rubs it into the wound.
Small sobs emanate from under the overflowing boxes.
She takes in deep breaths and allows her vision to cease vibrating. Amye’s hand instinctively brushes over her holster. She halts her advance on the pile of cardboard—her blaster’s gone.
A child sobs.
Amye flings away a few cardboard pieces to discover a crying Asym. She crouches down to the unwashed, malnourished child.
Using the back of her hand to gently dry the little girl’s tears, she says, “I’m not going to hurt you.” Amye attempts her most comforting tone. “Do you mind if I look at your leg?”
The child nods.
Amye removes a bandage from the girl’s leg. Puss oozes from the gash. Amye applies the orange cream over the wound. She scoops the girl into her arms and hums a lullaby as she dances around with the child. She sings, “The five stars of the Demon’s ring carry the hero’s comet’s brother to honor those that fell near the Binary sister—twins they were, knowing they protected my home fourth in the star gaze.”
Amye peels off the cream from the girl’s leg.
Wide-eyed, the little girl rubs her healed leg. She smiles and runs away. Amye grins to herself. She peels the dried cream off her cheek. Her own wound has healed. She heads farther into the bombed section of the city.
Much of the past few days has blurred for her. Amye attempts to recall how her sister died after the Silver Dragon crashed.
No.
She was killed in a crash.
Not the Silver Dragon. Another—
A shuttle accident.
William would have no reason to lie.
A shuttle explosion?
Wait…I spoke to her this morning.
No.
She wasn’t on the Dragon after the crash.
Kymberlynn’s pilot score topped records.
No.
William wouldn’t lie.
The IMC might.
Unable to hunt for her captain until the Silver Dragon reaches orbit, she might know a way to investigate her missing sister immediately. With irrefutable proof, the woman she’s been speaking to remains among the living and not delirium.
She swills the bottle, comforted by the bite. Kymberlynn’s dead, She reminds herself. In the bar were Cordylus lizards. Bottom-feeding data whores. They’re the best source of all information, legal or unattainable. Amye swills the liquor.
Returning inside the bar to discover nothing but bodies scattered across the floor, she scoops up her blaster. The Red Baron, the Alenennion and the Darren are not among the dead. She kicks over an Asym. The back of his cracked skull reveals an empty cavity where a brain was housed. All the bodies are missing the brain.
The Sandman charges her. It slips inside her, returning to consume her thoughts after consuming the patrons’ gray matter.
With Sandman control guiding her, Amye drops the bottle and marches from the bar.
TREDWELL THUNDER-KICKS OPEN the timber cabin door.
The fading sunlight splashes over Leila’s bound and gagged curving frame.
Cocking the hammer as he draws his six-gun, he levels the weapon. The boom sends one man to the floor as two more fire. The wooden doorframe splinters behind Tredwell. They both miss. He does not.
Tredwell grabs shapely Leila by the arms and yanks her to her tiny feet. He pulls free her gag.
“I thought you were dead,” she gasps.
He rips open his shirt. His rippling sweat-covered muscles are decorated with three bullet holes. She works free her hand and caresses the scar next to his heart.
“Not even death would stop my love for you.”
She caused this. Her love for him nearly put him in a box. She can’t bear the thought that he could have died to protect her. She rejected him before despite her own desires to be his. She’ll correct her mistake.
“Take me,” she moans with desire.
She loosens his gun belt. It falls to the floor. She works free his pants. His swelling for her is unrestricted. Leila strokes the monster. New feeling arouses within her. Her own wetness and fear release as she touches Tredwell’s unnaturally mammoth girth.
His animal instincts no longer contained, he rips open the front of her shirt. Her white supple breasts fall out. Nipples perked in arousal. Tredwell scoops her into his arms and carries her to the bed. He lays her back gently and nibbles her neck. She presents herself legs open. She wants no passion from him; she wants him inside her quickly, before anything else removes him from her. She has waited, wanted, wasted her chances with him. Nothing prevents it now as he pushes into her. She feels herself burst. Nothing so plump was meant to enter a woman no matter how much her juices flow.
Princess Michelle Aurora’s fingers have found their way under her plain white panties. Years of courtly training have instilled in her that a lady—a princess who rules a planetary star system—does not behave in such a foul manner. To pleasure herself would be a selfish act unbefitting of her station. Tainting herself would ruin the purity she must maintain for her future husband.
Her gasp of pleasure halts her progress. Returning her free hand, she carefully turns the page of her paperback novel. She has nothing but time to read while on the Silver Dragon, and actual Osirian paperback books are the one vice she allows herself.
Osirian artifacts from Reynard’s planet are pure
