Satisfied the mask was good to go, he then began stripping off his clothes. Glancing toward the front of the boat, he saw that Skeeter was already in the front-mounted pedestal chair, line caster in hand. No doubt Skeeter was a serious bass fisherman … and one with expensive tastes. Not only was the Trident a top-echelon craft capable of speeds on the water that only skilled boaters should operate at, but that Bait Bazooka he was holding was no bamboo pole with a penny float snapped onto a five-pound-test line. Skeeter wasn’t living on government subsidies.
“What’s your brother-in-law do?” Tiger had to ask as he skinned out his trousers.
“He’s a maintenance supervisor on the Grand Orbital,” Dee replied. “Pretty damned cushy job. Works two weeks on, one off. Just has to make sure the toilets flush, hot water’s hot, the AC is cold.”
“Yeah, wouldn’t want those rich bastards inconvenienced in any way,” Tiger muttered. The Grand Orbital was the lavish luxury hotel that floated high above the earth, offering spectacular, breathtaking views of the planet and space. If, of course, you could afford it. It would never be mistaken for the Spaceport Inn. They didn’t serve all-you-could-eat catfish and hushpuppies up there.
“You need to get your friend to close their eyes for us,” Dee said, reaching into the storage compartment and pulled out a scuba suit and tossed it on the boat deck. “Now!”
“I’m doing it!” Tiger replied gruffly, pulling out his PDC. Both men’s nerves were on edge … and for good reason. On the fence just a hundred feet away, the signs every thirty feet made clear that what they were about to do wouldn’t be taken lightly if they were caught.
WARNING!
ELECTRIFIED FENCE
WILL CAUSE DEATH OR INJURY!
DO NOT APPROACH!
GUARDS AUTHORIZED TO USE LETHAL FORCE!
And yet, here they were, after barely surviving the night, preparing to do something totally asinine. Tiger shook his head as he speed-dialed the number.
“This better work!” he mumbled under his breath.
“Hey, baby!” The beautiful, green figure of Baroness Von Hackemoff appeared in the air before him, smiling broadly. The best hacker in the solar system was also the sexiest. She was in no way shy either. She enjoyed her sexuality, and in typical, provocative fashion, she was reclining on a chaise, nude with only a towel covering her midsection, as she lounged lazily in front of a grand window that composed almost the entire length of a wall. Behind her, the sun blazed magnificently, only the filtering elements in Luna Seven’s transparent dome preventing it from burning her and all its inhabitants to cinders. She lay on her back like a contented green lizard soaking up the warmth of a desert day at high noon. Her beautiful breasts lay bare and glorious, her dark green nipples puckered and hard.
Tiger felt a stirring in his groin as he gazed upon the hologram, almost forgetting the whole reason he called. There was no denying that the beautiful, exotic resident of L7 stirred something in him. That he was a philogynist, there was no doubt. Women gravitated to him. And the stranger, the more unusual, the more they seemed drawn to each other. And the Baroness, with her green-dyed skin, fit perfectly in that mold.
She was a “Moon Maiden,” a first-generation or lunar-born female settler who had dyed her skin green as a status symbol during the early days of settlement. It was an ode to the “little green men” stereotype of aliens during the first part of the early twentieth century. It was their way of pronouncing they were now citizens of space, no longer belonging to Earth. They were, for all intents and purposes, aliens in a new world. It had been a common practice until the Lunar Rebellions. After that, the Space Authority had banned it and several other practices and traditions unique to Luna as “subversive.”
But the fact was, green, purple or orange, she was beautiful no matter what her skin color was. She had eyes that beckoned like a siren to a sailor and lips meant to be kissed. Her hair was green as well, thick and curly, shoulder-length. Even in the hologram, the green eyes crackled with sexual energy. Like Lulah, she wasn’t young anymore, a few years and a few pounds past her prime, some might say. But, as he took in the delicious curves of her hips, voluptuous and feminine, and the pleasing little pooch of her lower belly, she was the essence of eternal womanhood.
She was the kind of woman that could complicate things for him. But then again, what woman didn’t complicate things for him? Madison had complicated matters. Amber had sure complicated things. And Lulah? Where would he even start?
Or, maybe he complicated things for himself. Perhaps he let his dick do too much of his thinking. It was easy to blame the woman ... Or the next woman ... Or the one after that. That, in itself, might indicate a problem.
He would’ve liked to have contemplated it further, but the Baroness was hailing him.
“Tiger? You ok?” she was asking.
“Oh, yeah, yeah! I’m fine!” He snapped abruptly back to the present with a rough mental jolt. He grimaced, contemplation on his woman problems would have to wait.
“I’ve accessed their satellite surveillance,” she continued. “I’ve looped the feed on the cams in your area so they can’t see you getting all geared up right now. But you’ve got about five minutes until their perimeter patrol comes back around. So, you need to get your ass hopping, and he needs to get that boat away! If they put eyes on it in the field, you can
