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Authors: Alfred Coppel
Tags: Science-Fiction
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her russet eyelashes, he could see her eyes, green and shot with flecks the color of gold, pupils narrow against the sun and then dilating with fear. He felt himself penetrating her, driving into her without mercy or charity, tearing her tender hymen and feeling her heave beneath him in screaming protest.
Engorged to bursting, he drove himself into her again. The circling birds joined their screams to hers. He felt her clawing at his face and then, quite suddenly, she was still, limp, and he emptied himself into her.
“Amalie, Amalie, je t’adore--”
He lifted his weight from her and looked down into her flushed and sweat-streaked face. Her eyes were open, staring over his shoulder at the sun. A trickle of blood ran down her cheek from her hairline, and another leaked from her ear.
Jean Marq said, “Amalie?”
Then he lifted his right hand which was clenched around a smooth stone taken from the terrace. It was smeared with her blood...
He felt ten tiny needles piercing the skin of his chest. They burned like fire. He opened his eyes in terror and looked into the tiny cat face of Mira.
The animal’s small head sprouted a hair-thin platinum wire. That damned Boche Krieg’s demented experiment. The cat knew what a man was thinking. Predator’s thoughts filled Marq’s sleep-pod. Mira’s slit pupils dilated in a mad parody of the dream--Amalie’s. The cat’s eyes became bottomless. Marq had the crazed notion that Mira was threatening him, warning him that if he displeased her she would somehow disclose his dream to Duncan.
Marq made a savage sound in his throat and struck at the cat, but she was far too swift. She released her hold on him and leaped, weightless, across the compartment to land on the fabric wall and cling there, still looking at him. Mira had been born in space, had lived all of her life in free-fall. Glory was her universe.
Jean Marq sat up in the open pod and hugged himself to stop the inner shivering that dominated his naked body. Would the dream never end?
Mira hissed at him and launched herself into the transit tube. Marq hated the cat and she hated him. Krieg’s cyber-surgery and the computer made it possible for her to tell him so. Each time he dreamed of killing Amalie, the small beast knew and came to judge him. With the others aboard the Glory , she was gentle and affectionate. Even with the icy Krieg. But with Marq, who had murdered a female creature, she was a tiny fury.
Still shivering in the cold air of his personal compartment, Jean Marq arose and slipped into a skinsuit. Among the clutter of his personal gear he found his stash of Dust. Duncan knew that he had brought Dust aboard, because Duncan knew everything. But Masters seldom interfered with the vices of their crewmen. Only if they reduced the efficiency of the ship did they enforce their authority. Duncan Kr was not a disciplinarian. He ruled by example, not by threat.
Marq broke the seal and inhaled deeply. Dust gave him no pleasure. What it did was dull remorse.
He pushed off and floated to the terminal in the wall and plugged in. Glory told him the state of voyage, ship, and crew.
Duncan and Anya Amaya were conning the ship. Glory was tacking away into a region of the Oort Cloud swept almost clean by the gravity of Drache, the great white gas giant that guarded Luyten 726’s outer marches. Young Damon was EVA, surrounded by monkeys. What did the youngster find to talk about with those half-machine, half-animal things? Some Dust would do that one no harm whatever. Ng’s acrophobia was like a stench in the ship, Marq thought,
The neurocybersurgeon had unplugged himself and was relaxing in his pod, dreaming up who knew what Germanic grandiosity. He was listening to Wagner. The Liebesnacht . The bulkhead microphones picked up the music. There was no real privacy anywhere aboard a Goldenwing. For safety’s sake, no crewman could ever be out of touch.
On impulse, Marq asked that Glory show him the frozen corpse
Engorged to bursting, he drove himself into her again. The circling birds joined their screams to hers. He felt her clawing at his face and then, quite suddenly, she was still, limp, and he emptied himself into her.
“Amalie, Amalie, je t’adore--”
He lifted his weight from her and looked down into her flushed and sweat-streaked face. Her eyes were open, staring over his shoulder at the sun. A trickle of blood ran down her cheek from her hairline, and another leaked from her ear.
Jean Marq said, “Amalie?”
Then he lifted his right hand which was clenched around a smooth stone taken from the terrace. It was smeared with her blood...
He felt ten tiny needles piercing the skin of his chest. They burned like fire. He opened his eyes in terror and looked into the tiny cat face of Mira.
The animal’s small head sprouted a hair-thin platinum wire. That damned Boche Krieg’s demented experiment. The cat knew what a man was thinking. Predator’s thoughts filled Marq’s sleep-pod. Mira’s slit pupils dilated in a mad parody of the dream--Amalie’s. The cat’s eyes became bottomless. Marq had the crazed notion that Mira was threatening him, warning him that if he displeased her she would somehow disclose his dream to Duncan.
Marq made a savage sound in his throat and struck at the cat, but she was far too swift. She released her hold on him and leaped, weightless, across the compartment to land on the fabric wall and cling there, still looking at him. Mira had been born in space, had lived all of her life in free-fall. Glory was her universe.
Jean Marq sat up in the open pod and hugged himself to stop the inner shivering that dominated his naked body. Would the dream never end?
Mira hissed at him and launched herself into the transit tube. Marq hated the cat and she hated him. Krieg’s cyber-surgery and the computer made it possible for her to tell him so. Each time he dreamed of killing Amalie, the small beast knew and came to judge him. With the others aboard the Glory , she was gentle and affectionate. Even with the icy Krieg. But with Marq, who had murdered a female creature, she was a tiny fury.
Still shivering in the cold air of his personal compartment, Jean Marq arose and slipped into a skinsuit. Among the clutter of his personal gear he found his stash of Dust. Duncan knew that he had brought Dust aboard, because Duncan knew everything. But Masters seldom interfered with the vices of their crewmen. Only if they reduced the efficiency of the ship did they enforce their authority. Duncan Kr was not a disciplinarian. He ruled by example, not by threat.
Marq broke the seal and inhaled deeply. Dust gave him no pleasure. What it did was dull remorse.
He pushed off and floated to the terminal in the wall and plugged in. Glory told him the state of voyage, ship, and crew.
Duncan and Anya Amaya were conning the ship. Glory was tacking away into a region of the Oort Cloud swept almost clean by the gravity of Drache, the great white gas giant that guarded Luyten 726’s outer marches. Young Damon was EVA, surrounded by monkeys. What did the youngster find to talk about with those half-machine, half-animal things? Some Dust would do that one no harm whatever. Ng’s acrophobia was like a stench in the ship, Marq thought,
The neurocybersurgeon had unplugged himself and was relaxing in his pod, dreaming up who knew what Germanic grandiosity. He was listening to Wagner. The Liebesnacht . The bulkhead microphones picked up the music. There was no real privacy anywhere aboard a Goldenwing. For safety’s sake, no crewman could ever be out of touch.
On impulse, Marq asked that Glory show him the frozen corpse
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