Raw Recruit

www.nobleromance.com Raw Recruit ISBN 978-1-60592-131-0 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Raw Recruit Copyright 2010 Gwen Campbell Cover Art by Fiona Jayde This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any existing means without written permission from the publisher. Contact Noble Romance Publishing, LLC at PO Box 467423, Atlanta, GA 31146. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The characters are products of the author's imagination and used fictitiously.

Book Blurb In the future, sexism in the workplace is alive and well on Mars Orbital One—the only place in our little corner of the galaxy to get into the space program. For decades, women have been refused entry. Now, Lieutenant Rene Aubrey and fifteen other hand-picked women are being given a shot to join Earth's elite space force. Seems there's something coming down the pike, a new weapon that requires a feminine touch you might say, and her male training officer is a hands-on kind of guy. Problem is, there's some scary aliens out there gunning for women like Rene and they're about to drop in for a return visit.

Chapter One "Ain't space grand." The major ran her shaking hand across her mouth. Her skin was pale and damp with sweat. "If I puke one more time my stomach's going to be permanently welded to my spine." Lieutenant Rene Aubrey gave her seatmate a sympathetic smile and squeezed her arm. It took a transport shuttle four days to travel from earth to the Mars Orbital One space station and four days was a long time when your gut was getting used to zero-g. Major Cynthia West squared her broad shoulders and seemed to regain her focus. When she let go of Cynthia, Rene's arm drifted upward lightly in the zero-gravity atmosphere before she tucked it back into the armrest sleeve. A man floated up the aisle and laid his hand on the back of Rene's chair, halting his momentum. "You'd think with all the zero-g training, we'd be used to feeling like this." Lieutenant Commander Steven Giles tucked and spun slowly until he was floating alongside Rene. His brown hair was cut so short it looked exactly like it had back on Earth where gravity supposedly pulled it down. He grinned at them, and Rene couldn't help but grin back. She'd always been a sucker for chocolate-brown eyes and dimples. Steven said, "So, fellow recruits, the pool's up to one-hundred twenty-five credits and a bottle of Scotch. Wanna buy in?" "No chance, Giles." Cynthia shook her head. "With a half hour to go until we arrive at Mars Orbital One?" She snorted dismissively. "Even I can hold off puking that long." "I don't know, West . . . ." Steven dipped his head to one side. "Your seat mate here's got an iron gut. Only she and Moreland haven't upchucked yet." He glanced around the other rows of seats and lowered his voice. "My money's on Lieutenant Aubrey." He winked at Rene, and, for about a second and a half, she

forgot he was married with two kids back on Earth. Maybe guys that cute just couldn't help being so damn sexy. "Ah, what the hell. Put me down for five credits, Giles." Cynthia relented and leaned toward him. "On Aubrey," she added with enough volume that her voice carried through the shuttle's passenger hold. About half of the twenty-six personnel sharing the hold with them cheered. "That's the spirit," Steven replied happily. "Guess you West Pointers aren't as uptight as they said you were." "Yeah, yeah . . . ." Cynthia dismissed him with a wave of her hand. "Spoken like an Annapolis brat." When he was gone, she gulped spasmodically. From habit, Rene unbuckled her restraint harness but held on to it, not letting her lean body drift clear of the seat to make way for another one of Cynthia's mad flights to the head. When Cynthia sighed raggedly and nodded, Rene knew it was safe to buckle herself back in. She glanced out the nearest porthole. "There it is." She pointed slowly, controlling the movement of her arm with a precision she hadn't needed in Earth's gravity. "Mars Orbital One." They turned to look at the gigantic hodgepodge of metal spinning slowly around the red giant Mars. A last, direct ray of sunlight glinted off a far section of the station, making its plasti-steel skin shine like polished glass. Rene could make out the original parts of the station, now only a small section of the whole, identifiable by dull, dinged skin. Space debris had taken its toll over the years. The sections were connected by a network of tubes. Rene knew they were big enough to walk upright in and they housed cables, ventilation shafts and heating ducts. From this distance, they just looked like spindly spider legs protruding haphazardly from a misshapen, swollen insect body, attached to a network of other bloated insects. Charming. Aesthetics, however, weren't a priority during the decades Mars Orbital One was being pieced together by government and corporate interests. What did matter was the fact that the station

now operated as a whole. And it was the only place in their little corner of the galaxy where a pilot like her could become part of the space program. Rene smiled grimly. Come hell or high water, she was going to make it into that program. She unsnapped her restraint harness in about a half second flat when Cynthia started making those familiar gagging noises. Rene pushed her runningshoe clad feet into the floor. The shift in inertia made her rise upward sharply. She tucked into a ball and grabbed the ceiling rail to roll out of Cynthia's way as her seatmate hurtled herself toward the vacuum-flush head in the rear of the cabin. Rene straightened her legs, angled her body precisely, pushed off the ceiling lightly and settled her ass back in her seat after a few seconds of free floating. She was re-fastening her harness when another body hurtled past her, racing for the head. Moreland. Hmmph. Guess that ninety-six hour puke patch Grace had glued behind her ear had just run dry. Rene should have bet on herself. ***** Rene walked through the docking hatch with her shoulders back and her head held high. Her stomach behaved in zero-g, but they'd returned to almost full earth sea-level gravity once they'd docked and gone into synch with the station's rotation. As soon as she felt the first pull of gravity on her spine, her stomach flipped. Keeping her eyes up and focused on a far-away point, even if it had to be imaginary due to space constraints, worked every time. So far. Rene exhaled slowly when she realized she wasn't going to puke during the trip after all. As they exited the hatch, the other recruits she'd traveled with brightened visibly. Shoulders went down. Chins came up. You had to be good to earn an assignment on Mars Orbital One. Even the eight enlisted personnel with them,

including a communications specialist, a mechanic and an intel operative, had beat out hundreds of other serving, military candidates for their jobs. Their group of twenty-six represented all branches of the military and just about every country in the world financially able to sustain an elite airborne force. Space was now where the big budget bucks went, the place to get the finest training and the only place to fly against the best. She'd fallen in love with flying when she'd been a little girl, when her father had taken her along in an antique airplane to survey their vineyards. That love had meshed with her pride and vanity, which had always made her competitive. It was one of her most basic traits to seek out the greater challenge, work for it and succeed. Yet, for the hundredth time, Rene wondered what kind of egomaniac idiot she was to think a girl from provincial France could compete with these hot shots. She also knew her self-doubts kept her sharp and hungry. She wanted the space program bad. Repeated, sober, critical self-analysis of her performance would carry her farther than any raw talent she'd been blessed with. She and the twenty-five other arrivals were herded through the loading bay and toward a set of airlock doors with Conference Room One neatly painted above them. She glanced around. The bay wasn't anything she hadn't seen before—a cavernous rectangle with a slight, convex pitch to the ceiling. The walls were made of corrugated metal, probably plasti-steel from the looks of them. A couple of forklifts zipped up and down numbered aisles, offloading supplies that had traveled in the hold of the transport shuttle. They walked past a loose grouping of male officers in flight suits. The two groups looked at each other with feigned disinterest but nodded politely. Rene bit back her envy when she recognized the Mars Orbital One patches on their gray-blue uniforms. Space pilots and their Radar Intercept Officers, commonly known simply as RIOs or flight engineers. She comforted herself by building a powerful mental picture of herself with that patch on her flight suit.

By now the space pilots had given up their disinterested act, and she deliberately ignored the uncomfortable, hungry looks the men directed at her, Cynthia and every other woman who disembarked. Probably been in space too long. Rene walked into the conference room and took the first available seat. ***** Colonel Kent Parnell's gaze was glued to the short Navy pilot walking past his carefully staked out position in the loading bay. She had an elfin face, capped by a tightly fixed swirl of raven wing, black hair, and she nodded briefly to him as she walked by. Well, not exactly at him. More like she nodded in the general direction of the sixteen panting wolves that'd lined up to catch their first glimpse of the female recruits the military had finally delivered. Kent just sort of happened to be in her line of sight when she dipped her head. He exhaled slowly after she walked past, and he hadn't even been aware he'd been holding his breath. The new lieutenant was definitely tasty, with a sweet, tight body, a flared ass her flight suit highlighted in a way that made him want to offer to take a bite out of it, and, glory be hallelujah, a great set of tits. High, round and just big enough to make a man's hands itch. "Didn't know you liked dark-haired women," the man standing beside him whispered and jammed an elbow in Kent's ribs for good measure. Kent grunted and glared down at him. "You'll make me jealous." Kent grinned crookedly. "Nobody'll ever do it for me like you do, Sparky." He elbowed the shorter man back. Kent hoped the lieutenant had noticed him. It helped that he was tall, even by military standards, and at six-two, was bigger than any of the other space jockeys standing around him. His eyes latched onto

the lieutenant's retreating ass for one more second before he looked away. "Come on. Let's grab some chow." Lieutenant Commander Richard "Sparky" Sparks fell into step beside him. The other space jockeys followed them out of the loading bay once the door closed behind the last of the new recruits. Sparky glanced up at him and said, "Maybe you'll get to partner up with her." Kent shrugged. "I don't know, Sparky. I mean, how do we know if any of them will go for the project once they figure it out?" "Right." Sparky nodded quietly then nudged Kent's arm, directing him away from the others. "We fly good together, Kent, but you're the best RIO we've got." His voice dropped to a whisper as he glanced around, making sure no one else was within earshot. "You've got the best chance of any of us to snag one of those female pilots. I never would have made it this far in the program flying with anybody else. Those pilots will figure out fast that partnering with you will give them the best chance at success." Again, Kent shrugged. He'd graduated from West Point at the top of his engineering class and had gone right into flight training. Now, at thirty-four, he was one of Earth's most skilled and decorated flight engineers. Originally from Manchester, England, Sparky had been his pilot ever since they both joined the space program four years ago. Kent had a sudden image of the beautiful, dark-haired female pilot lying naked beneath him. He swore he could almost feel her bare heels grinding into his ass. Maybe they could fly together and hook up. Who knew? Thanks to the birth-control inoculate the military insisted all females have before arriving at the station and the Venus Serum that had been invented almost a century earlier, pregnancy and sexually transmitted diseases were non issues in space. Female personnel now felt free to work off a little tension as much as their male counterparts did. Good thing, too, because once the women got wind of the requirements of their new jobs, there'd be a lot more than tension hitting the fan.

Kent grinned at Sparky but didn't comment one way or the other. They rejoined the casual straggle of space jockeys heading for the mess hall. ***** "Welcome to Mars Orbital One." General Henry Stephenson smiled at the new recruits from the front of the conference room. Rene was impressed and puzzled. Impressed, because the head of the station's flight program was conducting the orientation, but puzzled as to why he'd do so. The man had to have better things to do. She kept her expression carefully neutral and watched the general's smile slide into a firm no-nonsense look that struck her as normal for him. It flattened his mouth out—much like the flat-top crew cut he'd subjected his graying hair to. At least it complimented his sexy blue eyes. She'd bet real money Mrs. Stephenson loved them. "General recreation and mess areas are on beta level." A high-res vid screen lit up behind him and began scrolling through schematics. "Officers quarters on delta level east, enlisted quarters on delta level west. Follow the colored lines painted on the lower third of the corridor walls." Rene's mind didn't exactly start to wander as the general continued speaking, but she expanded her thought processes to indulge in more rumination on the odd make-up of their group. "Mars, as some of you might know, is named after the Roman god of war. Would someone care to tell me about its moons?" Rene had decided about five minutes after they'd left Earth's orbit that the group of recruits she was part of did not represent a normal statistical variance. Not that she expected a seventy-year old with a walker to be part of the group— but the demographics weren't random. Rene loved number analysis. If she hadn't made it as a pilot, she'd have gone into computer programming or logistics.

Numbers were kind of a hobby for her; a way for her to relax mentally and exercise her gift for analytical thought. Her random group wasn't random at all. "Phobos and Deimos. They're not round like our moon, sir. They're captured asteroids, not true moons." Cynthia's answer was snappy and accurate. Rene was pleased to see her friend redeeming herself after her inglorious ride in space. After the momentary distraction, Rene returned to her contemplation. To begin with, there were only three enlisted personnel in her group. If it had been made up of routine personnel replacements, statistically, there should have been a rough balance between enlisted and officers. Shipping an additional twentythree officers to any military installation meant a program launch. There hadn't been anything in the briefings or the news although such information was likely classified. Humans were too worried their old-style television broadcasts from the century before had already transmitted enough information to alien species. Information that could be turned against them. "Thank you, Major," the general continued. "Can someone name the first three spacecraft that formed the genesis of Mars Orbital One?" Rene shifted in her plastic chair, crossed one relatively short leg over the other and glanced over at Cynthia's legs. Cynthia's were much longer because she was taller. She was five-ten to Rene's five-five, which reminded Rene of another statistical anomaly in their little group. Of the sixteen female officers, all of them had flight training, wanted the space program bad enough to sell off their left ovary, and the numbers were evenly split between pilots and flight engineers—although that split was to be expected—but the kicker was the pilots, like Rene, were short and the engineers were tall. Not just a little on the short side or tall enough to be put in the second row in their elementary school photograph, but decidedly at opposite ends of the curve. Rene herself had barely met the height requirements for the French Navy, let alone for acceptance into Annapolis.

There were two male officers in the new arrivals, one of them being Lieutenant Commander Steven Giles, but Rene knew right off the bat neither man was a serious contenders for the space program. Giles was probably a good flight engineer but after talking to him, Rene had pieced together he'd used flight training to obtain his rank so he could transfer into Cyber Intelligence. He said the right things and sounded like he was gung-ho to fly in space, but she got a sense he thought it was expected of him—the next big jump in his career, after which he could make a lateral slide back into Intelligence as a full commander, maybe even a captain. The lone male pilot was like him, only his passion was weapons development. The two of them seemed more like a smoke screen for the sixteen hungry and superlatively qualified female candidates. That conflicted with the fact Rene had always harbored personal fears about not being allowed into the space program because of her gender. About forty years ago, a species they called the Omegons had entered their solar system. They called them that because the subspace noise their engines generated sounded like o'mego-o'mego-o'mego repeated over and over. They'd never been able to establish direct communication with them. The Omegons had fired on the first craft sent out to intercept them, blowing it into space rubble. The rest of Earth's fleet had followed, guns blazing. The ensuing battle had lasted almost three full days, and during that time, a few human pilots had been captured. They'd found their remains floating in space after the Omegons had finally turned tail and run. The scuttlebutt was the men were just dead but the few female pilots had been . . . well, autopsied was the best way to describe it. It played right into humanity's collective nightmares about contact with alien species. The Omegons, it was rumored, had been particularly interested in their female captives' reproductive organs. It had been a full generation until the people in charge could bring themselves to let women back into the space program. Even now, Rene still had her doubts. They talked about women having

an equal chance to get into the program, but she had never actually met a woman who'd been a serving space pilot. Lots of trainees, sure, and she'd met lots who'd served a tour on Earth's moon and two who'd served on Mars Orbital One, but not one of the women she'd met had actually made it as a front-line space jockey. Rene was still keeping track of the briefing when General Stephenson said, "Please pay attention to the screen." He stepped off the platform so they could all see the information clearly. "Note your room assignment. The name of your training officer and the time and place of your first duty assignment are included in the information packets we've placed in your quarters. If you don't find your quarters, you'll be late your first day at work and I guarantee I'll be pissed. You do not want to see me pissed." Rene, along with several of the others, grinned crookedly, even though she was sure he wasn't joking. That got her thinking about her group again. If she mentally subtracted the sixteen female space-program hopefuls, that left ten legitimate replacement personnel. When she thought about the legit personnel's specialties, physicality and backgrounds, she realized they did indeed represent a predictable statistical sampling of military personnel. The other thing they had in common—and this was the part that kept niggling at the back of her head—was that all sixteen of the female spaceprogram hopefuls were single. Not engaged, living with someone, dating or even seriously in "like." They were single, straight and conformed to one of two opposite body types, depending on their flight designation. She didn't need to be told. They were here for something specific. And classified. "Again, let me welcome you to Mars Orbital One." The screen behind General Stephenson faded to black. "Congratulations on making it, and we're pleased to have you on board. You'll find your personal gear has been placed outside of the conference room. Pick it up on your way out and make your way to your quarters. Good luck. Your success reflects on all of us."

"Thank you, sir." Murmured voices repeated as chairs scraped against the plasti-steel floor. The group started to make its way to the exit. "Lieutenant Aubrey." Rene was standing near the end of the queue and the general's deep voice brought her head around. She stepped away from the others, turned and saluted. "At ease, Lieutenant." He was making his way down the aisle toward her. He returned her salute, and as he got closer, she got her first up-close look at his blue, piercing eyes and knew instinctively this was a man not to be taken lightly. The thin smile he gave her softened his lined, hard-jawed face only a fraction. "What did you think of my little briefing, Lieutenant?" Rene was surprised by the question but too disciplined to let her reaction show. "Informative, sir. Thank you." "Don't blow smoke up my ass, Lieutenant." He crossed his sinewy arms over his chest, forming a crease down the center of his precisely ironed uniform shirt. "I ask questions at these briefings to find out if my recruits know anything beyond the sum total of jack. You're the only one who didn't even bother putting up a hand to answer one of my carefully chosen and researched questions, Lieutenant. Why is that?" Rene cleared her throat, buying herself a second or two to think. This guy didn't miss anything, but how much of her personal speculation would he be interested in hearing? "Speak freely, Lieutenant. You're not up here because you're stupid." She nodded slowly. "My older brother would debate whether or not I'm stupid, sir, but I'm sure the other personnel who came up here with me are not. It's a given they'd know all the answers to what amounted to a fourth grade astronomy quiz. I simply wondered why you'd ask." "And what did your debatably stupid, naval mind come up with, Lieutenant?" He looked like he was trying not to grin.

"You presented my group with an opportunity to interact with you in a positive way. To answer questions they couldn't possibly get wrong. I surmised . . . ." She inhaled slowly. "I surmised you were giving them an opportunity to redeem themselves after suffering the indignity of spending their first four days puking in space—after working their asses off to get here. sir." The general dropped his arms and put his hands on his hips. Rene spotted the metal wings pinned to his shirt—not gold for Navy or silver for Air Force— platinum for the space program. He'd been a space jockey. Rene stood a little straighter. "So why didn't you answer?" "I didn't puke, sir." General Stephenson was grinning now, looking down at Rene over his hawk-like nose, his eyes focused on her like he was re-evaluating his opinion of her. "Very good, Lieutenant," he admitted after a minute. "And not just for keeping your gut in check during your flight. Anything else?" "Anything else I may have surmised is pure speculation, sir," she hedged. His grinning mouth snapped down into a thin, hard line. She didn't make him repeat his smoke-blowing order. "Two groups came up on my shuttle, sir. Eight bona fide replacement personnel. Sixteen female space-program candidates—eight short pilots and eight tall RIOs." "That leaves two unaccounted for." "Two male space-program candidates to make it look like a normal group. They'll flunk out within two days and be shuttled into their individual areas of expertise." General Stephenson looked down at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. "We'd figured three days. We'll just have to wait and see who's right."

"I do understand anything I might have surmised, sir, about my group being selected for a classified program launch would be top secret and not to be discussed. Present company excluded, of course." He simply nodded. "Your personnel file said your IQ was in the genius range. It didn't say you had a gift for abstract logic. I'll be keeping an eye on your progress, Lieutenant." Scrutiny I can handle. A new program that's so secret the general won't even comment on it after I've sussed it out. I guess I'll just have to wait and see if I'm a hot shot, or an arrogant fool. Chapter Two "A lighter touch on the stick, Rene. Another jolt like that and I'll be sucking my nuts into my throat." She nodded to acknowledge her flight engineer's comments and eased her grip on the control, experimenting with manipulating it with her fingertips instead of the full force of her hand. "Better." The commander seated behind her sounded relieved. "The handling characteristics of your craft are different in zero-g. You'll have to relearn a lot of things and overwrite muscle memory. Try the sideways thrust maneuver again." Rene pictured the maneuver, saw herself executing it perfectly then applied pressure to the stick. Thirty seconds later, the pneumatic hatch on the training module rose slowly. The stars and distant plants on the vid screens around them faded to black and Rene took her hand off the stick. She flexed her fingers absently. "Much better the second time around." Commander Bruce Eldridge climbed out of the engineer's seat behind hers and swung his lean, neatly

muscled body up and onto the platform beside the module, leaned his forearms on the hatch rim and smiled down at her. "You've got good hands." His smile widened, rendering his handsome face dangerously gorgeous. The commander was tall, blond and hunky—and that Australian accent of his had Rene's gut doing titillated flips. Her first impression that the currently serving space jockeys had been up here too long without female companionship had been confirmed. Either this guy was the single most sinfully hot man she'd ever met, or he'd decided she was his soul mate and just couldn't tear his focus away from her. He made her feel like she was the center of his blue-eyed universe. "Thank you, Bruce," Rene said, trying to maintain a façade of professionalism. She touched the stick with her fingertips, moving it through the sideways thrust maneuver again, working on amending her muscle memory. "Does the stick respond the same way out there?" "It's programmed to do just that, Rene," he confirmed and flashed her another blinding-white smile. How had he managed to look tanned and hold on to the sun-kissed streaks in his hair after serving in space for two years? "Remember, thrust with no gravitational drag. You'll get the hang of it." The engineer held out his hand, and, raised by a gallant French father, Rene took it automatically and let the commander help her step out of the training module. He laid his hand on her shoulder and walked her over to the stairs. The commander touched her a lot. With his looks, Rene wasn't motivated to protest, especially since he'd never crossed the line between acceptable, workplace contact and real touching. She figured he was just a touchy kind of guy. They climbed down off the module platform, and she raised her hand in greeting when the next team entered the room. "Hey, Cynthia." She greeted the tall major happily. "Kick butt, girl."

"Amen to that," Cynthia agreed enthusiastically and high-fived her as the two teams walked past each other. Two days of not throwing up had done wonders for the major. Her blonde hair was shining and styled; her back was straight, her hazel eyes sharp, and her bearing confident. Rene smiled and nodded to the pilot currently assigned to oversee Cynthia's module training. Lieutenant Commander Richard Sparks was his name, if she remembered correctly, and her suspicions about height and whatever new program they were training for were challenged by the pairing. Commander Sparks was the same height as Cynthia. Rene filed the information away and headed for the exit. What wasn't challenged by their pairing was the fact the sixteen new female trainees were paired with sixteen experienced male space jockeys. In fact, the men they trained with represented eight teams that had been broken up to work with her group. Were the people in charge making a concerted effort to include women in the space program or running a dating service? "Up for some lunch then?" Commander Eldridge's deep, enthusiastic voice broke into her thoughts. "My treat." Rene smiled up at him politely when he held open the door for her. "How could I refuse?" "That's my girl." The hunky Australian winked and clicked his tongue into his cheek as he fell into step beside her. "So you've got a space-survival class at thirteen-hundred." He stood aside to let her pass through an airlock before him. "And we've got another hour in the simulator this afternoon. I'll look forward to that . . . hey, since we're here . . . ." He paused outside a door marked Hydroponics Three. "There's something you might get a kick out of seeing. Come on." He grabbed her hand, holding it familiarly in his and led her down the secondary corridor. "Won't take a minute, I promise." He shouldered open the door, grinning down at her.

The air inside was much damper than outside. It seemed hotter too, and Rene lowered the zipper on her flight suit. Bruce's eyes shot down to the shadowy curve of her cleavage for a split second before they shot back up again. Definitely too long in space. "My mum's absolutely bonkers for gardening. When she heard we had hydroponics labs up here, she sent me a cutting of her prize-winning rose bush from back home." Her hand still in his, Bruce led her through the lab—row upon row of raised, water-filled growing troughs, past pots of kale, beets and massively tall, staked tomato plants. They turned a corner, walked through a forest of green beans and stopped. "Magnifique," Rene cried in astonishment, unconsciously reverting to her childhood French. "Your mother grew this?" "Created the hybrid herself," Bruce told her proudly and reached out his free hand to stroke one of the soft, pale-pink petals. The plant was at least eight feet high and covered with massive, fragrant blooms. "Registered with the Royal Australian Botanical Society as Floribunda Tammy E." He leaned close to her ear and whispered, "Her name's Tammy Eldridge." "Ah." Rene smiled, touched one of the blossoms and pulled it closer so she could smell it fully. She pulled back, blushing when she realized Bruce was watching her intently—and with more than simple camaraderie. He laid both his hands on her shoulders, and, with a wink, led her back to the exit and lunch. ***** "Now how do you suppose that got there?" Bruce smiled down at her, revealing his sparkling, white teeth in all their glory. He watched Rene lean into the simulator and pick up the single, pink rose sitting on the pilot's seat. She'd thought it was impossible, but his smile widened even more when she raised the flower to her nose and inhaled.

"Thank you, Bruce," Rene said happily, then climbed into the simulator. She tucked the rose in beside her seat and focused on the job. The simulator shifted subtly when Bruce lowered his six-foot frame into the navigator's seat behind hers. The hatch lowered and the vid screens around them started to light up. "All right, Lieutenant," Bruce said in a mock-serious tone, "this afternoon, we'll run through an evasive exercise. Stationary beacons will appear along our path and you avoid running into them—simple as that." Rene slid on her helmet, fastened her three-point harness, set her boots into the foot-treadle controls and went through the pre-flight cockpit check. "Ready when you are, Bruce," she said when they finished. Behind her, she heard him depress a toggle switch and the vid screens switched from ambient gray to a shimmering, stellar canopy. She pressed lightly on the stick rising up from the floor between her knees, and the stars closest to them slid behind her field of vision. Quickly, Rene understood this exercise tested her ability to handle the craft smoothly. No big moves or over-steering, which would waste fuel, and, if she was flying in formation, throw her into the path of other craft. Each beacon they came up on was slightly off-center of their trajectory. Rene chose the shortest route around each one, concentrating on giving the beacon a wide enough berth, then got back on course with the smallest movements she could manage. "Well, I've felt worse," Bruce commented dryly when they were through the course. Despite her best efforts, Rene still over-steered. "Let's run through the course again, shall we? While the program reloads, tell me what you did wrong." Rene took her hand off the stick and rolled her head gently from side to side. "I'm still anticipating a downward drag." "And . . . ." "Compensating for resistance that isn't there."

"Smart girl." Bruce reached around the back of her seat, squeezed her shoulders lightly, massaging them, then let go and leaned back. "Ready?" "Ready," Rene answered determinedly and took the stick between her fingertips. ***** A few minutes before nineteen-hundred hours, the doorbell pinged. Rene opened the hatch to her quarters. "To congratulate you on your performance in the simulator this afternoon." Bruce was leaning against the bulkhead outside her door, holding a bouquet of pink roses, smiling down at her and looking too damn sexy for mortal man. Rene accepted the flowers but felt a little awkward. She glanced back at the single blossom he'd given her that morning, sitting in a water-filled coffee mug and perched on her desk beside her fuel-consumption-to-thrust-ratio charts. The single rose had been a nice gesture between co-workers, friends. A whole bouquet felt too intimate. "Um, thank you, Bruce." He was looking over her shoulder and angling his body like he assumed she was going to ask him in. Under normal circumstances, she'd probably offer to jump him. What woman with a libido wouldn't? But it was only her second full day, and she was too focused on her performance to hook up with anyone—not right away, at least. "I'd invite you in for a coffee, but I'm meeting Cynthia—Major Cynthia West. Apparently there's a movie playing in the recreation center and—" "Casablanca—a classic—one of my favorites." Bruce sounded way too happy. He crossed his arms over his chest, making his remarkable shoulders stand out even more prominently beneath his fitted work uniform. "Shall I tag along then?"

Rene couldn't think of a good reason to refuse. She turned away from him for a moment, dropped the new roses into the coffee mug where they perched precariously, and stepped out into the corridor. "This way, lovely lady." Bruce laid his hand on the small of her back, and, all the way to the rec center, chatted enthusiastically about the weapons exercises they'd be covering tomorrow. One of the small gyms in the recreation center had been set up as a theater with rows of collapsible chairs and a vid screen up front. Small bags of popcorn were even lined up on a table at the back. Bruce picked up two then followed Rene over to where Cynthia was waving at her. They took the two empty seats beside her, and Rene noted Cynthia's training pilot, Lieutenant Commander Sparks, was sitting on her other side. His arm was loped around the back of Cynthia's seat. She either didn't notice or didn't mind. The two space jockeys nodded at each other while Cynthia and Rene got caught up, comparing their performances and their feel for the simulations. It sounded like Cynthia's acclimatization was progressing better than Rene's. Cynthia didn't have as much muscle memory to amend, although her on-going zero-g exercises continued to be . . . messy. Just as the lights dimmed, Rene glanced over at Commander Sparks and realized he had to carry most of his height in his legs because, sitting, his head was almost two inches lower than Cynthia's. Rene was again puzzling through her observation that all the pilots were indeed shorter than the flight engineers— while they were sitting down, at least—when the opening credits appeared on the screen. She leaned back in her seat and stiffened just a little. Bruce had his arm around the back of her chair, and he slipped his hand over her shoulder, resting it there comfortably. He leaned into her, and she caught a whiff of his scent. Soap and clean skin—he'd obviously showered—with something spicy and decidedly masculine beneath that.

"All right?" he whispered, leaning close to her ear. His breath stirred her regulation-tied-back hair. His actions were oddly intimate. Still, Rene didn't feel like he'd crossed any of her boundaries. She lowered her shoulders, nodded once and let her mind flow as she got into the movie. A few times, she was aware of Bruce's fingertips moving over her collarbone. A light, shifting touch that was too random for her to read anything into. He also touched the side of her neck—bare, grazing caresses that seemed accidental rather than deliberate—after all, she was small and he did have big hands. After the movie ended and the lights came back up, Commander Sparks suggested the four of them go to the officers' lounge and get a drink. Both Rene and Cynthia declined politely—they were there to succeed, not fraternize. Rene repeatedly told Bruce it wasn't necessary, but he insisted on walking her to her quarters. Outside the door, he folded one of her smaller hands in his and leaned into her space. "I enjoyed that," he said quietly—too quietly—and his voice was rich with sensual undertones. "I'm going to enjoy flying with you, Rene." He brushed his nose against her hair then dipped his head to the side, looking at her mouth. For about two seconds, Rene thought about asking him in for a quickie. Then she slipped her hand out of his and took a step backward. "Thank you, Commander. Good night." Disappointment dimmed his beautiful eyes, but then he dredged up one of his devastating smiles. "Good night then," he said, just as quietly and seductively as before, feathered his lips over her eyelid, turned and walked away. Rene's eyes were glued to his ass until she realized he was walking slower than he usually did—drawing out the show for her benefit.

"Men," she huffed dismissively, far too quietly for him to hear, and locked the door to her quarters behind her before she prepared for bed. ***** "Pneomidites are one of the species we classify as potentially nonthreatening. The few that wander into our solar system have expressed an interest in trade, but their ships carry armor-piercing projectiles." Rene studied the photos the instructor brought up on the vid screen—a series of male humanoids, with bald heads and three slight, bony protrusions rimming their brows, pale skin, protruding breastbones and elaborate ear jewelry. After that came pictures of metal space craft, tube-shaped with long thrusters near the stern, one to port and one to starboard. The instructor was from the intelligence division, and he'd spent most of the class giving them what little information they had on the Omegons—all of it forty years old. His class of sixteen female recruits shifted uncomfortably in their seats when he confirmed the Omegons had indeed carried out what appeared to be medical experimentation on their female captives. After that, it came as no surprise to Rene that all other species he taught them about were graded according to potential hostility level. No species were identified as friendly. Humanity had become xenophobic, and, after learning about the Omegons, Rene wasn't sure she disagreed. If she made it into the space program, her primary job as a front-line space jockey would be to intercept aliens who ventured too close to their solar system, challenge them and dissuade them from entering. Run them the hell out of Dodge was a more apt description. "In the cockpit of every flyer is an old-style handgun," the short, stocky colonel conducting the class added after the vid screen went dark and their time was up. "A simple cylinder-action revolver won't be affected by electromagnetic

pulse or any other energy weapon. If, god forbid, those bastards ever come back into our space and your craft is captured by Omegons, use it. You don't want to be taken alive." Rene was shaken by his last statement, and her mouth thinned into a straight, tense line. Earning a job as a front-line space jockey only to kill herself in space? But the colonel made the Omegons sound so horrific she figured she'd be more than willing to pull that trigger. When the class was over, she stood up with the rest of the recruits, shoved her notes into her satchel and left to make her way to the training modules. She wasn't entirely surprised to find Bruce waiting for her outside of the conference room—him and at least five other over-enthusiastic space jockeys. "Ready for our next round then?" He greeted her happily, dropped his arm around her shoulder and led her to the training bays. His overt enthusiasm for physical contact had been annoying yesterday. Today, it just pissed her off. After hearing about the Omegons, Rene thought she'd be in the mood for a little close contact of the human kind, but Bruce's non-stop touchy-feely tactics were starting to grate on her nerves. The man just never let up! Rene opted to keep her annoyance in check—for now. That briefing on the Omegons had upset her, and she didn't trust her reactions at the moment. His hands were on her waist when she climbed into the cockpit of the simulator. They slipped down to her hips when she shifted her weight off the platform. Rene clenched her jaw. If Bruce kept this up he'd need an ice pack for his face, and she'd need one for her knuckles. She pulled on her helmet and tensed in anticipation of his fingers wandering over her stomach. What gods had she offended to wind up with a RIO big enough to reach around her seat and take hold of pretty much any part of her without straining himself? When his hand came to rest on her belly, ostensibly waiting to confirm her harness was fastened tightly once she snapped it in place, she needed every ounce of control she possessed to resist the urge to slap his fingers away. After she secured her

harness, Bruce gave the straps a tug then slid his hand away—just far enough back that the tips of his fingers were still resting on her waist. She could feel him leaning into the back of her seat, hovering over her. If she looked up, she just knew she'd catch him staring down the front of her jumpsuit. She yanked on the zipper, making sure it was closed all the way up to her throat. Gritting her teeth, Rene started on her pre-flight check. Her first task was to wrap both her hands around the tubular handle on the big, steel box inserted in the center console. The box served as a flight-data recorder, but it also held the ship's central processing packs—the computer brain of the craft. When not in flight, the brain, as they'd christened it, sat in a closed, shielded case on the far side of the platform. Because this was a simulator, the brain was a dummy mockup and didn't get pulled in and out every flight. But checking the very heavy and potentially lethal projectile was securely seated inside the dash was a standard part of every pre-flight check. She yanked on the brain hard, venting her annoyance. The damn thing popped right out of the console, flew straight at her midsection and landed hard on her lap. "Shit," Bruce blurted out. She heard his harness unsnap then he was crouched over her, trying to maneuver the heavy, metal box off her. "Baby are you all right?" "I'm not your baby," Rene snapped. And keep your freakin' paws to yourself, she added mentally. "Yes, I'm all right," she said out loud, doing her level best to reign in her temper but not succeeding. She hoisted the heavy box up, set it into the empty console slot and muscled the brain back into place, seating it with a firm, resounding click. She yanked on the handle again for good measure. This time it held. She turned her head to the side and found herself nose-to-nose with Bruce. His eyes were wide and worried, and his hands were on her thighs, touching her where the heavy case had landed.

"You sure?" he whispered, his mouth inches from hers, his fingers now caressing her openly and, frankly, sexually. This time, Rene grabbed his hands and pushed them away. Bruce's gaze rose from her mouth to meet her eyes. "Stop touching me. I'm not part of the recreational equipment." He blinked. "But you never said—" "Well, I'm saying it now." Rene cut him off. "You are to stop any and all touching that isn't required to teach me to fly in zero-g. Failure to comply will result in me bringing you up on harassment charges. Do I make myself clear, Commander?" Bruce sighed loudly and dropped back into his seat. "Crystal. Lieutenant." She heard him re-fasten his restraint harness. Taking a deliberate, calming breath, Rene finished the rest of their pre-flight check. ***** The next morning, she wasn't terribly surprised to find a different space jockey waiting for her beside the simulator platform when she arrived for her scheduled training session. "Major Michel Rougeau. Salut." The major was even taller than Commander Eldridge—at least six one. He stood ram-rod straight and bowed his head to her gallantly. Dark and classically handsome in the European style, his jet-black hair emphasized his pale, mesmerizing, green eyes. His mouth was full and sensual. Rene bit back the urge to pull herself up on her toes and lick it. "Salut." She returned his greeting in French without thinking. The major's accent placed him in the far south of France. He'd likely grown up in a village near the Mediterranean. She wondered if the powers-that-be had decided she'd play nicer with a fellow countryman.

"Shall we, Lieutenant?" He smiled down at her and gestured toward the simulator. When she started climbing the ladder up to the platform, he kept his hands to himself and followed at a polite distance. He earns points for that. "Your English is quite flawless, Rene—may I call you Rene?" "Yes. Of course." She climbed into the pilot's seat. He took the navigator's chair behind hers—again, without touching her. "My father is French, but my mother is American. I was educated in the States." "Ah, yes. Your profile mentioned you graduated from Annapolis. Top of your class, if I remember correctly. I look forward to working with you. Shall we begin?" That morning's exercise was the toughest so far. Rene had to maneuver the simulator at speed and return weapons' fire. She still had a tendency to oversteer, but she was getting better. Much better. "Bien—well done, Rene." Michel congratulated her effusively when they were finished. When they stepped out of the simulator, he took her hand but simply kissed it, almost indifferently, then let go. It was a gesture she'd grown up with. She would have found it a little odd if a Frenchman hadn't done it. "Now, I insist you join me for lunch. We must discuss your performance. I have but a few criticisms to offer even though I am sure you will not like them." "As long as they're honest; that's all I care about." "I shall always endeavor to be honest, Rene. Shall we?" He stepped aside, so she could climb off the platform first. "And after, you must tell me about your father's vineyard." Rene's eyes widened, and she stared up at the major's tightly muscled frame as he climbed down the ladder. At the bottom, he turned. "Ah, don't look so surprised. Rumor has it you are from the Champaigne region. There is a boutique wine called Vinera Aubrey Blanc—very sought after and very hard to acquire. I had only hoped it is your

family's label." He smiled and his white teeth contrasted beautifully with his olive complexion. "I am delighted to see my hopes were not misplaced." He kissed her hand once more, and they left the training hangar. ***** After lunch, Rene was in a terrific mood. She and Major Michel Rougeau got along effortlessly. He was charming, witty and suave. That afternoon, she performed flawlessly on the simulator and knew it was because she was relaxed with Michel. She'd stressed over Bruce's escalating physicality. His behavior had obviously affected her performance. Later, she and Michel ate dinner at the same table as four other officers—two trainees and two space jockeys—and he brought along a bottle of wine for the six of them to drink with their meal. "I have been saving this for a special occasion, and my partner's outstanding performance today is the perfect reason to celebrate. Salut." He raised his glass, and his shimmering, pale-green eyes rested on Rene contentedly as he took the first sip. The two of them launched into a well-informed but rather elitist discussion on the characteristics of the wine. They changed the subject to pulse cannons when they realized they were boring the others. Afterward, she and Michel left the dining hall together. "Come, Rene." Michel led her back down to the simulator hangar. "I have booked an additional hour of practice for you this evening. We will repeat this afternoon's exercise, and if you do well, we shall discuss arranging for you to go up in a real flyer." He settled into the navigator's seat at the same time as she settled into hers. "You are learning the handling characteristics of a craft in zerog, but here, you still feel the force of artificial gravity on your body. It is different out there. Ready? And so we begin."

Rene was sweating lightly by the time the hour was up. Michel was a hard taskmaster, demanding improvement each time she performed a maneuver, but his criticisms were always fair, and he discussed ways she could improve. "Great session, Michel," Rene said, trying to hold in her pride as she climbed out of the simulator. She pulled off her helmet, tucked it under her arm and turned to press the hatch mechanism, closing the unit's canopy for the night. "I feel really confident with that barrel roll—" She stiffened. He'd pressed his body lightly against her back. "Oui. Magnifique," he murmured. His warm breath caressed her skin an instant before he kissed the side of her neck. He licked away a drop of sweat sliding down her skin. Oh, he so did not just do that. Nobody puts their tongue on me without an invitation. She brought up her fist, smashing her knuckles back into the bridge of his nose then levered her arm down and back, catching him square in the ribs with her elbow—hard. He staggered backward, doubled over and clutched his face. "Hey," Rene bellowed up at the darkened observation room that looked down on the row of training modules. For the simulations to work, there had to be personnel up there, overseeing their operation, and at least one of them had to be of command rank in case something went wrong. She directed her fury at him. "I didn't sign up to be pawed by guys you've kept up here too long." She threw her helmet at the window, regretting her action the moment the helmet left her hand. At least the glass was shatterproof, but it did vibrate ominously when the helmet hit before pinging off in a different direction. The helmet hit the plasti-steel floor then clattered across the surface before slamming into a far wall. She knew she was listening to the sound of her career self-destructing.

Colonel Kent Parnell stood motionless behind the glass, with his arms crossed. He looked down at the woman glaring up at him from the module platform, her chest heaving. "Any suggestions, Kent?" General Henry Stephenson asked dryly. Neither of them had reacted when the helmet came flying at them. They simply stood side by side, watching Rougeau's rebuked attempt at seduction. Kent's lips thinned. "At least Eldridge lasted two days with her. Rougeau didn't even make it to the end of day one." He still thought the lieutenant was one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen—especially now, with bright spots of color on her cheeks and a long tendril of glossy black hair spilling out of her tight, regulation bun and drifting over her shoulder. He exhaled slowly. "I'll train her." "What about your current trainee?" Kent lifted his shoulders absently. "She'll do just as well with one of the others. Plus, I haven't laid a hand on her yet. She's a good pilot, but there's no, um, spark. If you know what I mean. For either of us. Although I guess that doesn't really matter." The general nodded slowly. "All right. Aubrey's assigned to you, effective immediately. But if you can't bring her on board with the Connate Project, she's through. Of all the new pilots, she shows the most promise. I'll be disappointed if she washes out." He turned and Kent felt the considerable force of the general's personality. "Don't disappoint me, Kent." ***** Rene turned toward the sound of heavy, measured footsteps climbing the ladder behind her. Michel was still standing beside her on the platform, now spotted with his blood. He cradled his rapidly swelling nose, apologized profusely in French and pleaded for another chance.

"Take that to medical, Rougeau," the new arrival interrupted him gently. "I was clumsy with her, Kent. She'll give me another—" "No, I don't think she will," Kent said evenly. "Go on and get one of the docs to patch you up." He looked back at Major Rougeau. "I'll talk to you tomorrow." "Aye," Major Rougeau sighed resignedly, climbed down off the platform and left the training hangar. Rene squared her shoulders and tipped her head back to look up at the very tall, very muscular colonel standing a few feet away. She'd seen him around, and she recognized the crest on his gray-blue jumpsuit. Yet another space jockey. At that moment, she was almost glad she'd destroyed any hope she had of getting into the space program if it meant not having anything to do with these apes ever again—almost. "Colonel Kent Parnell," he said and kept looking down at her, his expression unreadable. He was older than her—maybe pushing thirty-five—and he had regulation short, golden-brown hair with natural-looking streaks of amber running through it. His wide, inscrutable eyes were a rich, chocolate brown. He wasn't handsome in the traditional sense, but his mouth had a pleasing curve to it—even if it did look a little tight at the moment—and his cheekbones were broad and sculpted. He looked like a man's man and could never pass for a pretty boy. "Lieutenant R—" "I know who you are, Lieutenant." Kent interrupted her with a sigh. "Helluva throwing arm you've got there." "Thank you, sir," Rene replied dryly and waited. He sighed once more then seemed to make up his mind about something. "Come with me, Lieutenant. There's something you need to see." "Wh . . . ?" Rene's voice dried when he turned away from her and climbed down off the platform. He didn't look back to see if she was following. Was this

another chance? A reprieve? Whatever it was, Rene wasted no time keeping up with him. He led her through section after section of the station. The painted lines on the corridor walls veered away until there was only one left—a gray-blue stripe she hadn't noticed before that matched the color of the colonel's jumpsuit. Finally, they reached a beefy set of pressure doors—the first doors she had seen on the station without a designation painted over them. Her silent companion laid his hand on a sensor grid beside them. The grid flashed with a soft, green light then the doors opened slowly. They walked through them. There was another set of pressure doors at the end of a short corridor, and that set was obviously reinforced and shock proof. Above them were two words—Connate Project. Was this the classified program she'd speculated about? Or are they so fed up with me they're going to flush me out an airlock? Rene chuckled mentally then realized she wasn't completely confident they wouldn't. Again, the colonel put his big hand on a sensor grid, and the door opened. They stepped into a narrow, high-walled space. The door behind them slid shut with an ominous thud. "Weight sensors indicate an unauthorized presence." A cold, mechanically produced voice echoed around them, and vents near the ceiling opened up. Reflexively, Rene held her breath and waited to be gassed into unconsciousness. Or worse. Colonel Parnell laid his hand on another sensor grid beside the next closed door and kept it there. "Release the man-trap," he barked out, looking up. For the first time, Rene saw the top of the short corridor was rimmed with glass—probably the same, unbreakable material they'd used in the observation tower—and she could see an MP looking down at them. "No can do, sir. She doesn't have clearance."

"I'm clearing her," Kent bellowed, glaring up at the stone-faced MP. "Now open the damn door—that's an order. And close the fucking gas vents." The MP hesitated for just a second then his hand moved over something in front of him, out of their line of sight. Immediately, the vents closed up and the inner door whooshed open slowly. Rene inhaled greedily and gladly followed the colonel when he stepped out of the man-trap. Okay, I'm still alive, so they must have some use for me up here. Right? Whatever's in this hangar is going to be good, and I'm in on it. Overhead lights began to cycle on, and she realized she was in a cavernous hangar. The far end was lined with conventional launch tubes, but the end they were walking through was peppered with mechanics' workstations, various bits of space craft—some large enough to be resting on massive trolleys—and a network of suspension cables and pulleys overhead. She walked past all the equipment, irresistibly drawn toward two rows of gleaming, small, round spacecraft—eight of them with another eight, even shinier than the first, lined up behind them. Her head tipped to the side. Wow. Rene had suspected the project was cutting edge, but these spacecraft blew her away. The corner of her mouth cocked up in an excited grin she couldn't hold in. She glanced back at the colonel. "Welcome to the Connate Project, Lieutenant," Kent said, looking over Rene's head at the silver fighter jets. "This is the reason you're here." Chapter Three Rene harnessed her professionalism, walked around one of the spacecraft, and eyed it critically. "I've never seen anything like it." "Neither has anyone else. Except for the men who crew them, the mechanics who built them and a few brass—oh, and Dr. Connate, of course. He's

the funny little Irish guy who designed them," he added when Rene looked up at him quizzically. "He'd like you. He likes tough women. So he tells me." Kent shrugged and kept trailing after her. "Why are they shaped like . . . ?" Rene's voice trailed off while she hunted around for a description that wasn't derogatory. "Flying saucers?" Kent grinned. "Form follows function. Here . . . ." He picked up a wrench from a nearby workbench and tossed it to Rene. She caught the tool neatly. "Show me some more of that throwing arm of yours, Lieutenant. Throw that at one of the Connates—go on—as hard as you can." His grin grew broader when one of Rene's eyebrows shot up skeptically. Kent turned his head and whistled loudly. "Hey, Mac," he bellowed over his shoulder. "Yes, sir," the MP sitting up in the secure control tower behind them yelled back. "You're my witness. If the lieutenant here dings a Connate, it's coming out of my paycheck." "Affirmative, sir," the MP replied and leaned over the railing to watch. Rene's eyebrow went up even higher, but there was an unmistakable challenge in the colonel's wide, dark eyes. She turned, took aim, and sent the wrench flying dead center at one of the spacecraft. Mon Dieu. Instead of denting the craft's shiny plating or pinging off it, the Connate's outer skin rippled. It seemed to absorb the blow almost like a gel then flattened until it was again perfectly smooth. The wrench shot off at a predictable angle and clattered across the floor. She looked up at the colonel. He was grinning broadly, revealing a dimple to one side of his mouth. Brown eyes and a dimple . . . I think I'm in love. "What is that?" she said, tucking her lecherous thoughts away.

"Doc Connate calls it Tensisteel for short. It's got some complicated chemical name, but I can never remember the damn thing. Tensisteel because the tensile strength of the stuff is off the charts—and I do mean completely off the charts. Immeasurable, using the equipment we've got. It can also be stretched within limits." He led Rene over to the craft she'd thrown the wrench at. "Go on, touch it." At first, the Tensisteel was cool—ambient room temperature—then it warmed up almost immediately, matching her body temperature exactly. Rene pressed lightly, and the metal seemed to melt around her hand—or her hand became part of the metal—and the two conformed to each other seamlessly. "Feels creepy at first. You'll get used to it," Kent said quietly. Rene looked up at him then returned her attention to the remarkable Tensisteel skin of the spacecraft. "It absorbs then deflects energy—kinetic and mechanical." "So no matter what kind of weapon you shoot at it, it deflects the impact?" Rene pulled her fingers away and flexed them rapidly. Her hand was cool, like the metal had sucked the heat out of her. The Tensisteel skin rippled then returned to its original shape. "Precisely. Although even Tensisteel has its limits against direct and repeated pulse-cannon fire." There was growing admiration in his expression when Kent looked down her. "The craft are small because Tensisteel is incredibly hard to manufacture. Although the mechanics expect they'll improve on the refining process in time." He led her past the first shiny row of Connates and on to the slightly duller row closest to the launch doors. "Expensive up to amounts folks like you and I can't even comprehend. There's no wasted space onboard. There's room for a pilot and RIO, a nuclear-powered engine, weapons and a lifesupport unit." Rene looked up and saw names were painted on each of the Connates in the second row—two names beside each hatch. The Connate the colonel was

heading for was marked with the names Lieutenant Commander Richard Sparks and Colonel Kent Parnell. He slid his hand over the edge of the Tensisteelcovered hatch and it whooshed open. "All that trouble to cover this ship with a Tensisteel skin, and they've used a conventional hatch cover?" Rene's brows drew together. From the inside, she could see the dome-shaped hatch was transparent. "That's covered in Tensisteel too." Kent laid his hand on the dome. Like the outer skin, the hatch softened and molded to his fingers. "With slight chemical variations that allow the molecules to line up so we can see out. It's weaker though—so my ass would be plenty grateful if you could fly us out of the way of a direct energy-pulse hit." He pulled his hand back. "Tensisteel is one of the things that make these babies the hottest ticket in the service. The other one is something straight out of science fiction." He reached inside and pulled out two helmets. They looked conventional, if a little oversized, and were connected by two reinforced wires about a foot and a half long. "This is a plexus network." He turned over one of the helmets so Rene could see the inside and handed it to her. "I'm going to show you how it works. But first we get inside the Connate." Rene looked into the interior of the ship. It was cramped, even by fighter jet standards, and the controls were far simpler than what she was used to seeing. But the seat configuration made her brows draw together. "There's only—" "One shared seat. Yes." With his helmet tucked under his arm, Kent climbed into the fighter and slid back on the elongated seat, pressing his spine firmly into the backrest. No more than a foot of seat overhang stuck out between his spread legs. "Then where does the pilot—?" "Right here, Lieutenant." Kent said firmly, pointing between his legs. "And don't sit on my nuts when you get in. I hate it when my pilot crushes my nuts,"

he added dryly. He slid on his helmet and held his arms out of the way so Rene could climb in front of him. There were a dozen pressing questions in Rene's head at the moment. She was surprised by the one that came out first. "Am I your pilot?" "Affirmative, Lieutenant. Now get your ass down here and let me give you the nickel tour." Rene hesitated for a minute, looking down at the colonel's intense, plain face peering out at her from behind his visor. She'd already had to fight off two space jockeys. She didn't want to grapple with a third. One of the colonel's golden-brown brows started to come up, and Rene's instincts told her this was a disciplined and demanding officer. The kind of officer she aspired to be. She looked down at the section of seat available to her, mentally plotted her optimal foot positions and dropped one leg into the cockpit—such as it was—lowered her backside onto the very edge of the seat and slid back slowly. She stopped when her hips were firmly cradled between his thighs and her back was resting against his chest. "Gracefully done, Lieutenant. And thanks for sparing my nuts." Rene grinned but kept her mouth shut. The colonel felt warm, solid and comfortable. Hmm. Suddenly she wasn't in the mood to bust a RIOs chops for getting too chummy on the job. Oh, she was so going to get busted down in rank if she voiced that opinion. Kent continued. "As I said, the second unique feature of the Connate is the plexus network." Rene looked down at the helmet in her hands then slipped it on her head while she listened. "The inner rim looks like a semi-solid gel. It'll feel cool on your skin when you first put it on. A little like somebody dropped tapioca on your head, but you'll get used to that too." She shuddered lightly and resisted the urge to blurt out the word icky.

"It's a polymer that conforms to your head, forming a perfect seal." The gel on her forehead began to warm, followed by the gel on the sides of her face. The part going around the back of her head, just below her hairline, felt almost gooey and took the longest to warm up. "Once it's adapted to your body temperature, it seals itself against your skin, and you won't feel it anymore." Rene nodded. She was only vaguely aware of the gel now. "In about two seconds, you'll feel a few stings around your head, like a cat giving you a little poke with its claws." "Jurer." Despite his warning, Rene jumped in her seat when she felt the tiny prickles. She laid her hand on the colonel's muscular thigh for support. "Electrodes. Now your brain is connected to the plexus." She felt his broad chest move against her back as he took a deep breath. Despite his professional focus, Kent's body reacted to the lieutenant's tasty ass snuggling into his crotch. Down boy. Mentally, he chastised his twitching cock before his new pilot could register the jump in his libido. I like the way my nose looks just fine and don't need her rearranging it. He remembered how his breath had caught when he'd got his first up-close look at her. Rene's complexion was flawless, her skin looked like living satin, and her eyes—his breath caught again. Her eyes were a violet so bright and mesmerizing his chest tightened at the memory of them. Exhaling slowly, Kent continued. "Here's where the science fiction comes in." With his right hand, Kent powered up the Connate's batteries. A monitor beside him came to life and showed two plexus helmets were in use. The system recognized him but didn't recognize his new pilot. When it prompted him, he keyed in Rene's rank and name. "A plexus network allows people—in our case two—to receive each other's thoughts over short distances." He felt Rene's body tighten against his. "Yeah, I know it sounds crazy. Kind of like saying we've got a

psychic twinkle. Tell you the truth, they first tried these things out with people who claimed to have psychic abilities. Maybe some of them did—I don't know for sure. All I do know is most of the early candidates were women with big hair and about a dozen cats back home. They may have been able to light up a plexus network like a Christmas tree, but they didn't know jack about flying jets." "Colonel," Rene said in an annoyingly mature tone, "I'm certainly not psychic, and I don't believe there is such a thing." "You don't have to believe," Kent assured her. "You just have to play along for a minute. Mostly because you're the one who's going to bring the juice." "Pardon?" "You heard me, Lieutenant." Kent stretched his arms forward comfortably and loped his hands around two grab handles on the hatch in front of Rene. "I'm a linear thinker. Flight engineers are, by definition. I'm a total left-brain guy and don't have a creative bone in my body. You, on the other hand, are a leftie." "Pardon?" This time Rene shook her head for emphasis. "You're left handed. Creative and gifted in intuitive logic. Right-brain dominant and it's one of the lobes in the right side of the brain the plexus network jacks into. You use both sides of your brain equally during flight. You're creative and disciplined at the same time, so you'll be able to work this baby with no sweat. You could hook a hundred guys like me up, and we couldn't see a rainy day coming if we were standing knee-deep in flood water. It takes one pilot like you to make a plexus work." From her silence, Kent could tell she wasn't buying it. "Yeah, I can smell your skepticism from here. But like I said, you don't have to believe. You just have to play along for a minute. Now, having a brain lobe capable of powering one of these babies isn't enough. You need endorphins floating around up there as well. They serve as the neurotransmitters that allow the plexus to reach into your brain and transmit your thoughts to me. Kinda like

the grease for the wheels. Once the link is established, you'll be able to hear my direct thoughts as well." "Have you had a CAT scan lately?" "Last week. Why?" "You should look into having another one because something up there's got loose." Kent laughed and Rene didn't know whether to smack him for jostling her—or lean back into his muscular warmth and enjoy the ride. "Can't blame you for thinking that, Lieutenant. But humor me for another minute and play along. Like I said, your body needs to generate endorphins and it does that one of two ways—pleasure or pain." Pleasure? Pain? Tabernacle. Either the guy had a raging case of space dementia or she was being set up for a whopper of a practical joke. "What?" "The physical sensations of both produce endorphins. Now remember my face shield is up so don't bother hauling off and trying to break my nose like you did Major Rougeau's." Kent shifted slightly and laid his left hand on Rene's shoulder. "I'm going to pinch you. Hard enough to hurt but I promise it won't be too bad. Ready?" "No." "Tough." Kent pinched the skin at the base of Rene's neck between his thumb and forefinger and squeezed gently—then a little harder and a little harder still. He stopped squeezing when she winced. He eased off on the pressure then started to squeeze again. By the third pinch, Rene was ready to crack her helmet back into him. What was it with these space jockeys and their roaming fingers? Can you hear me now, Rene? "Wh . . . ?" Don't use your mouth . . . just think it deliberately.

"This is insane." Rene gasped and tightened her grip on the colonel's thigh. She'd forgotten she was still holding on to his firm, muscular leg. Thanks. You've got great legs too. Rene sat up very straight. You'll learn quickly to direct your thoughts unless you want me to know everything about that kiss ‘n tell boyfriend you had in grade two, amongst other things. Rene yanked the helmet off her head. The electrode points pressing into her skin retracted immediately, and it came off painlessly. She spun around and stared up at the colonel. He pulled off his helmet slowly. "I didn't have a boyfriend in grade two," she blurted out accusingly. "I know." Kent grinned, revealing the cute dimple in his cheek. "I made it up. I was yanking your chain." Then he grew serious. "What I'm going to tell you is the make-or-break point in flying a Connate. The relationship between pilot and RIO is intimate. And I do mean intimate. We will be inside each other's heads every time we fly. There are bound to be unguarded moments, and I'll reveal parts of myself I'd give my left nut to have back. The same goes for you . . . except for the nut part." Despite herself, Rene grinned. Even with the implausibility of everything he'd said, she liked the quickness of his mind, the way he instantly switched from aw-shucks-ma'am Southern charmer to large-and-in-charge full-bird colonel. "All right—let's say I believe this isn't a gas-induced hallucination. Why?" "Why what?" Kent's big shoulders punched up, and Rene liked the feel of his powerful body moving against hers. "Why would we want to go all psychic on each other?" "So we can fly as one person." With his right hand, Kent began to manipulate the system controls, bringing the ship's status up on a screen in front of Rene. She shifted her body so she was again facing forward. "Currently, every time you perform a maneuver, change course, speed or spot a landscape that

reminds you of your Aunt Millie's gigantic ass, you say the words out loud." The fuel-tank status bars came up on the screen, and his fingers paused on the controls. "It's what we're trained to do. Verbalize so our intended actions are recorded." He reached forward and tapped the slot for the flight-data recorder— a scaled-down version of the brain Rene was used to. "If you were to perform a ballistic climb, slam our craft into a sideways drift then drop in behind an enemy's tail using a port thruster, I'd react to your monologue by checking the engine output so I could direct additional power to the depleted thrusters. When we are connected through the plexus network, I'll know what maneuvers you're going to perform before you make them. There's no delay between thought and action. I direct engine output to the appropriate thrusters before you deplete them. When you need power, I've already put more than enough there for you to use. I know what weapons you're going to need and what your planned trajectory is so I can check the field for friendlies. Those are just some examples." Rene was quiet for a moment, considering the benefits of communicating with her flight engineer without being hampered by the imperfection or delay of speech. "For the record, Colonel, my Aunt Millie's got a great ass," she said drolly and grinned to herself. "Noted, Lieutenant," Kent said dryly then chuckled. He powered down the system controls then loped his hands over the hatch handles again. "If we fly together, we trust each other not only with our lives but with our deepest, most shameful secrets, and we need to be prepared to ignore things that flash through each other's minds inadvertently. I'm ready to trust you. Can you do the same?" There was an edge of absolute command in his voice. It was the voice of an officer used to bringing out the best in the people around him. "Do you . . . did you have that kind of trust with Lieutenant Commander Sparks?" She twisted so she could look at him again. His eyes were darker than before, focused, but she saw warmth there too.

"Sparky? Absolutely. We've been together since before the Connate Project was launched." "Then why switch?" Something in the colonel's wide eyes dimmed, and he looked away from her. "Put your helmet back on, and I'll tell you." His tone was ominous, but Rene slipped her helmet back on despite that. This time, the prickling of the gel rim wasn't as pronounced. He was right—she was getting used to the sensation. The discovery made her start to believe some of the other things he'd said. This time, instead of pinching Rene, Kent laid both hands on her shoulders and started to rub them. His large, warm hands manipulated her muscles delicately. Her neck relaxed as Rene felt the tension start to drain out of her. He worked her shoulders gently. The corners of her mouth had turned up in a contented grin as she rocked lightly in time with the colonel's incredible, talented fingers. Thanks. You've got good muscle tone. You're back. Yep. Why didn't you pinch me? Pleasure or pain, Rene. Both release endorphins. Pleasure is easier to maintain, less jarring, and your responses to the stimuli are relatively constant. How so? The amount of pain you can handle, and the amount you need to produce a steady flow of endorphins varies and depends on a number of factors—your anxiety level, your overall health, where you are in your menstrual cycle—although I suppose that won't affect you too much because they probably gave you a birth control inoculate before you came up here. Right? Yes.

"You haven't answered my question." Rene switched to speech. She wasn't used to talking to someone with her mind, and it was tiring. Besides, filtering her thoughts like she filtered words was hard work. "Why switch pilots? Who wouldn't want to take off on patrol with your magic fingers on their shoulders?" The colonel was quiet for a long while, and, for the first time in her life, Rene felt lonely inside her own head. She squeezed his thigh gently. "It won't be your shoulders I'll be touching, Rene." The colonel sighed loud enough for her to hear then he lifted his left hand off her shoulder and extended it forward until she could see it. "The cockpit set-up gives me righthand control of on-board systems like fuel, weapons, radar . . . ." Flight engineer shit. She wasn't sure if the thought was hers or his. "A one-handed shoulder rub won't cut it." Rene thought about that for a moment. He was correct. While a little onehanded muscle manipulation would keep her happy for a few seconds, it took the even pressure of two hands, working in tandem, to produce the deeply relaxed sensations that had opened up the mental communication between them. Problem was, she couldn't imagine performing optimally if she was zoned out. Plus, a massage during the heat of combat would probably irritate the hell out of her. "My left hand"—this hand—"will be moving over your erogenous zones, maintaining your body in a state of constant, low-level pleasure." He dropped his hand to her waist, and his long, powerful fingers slid over her abdomen and stayed there. And before you ask, yes, every time Sparky and I fly, his dick is in my hand. A lot of good men have washed out of the program because they couldn't handle the intimacy. We've been in the program for six months, and we're at the point where we just about can't stand it any longer. That's why women—

Are deliberately being added to the Connate Project, yes. Even with the Omegons out there. We've got eight new ships we need to crew. None of us can stomach flying with another guy anymore. Rene was quiet for a moment. As the seconds passed, her awareness of Kent's thoughts in her head faded, along with the pleasant endorphin buzz he'd built up in her. She felt him coming back, almost like a prickling awareness on the back of her neck when he resumed massaging her shoulders. It was the same feeling she got when someone was watching her. Yes. You should do that. "Hmm?" Contact General Stephenson. Confirm what I'm telling you. Confirm this isn't . . . how did you put it? A dating service for guys who've been in space too long. Along with his words, she saw in his head the initial Connate Flyer trials Kent had participated in. Felt his revulsion then discipline as he touched another man. Saw everything he'd told her was true. When he stopped rubbing her shoulders and laid his left hand on her belly, she covered his fingers with hers. "What do we do now, Kent?" she asked quietly. "Now?" Now you take me back to your quarters, and I start learning how your body likes to be touched. Chapter Four Inside Rene's spartan quarters, Kent touched the dark picture frame on her desk. The flat screen inside came to life with cycling, digital pictures of her and what he assumed were family members—a lot of them. An Annapolis graduation group photo and he spotted Rene in the front row. Kent grinned. Because of his height, he'd been placed in the back row for his West Point class photo. With a touch of his finger, he stopped the flow of images, and the frame went dark again. Her quarters were standard for officers and pretty much like

his—a plasti-steel box with sound-deadening panels on the walls and ceiling, industrial carpet on the floor, a small walk-in closet and off that, a cramped head with a shower. Furniture was limited to a desk and chair, a bed along one wall, a night table and a rack of shelves against the opposite wall. Behind him, he heard Rene lock the door. "I, um, figure this is going to be fairly intimate." Her voice was tighter than usual. He didn't know whether that was a good or bad thing. "I don't think we want to be interrupted." "No." Kent shook his head then touched one of the big, pink roses sitting incongruously in a coffee mug on her desk. "Now that you know why Bruce and Rouger tried to touch you, do you want to switch back?" He turned to face her and crossed his arms over his chest. A classical defensive posture. Damn. He'd been partnered with this woman, what, less than an hour, and he already felt the need to guard himself if she rejected him. "No." Rene shook her head. Kent wasn't surprised by how relieved he was when she answered quickly and negatively. "I understand what they were trying to do now—initiate a romantic relationship so the shock of being touched during flight would be lessened." One corner of her mouth quirked up. "Some women would find that more . . . palatable." "And what about you?" Kent wasn't ready to lower his arms just yet. "I'm here to make it into the space program. I'm assuming they haven't opened up space-jockey slots in conventional craft to women, only the Connate Project. That's my ticket if I want in. This . . . intimacy," Rene added and managed to keep most of the resentment out of her voice, "is going to be part of it. Mind and body."

Kent nodded slowly, leaned back on her desk and finally lowered his arms. "You seeing anyone? Back on Earth." He grinned crookedly. "I don't see a ring." He glanced at her left hand. "No. Didn't they tell you? All of the female recruits are single." "Ah." Again, Kent nodded. "Makes sense though. It'll be hard enough— finding out you've got to let some guy put his hands on you while you're working—or for you to put your hands on him." Rene's eyes widened for a moment. She hadn't thought about it that way. She wondered if Cynthia knew she'd be flying with Sparky's, um, penis in her hand. "I've always thought women were more likely to be monogamous," Kent said. "Except for my wife, of course." "You're married?" "Was. I'm divorced. Going on eleven years." "Oh. I'm sorry." "So was I—at first. But then I realized she was a great mother but not so good at being a wife." "You have children?" Wanting something to do with her hands and to calm herself, Rene pulled out the still unopened bottle of Scotch from a drawer in her desk—the bottle the other recruits had rewarded her with for not puking after four days in space. She held it up and shot the colonel a questioning look. "One. A daughter. Thirteen going on twenty-five. And none for me—or you either," he added, pointing to the bottle. "Alcohol interferes with neuron transmission. I won't get an accurate read on your physical responses if you've been drinking." Rene felt herself blush as she put the bottle away. "‘Course, turns out my ex-wife's a great life partner—or so her female, former dental hygienist tells me. They've been together for twelve years." "Ouch."

"Yeah well . . . ." Kent shrugged. "If you spend most of your life away on active duty in the military, you're bound to miss a few things going on back home. Can we talk about something else?" "Of course," Rene agreed without further comment. She dipped her head to one side. "Was my height one of the reasons I was chosen for the program?" "Yes. The seat configuration in the Connate requires your head to be lower than mine." "So you can see over me." "Exactly. Although the front half of the seat can be dropped two inches or so." Kent grinned crookedly. "A lot of the other RIOs will be pissed when they find out I've nabbed . . . um . . . that we've been partnered. You're the shortest female pilot we've got. They were looking forward to finally getting a good view from the back seat." Rene chose to ignore the potential sexual innuendo in the colonel's last statement. Her palms were damp, so she ran them down the legs of her flight suit. "Let's get started. I'm beginning to get nervous." Kent nodded slowly. "I wish I could make this easier for you, Rene. I really do." His intense, chocolate gaze rested on the floor for a second before he raised it. "It might not mean much, but I promise to always touch you with the utmost respect." She smiled. "I knew that already. Perhaps that's why I decided to keep you as my flight engineer." Kent smiled until that sweet little dimple beside his mouth appeared. He moved away from the desk and toward her double-width bed. "All right then. Let's get started," he said in an even, professional voice. "You'll, um, have to take off your flight suit." Rene put her hand on the top of the zipper then she paused. "You mean we'll be flying naked?"

"No. Not naked." Kent corrected her quickly and tried to remember the last time he'd blushed this much. "You'll wear a flight suit like mine, only it will be modified slightly." He swallowed uncomfortably. "They add folds and gaps— spaces for me to put my hand inside." "Ah. How terribly convenient." Kent managed not to laugh, and, again, he looked down at the floor until he'd got his serious face back on. "We'll get you suited up in a Connate Blue flight suit tomorrow. For tonight, I'll need you to strip down to your underwear." He turned around to give his new pilot some privacy. Rene thought him turning his back was charming and she pulled off her jump boots. She shrugged out of her flight suit, pulled off her socks and tossed them into the laundry basket in her closet then turned to face the colonel's very broad and obviously tense back. "Ready," she said with more courage than she felt. Kent turned slowly then waved vaguely in the direction of her chest. "Take off your bra too. So I can, um, touch your breasts." He turned around again. With growing trepidation, Rene reached beneath her close-fitting white tank top and unfastened her bra. Now dressed in a serviceable tank and cotton underpants, she felt the full impact of what they were about to do—or rather, what she was about to let him do. "I don't know if I can do this," Rene blurted out and crossed her arms over her breasts. When Kent turned around to face her, to his credit, he locked his eyes on hers and kept them there. "I feel about as un-sexy as a woman can feel. I haven't had a shower since this morning. I've been sweating during flight exercises." She tossed her bra in the basket. "I'm wearing the least sexy underwear ever invented and some really hunky, really cute guy is going to put his hands

on me and find out what turns me on and . . . ." She stared at Kent incredulously when he started to laugh. "Sorry—not the reaction you were expecting, I know. If nothing else, partnering with you is great for my ego. I can't remember the last time a woman said I was cute—or if anybody has ever said they liked my thighs." He crossed over to the bed, sat on it and scooted back as far as he could while still keeping his feet on the floor. "Trust me, Rene. There's nothing about you that isn't gorgeous as far as I'm concerned. And I'm not saying that just because I've been up here for over a year without furlough." Kent grinned. "You're my partner. I trust you and I respect you. I couldn't give a rat's ass if you stink or if you've got bad breath—not that you've got either," he added quickly. He held up his hand defensively. "It's just that you're really good at what you do. You're very professional all the time. I guess I just like knowing you have insecurities like I do." Rene couldn't help it—her head tipped to one side, and she grinned crookedly. Kent sighed, threw his head back and stared up at the ceiling. The position made his neck muscles bulge dramatically. "None of us knew if any of the female recruits would accept the conditions of flying a Connate. If we'd be rejected because of the . . . sensuality of the pairings. If you'd even like us. Stupid, huh?" "No." Rene sat beside him and gently laid her hand over his. "Maybe we're all just a bunch of mail-order brides. Who wouldn't worry they'd be the one nobody wanted?" "Yeah. Maybe it's like that." Kent exhaled slowly, stood up and started to unzip his flight suit. "What are you doing?"

Kent's brows drew together. "I thought it would make you more comfortable. If you have to be in your underwear . . . I should be too." His hand paused on the zipper. She puffed her cheeks out and looked away for a moment. "Yes. Probably." She exhaled much as he had. "Go ahead, take it off, baby," Rene goaded with a dismissive wave of her hand. "But if you're angling for another compliment about your legs or for me to slip a credit note into your skivvies, dream on, fly-boy." Laughing, Kent pulled off his boots then stripped off his flight suit and laid it over the back of the chair by Rene's desk. "Hey—my feet get cold sometimes," he blurted out defensively when Rene raised a brow and looked down at his sock-clad feet. He sat back down on the bed's standard-issue coverlet, again scooted back until his knees caught the edge of the bed and spread his legs. "Ready when you are," he said casually then leaned his weight back on his hands and waited. But Rene just wasn't ready to plunk herself down between a virtual stranger's thighs and let him paw her—all in the name of duty. It wasn't that she was a prude or the colonel was unattractive. Actually, now that he was wearing only a white t-shirt and standard-issue skivvies, she could see just how very well proportioned and exceedingly well-muscled his long body was. His shoulders were thick, and veins were practically popping out of his ripped arms. Beneath his t-shirt, his pectoral muscles were massive and defined. Would he think she was being unprofessional if she asked how much he could bench press? While ogling him? Rene looked down at the floor instead of at the colonel's body—but not before she glimpsed a hint of defined abs, and, although she'd been pretty sure about this one already, a stunning pair of voluptuously corded thighs with just the perfect sprinkling of golden hair. They made a girl think about what else was big and hairy beneath those loose-fitting skivvies. "I really, really don't think I can do this . . . and maintain my cool."

Kent liked the pretty blush staining her cheeks, the way her eyes couldn't quite meet his. His reaction was unseemly as hell, but he found her out-and-out adorable. Clearing his throat bought him the second he needed to discipline his thoughts. "You will. In time. That's why we'll practice a couple of times in private. Notwithstanding the fact that I—along with every other human male ever born—am convinced I'm the hottest thing in the sack since the nuclearpowered vibrator was invented." He grinned and shook his head. "It's not about sex. It's just about me figuring out which little touches, given occasionally while we're flying, will keep your brain producing enough endorphins to keep us communicating. After a while—and you gotta know it's crushing my ego to admit this—you'll probably forget my hand's on you. Especially when you're concentrating on piloting our ship." The pretty shade of pink in Rene's face had darkened but she was once again looking at his face instead of the floor. Kent found that hopeful. "Okay. How do we start?" "Sit down. Between my legs." "And don't sit on your nuts," she added with a grin. "That would be appreciated, yes." What he also appreciated was her sense of humor. The situation between them was different, but the one thing that had kept him and Sparky working together was their ability to make jokes about the uncomfortable requirements of the job. Kent kept his weight back on his hands, leaning away from Rene. He sensed she wasn't ready for him to crowd her, not yet. He also had a feeling she needed to talk herself out. When she was finished, he'd try touching her and see how things went. This time, he did let himself stare at her ass when she turned in front of him and sat gingerly between his knees. Spectacular didn't begin to cut it. Jeez, he was in trouble—and his cock had already started to twitch. As much as his libido didn't want to, he cracked down on his sexual response to the very sexy lieutenant.

Tentatively, Rene laid her hands on his thighs and slid a little deeper into the V between his legs. Then a little more. His leg muscles cradled her hips, and her soft skin caressed his. He had to stop himself from squirming to intensify the sensation. It was a good thing they'd be flying fully clothed. If he had to endure this during flight, she'd have him coming all over the seat. Try explaining that one to the maintenance crew. "So, how come you've never recruited gay guys into the Connate Project? They wouldn't be uncomfortable, touching another guy." "We did try it—in the beginning." Kent was staring at the glossy blueblack shimmer of Rene's hair under the room's harsh, industrial lighting. When they'd come into her quarters, she'd turned on the overheads. The light gave him a better view of her sculpted, flawless shoulders and that neck he'd watched Rouger kiss. At the time, he'd been so damn, irrationally jealous, he'd felt like breaking the major's nose himself. "Four of the original sixteen Connate pilots were gay. It was the rest of us that made it impossible for them to stay." "Why?" Rene turned a little, pushing her hands gently into his thighs for leverage. Kent had an urge to lean into her, sink his tongue into her mouth and find out what she tasted like. Instead, he cleared his throat. "The rest of us, we were . . . we were all so weirded out about what we were doing we became homophobic. I try to tell myself I was just joking around, and the off-the-cuff things I said weren't hurtful." "But you'd be lying." "Yes," Kent agreed quietly and looked away from her discernment. "I mean most guys—when they're kids—experiment with fooling around with another guy. One quick mutual jack-off out in the woods is more than enough to satisfy pubescent curiosity. But when you're an adult heterosexual male, touching another guy is . . . ." He jerked his head in barely contained disgust then looked back into Rene's mesmerizing, violet eyes. They were framed, he could

now see, by thick, long, black lashes, making them even more gorgeous. Forget about trouble, he was in serious shit if she ever caught wind of how hot he was for her. "Yes, I'm fully aware of the don't ask, don't tell policy," he snapped. "Yes, I know it's politically incorrect to be so homophobic, and there should be a formal reprimand on my service record for it." Sighing, Kent rubbed his forehead then dropped his hand back down onto the bed. "The naked truth of it is that I'm hetero down to my last corpuscle and too damned flawed to find a way to make myself really accept people who aren't." Rene was quiet for awhile. She just sat snuggled up against him, looking up at him with those eyes like she could discern every chink in his character. Despite that, she didn't censure him, just seemed to digest what he'd said. Finally, she resumed their conversation. "What about drugs?" she asked next. "A little something to get me into my happy space?" Kent grinned, with humor and relief. "Tried that too. Endorphins are an opiate protein . . . but it's dangerous flying with a pilot who's got a little laudanum or heroin running through his veins." He snorted dismissively. "Sparky damn near took out a hangar-bay door during re-entry." Richard was one of the best pilots he'd ever flown with. That flight was the only time Kent had been scared in space. He waited but Rene didn't say anything else. She didn't ask any more questions, and, eventually, faced forward again. She simply sat between his legs, small and warm and exquisitely, beautifully female. Her thighs felt like butter between his. Moving slowly, he finally sat upright and let his chest make the barest of contact with her back. He stopped. And waited. Rene exhaled shakily but held herself still. He was proud of her for not jumping when the tips of the fingers of his left hand touched her shoulder. She smiled thinly when he exhaled nervously like she had. Yes, nervous was exactly how he was feeling.

"And so we begin," Rene murmured, blew out her breath slowly and leaned back into him. Kent couldn't remember the last time he'd touched something so porcelain smooth. Rene's skin was intoxicating—firm and soft and her muscles were delicate yet defined. He wondered how many times a week she hit the weights. On the heels of that thought came another. It wasn't just about him learning how to pleasure her and her accepting his touch; it was also about him learning to temper his reactions to touching her. He wasn't about to tell her, but he knew he was in for a rougher time. Maybe it was because he was so damned grateful not to have to touch another guy when he flew. His fingers slid down her arm slowly. "That part of me is going to be covered by a flight suit," Rene said dryly. "Yeah, I know," Kent agreed with a sigh. "But this is a learning curve for both of us. I need to start off slow. Maybe for my sake more than yours." His fingertips were on her wrist now, tracing over her skin, musculature and bones. His touch was light, sensual, and Rene shivered when he caressed the inside of her wrist. He leaned forward, smiled and touched her shoulder with his cheek. "Maybe you did sweat a little today," Kent whispered and his breath misted her skin. "But on you, it smells kind of sexy." He pursed his lips—the barest brush of a kiss against her skin—then he lifted his head and started to draw his fingers back up her arm. Slowly, he traced the faint veins on her inner elbow, grazing it with the backs of his fingernails then drawing light circles on her flesh. When she shivered again, Kent smiled to himself. "Tomorrow, we'll try that hooked up to a plexus network. See how many endorphins you're cooking up with me just touching your arm. Your skin's so soft and responsive." He found it hard to breathe as he caressed her biceps then the inside of her arm. "Although I'll be really disappointed if this works."

"Why?" Rene asked and leaned back a little more. Kent's brow came up when he heard the roughness in her voice—the male in him pleased by a female's response. "Because I'd have no shot at getting my hands on your more . . . womanly parts." They both laughed quietly. "Hey." Rene chastised him without any real venom. "You said this wasn't about sex." "And I'm also not used to caressing a woman and having no chance of it going anywhere. For me, anyway. Last time that happened I was fifteen and I'd lured Mary Jane Schubacker behind her daddy's wood shed." "Did you manage to get her stripped down to her underwear too?" "No such luck." Kent sighed unhappily. He stroked Rene's shoulder then ran his palm lightly over her skin. "All I managed was a quick feel under her tshirt before her daddy's nosy hounds came sniffing around. Gave our position away completely. Mr. Schubacker's another guy with a helluva throwing arm. He kept pelting me with fallen crab apples while I was high-tailing it out of there. Don't laugh." Kent groused when Rene's shoulders started to quiver. "Those things really sting when you catch one square in the back of the head." He laughed with her then touched the side of her neck, then her temple and grazed her hair. "Take this down . . . please." He thought for a minute she was going to refuse. During flight, especially in zero-g, her hair would always be secured. But he had to develop an immunity to touching her for them to operate professionally together. If he had a desire to see her hair unbound, it was better to just get it over with, so he could . . . get over it. He drew in a breath as she reached up and began unpinning her hair. Kent held out his hand and took the pins from her. When she was done, he stretched over, dropped them in a neat pile on the table beside her bed then

leaned back on his elbow. Rene shook her head lightly and combed her fingers through her hair. "Beautiful," he murmured as he straightened, lifted a section to his nose and inhaled—flowers, the bare scent of them, complimented by the warmth rising from her skin. Her hair was heavy and cool and felt like silk between his fingers. "Damn." His breath caught in his throat for a moment. Her hair hung almost to her waist. "It's a good thing you'll wear this up when we fly," he said as he feathered the black strands over her white tank top. "Because you don't want it obscuring your vision or poking up inside your nose?" Rene chuckled, sounding a little uncomfortable with the escalating sexual tension in the room. "Because I have a thing for small women with long, dark hair," Kent admitted baldly. "Damn." He sighed. "Now you'll think I'm a creep." "That remains to be seen. For now," Rene said and her words came out with more surety than before. "Touch it. However and for as long as you have to, to get this out of your system." "Yeah." Kent agreed grudgingly. "I guess I need to do that. With Sparky, maintaining the link required a quick shake of my palm with both of us hating the intimacy. With you, it's different. I'm sorry, Rene, but it is." With both hands, he stroked her hair. From crown to tip, he combed his fingers through the silky mass then gathered it up, raised the fragrant cloud to his face and inhaled. He laid her hair over her shoulder, smoothed his whisker-rough cheek against the back of her neck, eased his arms around her and held her for a moment, breathing her in, trying to get his heartbeat under control. Rene sat quietly between his legs, letting him hold her. Her only response was the quickly retracted sting of her fingernails on his thighs. When he was ready to continue without acting like a hormonal jerk, he let go and straightened. Kent slipped his left hand under the hem of her fitted tank top. The material stretched readily and made room for him like it was welcoming him. It

took more discipline than he'd anticipated to make his hand stop when it was resting on her belly. Her skin here was even softer than on her arm. Taut and warm, just the feel of her made his cock twitch and start to get hard. His hand rode the rhythms of hers breath as her abdomen began to move faster, even unsteady now, but she didn't protest, and she didn't turn away. He glanced over at the clock on her night table. Twenty minutes—he'd allow himself to touch her for twenty minutes. No more. In that time, he should be able to start rating some of her hot spots by tracking her responses. Besides, twenty minutes was the maximum any of them could maintain plexus communication without needing a break. Despite his discipline, despite trying his damnedest to keep this professional and respectful and everything else he and the other Connate flyers had drilled into them for weeks now, Kent's cock throbbed painfully when he slid his hand over Rene's breast and held it in his palm. "Mon Dieu." Rene shivered and her shoulders punched forward. He wasn't sure if it was simply a reaction to being touched so intimately or whether her body wanted to press her breast deeper into his hand. He only knew they were breathing hard; her nipple was getting hard, and she could have no doubt what that hard thing poking her backside was. Fortunately for him, she restricted herself to hanging on tightly to his legs and didn't make a big deal about it. "Rene, I . . . ." Kent had no idea what he planned on saying but it didn't matter because Rene laid her small, strong hand over his and forced it closer. Under pressure, the soft, firm, perfect breast grew even rounder and fuller. He groaned softly. Rene fumbled for his right hand and found it dug into the coverlet beside them. She grabbed it with surprising strength, shoved it under her tank top and pressed it to her other breast. Her body trembled as she arched her back and jerked against his chest.

"You're perfect," Kent breathed hoarsely then fastened his mouth to the side of her neck. He sucked on her fragrant skin. "So fucking perfect." He squeezed her breasts as gently as he could even though he knew he was still being rough with her. The urge to explore the exquisite flesh in his hands was strong and Rene's breath broke every time he lifted her breasts. She'd press his hands closer whenever he forced himself to ease his grip. He sank his teeth into her bare shoulder and held on while he thrummed his fingertips across her nipples. She gasped and her shoulders punched forward again, but she didn't fight his hold on her. Instead, her hands came around the back of his head. Her fingers threaded into his short hair, and she hung on to him, breathing hard. Her chest rose and fell in a rough rhythm, and her back arched even more, driving the firm, silken flesh deep into his hands. He squeezed her nipples until she cried out. "Satisfaisant . . . ." Kent had no idea what she was saying, but he figured it had to be something good. He'd never been with a woman whose nipples were as sensitive as Rene's. He ached to turn her around and suck one of those hard points into his mouth and tease and taste and lave. But he'd be making love to her. The needs of this program gave him zero excuse to cross that line with his pilot. Biting back his regret, he pinched Rene's nipples until they started to swell and get hot then he cupped her breasts and massaged them roughly. All the while, the woman in his arms arched her lithe, strong body into his and made quiet, plaintive sounds of pleasure. "Your wife hooked up with another woman when she could have had these hands on her?" Rene blurted out. Kent laughed—a sharp bark of sound—then he scrubbed her nipples with the flat of his thumbs. "One of the great mysteries of our time," he murmured as he dragged his fingernails slowly over her breasts, grinning wolfishly when she

bucked in his arms and sobbed with pleasure. He flicked his fingers against her over and over until she cried out and writhed. "Arrêt," Rene finally cried out, slapping her hands over his through the thin, stretchy material of her tank top and holding on tightly. "Please . . . stop." She took a few ragged breaths. "Up until now," she admitted, "my focus has been on my career. Men are a nice distraction during off hours but even that distraction has mostly been limited to sharing a wink and a grin with my girlfriends on base, followed by a harmless discussion about the appeal of a taut set of male buttocks walking past." Kent grinned. Did she know she was babbling? Most likely she was using it as an excuse to take a moment to step back. "I've dated but nothing serious. I'm only twenty-six—plenty of time to wait for the right guy to come along. You blow my comfort zone into jagged rubble." "You, um, do the same thing to me." Kent's hands were shaking, but he stopped moving them over Rene's swollen breasts. Instead he cradled their soft weight and realized they were both breathing crazy fast. He rested his chin on her head and squeezed his eyes shut. His cock felt like iron. Every beat of his heart made it pulse and rub the nerve-filled head against his underwear that had been comfortably loose earlier but now felt painfully restrictive. The shaft was prodding Rene's firm ass. There was no way she couldn't know how little control he had over his reactions to her. He was grateful she hadn't turned on him. It had taken him a long time to figure out why, after his divorce, he was so sexually aggressive with his bed partners. It had taken even longer to come to terms with it. His wife had dumped him for another woman. He hadn't even been able to get his head around it, let alone compete with something like that. For a time, he'd had a perfect life, a perfect career, a perfect marriage. Even if he couldn't get back to Earth for the birth of his daughter, his wife and her new best friend and labor coach had sent

him endless vids. Stupid him—he hadn't even asked why this new friend was always at their house, always helping take care of the baby, always grinning in the vids with her arm around his wife. Although he tried to be civil, even after twelve years he still resented his wife's lover. Maybe not so much now, but they'd never be best buds. It didn't make it right, but it was no wonder his homophobic reactions to the plexus requirements were so out of line. Kent gave himself and Rene a moment to get their heads together before he continued. So far, he'd learned two things about being with her. One was he had zero control over his sexual response to her. Two, she reverted to French when he pushed her over the line from softly sensual to raging horniness. Well, pushed her way over the line, if he was being honest with himself. Rene tried very hard to detach herself from the exquisite things Kent's hands were doing to her then quickly forgot why she was even trying to in the first place. He caressed her breasts like a man born to worship her. Her body needed him to do just that. She drew her fingers back from his scalp just a little when she felt moisture pool beneath a nail. Damn. Drawing blood from her RIO probably wasn't the best way to start off their working relationship. She heard Kent's heavy sigh as he cupped her breasts and squeezed them together, making them swell and almost pop out the scoop neckline of her fitted tank. She felt his eyes on her, knew he was looking over her shoulder as he tormented her flesh. "Why . . . ?" Rene's voice faltered, and she had to moisten her lips before she could continue. How was she supposed to be cool and professional when this guy was trying real hard to landmark her erogenous zones? She needed a moment to gather her wits so she stalled with more questions. "Why don't you use mechanical stimulation to keep the . . . keep the plexus connection going?"

Kent slid his hands off her breasts slowly and curved his fingers gently around her ribs. "You mean hook the pilots up to a blow-up doll and give them a foot treadle to control the pounds-per-square-inch of suction?" "Something like that, yes." Rene grinned and took a deep, relaxing breath. Her breasts felt so swollen they ached, but in a nagging, cloying way that made it difficult for her not to grab his hands, slide them back up and start all over again. "Good question." Kent pressed his mouth to the base of her neck and moved his lips over her lightly. "We tried that. It failed because the guys would do one of two things. They'd stop arousing themselves during combat exercises because they were concentrating too hard to think about anything else, or their sex drive took over and they'd just keep cranking up the juice until they reached orgasm. No guy can concentrate on anything but his dick when he's that worked up," Kent added dryly. "You try having your brain jacked into somebody, and all they're thinking is, Oh yeah, baby, suck it harder." "Okay, I'll buy that. But what about taking control away from the pilot and programming a machine to do it?" The visual in Rene's head made her grin. Oh yeah, taxpayers' dollars at work. "What? A mechanical fist that gives his johnson a shake every time he starts to go soft?" Rene rolled her eyes but despite herself, started to laugh. "Tried that too," Kent said brightly, eased her hair off her neck with his lips and kissed her nape. "We tried hooking the pilots up to sensors to monitor their state of arousal. Trouble is, anxiety, anger and fear all cause the same basic physiological responses as arousal. If a guy's being hunted down by an opponent and breaks a sweat—or his pupils dilate and his heartbeat goes up, a machine will assume he's become too sexually aroused and ease off. We'd be at crucial points in engagements and the plexus connection would wink out because the machine had stopped stimulating the pilot, and he wasn't producing endorphins."

Rene was talking again. Either deliberately or subconsciously, she was buying herself time to compose herself or resign herself to what he was going to do next. Kent knew she needed a few minutes. He gave them without question. He waited for her to ask something else. When she didn't, he realized her breathing had eased. So had his. He caressed her ribs gently. "You're going to touch my pussy next, aren't you?" "Yes." He probably shouldn't, but he just couldn't stop moving his hands now that he'd given them the go-ahead to resume touching her. They slid back under her shirt, curved into her waist, rubbed her hip, savored her softness. He'd done a piss-poor job of remaining detached, professional—and respectful had gone out the airlock the first time his cock had twitched. Plain and simple, he wanted this woman riding his cock—three days ago. Rene trembled and again laid her hands on his. "Finish it," she blurted out, tossing her sweat-moistened hair back and pushing on his hands, forcing them farther down her body. "Rene, I don't know if I—" "Finish this, Colonel," she bit out, but Kent knew it was need and not anger he heard in her high, tight voice. "Touch me again and again until my body learns to ignore you and yours stops reacting to mine." She lifted her weight slightly off the bed, rubbed her ass against his erection, and Kent groaned into her hair. "I will make it into the space program, and we will fly Connates together, and we will learn to master this." The control in Rene's voice humbled him. He glanced at the clock. Ten more minutes. Surely to god he could stand another ten minutes with his hands on this woman without coming all over her back. He wrapped one arm around Rene's waist and slid the other into her regulation panties. "Ah," Rene cried out sharply. He swept his fingertips over her mound, and they trembled together.

She was plump and soft—the softest skin Kent had ever touched—and his cock bucked excitedly when he realized she was bare, all except for a narrow pelt of trimmed hair that ended just above the crease of her slit. His hand was shaking as he grazed his fingers over her labia. "Jeez," Kent breathed without meaning to speak out loud. She was bare there too, creamy soft and delicate. His hand slid deeper into Rene's panties, stroking her gently, his fingertips moving over the soft crease that separated thigh from pussy, lost and enthralled by the trembling woman he held tightly to him. Kent started when he realized she was wet, and a slick coating of cream dewed her pussy and thighs. The backs of his knuckles were wet too. He forgot how to breathe when he realized she'd soaked right through her panties, and all he'd done was touch her breasts. Humbled, he slid his fingers back and forth, moving very slowly and keeping his touch feather-light, simply touching her where she was plump and soft and wet. Rene's thighs stirred restlessly, and, without giving himself an opportunity to think about how far he was overstepping the needs of the plexus set-up, Kent slid his free hand up and captured one of her breasts. He squeezed gently. Rene cried out again. He held her tightly and continued to caress her breast and stroke her pussy. She wiggled her ass, obviously frustrated he hadn't satisfied any of the needs he sensed percolating inside her. "Heartless bastard," she murmured, groaned and dropped her head back on his shoulder. Kent kissed her exposed neck then drew the edge of his teeth across her skin. Maybe she was right about him being heartless. He only knew he wanted to wring every last drop of response out of the lieutenant's taut, sexy body. He wanted to make her scream and beg and pant and get so wet for him she'd be dehydrated for days. He wanted to fuck her and fall asleep inside her so when they woke up, they could just start fucking all over again.

Trembling until it felt like his muscles were ready to pop, Kent began to slide his fingers over Rene's slit. Her hands were again on his thighs, her fingers digging into him. Rene squirmed when Kent finally honed in on her most sensitive parts. Her vagina clenched, making the rest of her sex pulse, and he suddenly stilled. "I'm not supposed to make you come," he breathed into her neck anxiously. "I haven't really touched you yet, and you're—" "Just a little more, please," Rene begged. She lifted a hand off his thigh and laid it over her panties, trying to push his fingers closer. "You feel so good . . . Mon Dieu," she added breathlessly when he stroked her, digging deeper and grazing the mouth of her sheath. Damn. She was back to talking French. Kent knew he should stop—pull back and give them another breather—but she just felt so perfect, so hot and wet and fucking perfect; he just couldn't bring himself to hold back. He slid two fingers inside her tight core and stroked the slick walls that gripped him. With a gut-lurching jolt, Kent realized Lieutenant Rene Aubrey was the tightest, most exquisite piece of femininity he'd ever touched. He moved his fingers in her until she cried out and squirmed. Hot on the heels of that revelation, Kent came to another conclusion. He was one sick fuck. What the hell was he doing? Playing with Rene's pussy like this and keeping release hovering just beyond her grasp? Keeping her bucking and twitching in a dance of pre-orgasmic ecstasy on his fingers? The boundaries of the plexus network requirements were light years behind them, and still he held onto her ruthlessly, caressing her breasts and pussy at will, trailing his fingers through her wetness, grinning savagely whenever a fingernail glanced over her clit. Making her sob and her body jerk back into his. What he was doing was thinking with his cock, his ego and not his head. Suddenly, he needed to taste her. Needed to. He switched hands, abandoning her breasts to continue stroking her pussy while he brought his

other hand—the one coated with her juices—to his lips. Without considering how inappropriate or inexcusable his actions were, he slid his fingers into his mouth and sucked her juices from them. Rene's taste exploded in his mouth, sweet and tangy and heady with her desire. He thought for one soul-crushing moment he was going to come. That familiar, ominous tingling started in his balls and his shaft got rock hard. It jabbed into Rene's resilient backside like it was radar-equipped and seeking her heat. He managed to hold the urge back—barely—and the front of his shorts, soaked with pre-cum, now clung wetly to the turgid head of his cock. He caressed Rene's clit, barely touching her, and then he slowly stroked the outer lips of her pussy. Kent tracked Rene's arousal, keeping it balanced on a knife edge as he listened to the soft, mewling cries of need in the back of her throat. He felt every throb and pulse that gripped her sex. He stroked and teased again and again until her sopping-wet flesh tightened for him, and then he eased off. He reached back under her shirt and rubbed her nipple with the edge of his thumb, squeezed her breast gently, then harder, until the soft, firm flesh plumped and rose and spilled over his hand. "Je vous en prie . . . non . . . non." It wasn't so much the French as it was Rene's tone that finally caught Kent's attention. She sounded desperate, almost like she was crying. What the hell was wrong with him that he'd stooped to breaking her to satisfy that dark and desperate thing inside himself he couldn't bear to face? He was hell-bent on proving to himself he was completely straight, that he got hot for women only and made damn sure they got really hot for him. This woman, in particular. He glanced up at the clock. Thirty-five minutes. He'd been torturing her for thirty-five long and brutally cruel minutes. He slid his hands away from her and leaned back, shaking.

"Oh my gawd," Rene cried out hoarsely. She surged to her feet, raked her fingers back through her hair and turned, glaring down at him. She was trembling and her breasts were swollen, her nipples hard and pronounced. Streaks of moisture glistened on her inner thighs. "I can't do this," she gasped. "I can't function like this." She ran a shaky hand down the center of her body then back up again. "You don't have to," Kent blurted out just as desperately. He scrubbed a hand over his face. "I pushed you way too far. Took advantage . . . I'm a complete ass," he choked out, unable to meet Rene's desperately fierce eyes anymore. When she didn't respond, he risked a quick glance at her face and his mouth dropped open. Rene was staring openly at the rigid cock tenting his shorts. He jerked in surprise when she took hold of the bottom of his t-shirt and lifted it up and over his head. "Rene . . . what . . . ?" He started to argue, but it didn't escape his notice he'd lifted his arms to help her strip his shirt off. His hips lifted obligingly, too, when she wrapped her slender fingers around the waistband of his skivvies, maneuvered them over his cock then slid them down his legs and dropped them on the floor. Her tank top and panties joined them. Kent looked down at the delicate hand pressing against his chest. "You can't leave me like this," Rene whispered and her voice was the sexiest, most sultry thing he'd ever heard. "I refuse to let you leave me like this." He leaned back then crab walked toward the head of the bed. Instinctively, Rene knew he wasn't running from her. He was arranging himself. When he stopped moving and lowered his head onto one of her pillows, she began crawling up his body. She felt like a predator—powerful and sensual at the same time. He'd left her hungry, ripe for sex then upped the ante by

backing off. Nobody, but nobody, got away with teasing her until she was half out of her mind with need. Her breasts skimmed his sock-clad toes. "Shit," he hissed through clenched teeth and his hands fisted in the sheets. Her hair trailed over his shins and she kissed his knee then ran the tip of her tongue around it. She locked her gaze on his cock—his very hard and pointing-straight-at-the-ceiling cock—and licked her lips. Without preamble, she stretched over him, nuzzling her breasts into his thighs. Her ass swaying high and proud above her, she straightened her arms, sunk her fingers into the hair dusting his chest, wrapped her mouth around the head of his cock and sucked him in. Kent cried out. "Uh, uh," he groaned, putting his hands on Rene's shoulders and pushing her away. "I don't deserve to come after what I did." He rolled her neatly onto her back and hauled her across the coverlet until her head was lying where his had been. "Not until after you do." His agility shocked her. He moved awfully quickly for such a big guy, and next thing she knew, he was lying between her legs, levering her knees up and dropping them over his massive shoulders. "No more foreplay," she growled, drawing her brows together as she glared down at him. "No, ma'am," Kent assured her with a shake of his head then lowered his mouth to her, spread her folds with his thumbs and moved the tip of his tongue over her clit. "Sweet Jesu," Rene cried out, arched her back off the bed then sighed rapturously when he began to lick her in earnest. She felt every flick and swirl and caress of his tongue on her aching, swollen bud. He quickly settled into a determined, side-to-side whipping, making Rene gasp when her womb flexed hard. She needed to come so badly she didn't even think to protest or ask him to slow down and prolong the sensations.

Her back bowed and her nipples drew up even tighter. She groaned, a low drawn-out sound, and felt the trembling in her thighs start as her sex became hyper-sensitive. Kent lashed her ruthlessly and she flew over the edge, gasping and crying out her release. Pitiless shards of it pierced her body then grabbed and held and twisted her while she writhed in delight. Kent growled with approval as Rene mashed her pussy into his face. The mouth of her vagina clenched rhythmically as she came. She groaned and rocked and gripped his head between her thighs with a strength that would harm a weaker man. He didn't pull back, and he didn't ease off. He let her ride him just as hard and as long as she needed. Finally, her body relaxed, just a little. Rene touched the top of her head, reassuring herself it was still intact. Grinning, she laid back on the bed and let Kent continue to move his mouth over her however he pleased. This time, he eased two fingers inside her, sinking them in slowly and deep and pistoning her gently as he gradually firmed the pressure of his tongue on her trembling, lusting clit. Rene came again, so quickly it surprised her. This orgasm was more powerful than her first. He rasped his tongue against her desperately, like he wanted to drive her release as high as he could, and plunged his fingers into her hard. After that, time simply stopped for Kent, and he just concentrated on satisfying her. He forgot about his hard cock and his aching balls. They simply drifted into the background of his consciousness. He gorged himself on Rene's pleasure, sating the need in him to . . . to what, for heaven sake? He wasn't falling for his pilot. No, that was insane. But the more he touched her, the more wetness he made pour out of her so he could lap up her sweetness, the more Kent realized this woman owned a part of him. A part he'd kept buried for so long he'd forgotten it existed.

Uncomfortable with his neediness, Kent thought about Rene's pleasure instead. He made her come by licking the base of her clit in a sharp up and down motion. He made her come by circling her trembling bud then drawing it into his mouth and sucking on it lazily. He made her come with two fingers pounding deep into her tight sheath—twice when he probed her gently with a single finger, turned his hand over and petted the front wall of her core. He looked up in confusion when he felt her hands on his head, pushing him away from her. "No more foreplay," Rene repeated in her low and husky voice. The sound reminded Kent that he had a cock—a very hard, very horny cock. He rolled over onto his back obediently when she pushed on his shoulders. The shaft bobbed aggressively against his belly the instant it was released. "Pousser," she said in a dark, commanding tone and beckoned him up toward the head of the bed with the flexing of her index finger and an utterly sexy gleam in her darkened eyes. Kent obeyed without question. When his head was again on her pillow, she straddled his thighs, and he felt the warmth of her ass on his legs as she sat up straight. He groaned at the sight of her. With her raven hair spilling all around her and her swollen, pert breasts peeking out from behind it, Rene looked like a primitive goddess. Her proud, taut nipples winked into view when she flicked her hair back with a sure movement of her hand. He caressed her breast gently then sat straight up, held her firmly and drew her nipple into his mouth. Rene sighed and arched her back, offering even more of her pliant flesh to him, and laid her hands on his head. He worshipped her for a long time, his mouth finally reveling in the softness that, until now, only his hands had known. He smoothed his lips over her, drew her nipple inside and suckled her gently, holding her possessively and again forgetting about his cock as he feasted.

Her nipples were hard and unnaturally dark—an angry purple-red—and he knew he'd mauled her far too long earlier. Still, Rene encouraged him to taste her, now openly enjoying his touch when he traced her lushness with his tongue then drew the tiny serrations of his teeth across her nipple with aching restraint. She filled his hands so perfectly. He could have spent all night pleasuring her breasts, but, again, her hands were on his shoulders, easing his greedy mouth away. He kissed each breast in turn, one last time, before lifting his gaze to hers. Rene held his face, brought her mouth to his and brushed her lips across his gently. He captured her waist in his hands, held her body close, held himself still so she could claim his mouth however she chose. Rene kissed him softly. Her lips moved delicately over his, pressing the barest of kisses to the corners then drawing the very edge of his lower lip into her mouth. She closed her teeth over it gently, pulled back slowly, scraping him with a restraint he found wildly arousing, then fitted her mouth to his and probed his lips with the tip of her tongue. Kent wrapped his arms around her, opened his mouth and slid his tongue over hers. He liked the way she gasped and the way her body jerked in his embrace. He liked it even more when she eased into him, opened her mouth and kissed him back just like he was kissing her. Without guile or tease and with a simple, honest need to please and be pleased in return. Kent couldn't remember the last time a woman had responded to him like this . . . then it came to him. No woman ever had. No woman had wanted him like Rene did. Oh, they'd responded to his technique and size, but none of them had ever loved him so openly or selflessly. She seemed to pour herself into him. He drank and drank, and it still felt like he was thirsty for her. He wondered if she could ever feel the same way about him then turned away from the thought because it made him ache inside.

Instead, he sunk his tongue into her mouth and let her taste fill him. Salty sweet with just a hint of cinnamon and some spice he couldn't identify. Rene was warm and soft and giving and everything he thought of as beautiful in a woman. She was smart, driven, funny, and again he shut away his inappropriate longing. His lips moved over hers hungrily, and Rene gasped when his tongue explored the smoothness of her teeth. He tickled the roof of her mouth; she pulled back, just a little, and grinned. Then he tilted his head to one side, claimed her mouth fully and drove his tongue in, deep and possessive. When he finally let her, she leaned back, looked down between their bodies and lightly circled the head of his cock with her fingertip. "I want you inside me," she breathed and touched the slit at the top, gathering up the fresh drop of pre-cum that appeared as soon as she touched him. She lifted her finger to her mouth and licked away the evidence of his need. Kent shuddered and his mouth dropped open as he watched her— gloriously disheveled, wantonly sexual and so beautiful she took his breath away. Her eyes were mesmerizing and demanding as she tasted him then licked her swollen mouth in obvious pleasure. He fell back slowly, laid his hands on her hips and gave himself a moment to look at her body. Rene was small, tightly built but undeniably strong. Her delicate muscles shifted smoothly as she arched in response to his touch. He looked at her sex, that incomparably soft mound and the thin pelt of black hair against her pale skin. The lips of her pussy were still swollen from his touch. They stood out lush, wet and flushed with arousal between her spread legs, deliciously and erotically bare, prominent with hunger. He rubbed her clit gently with the ball of his thumb. "I want you," he finally replied, glancing down at his hard cock. Yet another drop of pre-cum was trailing over the head. He moaned quietly when Rene smoothed it over the heavy cap, oiling him before she claimed him.

She laid her hands on his ribs, splayed her fingers then lifted her hips and rocked her wet slit over the sensitive head of his cock. Kent was a patient, disciplined man, but Rene stripped that away effortlessly. He took hold of his cock, positioned it against the mouth of her sheath and lifted his hips. "Ah . . . mon Dieu," Rene gasped as he began to fill her. She'd been intrigued by the colonel's size as soon as she'd seen his cock straining against his underwear, but seeing and feeling were two gloriously different things. She rocked her hips gently, enhanced the sensation and grinned lecherously. The head of his shaft was fat, and it stretched the mouth of her pussy in a way she'd never felt before. She felt full and satisfied and hungry all at the same time. Slowly, she began to impale herself on the colonel's wonderful pole. Rene flexed her thigh muscles, lifted herself up an inch or two, let the fat head massage her gently and rolled her head in pleasure. What was it about this man that made her feel so sexy? That let her put her drive to succeed, her need to be the best, aside for a time and simply enjoy the things they did to each other? "Uh, uh," Kent blurted out suddenly. He shook his head, grabbed her waist and rolled her onto her back. He kicked her knees apart with his and lay between them. "Change of plans, Lieutenant." His gaze scanned the length of their bodies and watched the head of his cock sink back into her tight, wet channel. "When we fly together, you drive. When we make love . . . ." He grinned and muscled another inch into her. "I'm in the pilot's seat." "Sexist swine." Rene accused him without malice and trembled when he sank another inch of his fat rod into her. It was okay because he was her sexist swine, for tonight at least, and the things he could do to her body would make anyone forgive him.

"Amen to that." Kent slid his chest over her sensitive nipples and bared his teeth when she moaned and arched her neck. He anchored his elbows over her shoulders, keeping her in position beneath him and wove his fingers into her hair. He held her head, drove his tongue into her mouth then whipped it back out just as quickly. Groaning and breathing fast, he drove the rest of his cock into her then lay on her without moving, almost as if he was absorbing the heat and pressure of her body against his. She put her arms around him to hold him close and dug her nails into his back. Kent groaned again when she wrapped her legs around his hips and pulled him into her even deeper. "So drive, fly boy," she growled near his ear then flicked her tongue over his throat. Her hips lifted to his. Kent pulled back carefully just to sink into her all over again. "Yes, ma'am," he replied in a need-roughened voice and rotated his hips, grinding against her pussy before easing out of her. When had sex ever felt this good? Maybe it never had. All she knew was the colonel had a great cock and a talent for using it. She trembled when he grated the thick head over that sweet spot at the front of her passage then dragged his rough curls over her clit. She lifted her knees higher so she could get the full benefit of his talents. In and out, slow then fast, rotating his hips every fourth stroke or so, Kent made love to Rene like it was the last thing he'd do before he died. She loved watching him as he fucked her, loved the way his forehead would crease and his mouth would open in a cupid's bow of astonishment as he pleasured her. Her nipples teased his ribs, and her hands clutched him as he drove her arousal. "Mon Dieu," Rene gasped. "Féroce . . . oui," Rene groaned into his neck. She clutched his upper arms. Lucid thought hit Rene and she knew he wouldn't be able to let anybody see him without a shirt on for a couple days.

He groaned just as loud as she had when she tightened her pussy around him. "Hell, yeah, woman, squeeze me," he blurted out and fucked her even harder. She tightened a second time, and Kent threw his head back and grunted. The pressure that time was almost painful, but he kept fucking her upturned body, no longer sparing her his strength. She held him tighter and rode him just as hard as he was riding her. "Come for me baby. Come now," he growled and ground his pubis into her clit. Rene arched her neck and she started to tremble. Her hips tipped back just enough for him to slide completely inside her then her pussy started to spasm around his cock. She drenched him with wetness when she came. Gasping and mewling, Rene clung to him. Heat flushed her cheeks and spilled down her throat and chest. He gritted his teeth and moaned when her pussy clamped down on him hard, drawing him into her warmth. His muscles tightened and his back bowed, driving his hips forward, and as he came, he humped her in short, powerful bursts, buried deep and flooding her with his potency. When it was over, they lay locked together for some time. Sweat on their bodies cooled. Breath that had been harsh and hard to come by gradually eased. Kent rolled his torso very carefully, rubbing against Rene's breasts, but he didn't ease his hold on her. He didn't take more of his weight off her. When she sighed and ran her palms over his damp back he sank his nose into the tangle of her dark hair. "Why did you take it so far?" Rene was the first to speak, and that was at least five minutes later. The sex had been terrific . . . amazing. But they had to work together in the morning. If this had been a casual fuck to get it out of their systems, fine. If he

was looking for a steady girl, she liked him enough to explore that, so long as their extracurricular relationship didn't hurt her career. And the sex had been amazing. Heat rose in Kent's face. "Because I was thinking with my dick instead of my head," he admitted baldly. His eyes grew wide with dawning arousal when Rene planted her heels on the bed on either side of his thighs and began lifting her hips to him—a slow, steady rhythm with his resting cock still inside her. He started to get hard again. Kent stared at her in amazement. She gripped his ass and forced him in and out. "B-because I wanted you the minute I saw you step off that transport shuttle," he said. "Because I want to fly with you, and I want to be your lover." Because I'm going to fall in love with you about two seconds from now, and you already own pieces of me I thought were dead. "Jeez that feels good." Kent lifted his hips just enough so Rene could lengthen the stroking, intense contact between them. "I warn you, Colonel." Rene growled then pushed at his shoulders until he rolled off her. "You tease me like that again, and you must be prepared to accept the consequences." She straddled him, reached between their bodies and slid her hand around his shaft, holding it still while she lowered herself onto him with seductive, earth-shattering slowness. "Duly noted, Lieutenant," Kent replied in awe and slid his hands over her breasts as she started to ride him. Chapter Five He was dreaming, and it was a good dream. A warm, soft female was in his arms; his hand was between her legs. He stroked her thighs then caressed her mound. With his fingertips, he petted her slit then sank one finger into her

slowly, testing her readiness. In his dream, Rene sighed and levered her knee up in invitation. He didn't disappoint her. Her sighs slowly turned to soft cries of pleasure, and the sound roused him from his restless sleep. "Good morning, Colonel," she whispered into the darkness. "Morning, Lieutenant." Kent's voice was deeper than usual, with arousal and sleep. His hard cock nudged her back. "Come up on your knees, baby." Kent's hands slipped around her hips, and he urged her up. "Let me have you like this—pleasure us both before we have to report for work." "Oui," Rene murmured as she spread her knees and lowered her chest to the bed. She turned her head to the side, rested her cheek on her forearm and smiled. Her smile turned to a gasp when he slid the spongy plum-shaped head of his cock over her cleft. He seated it against the mouth of her pussy and pushed into her slowly. Kent anchored his hands around Rene's shoulders and pulled her back, grinning wolfishly as he sank into her. This morning was no different than last night, and she was the sweetest thing he'd ever felt. It was darker though. He'd turned off the glaring overhead lights before settling down to sleep. Rene's quarters were now only lit by a sliver of light, spilling through the doorway to the head. After climbing back into bed with her, he'd settled the covers over them and caged her body with his arms and legs. Now he made love to Rene by touch instead of sight. She felt even smaller and softer than she had last night. He trembled when her wetness squeezed him, and he gripped her hips. She was warm and sleepy and murmured her pleasure as he sank into her balls-deep then withdrew slowly. He reached forward to cup her breasts. Like last night, Rene gasped and arched into his hands. Her nipples hardened instantly, and he growled with satisfaction as he cupped them. He

handled Rene's breasts carefully, warming her slowly while his cock moved in and out of her with deliberate laziness. Despite his careful touch, Rene responded hotly. Kent pinched her nipples harder and squeezed her breasts, flattening them into her chest then plumping them with his fingers. "Hmm . . . yeah," she murmured, and he felt her hamstrings tighten against his thighs. She pulled away then drove her pussy back at him, taking him in harder and faster than the lazy, sensuous pace he'd set. "Aye, Lieutenant Aubrey," he groaned in response, firmed his grip on her breasts and started driving into her. The bed frame was soon rocking with the force of his thrusts. Kent was grateful sleeping quarters were soundproofed. He slid one hand down her body and began moving his fingertips over her clit. "Ah," she gasped suddenly. Her back arched then she settled into the harsher rhythm of his lovemaking. "Bien . . . oui." He didn't have to understand the words. Her tone told him everything he needed to know. He drew tight circles over her clit, and she bucked and gasped again. Kent wanted to spend the whole day like this—making love to Rene, touching her body and getting to know it and her—but a glance at the illuminated clock told him they didn't have time for such indulgences. He gave her breast a last, loving squeeze then anchored his hand over her shoulder and began pulling her back into him harshly. His other hand, still happily pressed between her legs, moved faster. He wished there was more light because he wanted to see her cute little ass move when his hips thrust into her, wanted to see that softness he could feel cushioning him. Kent promised himself he'd take her like this again and soon, only next time he'd turn on every damn light in the room. He firmed his grip on her shoulder and drove into her even harder.

Rene was fully awake now, and she felt every punishing, deep stroke. She'd never felt so alive. She quivered and spread her knees farther apart so he could rub her clit harder. Gasping and tossing her head, Rene felt forerunners of a really, really good orgasm fist her belly. Her womb clenched, and she heard Kent groan behind her as her pussy clamped down on him. She released him then clamped down again. He began fucking her furiously. She levered herself up, supporting her torso with her locked arms. Anchoring the heels of her hands onto the bed, she rocked back into him hard. They were both sweating now. His loins smacked her ass wetly and repeatedly. Rene felt her arousal trickling down her inner thighs and heard the slap of his balls as he filled her, over and over. "Now," she grunted then made a high, keening sound of need. "Tantôt. . . tantôt . . . se plaire." Her body began to shake, and she cried out as ecstasy tore through her, holding her taut and exquisitely sensitive to everything Kent was doing to her. She felt every grinding tug of his cock inside her convulsing sheath. The stretching was exquisite, and the way his fingers moved over her throbbing clit made Rene cry out again. She also felt his cock grow very hard and very thick inside her then it began to pulse. He groaned in time with the harsh beat of his release and sprayed the mouth of her womb with jet after hot jet of come. When it was finally over, he slid out of her slowly. They both gasped at the sensation—pleasure and sadness combined. Kent flopped onto his back beside her then pulled her down so she was laying half on him and half on the bed. He kissed her head and pushed her hair back with his fingers. "That was . . . ." he started to say but sounded too pleased and too replete to finish. Rene grinned. "It was," she replied and snuggled into his sweaty warmth.

The alarm went off. Swearing colorfully, Rene slapped it into silence then moaned petulantly when Kent pulled on her arms, made her stand up and dragged her into the shower. ***** "Shit, Rene . . . how many RIOs do you think they're going to let you go through before they kick you out of the program?" Cynthia straight-armed the door to the women's locker room open. Her voice was a harsh whisper, and she dipped her blonde head down to Rene's as she spoke. The fourteen other female flyers were behind them. Most were close enough to overhear, although they pretended not to. At breakfast, Lieutenant Grace Moreland had been informed she would no longer be training under Colonel Kent Parnell. She'd be working with Major Michel Rougeau instead. The major seated himself at her table, bowed his head over her hand in greeting and made a joke about his bandaged, swollen nose and the vivid bruising beneath his eyes. Not much escaped Cynthia's keen eye, and Rene knew she'd noticed that neither Rene nor Kent, eating side by side, seemed surprised by the announcement they'd be teamed up. "I'm pretty sure I'll be sticking with the colonel," Rene answered vaguely. "Pretty sure?" Cynthia groused. She straightened to her full, impressive height and jammed her fists onto her hips. The other women began to file in, opened their lockers and started unbuttoning their work uniforms. Cynthia ignored them and continued. "I'm sure I'll get some argument on this point, but you're the best damn pilot in this group. If you screw up, what hope do . . . ?" Cynthia's voice faded into silence when Rene opened her locker. Hanging beside her standard, US Navy flight suits was a gray-blue flight suit. The same spacejockey flight suit their training officers wore.

"Holy. Shit." Cynthia enunciated carefully and shook her head in amazement. "Damn, Aubrey," Grace squeaked. "Guess it pays not to puke in space." The corner of Rene's mouth turned up, but she held her tongue. "Spill it, girlfriend," Cynthia demanded haughtily. She reached into Rene's locker, fingered the Mars Orbital One patch on the sleeve of Rene's new flight suit then sat down on a nearby bench. "How come you burn through two training RIOs then come up the next morning as a space jockey? And I can tell from your face this isn't exactly a surprise." Rene exhaled slowly. "No, it isn't," she acknowledged quietly. By now, every eye in the locker room was on her. She could have heard a pin drop. She knew the powers-that-be—and in this case she was pretty sure that was General Henry Stephenson—had decided not to tell the female recruits about the . . . intimate job requirements. To her, that smacked of male arrogance and ignorance. Hell, nobody in this room but her even knew about the Connate Project, and it was their only chance of making it into the space program. Rene glanced back at her new flight suit. She now realized the significance of the gray-blue uniform. Every other space jockey on the station—and there were a couple hundred of them—wore a gray-green flight suit. Only Connate flyers wore gray-blue. It set them apart, although nobody commented on it. They even flew out of a secured, isolated hangar. Rene was willing to bet real money it was positioned so any Connate flying out could disappear behind Mars before anybody in the main command tower caught sight of them. She shut her locker, leaned against it and faced the fifteen women in the room. "Despite the propaganda, women are not allowed to fly in space. There's one exception. It's called the Connate Project . . . ." *****

A little while later, fifteen faces were staring at her with varying degrees of disbelief and distaste. "Let's just suppose for a minute here I believe this." Grace was the first to speak up. She ran her hand through her short, glossy brown hair. "I'm supposed to let some French major puddle his fingers around in my V-jay-jay while I'm flying—on the taxpayers' dime, no less." Rene's mouth thinned. Put like that, it was no wonder they were all looking at her funny. "Listen, Aubrey, you better not be shitting me about this. ‘Cause that accent of his," Grace drawled, "I get wet just listening to him talk, and that's after you went and busted up his pretty face." Grace's brown eyes narrowed on Rene. "Time to suit up, girls, and find out if this is horseshit or not." She yanked open her locker and finished unbuttoning the shirt of her work uniform. ***** "So you just took her into the hangar and showed her?" Bruce 's eyes were wide and intense when he looked up at Kent. "Crikey," he blurted out in disbelief. "And she didn't haul off and . . . ." He glanced over at Major Rougeau's discolored face. "No, she didn't," Kent answered with a slow shake of his head. All sixteen Connate flyers were clustered together at the far end of the training hangar, waiting for the female recruits to report in. Every man was looking up at him with guarded hope. "I still believe the General was right when he decided to ease them into the program without giving them all the details first. But for Re . . . Lieutenant Aubrey, that didn't work. As soon as she understood, she was willing to try." His voice dropped in pitch. "Every one of these recruits is hungry to get into the space program, but that doesn't mean we can—" Every male Connate flyer looked up when the hangar door opened.

The female recruits filed in. Every one of them, one after the other, crossed their arms over their chests and glared at them. All except for Rene. Dressed in Connate blue, she stood apart from the group and looked small but resolute. "She told them. Damn." Sparky groaned quietly. The rest of the men in their huddle shuffled their feet uncomfortably. Kent heard Sparky swallow and saw his head come up when Major Cynthia West stepped out of the pack and walked toward them. The other men pulled back. She stopped just before her jump boots ran right over Sparky's. She slammed her fists down on her hips. "Show me how this plexus network operates," she demanded. Sparky glanced up at Kent who nodded jerkily. "All right," Sparky said and headed for the exit. Cynthia fell into step beside him and spoke loud enough for everyone in the hangar to hear. "Do I snap on a latex glove or do we do this the old fashioned way? Bareback." "Bareback." Kent grinned at the nervousness in his friend's voice as he held the door open for her. Cynthia strode through it on long, shapely, muscular legs. "I'm sure John Q Public will be happy to know we won't be wasting his hard-earned tax dollars on rubber gloves." Kent winced at Cynthia's parting comment and started rubbing the back of his neck. He exhaled deliberately. "All right, folks. Cat's out of the bag now." He stepped forward and stood between the two groups. "Men, pair off with your trainees. Answer whatever questions they may have about the Connate Project. Take them down to the hangar and show them around if they're still interested. I don't need to remind any of the recruits present this is highly classified information," he added sharply and looked each female directly in the eye before continuing. "Operation of a plexus network while in the hangar does not, and I

repeat, does not require intimate contact. It is required while flying and is absolutely required in combat situations. Do I make myself understood? On both sides?" He looked at both groups pointedly. Murmurs of, "Yes, sir," flowed up and down the hangar. "Carry on then. You have your orders. Scheduled classes for trainees will be cancelled for today and rescheduled for later in the week. This is a lot to digest, and you'll need some time to get your heads around it. Dismissed." Kent rubbed his neck again after they'd all filed out—all except for Rene, who approached him warily. "I could have you court-martialed," he bit out. His mouth thinned. "But seeing you made more headway with your fellow recruits in fifteen minutes than any of us did in three days, I won't. Seems a woman knows what other women need to make an informed decision." "Yes, sir," Rene replied smartly. She stood in front of him and kept her expression carefully neutral. "Not just women—flyers." Kent looped his arm around her shoulder and kissed the top of her head. He was smiling when he pulled back to look into her stunning, violet eyes. "Damn you're beautiful," he breathed before lifting his arm off her. "Yes, sir," Rene repeated with a wry grin. She followed him out of the training hangar. Their first stop was General Stephenson's office. "You gonna court-martial her ass, Kent?" The general's pale eyes were cold as he glared at Rene. Then he leaned back in his chair, folded his arms over his chest and met the other man's gaze. With Rene standing at attention beside him in front of the general's desk, Kent lifted his chin and stood up a little taller. "Gave it some serious consideration, sir," he replied. "Thought I'd fly with her instead."

The general's jaw muscles clenched then he nodded curtly. "Permission granted." He jerked his head in the direction of the computer terminal sitting on his desk. "Update her security clearance. And you might as well update the rest of the recruits' files while you're at it." Kent walked around the general's desk and activated the touch-screen monitor. The general stood and walked toward Rene, still glaring at her. General Stephenson's jaw clenched again. "You're the first woman we've let into the space program since the Omegons attacked. Don't fuck up," he added darkly. He'd walked past her and was out the door before Rene even had a chance to raise her hand in salute. ***** Kent again led Rene to the Connate he'd flown with Sparky, but as they approached, they found the latch closed. "No, just . . . jeez, it's not a joystick. Don't pull so damn hard." Wide-eyed, Rene looked up at Kent, grinned crookedly, and tried not to laugh when she recognized Sparky's muffled voice coming from inside the Connate. "Then what do you want me to do?" Major Cynthia West's voice was just as quiet, but her impatience rang loud and clear. This time, Rene laughed into her hand then disciplined herself. "Just give it a gentle pull now and then. Just enough to give me a semi and keep it that way." "Is that all?" Cynthia snorted dismissively. "Damn, Sparky. Here I thought I'd have to be pulling your pud from here to Neptune and start stocking up on wet naps." They fell silent for a moment, and Kent and Rene started to walk away. Before they were out of earshot, they heard Cynthia say, "Well hell on fire .

. . a ball-buster like me was born for this job. Teasing your johnson like that and not having to bother finishing you off. Hell, Commander, I'd take this assignment without pay." They shared a quick grin before Kent led Rene back to the second row of new, gleaming Connates. "Guess we'll be flying one of these," he said. "We didn't plan that far ahead when we found out we'd be splitting up the teams. It makes sense though that the pilots would want to stay with the craft they're familiar with. They glanced around the hangar. General Stephenson was standing beside one of the mechanics' stations, talking to a female pilot and her male training RIO. Two of the Connates had teams sitting on their platforms—the Connate flyers were talking and the female recruits were listening, but they didn't look happy. The hatches of twelve of the Connates, including the one Sparky and Cynthia were using, were closed. Kent walked toward one of the new ones still open. He opened up an access panel near the base of the craft and attached a connector jack from the platform. "External power source," he explained and flipped a toggle switch. "Let's log in some simulation time. You've got to put in eighty hours minimum before they'll let you fly." "Why so much?" Rene peered into the tiny cockpit then pulled out the two, pristine helmets sitting inside. " ‘Cause the repair bill's a bitch if you ding the chrome," Kent answered dryly. His dimple appeared when he grinned down at her. He climbed in, slid back on the long seat and let his legs fall open. Rene followed and settled herself between his thighs. They put their helmets on, buckled in and went through the pre-launch checks. Like last night, Kent started out by rubbing Rene's shoulders. . . . . Hope Cynthia's going to be okay with this, I'd hate to see her drop out . . . oh jeez, does Sparky know how airsick she gets in zero-g . . . has she had time to acclimate— ?

Remember to discipline your thoughts, Lieutenant. Rene's back straightened reflexively when she heard Kent's voice in her head. They'd been jacked into each other's heads last night, but hearing him was still a shock. I'm loading the training sequence for the sideways thrust maneuver. That was the first exercise I did with Commander Eldridge. Uh huh. The fingers on Kent's right hand moved over the flight-engineer's control screen. He slid his other hand into a gap at the side of Rene's flight suit and let it rest on her waist. I'm glad you blew off Bruce. Otherwise I wouldn't be sitting here with you now. Me too. Kent cupped her breast. "I thought you were going to try touching my arm first," she said dryly. Kent growled. "Won't that just be a damn thrill a minute," he groused then leaned back. "Unsnap and unzip, Lieutenant." Grinning wryly, Rene unfastened her restraint harness, tugged her flight suit zipper down to her navel and pulled her left arm out of her sleeve. She sighed contentedly when Kent trailed his fingertips over her skin. Please tell me you can't hear me. Sorry to disappoint you, Colonel. A string of profanity, in Kent's voice, filled Rene's head. She grinned again when the words winked out almost as quickly as they'd come to her. Just perform the damn exercise. Affirmative, Colonel. She completed the thirty-second training scenario flawlessly. After three days of progressively more challenging exercises, a sideways-thrust maneuver in zero-g was now simple muscle memory for Rene. Kent modified the exercise to run on a loop so she could focus on their plexus connection while flying. Rene felt she didn't do too badly although Kent

was treated to a rather erotic flashback from last night and a reminder that she wanted to send an electronic letter to her parents that afternoon. He kept a close eye on the time counter and stopped the exercise after four minutes. "That was impressive, Lieutenant," he said as he pulled off his helmet and ran his fingers through his hair. "None of us could focus our thoughts for more than two minutes the first couple of times." "Maybe it helps that you're already good at maintaining a plexus connection." Rene lifted off her helmet and rolled her head gently from side to side. Kent rubbed the back of her neck, and she sighed appreciatively. "My ego would like to say yes," Kent admitted, "but I'm thinking it's because you're comfortable with me, with me touching you. You only have to focus on one thing—flying." "And as soon as I learn to keep the rest of the garbage floating around inside my head in the background—" "We'll be out there doing patrol runs," Kent finished for her. He kissed her cheek. "Time to get back to work, babe." He slipped his helmet back on and brought up an intermediate, evasive exercise. A three-dimensional representation of space and a row of stationary beacons was projected onto the hatch. Rene put her helmet back on and took hold of the control stick with her fingertips. Two minutes later, Rene slammed the stick forward, locking it into a neutral position. "This isn't working," she blurted out in frustration. "With my arms going through a full range of movement, you holding onto me like that is just annoying the hell out of me. And the damned plexus connection keeps winking in and out." Kent resisted the urge to chuckle triumphantly. He'd been dying to get his hands back on her girl bits ever since they'd crawled out of bed. It might not be

professional and his sainted momma would faint if she knew what a letch her first-born was, but Kent couldn't be happier. "No problem," he said lightly. "This is a learning curve, remember? We'll find something that works. Catch your breath and we'll try again." He was glad Rene couldn't see the grin on his face when she shoved her arm back into her sleeve and yanked her zipper back up. Chapter Six Better. Much better. What was my time that last run? Kent glanced at the time counter, and knew Rene saw the display through his eyes at the same time he did. Eight minutes. That's good isn't it? "Outstanding is what it is," Kent said approvingly as he lifted his plexus helmet off his head. He powered down the simulation with his right hand and slid his left out from between Rene's legs. "Your concentration is improving steadily, and this is only our third day." Rene flexed her hands slowly. "Flying in simulated zero-g is far less physically demanding than flying on Earth. It feels weird that my hands aren't tired." She leaned back into Kent when he ran his palms over her shoulders. Kent thought about how far they'd progressed in the last three days, not just as lovers but as a team. They'd moved on to her breasts after the experiment with rubbing her arm hadn't generated enough endorphins for her to power the plexus network. By the time he'd spent a couple of nights in Rene's bed, Kent knew why that wasn't going to work either. Rene's nipples were just too sensitive. He loved that—when they were making love—but in the context of the plexus connection, she just got too turned on too quickly and kept filling his head with her arousal instead of her maneuvers. His response to Rene's warm,

soft breast in his hand didn't help matters. He liked holding and squeezing it too much to put any distance between his lechery and the narrow requirements of the plexus connection. They'd moved on to him touching her pussy, and although she didn't say anything, Kent got the feeling Rene was relieved. He was a boob man, always had been, and he was real good at sneaking glances at women's chests when nobody was looking. More than one female recruit emerged from a training session with their left breast a little more swollen than the right. Kent figured Rene had accepted the intimacy required between pilot and RIO in the Connate Project. She just didn't want to wear the mark of it in public. Whenever they put in time in the Connate now, Kent slid his hand into her uniform through a fold at her hip and strummed his fingertips over her panty-covered pussy lips. He was getting better at gauging the strength of their plexus connection by how crisp her thoughts were inside his head. With Sparky, as much as he'd loathed having to touch his friend so intimately, he just had to keep him a little hard. It was more difficult tracking Rene's pleasure, but he didn't mind. Not one bit. "Hey. Chow time." Sparky's bright and deliberately annoying voice was punctuated by him slapping the closed hatch on their Connate. Kent looked up at him in annoyance, even though he knew Sparky couldn't see them through the one-way-view canopy. He stuck his fingers in his mouth, licked off all traces of Rene's scent so there was no chance of anybody but him catching a whiff of her glorious, spicy arousal. He then flashed Sparky the bird. "Aw . . . is that any way to greet your old pilot?" Laughing, Sparky jumped down off the platform outside. "He knows you too well," Rene said as she unfastened the harness tying her into the seat. "He didn't even need to see you to know what your reaction would be." In the Connates, the straps had been modified so they looped around

her thighs, shoulders and down the midline of her chest, leaving her erogenous zones unfettered. "Yeah, well that doesn't mean he's entitled to bust a superior officer's chops. Annapolis brat." Kent bitched as he opened the hatch. "See, that's the problem with you West Pointers." Sparky was standing beside Cynthia—who now wore a Connate blue flight suit—on the plasti-steel hangar floor just beyond their platform, grinning up at them. "You're too uptight. You don't know how to have fun." Cynthia elbowed him in the ribs. "Watch it, fly boy, or I'll forget to trim my nails." She grinned up at Rene. "What's your time now?" "Eight minutes." Rene returned Cynthia's smile and climbed down off the platform. "Damn, girl. That's five minutes better than Grace did this morning. And she grins every time she looks at Rouger's hands." Of the female recruits, Rene and Grace showed the most aptitude for focused thought while hooked up to a plexus network. Cynthia chuckled ribaldly as they took off together for the mess hall. ***** "So what's the real reason you dragged me out of the mess hall early, Colonel?" Rene pitched her voice so it was low and seductive as he led her by the hand to his quarters. Kent checked his watch. "Despite what everybody's probably thinking, I really did get an electronic letter from my daughter." He unlocked the door and held it open for her. "She performed in a concert at her school. First cello." Mouthing her ear, he backed her into the room and shut the door with his heel. "I thought you might like to see the recording, but if you'd rather—"

"Well, this is awkward." A petite brunette was lounging on Kent's bed. Buck naked. She stood up and walked into the head. "Shit," Kent hissed. "It's Tuesday." He ran one hand through his hair and held the other out to Rene. "I forgot. Rene, don't go. I have to explain." Her hand was already on the door. "Look, when we talked about being lovers we didn't talk about monogamy. We should have, because you'd have known I don't get off on sharing. And I'm not the kind of woman who has to," she added sharply. "Rene, please," Kent begged. "She means nothing to me. She—" "Thanks a lot, Kent," the woman in the head huffed. "I can hear you, you know." Kent's hand was on Rene's shoulder, preventing her from leaving. He directed his voice toward the head. "I didn't mean it like that, Janice." To Rene, he sounded like he was trying to placate the other woman, but there was a harshness in his voice too. She wasn't sure if it was directed at the woman or himself. As far as she was concerned, he deserved it more than the brunette. Nice, Rene, now she's just The Brunette. It's Kent's fault she and I are in this embarrassing situation, and you're ready to go off on her. "Save it, Kent," the woman barked. "I know what our relationship is . . . and what it isn't." She came out of the head, tucking her uniform shirt into her pants. Rene spotted captain's bars and a medical insignia, finally recognizing her from sick bay. She was one of the Army doctors on the station although not the MD that gave Rene her physical her first day. Thank goodness for small favors. "Asshole," the captain tossed out in Kent's direction. "You could have saved this woman a lot of grief, and me a lot of embarrassment if you'd have just let me know." She started tying her long, brown hair up with a clip and glanced at Rene with what looked like forced compassion. "It's not what you think. I just

use him for sex—correction—I used to use him for sex. I'm moving on." With a last, disdainful look at Kent, she left, slamming the door behind her. Kent was staring at the floor like he wanted it to swallow him up. Rene stood in front of him, folded her arms across her chest, shot her hip out at an aggressive angle and deliberately arched one brow. "Janice and I have—had," he corrected quickly, "had a standing appointment every second Tuesday afternoon." Giving his head a shake, he glanced at Rene. "Just a couple of hours of uncomplicated sex. It's a small community." He shrugged. "Everybody's in everybody else's business so we kept it quiet. We just fucked. No strings." "How long?" Her voice came out colder than she'd intended. "Over a year. Look I'm sorry, but that was before I met you. I honestly haven't even thought about her since you arrived." Kent pointed at the closed door. "I would have told her we were finished. She wouldn't have minded. Frankly, I don't think I'm the only guy up here she gets off with. She's got a healthy libido, and women are in damn short supply." He lowered his hand and his voice softened. "I am sorry I put you, and her, in that position." Kent sat on the bed and raked his fingers through his hair. "I . . . I never used to be this big of a hound dog." He looked past her shoulder, like he couldn't meet her eyes. Rene was surprised by how much his discomfiture soothed her anger. And why am I angry? We're just lovers, and if it's suddenly so important to you, why didn't you initiate the monogamy talk before now? Kent continued. "It's no excuse but ever since the Connate project started up, I have this need to keep affirming my sexuality. Affirming?" he barked, and his laughter sounded more like forced derision. "Hell, I'm a walking pick-up artist. Before you got here, it felt like I spent all my free time trying to get into some woman's pants. It didn't matter who they were. I'm not even sure I liked some of them. All I cared about was that they were women; I could turn their

heads, and even if they turned me down, it was enough if they considered me as a potential bed partner. How sick is that?" "Pretty sick," Rene agreed. She stood watching him. "Here's the deal, partner," she said in a tone that invited no argument. "As sick as you are, I'll keep flying with you. You're good, and so am I. We'll keep rising in the ranks if we stick together. But outside the cockpit, if you touch another woman, it's over. This homophobic thing you've got going on, and this need to affirm your heterosexuality? Deal with it. I'm here, and I'll help if you want, but you deal with it. Understood?" "Affirmative." Kent lifted his eyes to meet hers, nodded slowly then got up and retrieved the letter his daughter had sent. ***** "Ease it up and . . . ." Sparky's voice trailed off. His forefinger followed the progress of Rene's vertical thrust across the big vid screen in the training bay. At this level, only another space jockey could properly critique her performance. Kent stood behind them, watching without offering advice. Cynthia sat on the sidelines. Her eyes were shut as she perched on a bench, moving her hands in the air in short bursts. Kent recognized the motions. She was going through the fuel-transfer protocols, working on her speed. He'd pointed out she was still a little slow on her last simulation. Rene and Sparky were standing shoulder to shoulder. "There," Sparky said firmly and shook his head. "That's the point where you punch the starboard drift control too hard. Master that." He nodded at the screen. "And you'll master the maneuver in space." After he shut down the vid screen, Sparky gave Rene's shoulder a squeeze then walked over to his RIO. "Come on, Cynthia, time for your next training session.

Kent wondered if Rene could feel him standing behind her. They were alone now, and his eyes took in the shiny, blue-black highlights of her bound hair, the very nice flare of her ass. "Intellectually, I realized you had to have had other lovers." His head came up. Her voice was quiet, small in the cavernous space. It was the first time she'd talked about what had happened with Janice. He held his tongue. "At the very least it was an unfortunate occurrence all around." Kent winced at her clinical choice of words. On a personal level, she'd been withdrawn from him the past couple of days. She'd been professional and focused on the job. He'd let her have her space. A strong woman like Rene couldn't be coerced or charmed into coming back to him, forgiving him. She'd work through the hurt on her own time. The waiting was killing him inside. "But my heart feels what it wants to, and I guess I was starting to think of you as mine. I assumed your other lovers were all in the past. Having one thrown in my face in all her naked glory was . . . unsettling." She was just as quiet, but now she sounded sad too. Squeezing his eyes shut, Kent wished hard he could change what had happened. He wanted Rene back. His Rene. Not the cool professional now walking around in his lover's skin. "My heart will catch up to my head. Just give it some time." Kent's eyes snapped open. Did he just hear an olive branch being extended? He touched her shoulders and rubbed them gently. "There are massive changes in my life, Kent. Everything's new. It's a lot to process all at once." "You're worth waiting for, Rene. I'll be here . . . and I am yours." He rested his cheek against her hair. "Your partner. Your lover. Nobody else's." "Hmmph. You sure?" she growled, but there was a teasing note in her voice. A hint of the old Rene, the one he'd missed and come damned close to losing. "Anybody else I should know about?"

Grinning, he nuzzled her soft hair. "No, I cancelled my Wednesday and my Friday dates, but the Sunday afternoon chick is tenacious. She was wondering if we would consider sharing—" Whatever else he was going to say was cut off when Rene turned, aimed a mock swipe at him with her helmet then let him wrap his arm around her and tuck her in against his side. ***** Even in the artificial gravity, the weight of the tote in her hand felt familiar, comfortable, like a slice of home. By now, she knew the route to the Connate flyer lounge and didn't have to use the markings on the wall to guide her. The wine she carried was a product of generations of her family's skill and hard work. When she'd told her father she'd wanted to chase the clouds instead of cultivating her nose in the tasting rooms, he'd been hurt. He had other children, but Rene had always sensed he'd expected her to manage the vineyards after he retired. It had taken a lot of sweet talking from Rene's mother—who'd been an adventurer, even a wild child in her youth—for him to accept Rene's decision. He'd even cried at her Annapolis graduation ceremony, but they'd been tears of happiness, pride. Rene had never loved him more than she had that day. Her father had sacrificed his dreams for his youngest daughter so she could live out her own passions. Rene's back straightened even more, and she lifted her chin proudly as she laid her hand on the access panel that would admit her to the Connate flyer lounge. No doubt about it now, she was one of Earth's finest pilots. Even though her relationship with Kent had hit a bumpy patch, she was still partnered with the best RIO on the station. If she kept improving her skills, if she kept working hard, nothing could hold her back now.

The Connate flyer lounge was small and out of the way. Like all the sections of the station associated with the Connate Project, the entrance was unmarked and secured. The lounge provided pilots and RIOs with a private place to hang out and talk openly. Rene shifted her canvas tote to her other hand, greeted Cynthia and the other women and sat on one of the sofas beside Kent. Michel Rougeau's eyes widened when he saw the markings on her bag. He took a seat directly across from her and leaned forward raptly. Rene pulled out a bottle and handed it to him. "Vinera Aubrey Blanc," he breathed with enough reverence the others craned their heads to see. "My father shipped up a case," Rene said, pitching her voice so the whole room could hear. "With instructions it wasn't to be given to me until after I'd been accepted as a space jockey. The case got lost in the shuffle although I'm suspicious about that. However, that's a discussion for another day." She pulled out another bottle and a corkscrew. Someone opened a cupboard in the lounge's small kitchenette and started handing out glasses. "My father makes this wine," she continued. "Some say it's very good." She grinned at Michel. He seemed too enthralled by the bottle in his hands to notice. When the glasses were passed her way, she started filling them. "Good nose." "Exquisite nose," Michel corrected her vehemently. He swirled the contents of his glass and inhaled as he passed it in front of his face. Rene noticed that Kent's reaction bordered on incredulous but didn't comment on it. She was French. Wine was an integral part of her upbringing— her consciousness—just like his had been baseball and ice cream. Judging the characteristics of wine was a learned passion, just like any other. It had taken years for Rene's mother to appreciate the subtleties of a vintage grown in chalky versus acidic soil, and she could still zone out with boredom when her family got

into a heavy discussion about wine. Neither her husband nor children had ever thought less of her because she was a bourbon drinker at heart. Kent's eyebrow went up. I like a nice glass of wine as much as the next person, but even I know better than to play with my food, er, drink. Hell, even my kid knows that. He looked away in distaste when both Rene and Michel tipped the glasses up to their mouths and started dipping their tongues into it without drinking any. "A hint of blackberry. An under note of oak." Some of the other Connate flyers were giving them funny looks now. When they finally took a sip, they didn't even swallow, Kent noted with a shake of his head. They simply pursed their lips and breathed in with the stuff just sitting in their mouths. "Middle notes of chocolate." "More this vintage than the previous two years," Rene said after she finally swallowed. "My father introduced free-range chickens to the vineyard." "Ah," Rouger breathed and nodded. Kent shuddered. They thought the stuff tasted better because of chicken shit? He set his glass down. "Um, you do know you're boring as hell, don't you?" Grace leaned into Rouger and whispered just loud enough for them all to hear. Rouger grinned, kissed Grace's cheek then stood. Grabbing Rene's hand and a half-empty bottle, he headed over to the corner of the room, moved two padded chairs so they sat facing each other and settled her into one. Kent watched the French major take two plexus helmets out of a cupboard, hand one to Rene and put the other one on his head. Discretely, Kent checked his watch while Rouger pulled off Rene's boots, set her heels on his lap and started rubbing her feet. At first, Kent thought it was kind of cute, watching their faces react and their hands move but no words

coming out of their mouths as they sipped the wine. It stopped being cute after fifteen minutes. When they finally pulled the helmets off and rejoined the group, they'd been at it just over half an hour. Nobody had ever lasted that long. "How long?" Sparky whispered in his ear. Kent shot him a look, then another when Sparky mouthed "Wow," after Kent answered him. "Think she could go that long with you?" Kent was hurt by the suggestion that Rene might be more attuned to another man than him, but he knew why Sparky was asking. Would Rene fly better with Michel despite their rocky start? Kent had told his old partner about what happened with Janice. Months ago, through the plexus link, Sparky had inadvertently found out about Kent's relationship with the female doctor. "Yes," Kent answered defensively. He kept his voice down. "We've just never used the connection for a simple, social chat. Whenever we use it, we're working. That's a distraction." He nodded at Rouger who was again sitting beside Grace and laughing at something she'd said. "Relaxed and without distractions, Rene and I could probably go even longer." He caught the wry look on Sparky's face. "At least I hope so. Either way, I'm not giving her up." Kent pasted a smile on his face when Rene walked up to him, carrying the almost-empty bottle of wine. He held out his glass. When she topped it up and sat beside him, he looped his arm around her shoulder. Rene didn't stiffen or pull away. Instead, she leaned into him and let him pull her into his side. They sat like that for the rest of the evening—talking with the others about the training schedule, the upcoming Army-Navy game back on Earth, laughing when Cynthia teased Sparky about how much he loved the old Marlene Dietrich film they showed on movie night. All the while, Rene sat snuggled up against him just like she used to. *****

Kent couldn't hide his pleasure when Rene invited him into her quarters that night. It was the first time she'd let him in since the incident with Janice. Without asking and before she could second-guess herself, Kent lowered the zipper on her flight suit. When she looked up at him with those violet eyes of hers, Kent's heart beat faster. "You're so damn beautiful," he breathed and pulled the pins out of her hair. When it fell across the backs of his hands, he gathered it up, held it tight, pulled her head back and licked her throat. She tasted like sin, smelled like heaven. He kissed a path down her neck and slid his hands into her flight suit, easing it off her shoulders, and kept pushing until it pooled at her feet. Again without asking, he picked her up, set her on the bed, unlaced her boots, pulled them off with more strength than discretion, grabbed her suit by the legs and tugged. "God, you turn me on. If you ever try wearing anything other than white underwear, I swear my dick'll shrink." He took a deep breath, grabbed her waist and drove his tongue into her navel. "Crude but complimentary. I think," she added dryly and leaned back. Kent unfastened her military-issue bra, yanked it and her panties off then slid his hands beneath her arms to pull her higher on the bed. Kneeling over her, stroking his erection through his flight suit, he took in her naked body and grinned. The lust he felt in his expression would definitely get his ass booted out of the Connate Project if anybody saw it. Anybody but his lover, that is. Still grinning, Kent settled his body on top of Rene's, balanced on knees and elbows, and rubbed his sturdy flight suit against her—patches, flaps, zipper and all—and growled when she trembled and grabbed on for the ride. Her small, strong hands dug into his arms then his back. A bare leg wrapped around his. Her heel slid up the back of his thigh to prod his ass. Leaning some of his weight

into her, he dragged his contained erection over her bare pussy, back and forth, rocking and rubbing until she gasped and shook all over. She felt so hot against his dick he swore he could feel her wetness seeping through the material of his flight suit. Either that or his pre-cum was leaking out all over her. He rubbed against her some more, loving the strain on her face, the color in her cheeks, the mewling, desperate sounds she made. Finally, he hauled himself off, flipped her over, grabbed her hips, lifted them high and drove his face into her cunt. She let out a gasp of surprise then straightened her legs enough to drive back into him. Kent highly approved of her strength and flexibility. He also approved of her taste. That spicy, almost cinnamon flavor and something else he couldn't name. He loved her heat and the wetness that coated his lips and smeared his chin. Her clit was already swollen, dark rose. He teased it with the tip of his tongue. Still holding her hips, he used his strength to keep her from shoving her cleft into his mouth. He loved her ardor all right, but he wanted to tease her, just a little longer. Make her sweat and burn, make her need him like she'd never needed anyone else. A crazy thing to want, but he wanted it anyway. Life in the service had taught him love was transitory, more lust than substance. Playing with another guy's cock every time he flew had done weird things to his psyche and made him a little too sexually aggressive with the women he bedded. His marriage had taught him love lied behind your back. But the perverse, gnawing need inside him held this beautiful woman close and hard, made him drive her need in order to satisfy something pathetic inside himself. Kent shook his head violently, trying to dislodge the crazy distractions. Blinking, he focused, firmed his tongue and drove it into Rene's pussy. He drew out her wetness, drank it down with a pleasure that was almost feral, and then drew out more.

When she shuddered, when her thighs shook and her knee buckled, tipping her to one side, Kent held her. His biceps bunched as he supported her, flicked his tongue against her clit violently and loved her screech of pleasure as she came against his mouth. Her swollen lips cradled his cheeks, pulsed against him in time with the twitching of her nub. When her cries faded to sighs of pleasure, he let her fall slowly down onto the bed. Licking his lips and watching her sated body sprawled out in front of him, Kent stripped off his clothes. Naked, he stroked his bobbing cock, lifted her hips again by sliding a forearm beneath them and piled both pillows under her pelvis. He knelt between her legs and admired his handiwork. Rene squirmed, distributing her weight to a more comfortable position. Her bare ass was tipped up. Under the harsh, industrial lights he could see every swollen fold, every bare, blood-rich surface of her pussy. He stroked her lightly, and she pressed back against his hand. Leaning over her, he kissed her shoulder, her neck, took hold of his cock and eased it into her sheath. Kent trembled. His lover was as tight, as wet and warm as he remembered. Burying his face in her tangled mane of black hair, he breathed in deep and flexed his hips. Pressing his body into hers, holding her with his weight and strength, he fucked her slowly and gently. He slid into her heat, felt the walls of her pussy hold him, caress him from glans to balls. Shuddering, he withdrew, so he could bury himself inside her again. Rene gasped and tried to lift her head. Kent's weight was erotic. The way he pressed her down into the mattress, flattened her breasts against the coverlet, slid his hair-roughened thighs between hers as he filled her was so sensual tears prickled her eyes. His breath came hot and fast, stirred her hair, sent a chill down her back that was a delicious contrast to the heat of his massive body over hers. "I love your body, Rene. Love fucking you," he murmured in her ear. He slid forward, made the head of his cock rub that sensitive spot on the front of her

sheath, bit her shoulder then licked away the sting. He slid back in and she moaned. Her fingernails dug into the coverlet. Rene had never felt so possessed, dominated, wanted in her life. "I want you. Only you. Want this feeling." He tipped his hips up and hissed with pleasure. "You, holding me, wet and tight. We do this, together. We make this heat." Kent punched into her, hard, rocked her body forward then wrapped his hands around her shoulders and pulled her back. The pillows bunched beneath her hips, lifting her higher. He groaned, anchored her firmly beneath him and sped up his strokes. Every muscle in her body was so tight, so expectant, Rene felt like screaming. Instead, she bit into the coverlet and gnawed. Kent rocked into her for a long time. He slid into her slowly, making her take his full, impressive length. When his cock bumped the mouth of her womb, she winced but didn't pull away. Then he withdrew, just as slowly, torturing her with the wet drag, the stretching, before groaning and muscling his way back inside. He bit her shoulder again, sucked on the back of her neck, laid his head next to hers and breathed so raggedly, her belly clenched with pleasure. When she gasped, when she groaned and slammed her fists on the bed, he punched into her, hard like before. "Scream for me when you come. Tell me how much you like my cock inside you. Fucking you. You own me," he breathed then his breath caught. "Own this pleasure, this orgasm building inside me. Just like I own yours." Another fist of pleasure squeezed Rene's belly, and her nipples drew up so tight they hurt every time the grinding pace of his strokes rubbed her breasts against the coverlet. She didn't scream when she came. She didn't have enough breath to. Instead, she moaned, crying out in sharp, short gasps every time he drove into her. Every time he drove the feelings higher, made her insides grasp and clench, made the white light behind her eyes blind her.

The body over hers tightened as Kent shoved roughly at her shoulders in time with his grunts. The cock inside her swelled until it hurt then started to pulse. Kent grunted again, pressed down into her hard, drove deep and stayed there while he gasped out his pleasure. Rene felt deliciously limp and very wet when he pulled out, pushed the pillows on the floor, lifted her onto his lap so they sat facing one another and held her close. Wrapping her arms and legs around him, she dropped her head down on his chest and sighed. After a moment, she felt his hand moving between them, a steady up-and-down motion with his knuckles grazing her belly. Kent was smiling like a kid, dimple and all, stroking his cock and keeping his erection from fading. The thick, purplish head winked in and out of view between his fingers. He held himself tighter than Rene would have dared, paused at the top, squeezed until he grunted then drew his hand back down. "Not bad for an old West Point guy." He grinned, gave it one more stroke then lifted her like her weight was nothing. Knowing what he wanted but not able to help much in that position, Rene tipped her hips, nodded when the head of his cock found her pussy and held onto his shoulders so she could lever herself down onto him. When she tried to angle her lower legs back so she could sit on her knees and ride him, Kent stopped her. "No. Like this," he growled, held her waist and rocked her back and forth on his lap in a small, easy rhythm. "Use your pussy to hold me. Milk me. This one's going to be long, slow, comfortable." With a sigh of contentment, he tipped her back just enough so her chest stuck up. "I saved these for last." Sighing, Rene watched him kiss one breast then the other. To reach her, he was bent forward at what had to be an uncomfortable angle. He didn't complain. Instead, Kent chose one nipple and suckled it with gentle, obsessed devotion.

She tightened her hold on his shoulders and lifted her body, only the tiniest bit, with aching slowness. Like when they flew together, she felt the connection between them. They had the same dreams, the same goals, the same passions. For the first time in days, things between them felt good again. With small, controlled movements, Rene worked her body in tandem with Kent's, cultivating the heat growing between them. ***** Next morning, when the alarm went off, Kent slapped it into silence and grunted. He rolled back to the small, warm and very feminine body next to his and grinned when she wrapped her limbs around him. "So I was thinking," she whispered into the darkness. She kissed his chest and he smelled her hair, flowers and cinnamon, as he stroked her soft back. "Would you like to move a few of your things into my quarters? Maybe a work uniform and your shaving things?" He felt her hand on his cheek, stroking his beard stubble. "We wouldn't have to get up as early if you could shower and get ready here." He allowed his hand to drift down, squeezed her backside then released it reluctantly. "I wanted to move my things into your quarters as soon as I saw you step off that space transport." Kent kissed her head and forced himself to roll out of bed. ***** "Fuel status—check. Directional thrusters—check. Oxygen—check."

Kent's fingers moved over the digital controls in the Connate. He moved on to the next item on the pre-flight check list. Feeling unnaturally taut, Rene perched between his legs. She crossed her arms, grabbed the harness holding her in place with both hands and leaned forward with a hard jerk. The harness held. Next, she snapped her jump boots into the foot treadles. Kent held onto the tops of her hips when she yanked on the steel box containing the ship's central information processing packs. If she pulled hard, which she was going to do, she'd jerk back into him—and his nuts. The last thing Kent did was take the handgun out of its holster on the port side of the cockpit, far enough forward both of them could reach it. When Rene saw it, she stiffened then relaxed. She knew why the gun was there, was glad for its presence, but the stark reality was unsettling nonetheless. Kent checked that the clip was full, clicked off the safety, pulled back the slide to chamber a round then replaced the gun in its holster. Mon Dieu but she hadn't been this wound up about a flight in years. Inside her head, Rene chuckled. No big deal. It's just your whole career and the future of every female flyer trying to get into the space program on the line. Rene breathed in deep, held it for a count of four then exhaled through her nose. She focused her thoughts, and this time, built a mental image of a smooth flight, a successful flight. She saw herself handling the controls with precision, focusing on her objective, succeeding. "Tower, requesting clearance for take-off." When she spoke, her voice was authoritative and confident. She might be small but she'd been born for this. She heard Kent lower his visor. He set his right hand on the controls, slid his left into her flight suit and let his fingers rest on her inner thigh. "Good morning." Rene grinned when General Henry Stephenson's deep, measured voice came though the little speaker jacks in their helmets. There was no way the old

man was going to miss the inaugural flight of the Connate Program's first two female pilots. Rene's shoulders came back but other than that, she didn't react to the general's presence . . . on the outside, anyway. "Today's exercise is a simple obstacle maneuver. This is your first flight in zero-g, so you'll fly for only ten minutes to get a feel for things out there. Permission granted for take-off, Lieutenant Aubrey. Lieutenant Moreland. Make us proud." "Aye, sir." Rene's perfunctory, Navy reply to an Army general made Kent smile. With his eyes on the readouts, he grazed her panty-covered pussy with the backs of his fingernails. Just a walk in the sunshine. Dear sweet Jesus in heaven . . . don't let me screw up. He held back his chuckle. Red strobes flashed around two of the launch chutes, accompanied by an auditory alarm. A cockpit warning light told them the launch shield was up behind them, protecting the rest of the bay and the people in the tower from the vacuum about to open up in front of them. Everyone involved in the Connate Project was watching today. He heard the coupling hooks unsnap when Rene disengaged them, heard the engines power up, felt the slight pitch to starboard when she touched the thrusters, and they lifted off the flight deck. Rene held them suspended for a moment and took a breath. He stroked her pussy again. I'm still here, she assured him. Just nothing in my head but focus, she said curtly then exhaled. In his mind's eye, Kent saw her fingertips nudge the joystick, like she was running the hours of practice through her head at the same time she was actually

performing them. They accelerated through the launch chute, not as fast as Sparky would have taken it but respectable nonetheless. Yeah, well Sparky's got the advantage of practice. He's ridden this rocket hundreds of time. Kent concentrated, determined not to tell her Sparky had scraped the tube more than once the first week they'd flown together. He didn't want to plant a negative picture in her mind. Rene's ass and his lifted up in the seat at the same time, just a little as they left the artificial gravity environment of Mars Orbital One. "Read-outs good. Thrust response within acceptable limits." She spoke out loud for the benefit of the people in the tower and the inflight data recorder, and, Kent noted, did it as calm and easy as he'd order a cheese pizza with double sausage back home. Damn it's big. Mars loomed large in front of them, obliterating all but a few stars and a black edge of space. Kent didn't remind her to focus. On her own, Rene gathered her thoughts without prompting then said out loud, "Starboard thrust. Banking over Mount Olympus. Crossing the Mariner Valleys and will be out of visual range of the station in five, four, three, two . . . ." Nicely done, Lieutenant. Thanks. Even in her head, he heard her sigh with relief. Kent strummed her pussy lightly. "Proceed to the first beacon, Lieutenant Aubrey," Kent ordered. "Lieutenant Moreland, you'll be our wingman this first pass. Fall back five-K. The simulations you practiced are a replica of this obstacle course. Lieutenant Aubrey, proceed at sub-light speed when ready." "Aye, Colonel," both Rene and Grace said. Slow and easy. You can do this with your eyes shut.

Amen to that, Rene replied vehemently, gave the stick a nudge with her fingertips, and Mars shrank down to a red lump behind them as they shot forward. Her breathing was slow and regular as distant stars flew past the canopy. Speed within acceptable limits, Kent told her as he scanned the readouts. All systems functioning normally. First beacon in . . . five, four, three, two . . . . ***** "So how was it?" Cynthia handed Rene a towel when she stepped out of the women's shower. "Easier than the simulations. Harder too." Rene shrugged. "I had no problem adjusting my grip on the stick, just like I'd practiced, but I never realized how much you pull and push against the restraints and the seat when you're flying. With no gravity to push against, it felt like I was moving through molasses, only without the weight." She winced when they heard Grace throwing up in one of the heads. "Oh, gawd." Grace's moan echoed throughout the chamber. "At least you didn't puke in the cockpit," Rene called out to her in sympathy. "And you didn't screw the pooch. We did good." "Yeah. Thanks." There was a note of brightness in Grace's voice then she started retching again. "Oh, gawd." Cynthia pushed her hair back. "I go up this afternoon. I've spent an hour every day in the anti-gravity well." She patted her belt. "Lost eight pounds since I've been here because I couldn't keep my face out of a puke sack. It's been three days since I threw up though, and I'm going to nail this exercise." "Amen to that, girl," Rene said and wrapped the towel around herself. *****

The next day, Rene flew for twenty minutes. Nothing complicated, just some simple maneuvers to build up her endurance to space flight. She and Kent flew morning and afternoon after that. For the most part, they communicated verbally. After she had a few more flights under her belt, he told her he'd reintroduce the plexus network, let her integrate it gradually. She knew he didn't want to get the general too excited, but he hadn't lied when he'd said she'd be ready for regular patrols in ten days. Chapter Seven "Ah, darlin', that's the shame of it." Beneath his indifferently cut hair, Professor Hurley Connate's calm, blue eyes focused on Rene as he squeezed her hand. He hopped up onto a workbench in the Connate hangar, pushed a wrench out of the way and patted the empty space beside him. He wasn't young—in his early sixties if he was a day—and he was so thin and wiry, Rene expected his butt to creak when he sat down. But he'd hoisted himself up onto the bench with remarkable agility. She jumped up beside him and let him take her hand again. "You see," he continued in his lilting, Irish brogue, "I've not found a way around the need for endorphins. We're working on it—truly we are—artificial opiates without the kick, so to speak, but we're not there yet. Please bear with us a little longer. After all, we can't be sending spaced-out space jockeys into outer space, now can we?" Rene nodded and smiled at his pun. "I'll keep working on the problem, and you keep on keeping space safe so I can." He kissed her forehead, leapt back down and rushed off on his stubby legs.

When he was gone, she looked around the hangar. It was getting late, almost time for evening chow, and there were only a few flyers and mechanics hanging about, along with the requisite guards looking down on them. She watched Kent. He'd been so proud of her performance. He made it clear to the brass she was one of the best pilots he'd ever flown with, notwithstanding the fact that he was damned glad they'd let women back into the space program. Rene resisted the urge to shake her head. Her RIO hadn't worked on his homophobia, he'd simply eliminated the source of it. He might be a gifted officer but he had a ways to go in his personal development. Kent was sitting next to Commander Bruce Eldridge. They were talking in low, hushed tones. Kent's face was earnest, hopeful. Bruce scrubbed his hand over his short, blond hair and shook his head sadly. "Hi, Rene." She looked up. "Hey, Viv. Did you meet the professor?" Major Viv Taylor's eyes sparkled when she grinned. "How could I miss him? The little Irish guy is hell on wheels. I'm pretty sure he could get more done in half an hour than I could all day." Rene nodded then patted the spot Professor Connate had vacated. Viv was a pilot like her and maybe an inch taller. "So. What's on your mind?" Rene asked when her colleague hopped up beside her. "He was telling me about the artificial opiates they're developing." The major picked at an imaginary piece of fluff on the leg of her Connate-blue flight suit. "I suppose he wanted to reassure all of us about that. I just . . . ." Viv's voice faded. Rene held her tongue. "Beth Ann and Lauren dropped out. I guess you already know that." Rene nodded. Two female Connate recruits, one pilot and one RIO, had asked to be removed from the project. They couldn't adjust to the intimacy. That

left two men stuck flying together. They hated it and made no bones about that. The general had promised new female recruits ASAP. She noticed Viv was looking across the hangar at Bruce. "He's a great guy," Viv said quietly, and it sounded like she was trying to convince herself. "Great sense of humor. He brings me one of those big pink roses every day." She shook her short, brown curls and her mouth thinned. "Am I so hungry for this gig I'll whore myself out?" Rene balked and tried not to let her reaction to Viv's words show. Kent had never made her feel that way about using the plexus network. She'd never felt that way about it herself. "At least we're not RIOs." Rene shrugged, then tried humor to lighten Viv's mood. A shift in attitude might help her succeed in the program. "We're the ones on the receiving end of a little pinch and tickle." She looked around, made sure nobody was listening, and kept her voice low. Rene grinned. "Maybe if you slipped him a gift now and then instead of the other way around. Or offered to tip him—you know, slide a credit note in his skivvies or something." Viv tipped her shoulders forward, snorted then muffled a laugh behind her hand. She bumped Rene's shoulder with hers. "Yeah," she said after a moment. "Maybe I should." Viv sat up straight. "I don't know if I'll make it," she whispered, "but I'm going to keep trying." "You'll make it," Rene said quietly, firmly, and offered Viv a nod and a smile when she jumped off the workbench and walked back to join her RIO. Not for the first time, Rene wanted to ask the powers-that-be why they indulged these male space jockeys' knee-jerk reactions to touching other guys? Sure, it was intimate, but it was just work, right? Would they be as sympathetic if it were women complaining about having to touch other women? She grimaced. Their collective distaste had created an opportunity for her. She wasn't about to get up on a soapbox and mess that up. Not right now, anyway. If Doc Connate did develop that artificial opiate, it would be a moot point anyway. Rene would

still be a front-line space jockey, even if she did occasionally miss the old pinchand-tickle on the job. ***** "I'll take over from here, Corporal." Rene's mouth thinned when Dr. Janice Karsten stepped into the CAT scan room. Rene wished she was wearing more than a paper towel for a hospital gown. Something like her jump boots so she could kick the hell out of the doc's perky little ass. The medical technician handed Dr. Karsten the blood pressure cuff he was about to wrap around Rene's arm and left the room. Rene sat up straight on the elevated, padded bench and tried not to growl when the doc sat on a stool in front of her. "This room's shielded," Dr. Karsten said. She was wearing a lab coat over her Army officer's work uniform. She took hold of Rene's arm and wrapped the BP monitor around it. "To protect the equipment. That also makes it soundproof." Holding her tongue and her temper, Rene glared down at the doc's glossy, bound, brown hair. When she'd been told to report for routine testing, she assumed she'd see the same doctor as before. "I thought we could talk," Janice said. She looked at a digital readout on the monitor, keyed something into Rene's file then loosened the BP cuff. "You've probably figured out there's very little privacy up here, so I commandeered your time while I could. I . . . I'm glad for you and Kent." Rene blinked but held on to a healthy dose of skepticism. The doc stuck the ends of her stethoscope into her ears, held the business end in her hand to warm it then slid it beneath the neck of the paper towel Rene was wearing.

"Inhale." She held the stethoscope to Rene's chest. "Don't get me wrong," the doc continued. "Exhale." She moved the stethoscope over an inch or two. "I was so jealous I could have spat nails, but I'm no fool." Standing, she leaned over Rene and listened to her back. "I initially signed on for some meaningless sex to alleviate the boredom." The stethoscope shifted, stayed, shifted again. "As a diversion. Hell, maybe just to get my rocks off." Janice sat back down, looped her stethoscope around her neck, pressed her soft, warm fingertips into the hollows beneath Rene's ears and felt around. "Kent had no problem with that. Neither did I. At first." Rene's muscles tensed and consciously, or unconsciously, the doc leaned back and slid her stool away a few inches, placing more distance between them. "Okay, so maybe I'm downplaying the fact I chose him because of his rank and position. He'll make general before he's forty. I and my career could handle being a general's wife," Janice admitted. Hmmph. Well at least her candor is comforting. "Lie back. Arms at your side." Rene complied and forced herself to relax as the doc palpated her abdomen. What disturbed her most was Janice's almost clinic detachment when she talked about Kent. He's not a prize bull. Well, okay, in some ways he is, but he's got a heart, soul, issues—everything all men have. Sounds like he's much better off with me than her. At least I give a damn about the man inside the uniform. "What I didn't anticipate was the fact he'd be a really great guy and good in bed. You know what I'm talking about," Janice added with a quirky grin. "Plus I was pissed when I realized, as soon as he met you, I never once crossed his mind." She straightened away from Rene, keyed another entry into the record, then started attaching electronic leads to Rene's wrists and ankles. "For the year we were together, he was always telling me how much he was looking forward to our day, as he called it. Couldn't stop thinking about me. Walked around with a hard-on, yadda, yadda." Janice snorted. "And I believed him. Still do, I guess."

She sighed. "Point is, you showed up, and all that blew out the airlock. Turns out we were just killing time together. Maybe it got to the point where I wanted more, but I never said anything. That's my fault." Janice sat back on the stool, and, for the first time since entering the room, looked Rene in the eye. "Maybe I never said anything because I knew he'd let me down easy— break up with me instead of letting me believe he could feel more for me than he did. It's a cliché, but he really is a gentleman. Add to that the fact I was mortified when you walked into his quarters and found me butt naked." "Well, I guess we're almost even because I'm wearing a paper towel now," Rene offered. "Almost. Maybe." Janice stood and touched the scanner's control panel. The table Rene was lying on slid backward until her head and shoulders were inside the CAT chamber. "It if helps, he never once offered to share one of his daughter's letters with me. The only reason I knew he had a daughter was because I'd seen her picture in his quarters. He shares himself—his life—with you, Rene. He never did that with me. Now, let's get this damn test done with so we can both get back to work." With that, Janice left the room. Rene shut her eyes, held her head still, and the machine started humming. She was glad the doc had got that off her chest. Grudgingly, she admired Janice's candor, her awareness of herself and her flaws. That's a good thing, Rene thought with wry humor. She'd hate to think she'd just walked into the clutches of some evil scientist like a gullible guinea pig. ***** A month later, Rene flew the Connate like it was second nature. This route was part of their routine patrol and she knew where they were by the positioning of the stars alone. The view was terrific. The rush of knowing she was one of only a handful of humans who'd ever been this far into space, even better.

The Connates flew a wide perimeter, touching the rim of their little solar system. The other space jockeys in standard flyers stuck closer to home. "Readouts normal," Kent said out loud. His voice told her he'd reported that status thousands of times since joining the space program although he didn't sound bored or relaxed. There was always a buzz around Kent when they flew. He was alive, aware and controlled. She felt stronger on the stick with him behind her. Make one final pass around the thirty-two AU beacon before we return to base, Rene. Roger that. Her touch was light, almost a caress on the stick as she adjusted their trajectory. "Connate Alpha now heading into sector one-eight-one," she said then wrapped her hand around the small microphone set into the front of her helmet to prevent transmission of her voice. "We're scheduled for two patrols tomorrow?" "Affirmative." During simulation, Kent and Rene were now up to forty-five minutes on the plexus link. During flight, they limited it to thirty just in case they needed to go into battle. Part of their growing camaraderie, however, meant that they often drifted effortlessly back and forth between the two forms of communication, especially when the conversation was private. "Shoot. I wanted to get in on that spa party Grace is organizing. I haven't had a pedicure in months." Rene let go of the microphone. You should have said something before now, darlin'. You know I'd paint or rub any part of you you'd— Kent's thoughts cut off with a suddenness that made Rene's back stiffen. Perimeter alert. "Mars Orbital, this is Connate Alpha. We're showing a blip entering sector one-eight-three. Moving to intercept."

Rene slammed the stick over and down, immediately adjusting their heading. "Connate Alpha, this is tower. Gamma Flyer Squad is scheduled for battle exercises through Jupiter's atmosphere. Confirm your last transmission." Kent's tone became hard. "Tower, this is Connate Alpha. I have Gamma Squad on sensor in grid thirty-seven." Connate flyers and the other space jockeys regularly caught glimpses of each other on their scans. The space jockeys knew better than to comment on the presence of spacecraft out of Mars Orbital One that flew at unimaginable speeds and patrolled the farthest edges of their solar system. Kent resumed transmitting. "All flyers accounted for. Repeat, we're showing an unknown blip entering sector one-eight-three. Moving to intercept." Fuckin' pussy, Kent growled in Rene's head. There's some seriously sick aliens out here. This guy has to pretend every blip is a figment of a Connate flyer's imagination and that pisses me off. Remind me to drink a toast to his rotation off the space station. Distant stars made no sound as they screamed past the Connate's canopy. "Connate Alpha transmitting data on Unknown." Breathing steadily, Rene relaxed into the light strumming of Kent's fingers over her panties as he communicated with Mars Orbital One. She maintained her focus and let the endorphins build up. Depending on who'd come knocking, she might need them. Pneomidites. And I bet I know who. Rene relaxed even more at his tone but kept pouring on the speed. "Tower, this is Connate Alpha. Unidentified is a Pneomidite merchant vessel. There are no, I repeat no power signatures coming from their weapon ports. Moving to intercept." "Roger, Connate Alpha." "Connate Alpha, this is Connate Kappa." Major Cynthia West's voice came through their helmet speakers. "Cavalry's on its way. ETA in . . . ."

"Ten minutes," Sparky supplied. They were, after all, on the far side of the solar system. "Connate Alpha, this is tower. All available Connate flyers have been scrambled." "Roger." About twenty seconds after that, Rene fired up the weapons, opened the firing ports on the pulse cannons and EMP emitters, yanked back the thrust controls and drove up beneath the Pneomidite vessel. They hung below its stern. Rene lit up its exhaust manifolds and put her finger on the trigger. Ready. Kent flicked off the signal scrambler on their outgoing transmissions. "Unknown Pneomidite vessel. You've entered restricted space. Leave or we'll open fire." "Ah, Colonel Parnell, my esteemed friend." The voice was unfamiliar to Rene, slightly mechanical, although warm and enthusiastic. I know this guy, Kent projected into Rene's head. She heard his sigh in her ears and in her mind. He's a nuisance. Doesn't know how to take no for an answer. "It is I, your humble servant, Tot. This is a most fortunate circumstance. Why, on my last rotation to my home world I told my lovely wife I had not had the pleasure of speaking to you the last time I visited your space, and here you are." There was so much joy in the alien's voice he was almost singing. "Hello, Tot," Kent said dryly. "I repeat, this sector is inhabited. All attempts to proceed further will be met with full and lethal military force." "Yes, my esteemed friend. I will not travel a single step closer," Tot assured Kent warmly. "I have a lovely selection of Turvolian battle silk on board. Hand spun against the bare thighs of young virgins." A section of the alien hull lit up, almost like a marquee. Squares of shimmering fabric, in a variety of colors and weaves, came into view. "I have vids of the weaving process should you—"

"Not today, Tot." Kent sighed. Inadvertently, he flashed an image into Rene's head of very tall, very skinny, female humanoids sitting on what looked like plasti-steel benches. Their grotesquely long fingers moved over fat looms. Each of their six breasts were bare with far more nipple than tissue, green, rippled like corrugated cardboard and stuck out flat and rectangular like cardboard too. Rene held back the urge to grimace. "Some other time then. And how is my friend, the esteemed LieutenantCommander Sparks faring today?" "Lieutenant-Commander Sparks is no longer flying with the Colonel," Rene piped up. "My name is Lieutenant Rene Aubrey." Don't encourage him. He'll never— "Ah, but my heart stills at the very sound of such a beautiful voice. Lieutenant Aubrey, I will look at the stars this evening and compose ballads to your loveliness. The entire galaxy will know of—" "Connate Alpha, this is Connate Kappa. We've got your six." "Roger that, Major West," Kent said. His voice hardened when he returned to the alien. "Tot, I have standing orders to repulse all alien vessels that enter our space. You have twenty seconds before the rest of my fleet turns up. If you're still here by then I will open fire." "In that case, I will let the anticipation of our next meeting sustain me until then, my esteemed friend." New images flashed across his hull—small, sparkling rocks tied together with what looked like metal. "I will use an old trader's trick my exceptional grandfather taught me. Lieutenant Aubrey, please allow me to show you a small sampling of the necklaces I have on board before I depart." He's powering up his engines. Retreating back to open space at sub-light speed. "They will pale next to your beauty, of course, and do no credit to your graceful manner, but I live in hope that the artistry and craftsmanship will

capture some part of your wondrous imagination." Tot's vessel began to disappear from view. "I dream of the day when we will discuss price, although I will be so mesmerized by your loveliness, I will allow you to barter me down to a pittance. A pittance!" His vessel, then his voice, faded in the distance. "Alien vessel has left the system. Connate flyers, stand down and return to duty." Kent switched the signal scrambler back on before he spoke. "Tower, recall all flyers to base. Gamma Flyers can resume their training exercise. Colonel Parnell out." Although they'd been dispatched as soon as an intruder had been identified, it would take the regular space jockeys hours to reach their position. You sound pretty hot when you go all Commander like that. Stick with me, baby, and I'll show you hot. Even inside his head, Kent was grinning. Take me to bed tonight, and I'll— He cleared his throat and fell silent when Rene slapped his hand through her flight suit. He'd been rubbing her pussy harder than necessary, stroking her more erogenous zones in an unprofessional manner. Sliding his hand away, he wrapped his fingers around her inner thigh and kept them there. "Connate Alpha to tower." Rene touched the stick and returned to their earlier heading. "We're resuming normal patrol." ***** "Lieutenant Aubrey, I'm modifying your duties." Rene remained standing at attention in front of General Henry Stephenson's desk. "The replacement Connate recruits have been on station two days and my flyboys have yet again failed to . . . work them into the program." He'd requested four female flyers even though they only needed two, maybe three, if Viv couldn't get on board. Rene assumed the general had worked

in a drop-out factor this time. Besides, at this level, flyers were used to competing for spots. Maybe if they had to fight for Connate placements, they'd be more willing to accept the intimacies of the job. It wasn't noble or even fair, but then what was? "I'm assigning you as training supervisor for all new Connate recruits, Lieutenant. You and Colonel Parnell's patrols will be reduced to one a day. Questions?" "None, sir." "Good answer. Report to the women's locker room in . . . ." He checked his watch. "Ten minutes. Their space-survival class should be wrapping up by then. Dismissed." Rene saluted and left. "So?" Kent prompted once she was outside. He fell into step beside her. "What did you say?" She glared up at him. Rene should have known he'd be in the general's loop. "He wants me to be a pimp. Fat lot of good that fine Annapolis education did me." She snorted. "I should have stayed on Earth and spent my days dressed in lingerie, manning a communication center." Kent's step faltered. "You know I'd pay real money to see that," he said when he caught up. He looped his arm around her shoulders and walked with her. ***** "Gentlemen, please give us the room." Rene stepped into the Connate flyer lounge with the four new recruits and Major Viv Taylor. Rouger and another RIO, who were facing each other over a backgammon board, blinked, exchanged a look, stood and left without further prompting. Rene locked the door behind them.

She opened a cupboard, revealing three sets of plexus helmets. "Are any of you into science fiction?" she asked with a wry smile. Less than ten minutes later, she and the five other women were paired off. She sat on a stool with a tall RIO perched on a chair behind her. The recruit was rubbing Rene's shoulders. Discipline your thoughts, Lieutenant. Rene ordered. The newly arrived lieutenant jumped. Jeez, you're in my head. How am I supposed to get used to that? Practice. Discipline. It gets easier. Freaky. Affirmative. Just think through the steps in calibrating a sensor screen for deep space. Think them to me, one by one. Set ping depth. Transmit short and long signals. Freaky. Enter feedback times. Confirm feedback times. Freaky freaky. Repeat transmission in the six basic quadrants. Freaky freaky freaky. Rene chuckled and smiled when the recruit rubbed her neck. Gawd, I needed that. Rene dropped her head forward, exhaled with pleasure then straightened. "End of exercise, ladies," she called out and pulled off her helmet. Every one of the new recruits rubbed their foreheads and the backs of their necks like something gooey was stuck to them. She stood up. "There are three spots available in the Connate project and five of you." Rene stared pointedly at Viv. "Major Taylor has not yet accepted the intimate requirements of the program, so her spot is up for grabs." Viv flushed and looked away. "This is your one and only ticket to become a space jockey, ladies. Gender prejudice is alive and well, and its name is Mars Orbital One. The name of the game is cop a feel, or catch the next transport home. Do you understand me so far? Good. The area of the station I'm going to take you to is heavily secured,

guarded and classified. You will be met by the three unpaired, male members of the Connate project. They will introduce you to another piece of cutting-edge weaponry, the Connate flyer. They will establish a plexus link with you. They will touch you, or be touched by you in a non-sexual way. Today." Rene unlocked the door and softened her tone. "These men want you to succeed as much as you do. Trust me. Their only motive is to be the best of the best and not have to shake another guy's johnson while doing it. Or vice versa. This isn't a dating service, and no emotional connection is necessary. It's simply where the technology stands as of right now and a requirement of the job, perverse though that may be. You can back out of the program at any time. Any takers?" Rene scanned the female recruits. Their determination and competitiveness shone in their faces. ***** Down in the Connate hangar, Rene and Kent moved from group to group. She explained the requirements of the program as directly as she could. Kent supplied information based on what Rene had asked him when they'd started working together, on her reactions and fears. None of the women, including Viv, let themselves sit on the sidelines. They leaned into the cockpits that had other flyers already inside, asking questions. Commander Bruce Eldridge brightened considerably when two female recruits jockeyed for his attention at the same time. Rene hoped his rose bush could keep up with the demand. "I don't think that's what they had in mind when they coined the phrase space race," Major Viv Taylor said wryly as she watched one recruit beat the other one out for Bruce's attention. Viv was standing on one of the platforms with a tall, brown-haired RIO. He grinned down at her. Lieutenant-Commander Evan Floyd's cheek was swollen and bruised. He'd been one of the two male flyers that

had been forced to work together. They'd gotten into a fight the day before yesterday. Kent told her he hadn't had the heart to discipline them for it. "Hop in, Major," the commander said as he opened the canopy. "How about a free backrub. My treat." Rene watched one of Viv's dark brows arch then grinned when the major climbed into the cockpit in front of Commander Floyd. ***** "No fucking way." Every head in the Connate flyer's lounge popped up. Rene recognized Bruce's Australian accent. "I'm not going back to running patrols with another bloke." Oblivious to the stares, Bruce jumped out of his chair, raked his fingers through his short, blond hair and started pacing. "Kent," Bruce implored as he crossed the room. "Talk to the old man. Ask the general to let me continue training exercises with Viv. Or one of the other recruits." Viv blushed and tipped her head away. Before she did, Rene saw the resigned, almost hard look on her face. Kent left Rene's side, walked Bruce over to a corner of the room and started talking to him in a firm but hushed tone. When Kent did that, Rene saw Evan move to sit beside Viv. He put a hand on her shoulder and offered her a wary smile. Viv didn't blow him off. She started talking to him instead. Rene excused herself and left the lounge. When she entered Conference Room Three, the instructor looked up and frowned. There was a picture of a Pneomidite on the vid screen behind him. "Yes, Lieutenant?" It was Lieutenant-Commander Steven Giles, the married cutie

she'd flown up here with. He'd dropped out of the Connate project even before he found out there was a Connate project. As she'd predicted, he was now assigned to cyber intelligence. "May I speak with the recruits, Commander?" Rene asked respectfully. He looked like he was thinking about her request for a minute then gathered up his data sticks. The vid screen went blank. "Yes. Probably not a bad idea, all things considered," he added and shut the door behind him when he left. Rene sat in a chair facing the four replacement recruits. "Gut check time, ladies," she said. "If you want to fly in space, now's the time. One of the unpaired, male RIOs just melted down. He's refusing to fly with another man. Either one of the two pilots in this room accepts the requirements of operating a plexus network, or we lose an experienced, talented flyer. At this point in his career, he's worth a roomful of recruits. Step up or wash out. Now." Rene looked at one female pilot then the other. She was through with the hand-holding. Like Kent said, there were some seriously sick aliens out there. Adding eight Connate flyers to the original fleet doubled their numbers. Despite that, they were lucky to catch sight of intruders by the time they breached Neptune's orbital path. "Which RIO?" The pilot who asked was maybe two inches taller than Rene, had short, reddish hair and a British accent. "Commander Eldridge." The Brit hesitated for just a second. "I'll take him." She turned and looked pointedly at the other female pilot—like she was waiting for a bidding war to start. The other pilot opened her mouth to say something then closed it slowly and looked away. "Follow me to the Connate hangar, Lieutenant." Rene said and turned to the two female RIOs. "There's one spot left." "But I thought—"

"Major Viv Taylor will be pairing up with Commander Floyd. If I don't miss my guess, Rene added to herself. She looked the two RIOs straight in the eye. "I want that last spot filled by twenty-hundred hours. Today." Rene stood, and, with the red-haired pilot on her heels, left the conference room. ***** "And what the hell does this mean?" Rene heard Bruce yelling as soon as she passed through the second locked door into the Connate hangar. He was standing on the platform beside one of the shiny, new Connates. One that didn't yet have a designation or crew names painted on the hatch. Viv and Commander Floyd were standing up there too, about to climb into the cockpit and looking like kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar. "Bruce," Viv said gently. She stepped up to him and laid a hand on his forearm. "You're a nice guy. Too nice. Working with you is . . . is like playing doctor with my brother." She shuddered. "It's just too creepy." "Oh, and you've got no problem letting him . . . ." Bruce pointed at Commander Floyd, but he flushed and let his voice trail away. Rene wished things had worked out better for Viv and Bruce. Viv's a good officer, a gifted pilot, but this damned program needs more than just skill and professionalism. It needs a real connection between pilot and RIO. It's not so much the touching, it's being jacked into somebody's head so intimately that you're part of them. A loud, piercing whistle brought everyone's head around. "Hey. Flyboy." The red-haired Brit walked up to the base of the platform, adopted an aggressive pose, hands on hips and glared up at Bruce. "Look. Two boobs, no waiting." Muffled laughter echoed up and down the hangar.

She continued. "Get your ass down here, Commander, and teach me how to fly the hell out of one of these hulks." Bruce blinked like he didn't quite believe what he was hearing. Staring at the short woman at the base of the platform, he climbed down slowly. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. Twice. "Which one's ours?" she asked and followed him to the last, unmarked Connate. "Do these things have vacu-flushes?" she added in a quieter voice. "I'll probably throw up. Do you still want to fly with me?" "Not as much as before you said that, but yeah," Bruce whispered back and laid his hand on her back as they climbed onto the platform. ***** Movie night tonight. We'll get back before it starts. What's showing? Five weeks later, there were enough manned Connates to fly the perimeter 24/7. Kent and Rene, along with three other Connate flyers, were out on routine patrol. They were just finishing their second shift of the day. Not sure. Some . . . . Background noise, a faint electrical buzz, caught Kent's attention. He did a quick, electronic wipe of the filters. The noise stopped. Then it started again. o'mego-o'mego-o'mego Rene jerked the stick hard to port at the same time Kent hit the record and transmit override controls. "Alert Black," he barked into his microphone as they shot past the thirtyone AU perimeter, then the thirty-two. "Repeat. Alert Black. Tower, this is Connate Alpha. Signal approaching from sector two-zero-one. Scramble all flyers. This is no drill."

Rene heard the sub-space hum through the speaker on Kent's control board and through her helmet as he transmitted the hum on all frequencies. The Air Boss on duty that shift didn't ask if Kent was sure. Instead, they heard him re-direct all fighters in the air to their position and order all fighters in the hangar to take off immediately. Kent switched off the transmit override, filled up the starboard fuel tank from their reserve and sweetened the oxygen mix in the cabin just in case they started breathing hard. He did all that in about two seconds. "Tower, this is Connate Alpha." Rene's voice was steady, her enunciation precise. The only thing that gave away the tension in the small, warm body sitting between his legs was the speed of her thoughts. Blow these bastards to hell. "Closing in on sector two-zero-one. Nothing on visual. ETA ten seconds." "Roger, Connate Alpha. Reinforcements closing in fast." She opened up the weapons ports, and Kent armed the pulse cannons in the tubes. Fire then bank hard to port. Evade the shock wave. She told him her plan of action and ran the steps through her mind at the same time. In response, Kent checked the fuel levels and power output. Kick it old school, baby. Kick those— "Tower, I have visual." Rene's voice was steady despite the jump in her heart rate. "Small fighters. Approaching at hyper-speed." "Sensors show twenty-eight alien craft." Rene opened fire, pulled back hard on the stick, banked and came in at the lead craft from below. "Firing pulse cannon. Evasive plan C. Direct hit. Closing in for a second pass."

"Correction tower. Make that twenty-four alien craft." There was a ferocity in Kent's voice that made Rene's lips stretch into a savage smile. She pressed the trigger again. "Connate Alpha, this is Connate Kappa. Closing on your tail at three o'clock. Prepare for EMP shock." Three more alien craft imploded under Rene's fire. She took off fast and high, getting out of range of Cynthia's pulse. We took two hits. Three. Tensisteel skin's pinging them off. Rene wondered why she didn't feel the impact then remembered—no gravity. "Tower, ten more alien craft crippled and drifting." Sparky's voice was intense. He paused. Rene saw the space around the drifting alien vessels light up. "Tower," Sparky added after a moment, "crippled craft have been destroyed." "Cover my six, Cynthia," Rene said and slammed down on one of the foot treadles, dropping her Connate into a hard, sideways dive. "Approaching the thirty-one AU line." Within a matter of seconds, two more Connate flyers joined them, then eight. Kent split them into four formations. Each formation took a quadrant and rained hellfire down on the Omegons. Fuck. "Tower, scans show twenty more alien craft approaching. Moving to intercept." "Rouger, flank them," Kent barked. "Cynthia and Viv, take quadrant Beta. Fire at will." "Bruce is hit. Repeat, Connate Pi is disabled."

Their pitch and yaw thrusters must still have been working because the momentum of Connate Pi stopped. Fuckin' A, Kent thought when Bruce's pilot managed to fire off another round from their pulse cannons before drifting away from the heart of the battle and limping back to base. Rene's strong back moved against him in time with her breathing—steady and deep. Clusters of stars and wreckage flashed through his field of vision, making vertigo flip his stomach as she banked, spun, fired then pulled up, again and again. Kent swallowed his nausea and paid more attention to her thoughts, so he could anticipate their direction. His mind moved at about a million miles a second as he coordinated the attack, monitored his craft's systems and kept up a steady stream of descriptive monologue for the benefit of the tower and in-flight recorder. "Tower, scans show only four remaining alien craft with another twenty bearing down on our position from sector two-zero-one. Keep your eyes peeled for a mother ship, men." Pulse cannons two and three. Fire up an EMP emitter. Kent's fingers were on the control screen almost the second the thought was in Rene's head. He closed down the vacu-flush unit and solar screens, redirected the power to weapons and engines and strummed Rene's pussy lightly, almost absently. "Tower, we've been hit." Kent barely bit back a shout of anger when he heard Sparky's voice through his helmet speakers. Four alien vessels closed in on the crippled Connate. Rene and Viv got there first, circling Connate Kappa in a series of coordinated, sideways drifts, firing out and firing fast. Despite that, one vessel scored another direct hit on Sparky and Cynthia. Their Tensisteel hull shimmered then hung flabby and lifeless. A quick flash of light signaled the ejection of the life-support pod. A

small thruster fired up, and they zoomed off at sub-light speed, heading back to base on auto-pilot. Rene and Viv protected their retreat. "Tower, Connate Kappa is returning to base. Pod only." Kent breathed a sigh when he heard Sparky's voice then he returned his focus to the battle. "Tower, eight more alien craft on screen." Rouger's voice was tense. His French accent was crisp and perfectly clear. "Tower, alien vessels assuming a wedge formation. They're retreating." Yes. "Connate Beta," Kent barked, "lead Delta and Zeta in firing runs along their port flank." Rouger's vessel peeled away with two other Connates hot on its heels. "Connate Gamma, you and your team take their starboard flank." Omegon fighters on the left side of their retreat formation began to disintegrate under Rouger's fire, then the fighters on the right. "The rest of you, follow me. We'll run at them from above." The Omegon fighters ran, but they were in the middle of a shooting gallery. One by one, they imploded. Rene fired and was forced to pull up higher than she wanted to avoid all the debris. That's when she saw it. A pinpoint of light, at the far range of her vision, moving toward them crazy fast. Big. Mother Ship. Rene fired everything she had, pulled hard on the stick. They'd shot high above the fighting cluster of vessels. Stars whirled around the canopy as they started to dive to rejoin their team, to re-form and come at the Omegons with numbers and every weapon at their disposal. Stick's dead. It wasn't like in the science fiction movies. Zero-G meant she didn't feel the sudden change in direction and velocity. She could see they were caught in a

tractor beam of some sort and speeding toward the big mother so fast her eyes couldn't track the stellar formations dropping behind them. Kent grabbed the handgun. Rene grabbed for it a second later. His finger was on the trigger, hers pressing on top of his when he jammed the barrel beneath her jaw. I love you. In the split second it took him to think that, even as his thought came into Rene's head, they'd zoomed through a wall of purple light and entered the belly of the Omegon mother ship. Artificial gravity slammed them against their harnesses. Kent was pulling the trigger when a corner of the hatch was peeled up, a thin nozzle slipped inside and the cabin filled with a sweet smelling, blue mist. The revolver slipped out of their hands and hit the floor as Rene and Kent fell unconscious. Chapter Eight "Kent." He awoke with a start. The light was so bright it made him squint and shield his eyes. His head hurt. His mouth tasted like bile and . . . . "Rene." Kent sat up fast, felt like puking but held it back. Still squinting, he grabbed her shoulders and ran his hands up and down her arms. They were lying in a rectangular chamber with rounded corners, on a hard bed tilted up at maybe fifteen degrees, narrow and very long. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw the walls were made of a metal so pale it was almost white. They were still wearing their flight suits and jump boots. "Are you all right?" "Yes." She blinked and rubbed her mouth like it tasted just as nasty as his did. "Are you?"

He nodded and they got up slowly. He started examining the wall on his side of the bed. Rene did the same on hers. Slowly, he moved around the perimeter of the room. There was a dome-topped hatch with no handle. No matter what he did to the controls, the hatch wouldn't open. He peered out a long, rectangular window with rounded corners. The only thing he could see was a corridor, lit up as bright as their cell. "Found the head." Kent moved to stand beside her. An oval, sliding panel had moved aside to reveal a cold, metal chamber, barely large enough to hold what looked like a barbaric vacu-flush unit, a fountain of cool water that activated when Rene passed her hand near it, and a tall, narrow chamber with a series of nozzles lining the walls. When he put his foot inside, cold air whipped his pants, but when he withdrew his leg, it and the pants felt clean, fresher somehow. He started rubbing the warmth back into his leg. "Shower. I guess," he murmured, and they moved on. It took them less than two minutes to determine there was no way out. The window wouldn't break, not under the force of a swinging boot or the bed leg that he'd wrenched loose. Rene stepped up to one of two, oval openings in the walls. They were narrow chutes, no more than six centimeters in height, located on opposite sides of the room. Standing on tiptoe, she peered inside then grimaced and sneezed. "Air flow. Maybe heating and ventilation. It smells though." She rubbed her nose. "Apples and dust. A little." Kent looked at the metal bed leg in his hand, and they sat on the tilted bed, side by side. He took her hand and held it in his free one. "Rene, I'm sorry. I didn't—" "This isn't your fault," she interrupted sharply and looked at the length of metal he was holding. "Think that would do the trick?"

The color drained out of his face at her quiet words. He couldn't. Everything in him recoiled from the thought, but as he turned the heavy metal over and over in his hand, he realized that, yes, it would. Without saying anything, Rene laid on the bed, face down. She let her head hang over the edge, laid her forehead against a section of curved, metal frame, exposing the back of her head and neck. Kent shuddered. Tears dripped down his cheeks. He watched in horror as he lifted the piece of metal high, landmarked a spot on the base of her head and swung. The hatch slid into the wall with fierce speed. The air around him rippled, and the length of metal in his hand flew into the waiting grasp of one of the two creatures stepping into their cell. One was at least eight feet, the other a little taller. They walked on four legs, two in front and two behind, and they had four arms—two far more developed than the others. Covered in a shiny, bluish exoskeleton, they had pincers where their jaws and hands should have been, and their bodies had three distinct sections like an insect—head, thorax and abdomen. Their legs were articulated in three places and had a ridge of thin, hanging spikes on the backs of them. Their eyes were large, multi-faceted and protruded grotesquely. Rene jumped up, yelped in horror then ducked and ran. "Come on," she yelled, and together, they bolted past the creatures. She made it through. They caught Kent's arm and leg in their pincers and he screamed. "Kent," Rene shrieked. She turned in the hall and stumbled. "Run," he bellowed and screamed again. He punched with his free hand, denting the chest of one of the creatures. It recoiled and loosened its grip. Rene gasped then vomited when the pincer of the other one tightened on Kent's leg until blood oozed out through his flight suit. The creature stopped, tipped its head up to hers and seemed to wait.

Disobeying a direct order, obviously forgetting all about procedure, survival and training, Rene ran back to Kent, grabbed the pincer squeezing his leg and pulled the serrated edges apart. Even he could see that they opened too easily. Then another pincer closed over her upper arm and the two creatures led her and Kent down the corridor. Limping, Kent lagged behind. The cut in his leg hurt like a son of a bitch. The blood loss would incapacitate him if he couldn't get it wrapped up. Another hatch slid aside. The Omegon holding Rene's arm pushed her in ahead of him. The second Omegon followed then shoved Kent out of the way. By the time Kent regained his footing, the hatch had slid shut, separating him and his pilot. "Rene," he yelled, pounded on the door, kicked it, ripped out the control panel beside it, all to no avail. He could hear her, screaming his name on the other side. His training told him he should seek escape. Contact Mars Orbital One if he could, call in support. He looked up and down the cold, sterile corridor then ran up to the long window facing the room they'd taken Rene into. He screamed her name and pounded on the transparent barrier until his hands were bruised and bloody. The two Omegons held her arms while a slightly shorter, narrow-bodied one efficiently lowered the zipper on her flight suit. She kicked at him until two more big ones came in and grabbed her legs. Within minutes, she was naked and lying on a narrow, elevated, metal table. Her feet were snapped together with metal restraints and rested about fifteen degrees higher than her head. Her arms were stretched out at her sides and bound with metal bands to slats that stuck out from the table. More bands were secured over her ribs, thighs and ankles, bolting her to the surface. "Rene," he screamed again and her head came up. She looked at him through the window. "Kent. Go," she yelled.

He couldn't make himself leave. Couldn't make himself look away. "No. No," he screamed when the smaller Omegon opened up a case and pulled out a thin blade. She fired a stream of obscenities at the Omegon then clenched her jaw. The Omegon cut into her ankle just below one of the metal bands. It was a slow, deliberate, shallow cut. Blood dripped onto the floor. A tiny, mechanized box drove around and around Rene's blood, cleaning it up. She opened her mouth, yelled then clenched her jaw again. The Omegon stopped, examined the wound, made it a little longer then set the blade aside. Rene's body glistened with sweat, and her chest rose rapidly with each breath. She screamed again when he slid a thin, vice-like tool into the wound and spread the edges. Howling, Kent started pounding on the window again until his blood smeared the surface. One of those little cleaning robots showed up, crawled up the wall and started washing the window. Kent grabbed it and threw it so hard it shattered on the floor. Inside the room, the Omegon produced what looked like an old-fashioned syringe. It had a clear, bulbous cylinder on top and a needle end that was clearly visible, even from this distance. The diameter had to be at least three millimeters thick. The creature slid the needle into the wound. Like Rene had done, Kent vomited when he saw a viscous, gray liquid pump out of the cylinder directly into Rene's distended vein. The syringe and the vice were removed. With deft movements of his pincers, the Omegon pressed the flat, glowing end of a paper-thin metal rod to Rene's wound. Kent vomited again when a wisp of smoke rose from Rene's skin and she screamed. With brutal efficiency, the Omegon burned Rene's wound shut, layer by layer, then stepped away to tend to his tools.

The four larger Omegons released her and stood back while she sat up, jumped down on her uninjured leg, and, with shaking hands, gathered up her clothes. They held her arms and escorted her back to the door. Kent was already there. He shoved them aside, grabbed her when she fainted and carried her as the Omegons led them back to their cell. ***** "Oh, god, baby, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." Locked in their sterile cell, Kent zipped up Rene's flight suit. His hands shook. "What about your leg?" Blood crusted around the neat slices in his uniform. "My . . . oh." He helped her unfasten his suit. "What did they do to you? How do you feel?" Kent didn't argue with her when she ripped off the bottom six centimeters of his t-shirt and used it to bandage the cut on his leg. "My ankle hurts like a son of a bitch," Rene muttered. "But other than feeling violated and really, really pissed, I'm okay." Bandaged and re-dressed, he hugged her tightly. "We'll get out of here. I promise." Rene nodded because she knew he needed her to. He needed to believe he could save her, protect her. Pretending they'd make it out of here alive seemed the only thing she could offer him at the moment. ***** "Urgh," Kent groaned but dipped his finger into the container and sampled the liquid. "Tastes sweet, whatever it is," he said and tried a sip before handing the container to Rene. Her mouth was tighter than normal and dark

circles had formed under her eyes. Neither of them were sleeping well. Constant low-level pain and anxiety were taking their toll. She drank then shifted uncomfortably on her feet. Three times now she'd been taken to the lab, as they'd come to call it. She'd been cut, had the gray gel injected into her then the wound cauterized. It was now too painful to wear her boots and although she carried them with her, she walked around in her socks. "Whatever they want us for, it's long term. Why else would they feed us? If you can call this food." Kent picked up the empty container after Rene drained it and threw it against the wall. The Omegons within line of sight looked but didn't react. Soon, one of those smart, efficient little robotic cleaners shot into the room and took care of the mess. He swore at the Omegon that brought them yet another container of goo to eat. Apparently, the Omegon didn't care because he didn't react. Kent and Rene stood side-by-side in a mess hall. It had been two days since their capture. At least they thought it was two days, or a mess hall for that matter. Omegons stood clustered around tall tables, leaning the base of their thorax against elevated stools. They lifted containers of thick liquid of various colors and smells to their mouths. A straw-like tongue appeared from between their resting pincers and sucked up the liquid. Every now and then one of them tipped their heads, watched Kent and Rene, then looked away. Kent and Rene didn't say much, not even when they were alone. They didn't know if the Omegons were listening or how much English they understood. The Omegons never made any attempts to communicate with them, except to threaten to cut off one of Kent's limbs when he got violent. They didn't talk to them, listen to them. If it was a ruse to get Kent and Rene to verbalize whatever escape plans they were searching for, it was a good one. Rene lifted her hand like she wanted to touch his face, brush her fingertips against his beard stubble. She didn't.

Thousands of years of male instinct weren't easy to overcome, and in his mind, he hurt more than she did because his woman was being harmed and there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it. She'd tried comforting him, reasoning with him, brow-beating him. Kent couldn't let go of his guilt, although he was desperately trying to be strong for her. Mostly it came out as anger toward the Omegons. An Omegon stepped up to their table, removed an untouched container and replaced it with another. The liquid in this one was translucent, orange and smelled like liver. The door to their cell had been unlocked. They were free to roam the corridors, within limits. The legs on their bed had been welded in place and there were no sharp or heavy items in any of the areas they were permitted in. Big Omegons trailed after them and by the way they positioned their bodies, Kent realized they were there to stop him from hurting Rene. He shoved the latest offering of goo away, slid his fingers around Rene's wrist and brought her palm to his mouth. He shook when he kissed her. He'd been ready to beat her to death. His Rene. His life. He might have been able to do it then, when the adrenaline and fear were fresh, but he no longer had the belly for it. God help her now because he no longer could. One of the big Omegons stepped up to their table, fixed his multi-faceted gaze on Kent's mouth then stepped away, apparently satisfied Kent wasn't biting her. Kent trembled again when Rene touched the side of his face, stroked his beard stubble and offered him a thin smile. "Eat," she whispered and set the container in front of him. "Why?" he growled. "I'm not doing anything useful." "You're here. I couldn't do this by myself." He brushed away a tear sliding down her cheek.

"I can't do this by myself," she added quietly. With a resigned nod, Kent resumed eating. She was right. She needed him strong. Guilt and second-guessing were seductive things, but he was not going to let her down by indulging in them. Not anymore. ***** "The eject button. Press it, baby. Go. Now." Rene awoke with a start. She was bundled in warmth but lying on something hard. "Rene. Rene . . . ." Kent was dreaming again, muttering in his sleep. He hadn't done that on Mars Orbital One. She stroked the heavy arms that were wrapped so tightly around her. Back on the station, she thought she knew what stress was. So had he. When Kent settled back into sleep, she got up, retrieved a second bundle of cloth she'd taken from a storage closet in the lab, and added it to the one already covering him. When their jailors found out she'd stolen the cloth, they'd looked at the make-shift bed sheet with obvious curiosity but didn't take it away. The material was white, flowed like wool but was so smooth it was almost texture-less. She and Kent slept huddled beneath the cloth with their arms and legs wrapped around each other on the hard, narrow bed. Despite their constant proximity, neither of them had any desire for physical intimacy. Getting naked on the Omegon ship only added to their sense of vulnerability, Kent's especially. Getting naked in this cold, sterile environment made her think about what they'd done to her in the lab. Plus, neither of them wanted to let their guard down in case an opportunity to escape presented itself. Rene sat on the edge of the bed, drew her knees up to her chest and waited for Kent to wake up.

She hadn't been taken to the lab after the first few days. Instead, they were left alone. They measured the passage of time by the dimming of the lights in the corridor to simulate twilight for about a third of each day. Kent's leg wound had healed quickly, although he still had a slight limp. The interior of the ship was cold and sterile. Every room had those same small circulation vents set in opposite walls. Maybe that sped up the process. Her ankle was almost healed too. The Omegons never spoke, never communicated with them or each other as far as they could tell. The ship was, by turns, noisy then eerily quiet. Mechanical noises, the clip of shell against metal as the Omegons walked, the sound of their own breathing, were about the only things Kent and Rene heard. ***** "There's another small one," Rene pointed out as they stepped up to their usual table. At regular intervals, food was prepared in the mess hall, and they had joined the clipped march of Omegons making their way there. A short, thin Omegon walked in on the heels of a regular-sized one. The proportions of its body were different, giving the creature a juvenile look. By now, she and Kent could discern differences in the Omegons . . . subtle things like color variations, body-part ratios, even the shape of their hard, smooth heads and the six, large openings between eyes and mouth Kent thought were nostrils. The small one was a carbon copy of the taller one it trailed after. The Omegons gave them a wide berth now, likely because of Kent's habit of throwing containers when something particularly nasty was presented to them to eat. She'd noticed the nastier goo was offered less frequently, replaced by the food they did eat.

"Offspring?" he said, glancing at the small Omegon. He sampled yet another container, shrugged then passed it to Rene. "It's that jelly that tastes like tuna. You don't mind that one." "Maybe," Rene said, accepting the container. She grinned. "And since when have you been my official taste tester?" "Since I elected myself to the position, Lieutenant," he shot back. He looked around as if checking to make sure none of the Omegons were paying attention to them. It was wasted effort. Even their guards no longer kept a constant eye on them. Mentally, she applauded his humor. As their wounds healed and the days passed, Kent was thinking with his head again, not his emotions. She was grateful. Like she'd said, she couldn't make it through this if he wasn't strong, present, there for her. Rene watched the small Omegon. It looked at her for a moment then stepped forward. The taller one closed a claw around the smaller one's thin, flexible neck and pulled it back. "Why the hell would they go into battle with children on board?" "Don't know," Rene answered. "But it's a good question." ***** "The weapon controls have been ripped out. The revolver's gone." There was repressed anger in Kent's voice. "Other than that, the Connate's in surprisingly good shape," he added with what sounded like forced optimism. After their second meal that day, they'd finally found the hangar their Connate was stored in. Kent powered up the batteries and checked the fuel status and oxygen scrubbers. "It'll fly," he whispered then jammed his elbow into the thorax of the Omegon that stuck its head into the cockpit to investigate what

they were doing. The Omegon snapped its four, pincered hands in Kent's face but backed off when Kent raised his elbow again. As long as he didn't hurt her, they tended to leave him alone. "Question is, how do we get that hangar door open?" He nodded in the direction of a hazy, purple light filling an opening in the ship's hull. "Maybe it's already open?" she whispered. She remembered how they'd simply flown through the light when the tractor beam had pulled their Connate inside. It seemed to be an energy barrier of some sort, a kind of a semi-permeable membrane. Picking up a broken junction box from the weapon-control panel, she threw it at the light. The box sailed right through and out into space. Kent snapped the hatch closed and wrapped the seat restraints around her as best he could while she punched the stick. They flew through the purple light and into space just like the junction box had. "It can't be this easy," he growled as he struggled to buckle himself in. No way can it be this easy, he repeated after he slid both their plexus helmets in place. Send a homing signal. Quick, she thought. Why can you hear me? Adrenaline. It'll . . . for awhile . . . reliable. His thoughts winked in and out of her head until he cupped her pussy and squeezed gently. Signal's sent, Kent confirmed. Setting the nav computer to figure out where the hell— Their forward momentum stopped suddenly. They were pulled backward despite the screaming output of the engines, then released. Rene set the engines to idle. Bastards. She changed heading, touched the stick lightly and stars drifted past them like lazy leaves on a creek. At about the same distance from the Omegon mother ship as before, their momentum stopped. She swore, powered down and let them drift. Tractor beam. Or whatever the sci-fi junkies call those things. Anything farther than four-hundred K and they haul us back.

Kent slammed the back of his helmet into his seat, wincing when the contact sensors dug into his neck. So we can cruise around, kill a few hours and burn off some fuel but nothing else. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, hugged her tight and swore even more creatively than Rene had. Take us back, Lieutenant. Save the fuel until we figure out how to defeat that tractor beam. When they returned to the hangar, there was one Omegon waiting for them. With its head tipped to the side, it watched them land. The creature made no sound and no other movement while they climbed out and explored the rest of the hangar. When they were finished, he followed them when they left and headed back to their cell. ***** Kent watched Rene run her fingers over her wounds then pull her socks and boots back on. Her ankles had almost stopped hurting. During the day, when they weren't hunting around the areas of the ship they were allowed into, looking for tools, weapons, even a means of escape, they hung out in this empty chamber. It had a big, glass wall, and they could see the stars outside, drifting behind them soundlessly. Two tall Omegons came into the observation room, as he and Rene had dubbed it, and grabbed Rene's upper arms. "Leave her the hell alone," Kent swore. He drove his elbow into one of their thoraxes and cracked the sole of his boot into a leg section of the other Omegon. When he tried to haul them off her, one of them kicked out and drove the points of its hanging leg spikes into Kent's thigh. He dropped, howled and clutched his leg. It felt like he'd been stung by a hundred wasps but the pain faded to a dull burn. Even before the agony subsided, he was running after Rene. His stomach fell when he saw the lab door whoosh closed behind her. No matter

how hard he ran at it, no matter how hard he hit it or the window, he couldn't get to her. Four more Omegons showed up and dragged him roughly through another door. He was in a lab, this one smaller than the one they put Rene in. He could hear her yelling his name through the adjoining wall. There was a puff of blue mist, and he smelled something sweet before he lost consciousness. ***** When Kent woke up, the table he was bolted to still felt cold so he knew he hadn't been there long. He was naked with his arms stretched out and his knees levered up by chains hanging from the ceiling. He trembled when he realized he couldn't hear Rene anymore. An Omegon, one of the thinner ones but not the one that had cut Rene, stepped up to him. The creature slipped a flexible, rubbery tube over the head of Kent's penis and tugged it down using the tips of his bluish pincers. Why was it he and Rene always thought of the Omegons as male? They all looked the same and none of them had exterior features that could be classified as gender-specific. Kent swore, threatened, jerked his body away as hard as he could but the metal restraints didn't give. The edges cut into his body until he heard the mechanical thump and hum of a cleaning robot wiping drops of his blood off the floor. The rubber tube warmed even more. It began to pulse, to squeeze him in a slow, hypnotic rhythm. The pulses slid up and down his length. He yelled in frustration when he started to get hard. Something smooth, metallic and lubricated pressed against his anus. Kent jerked, clenched his muscles as hard as he could and yelled when it penetrated him. His scream turned into a groan of shame when the end of the probe touched his prostate and stroked it. Semen began to dribble from the end of his distended penis. Staring and crying out, he watched the Omegon carefully gather up his

cum in a broad, metal dish. The Omegon examined the contents, swirled them around then closed the dish carefully. "You bastard," Kent yelled at his retreating back as the Omegon opened a door and left with the dish. The four Omegons that had dragged Kent in returned, unsnapped his restraints and left the room. Kent yanked the rubber tube off his penis, threw it away from him as hard as he could. I'll kill every last one of you. I swear. He grabbed up his clothes, which had been piled in a heap in a corner. His hands shook as he dressed. It was a struggle to fight off the growing lethargy, the sick pleasure his body was experiencing, post-orgasm. Forcing his shaky legs to move, he made his way back to the window overlooking the lab to which they'd taken Rene. He pounded on the glass. "Rene," he yelled. She lifted her head and yelled back. "Kent. You okay?" "Yeah. Fine." He yanked on his skivvies then pounded on the window when one of the thin Omegons approached her. "Hey. Leave her alone." The Omegon didn't react. Instead, he stepped up to Rene's naked and restrained body, produced one of the thin metal knives, laid a pincered hand on her abdomen like he was landmarking her and cut into her stomach. She screamed and her muscles contracted and shook. Blood oozed up out of a short, precise cut to one side of her navel. The Omegon cut again. And again. Each time he cut deeper, cruelly slicing through layer after layer of Rene's belly. "Oh, god, no," Kent groaned when her face contorted, glistening with sweat. He hit the glass again and again. An Omegon stood on the other side of her now, dabbing away the blood. Kent watched her tremble and jerk against the restraints when they finally stopped cutting. A syringe, similar to the one they'd used to pump the gray goo into her veins, was inserted into the wound. The Omegons' heads touched as they leaned over her to watch the needle's progress. Instead of pumping

something into her, they seemed to be sucking something out. Kent felt like he was going to puke—not from what he was seeing but from the violation of his lover's body. And there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it. Small amounts of blood-tinged liquid and tissue were drawn out of Rene's belly. They gathered in the clear cylinder on top of the syringe. Finally, the first Omegon seemed satisfied with the amount of fluid in the cylinder. He stepped away, carefully emptied the contents into one of those metal dishes they used, then he carried it out of the lab. Rene screamed again. The sound ripped apart Kent's insides. Layer by layer, the second Omegon was burning shut the cut in her abdomen. When he was finished, there was a bright pink gash of a scar on her belly, maybe two centimeters long, thin and horrible. The creature left the lab through the same door as the first Omegon had but left her bolted to the table. "God, baby. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Kent cried. He pounded on the window. "Stop. You're only hurting yourself," she said. Her voice was shaky, hoarse from screaming. He was surprised by how well sound transmitted through the wall. On the heels of that thought came shame. Why would he even notice something like that right now? After a long time of staring at her and her staring back at him, he finally pulled on the rest of his clothes. Blood from his battered hands smeared into the wrinkled fabric. "Are you cold?" he asked. "A little. It's warmer in here now." Rene shuddered. "Last time I tried communicating with gestures. I think I made one guy figure out I was cold. I don't think they feel temperature like we do." "Or their bodies are colder." Kent shook, remembering the feel of their pincers, the faint crunch of their exoskeleton whenever he hit one. Their bodies were definitely colder than his and Rene's. He wanted to ask when they'd be back. When they'd let her go. They'd never left her like that before. Naked.

He watched her exhale, saw the muscles in her thighs and arms relax, in an apparent effort to pull herself together. Kent tried to copy her example. Dropping his forehead on the glass, he regulated his breathing, swallowed past the ache in his throat. Focus. Survive. Get you and your pilot out of here alive. Spend every minute of every day of the rest of your life making it up to her. The only person around to hear his thoughts was Rene, and he couldn't burden her with his impotent rage. He looked down at her body as they waited and saw only beauty, the graceful shape of her limbs, her strength and courage. For the first time when he looked at her, there was no lust in him. Only . . . love. Kent shook his head and dropped his forehead back onto the window. Look what his love had done to her. He'd had a chance, a split second of time to pull the trigger and save her. Instead, he'd let his heart overrule his head. Now Rene would pay the price for his weakness for however long the Omegons let her live. Kent jumped up and slammed his palms on the window when one of the Omegons returned. The creature placed a small, metal dish very carefully on a table near Rene. Beside it, he set down what looked like a long, thin, flexible tube. The bottom half of the elevated table split. Rene's legs spread open with terrible slowness. Knowing what was going to happen, unable to scream, intercede or look away, Kent watched the Omegon insert the end of the tube into the dish and draw up the liquid inside. One of his pincers moved and that same end of the tube lit up. Another Omegon entered with what looked like a speculum. Rene winced and looked away when he inserted it into her vagina and turned a small crank, opening her. The two Omegons stared raptly at a monitor, as the first one fed the tube into her. She jerked against the restraints when it stopped. The creature pushed, and she jerked, harder this time, then harder again.

Rene screamed and her abdomen tightened visibly when the tube was pushed deeper into her body. It stayed there for a moment then was withdrawn. After the speculum was removed, they gathered up their equipment and left. She started to cry. Soundless sobs wracked her small body. Kent found he could do nothing but clench his fists impotently and cry along with her. ***** The metal bed felt colder than it ever had. The hardness bruised her hip, her shoulder. Rene shifted, trying to find a comfortable position, gave up after a second when she realized it was fruitless. She heard Kent breathing behind her. Like always, his warm, heavy arms and legs were wrapped around her. For the first time, she felt cold in his embrace. Maybe it was because he was so tense, as tense as her. She knew he couldn't come up with anything to say to her, offer her comfort, hope. Sweet Jesu, what had they done to her? She wanted to curl up into a ball and die. As bad as the pain and violation had been, having Kent watch had only made it worse. He couldn't help her, and she knew that was killing him. Knowing he'd seen her like that . . . did he still love her? Could he still look at her like he used to? How can he even stand to touch me anymore? "Hey." Kent spoke quietly but his voice shook a little. "We're going to make it out of this alive." "How can you say that?" she whispered, but her voice shook too, with anger. "You don't know that. They'll just keep using me until I'm used up then they'll dump our dead bodies out into space. Oh, god, the horror the poor humans that eventually find us will . . . ." Her voice drifted away. She sniffled and dug her knuckles into the corners of her eyes to dig out the tears.

"Stop it. Stop it right now, Lieutenant." The uncharacteristic hesitancy was gone from Kent's voice, replaced by that command tone he was so good at. "I don't know, all right? I'm just as scared as you are, but we've got to keep trying. Yes, we might die, but how will it feel, knowing we haven't done everything we could to get out of here? To survive? To keep fighting until the very end?" He squeezed her hard. His breath scorched the back of her neck. "I'm about as worthless as a wooden nickel out here, but I will not let you give up. If it's the only fucking thing I'm able to do for you, I will brow-beat your ass every second we're on this ship. Make you use that head of yours instead of the fear those bastards planted in you. That's not you, Rene. That's never been you. And I love you more right now than I've ever loved anybody. You hear me, Lieutenant?" ***** Through her boot, Rene rubbed her ankle then tried the next door in the corridor they were walking down. "Hey. It's open now." She shot Kent a crooked grin and stepped through the doorway. He scanned the corridor, but there were no Omegons around to see them. He closed the door soundlessly once he was inside. The lights cycled on automatically, like they did most everywhere in the ship. They began poking around inside what seemed like a storage room for the mess hall. Unused serving containers were stacked neatly in a metal cupboard. Another cupboard held what looked like machine parts. They were too small to be of any use to them, but Kent made a mental note of them anyway. "Hey, have you noticed that our guards haven't been following us for at least a day?" Rene said as she lifted the lid off a low container and rifled through the contents.

"Yeah." "It's like the Omegons are bored with us now." Neither of them had been taken back to the lab in days. She and Kent slept, ate, showered and explored where they could. More and more doors opened to them eventually. "They don't even stop and stare at us when we move around the ship." "And what about the shower?" Kent shifted a container and peered into the one beneath it. Like the others, it contained nothing useful but he kept looking. "That was a brilliant idea you had, holding onto one of those little cleaning robots until an Omegon showed up to check what was wrong." She'd led the Omegon into the shower, gesturing over and over until she thought he understood the shower stall, or whatever it was, blew out air too cold for their bodies. By the next sleep cycle, the temperature had been raised. Kent shook his head "All the barbaric things they did to you, yet they'll heat up the shower when you ask." "That wasn't my only reason for asking." She grinned when she looked up at him then resumed searching. "I wanted to see if they had enough empathy to comply with a request. Even if they were simply vested enough in our welfare to make sure we were comfortable." "Huh. Nice thinking, Lieutenant. God, I love your mind." Kent closed up the cupboards he'd searched, opened the door a crack and scanned the hallway. "And here I thought it was my ass you lusted after." He chuckled, but the sound faded quickly. "You don't, um, are you okay with the fact that we don't, we haven't really touched each other since our capture?" Rene straightened and dusted off her hands, even though there was no dust in the room. "Don't get me wrong, but I'm good with that. Really good. We're trying our best not to, but I just feel so damned vulnerable all the time. Like they're watching, listening."

"Like you don't want to give those bastards any more of yourself than they've already taken," Kent added. "But I guarantee you'll be exhausted from my carnal advances once we get the hell out of here. Day and night." He offered her a smile, then checked the hallway once more. They left together and resumed exploring. ***** That night, with her head tucked under his chin, she ran her fingers over the raised ridge on her abdomen. It didn't hurt anymore, and even the scar wasn't as vivid. "So what's on the docket for tomorrow?" she asked. Deliberately, Rene turned her thoughts away from what the Omegons had done, how they'd marked her, how they'd changed her. "We should take another run around the ship to keep our cardio up. And maybe an upper-body workout too. That and more time trying to repair the Connate, I think. Yesterday I found some tools. One of those big bastards took them away from me, but I went looking for them once he'd left. He took them away a second time, but by the third, he gave up and let me keep them." "I noticed that," Rene whispered as they still didn't know if their cell was bugged. "The other day, I was bringing more cloth back here. I wanted to bind some together into a book . . . you know, write out a journal so we could leave a record drifting in space. I don't think they've got a written language, so they wouldn't suspect what we're doing." She elaborated when he dipped his head so he could look at her. His brow was deeply furrowed. "I think the readouts on all of the monitors we've seen are numbers. A journal would be a small victory, but it would be something. The Omegons can't be infallible."

Kent grunted and nodded. "Good observation, Lieutenant. You might be on to something there. General Stephenson said you had a gift for abstract logic. Anyway, you were saying?" "Oh. Yeah." Rene smiled to herself. Kent's mood had improved visibly at the idea of any kind of victory over the Omegons. That made her feel even better than realizing they just might be able to leave a written record behind, without the Omegons knowing what she'd done. She rubbed her scar again then wrapped her arms around Kent's body. They slept curled around each other because it felt safer that way. "The bundles of cloth and knives were too much to carry all at once, so I left some in the corridor. When I came back the first time, the Omegons had returned them to storage. So I hauled them back out, left half in the corridor and carried the rest back here. By the third trip, they'd left them alone." "Huh," Kent grunted. "Kind of like that trail of clamps we left so we could run through the ship and not get lost." The ship was large, and there were no markings on the doors or corridors. Only the loopy, curved stairwells were color coded. After a few times, the Omegons left the clamps where Kent had placed them. Their captors even stepped aside now to let him and Rene run past if they saw them coming. If nothing else, it demonstrated that the Omegons could be lulled into complacency, even to the point of overlooking an escape attempt if it took place right under their noses. Chapter Nine "They're still here." Rene's head shot up at the muffled excitement in Kent's voice. "What?" she whispered and glanced around the hangar, making sure none of the Omegons had come in. She and Kent figured this hangar was used more

for storage than anything else. The other two hangars they'd located, ones that had short-range Omegon fighters in them, were locked. The closest they could get to them was looking through the corridor window. Instead of answering, Kent pointed. The charges for the pulse cannons were still in place. At first, Rene was surprised, suspicious, but then she realized how small the packets were. It was no wonder the Omegons hadn't figured out what they were. The firing controls were shredded and the launch tubes had been removed, but the charges were still there. Rene looked up at Kent, and her eyes widened. Each packet contained enough explosive to set up a shockwave powerful enough to punch through the hull of a conventional ship. The charges were self-contained and required no oxygen or atmosphere to detonate. The packets were also small. "But without a delivery system . . . ." Rene's voice trailed off. They could blow themselves up. Blow out this hangar and probably this section of the ship. Fear and excitement rose in her, along with that pink goo they'd given her for lunch. She clamped her hand over her mouth, ran and threw up in a corner of the hangar. When Kent followed, she waved him off. By the time three of the helpful little cleaning robots showed up, she was sitting beside the Connate and wiping a shaky hand across her mouth. "You all right?" Kent laid his hand on her forehead. "You don't have a fever." His eyes grew large. "You don't think you could be . . . you could be pregnant, do you?" Her eyes got just as large as his, but then she waved her hand dismissively. "Just let myself get too worked up," she insisted and swallowed. "That birth-control inoculate they gave us is one-hundred percent effective. Always." She deliberately changed the subject. With all they were going through, the idea she might be carrying an alien baby was just too horrific. "Too bad this

damn species hasn't invented the toothbrush. My mouth tastes like crap." They'd been reduced to scrubbing their teeth with bits of cloth wrapped around their finger. "Let's get back to work," she said brusquely and grinned when Kent saluted her. ***** Later that day, Rene marked out a new trail with some of the clips she'd taken out of a storage bin. After dinner, she re-traced her path, replacing the clips the Omegons had removed. Her path wound through several levels and led her past what they considered the most vital areas of the ship . . . the ones the Omegons kept locked. Kent wanted to leave a trail of charges along the new path, concentrating on those vital areas. They'd already identified the primary hangar, the bridge and what they thought was weapons control. He was pretty sure the engine room was the big, blocked-off area near the belly of the ship, so Rene attached several clips to the window frames in that area. She repeated the exercise once more the following morning. After that, the Omegons stopped removing the clips. For the first time since their capture, Rene fell asleep in their cell during the afternoon. It was just after lunch, and Kent was fired up to add the new trail she'd marked out to their jogging routine so the Omegons would get used to them moving in those areas. He heard quiet snoring when he came out of the head. Rene was curled up on their bed, fully dressed. He pulled her boots off without waking her, lay down behind her and held her while he ran escape scenarios through his head. *****

Several days later, they were ready. Judging by the length of Kent's beard, they'd been on board three, maybe four weeks. Rene had started gathering up containers of food from the mess hall. At first, the Omegons took them away. They were gentle with her, almost indulgent when they lifted them from her hands. She didn't protest and after awhile, simply went back for more until the Omegons stopped trying to dissuade her. She piled the containers in their cell, emptied them out after half a day or so before they started to smell and went back for more. Again the Omegons tried to stop her. Again they gave up after the first few tries, although they never let her gather up and store more than a few days' worth of food in any one place. She started stockpiling food, such as it was, in the Connate, then jars of water, along with leaving odd trails of them here and there. The cockpit was too small for her to squirrel away anywhere near enough supplies, but she squeezed in as much as she could. Some of the Omegons started following her, watching her with their buggy multi-faceted eyes like they were anthropologists, and she was some new, bizarre species. They always lost interest after a while and let her be when she refused to be dissuaded. She and Kent also flew every afternoon. Short flights, following a predictable path, staying close to the Omegon ship before dutifully returning in time for supper. Using small, metal cylinders wrapped in fabric, Kent fashioned dummy pulse-cannon charges. Whenever he and Rene ran, they'd place the dummy charges on the floor beneath one of the many clips they'd attached to the window frames, pick some up later and move them to another spot. Soon, even the cleaning robots left the dummy charges alone.

***** "Eat some more." In the mess hall, Kent pushed a container of something clear and runny in front of her. She turned her nose up and paled. "No thanks. That stuff's making me sick." "And you're not eating as much as you should, Lieutenant. It's a long trip," he added pointedly. Rene lifted the container, sniffed the contents and set it back down. "I can't," she said adamantly. "I'm going to the lab. It's about time we showed interest in something new." They left together. Rene had an intuitive gift for figuring out what behaviors the Omegons would accept, even indulge and how many repetitions it would take for that acceptance to happen. The patterns she and Kent established had them apparently obsessing on some circuit or odd task then moving on after awhile, by which time the Omegons had lost interest. She and Kent were then able to return to their old patterns, on and off, without rousing the Omegon's notice. If the Omegons started paying attention to their captives' latest diversion, they wouldn't pay attention to the little canisters set down along their jogging route that afternoon. Kent continued on to the storage hangar while Rene wandered into the lab. As soon as the hatch whooshed shut behind her she shuddered. This place didn't just give her the creeps, it scared her. Controlling her emotions as best she could, Rene started poking around. She opened sliding cupboards, lifted bin lids, even walked around the room with one of the Omegon's tall chairs in her arms. A side door slid open, and a thin Omegon watched her replace the chair in the same spot she'd picked it up from. She poked around the curved countertops some more, lined up some dishes in a row, and when he stepped aside to let her pass, she walked into the room he'd come from.

She shuddered again when she recognized him as one of the Omegons that had experimented on her. This one had a narrow thorax, colored in rippled shades of blue and orange, fainter on the right side than the left. He seemed quite animated. His pincers clicked, and his head bobbed from side to side as he moved around the room, turning back to her constantly as if making sure she was following. Rene caught a whiff of apples, one of the more common but elusive smells on board. She sneezed when she smelled dust. "What do you want?" she said when he looked at her. "Tell me." The Omegon stepped up to her slowly and laid the edge of one of his pincers against her throat. Terrified, Rene backed away. He walked toward her again, even slower this time. He touched the sides of her mouth, squeezed gently until her lips pursed open, then released her and again held his pincer against her throat. "What do you want?" Rene repeated, her voice shaking with fear. "Tell me." The Omegon stared down at his pincer then stepped back quickly. His head bobbed from side to side, and he clicked his pincers like they did when something startled or excited them. After a moment, he moved on to show her a neat row of machines, ten in all. They hummed quietly. Some were tall and complicated; others were so small, they sat on tables. The air around them was warm, warmer than any other part of the ship she'd been in. When he pointed at her then at the machines, Rene backed away quickly. He watched her with his large head tipped to the side. Then he produced a series of what looked like pictures and laid them out on a table. Rene fought the urge to vomit. They were clinical renderings of the experiments they'd conducted. The last few were of a series of steel dishes, twelve in all. The next were the same images, although she was sure they were magnifications. Rene blinked. In the middle of each dish was what looked like a

single, round cell. Other cells closed in on them, cells with bullet-shaped heads and whipping tails. Sperm and ovum. The room started to spin, and she grabbed onto the table. She was pretty sure where the eggs had come from, but who the hell's sperm was swimming around in the Petri dishes with them? Harnessing whatever control she still possessed, Rene counted the final diagrams. The Omegons had four arms and she'd noticed most things on board ship were in multiples of four. To make it easier for the Omegon to understand, she counted on four fingers only, holding them up for him to see then laid them beside each diagram in turn, one through twelve. His pincers snapped with what she sensed was enthusiasm, and his head tilted back and forth violently. Swallowing again, praying with every fiber in her body she was wrong, Rene pointed to one of the diagrams, held up one finger, walked to the first machine and laid her finger on it. There were pictures of twelve ovum being fertilized, but only ten of these artificial wombs or whatever the hell they were. The Omegon stood perfectly still then began clicking its pincers even faster. She repeated her little pantomime, ten times in all, then held up the last two diagrams. The clicking stopped. Solemnly, the Omegon held up one of its pincers then laid it against the abdomen section of his body. Rene cried out and trembled. Mon Dieu, non! What had they done? What kind of insane experiment would combine human and alien DNA? With a shaking hand, she held up the twelfth diagram. His pincer moved, slowly and carefully, and stopped when it touched her immediately beneath her belly button. In a daze, Rene set the rendering down with the others, backed away in terror and fled. *****

That afternoon, she and Kent set out on their usual run. The sling she'd fashioned hung around his shoulder, weighted down with the charges for the pulse cannons. Like always, they stopped periodically, swapped one of the small, cloth wrapped canisters on the floor at random with one from the sling, then continued on. The wrappings on the new canisters hid the short, protruding wires attached to a transmission lead. Terrified, focused, and numb, all at the same time, Rene ran at Kent's side. She kept up her part of the pantomime and had to stop herself from laughing hysterically. There was something growing in her. Something alien, obscene and she was going to carry it back with her to Mars Orbital One. She should stay and let herself be blown up with the Omegon ship. But even if she told him why, she knew there was no way Kent would agree and no way he'd leave without her. They had to act now. Every day took them farther away from home. The stars outside kept slipping past, and both of them had felt in their bones that the Omegons were returning home with their prize catch. The Connate's computer showed they had enough fuel and oxygen to make the trip back to Mars Orbital One, but they couldn't delay. When they ran past the lab window, she spotted a huddle of Omegons. They looked up and clicked their pincers expectantly when she and Kent paused, swapped canisters then ran on. Rene shuddered. No doubt they were waiting for her to return to the lab and take up whatever bizarre, new obsessive-compulsive behavior had taken her fancy. They were always very interested the first couple of times. Right on schedule, she and Kent ran into the hangar. Without talking, they stretched lightly, like they'd done for weeks. They were alone, but they still didn't know if the ship had electronic surveillance. She tossed yet another fake journal out the open hatch. The real one had been drifting in space for two days

now, and because they knew this routine, the Omegons had left it, like the others, alone. Kent set the sling, now full of dummy canisters, on the floor next to the wall like he always did, climbed into the Connate and shot his butt back on the bench seat. Positioning her feet and backside precisely, Rene settled herself in front of him. They snapped on their harness and helmets. Whispering, they ran through the pre-flight check, following the routine they'd established. No Omegon came into the hangar. They were no longer interested in this routine. Rene fired up the engines. Kent checked the output statistics. She saw the readings in his head. Adrenaline was powering the plexus network so she also heard his thoughts. Even scared and jacked up as she was, Kent's linear thought cut through the noise in her head. He grounded her and made her focus, like he always did. Even if they were red across the board, I'd still order you to take off. We leave, now. Or die with the Omegons. Affirmative. Their Connate pitched ever so slightly to starboard as it lifted off the deck. She flew them cleanly through the hazy, purple light and out into open space. Banking, Rene flew closer and closer to the edge of their four-hundred K leash. Five, four, three, two . . . . Kent put his hand over her visor, shielding her eyes when the first charge blew out a section of the Omegon hull. The escaping air fueled the explosive blast then it and the debris around it were sucked back into the ship, increasing the destruction tenfold. Rene bounced them along the four-hundred K barrier. By the fourth bounce and the ninth or tenth explosion, there was no pull on the end of their leash and the mother ship was tilting and jerking wildly as explosion after explosion propelled it through space.

Kent had already programmed the coordinates into the nav computer. Rene shoved the stick down hard, stomped on the starboard foot treadle and they were gone before the shockwave of the Omegon vessel's final implosion reached them. She flew hard and straight for two hours. The ship's chronometer showed they'd been gone four weeks. In the Connate, they'd make it home in three. After those first two hours, Kent wrapped his right arm around her shoulders and slipped his left hand into her flight suit. He strummed her pantycovered pussy. I love you, he thought deliberately then returned his focus to flying. Chapter Ten "We're not going to make it." Kent had pulled off his plexus helmet a half hour or so ago. Rene hadn't questioned him, but he'd felt her curiosity when his fingers tapped information into the computer, when his body shifted behind hers now and then. "W-what?" He leaned his forehead on the back of her head. Her long, black hair was tied back and secured but still, it floated around his face like a dark, silken cloud. "I've killed us both, baby," he whispered then lifted his head to look at her when she twisted around to face him. "Even with the vacu-flush system set on recycle scrub and us drinking our purified urine, what with the moisture we exhale with every breath, we'll run out of drinkable water seven, maybe six days before we reach Mars Orbital One." They'd die of thirst three days from home. "What about a signal? Call someone to meet us?" Rene trembled with visible anger and fear.

"We've already outpaced the old-style radio transmission I pinged out a few weeks back. And sub-space transmissions only travel so far before dissipating." Kent cursed. One of the xenophobic fail-safes built into their spacecraft was limited transmission distance. "I know you stockpiled as much water as you could, Rene," he added with fierce conviction. "The Omegons were willing to indulge our little idiosyncrasies, but they knew better than to let us provision our ship for a long voyage." "All right." She sat up straight and double-checked their heading. "We ration. We sip. We'll make it." Kent nodded and hated the lie. When he'd calculated how many days they could survive, he'd already factored in them being dehydrated every light year of the way. ***** Rene jerked in his arms, snorted then resumed snoring quietly. She was dreaming. He liked her dreams, liked to watch them when it was her turn to sleep and there was nothing to do but watch the stars slip by overhead, ignore the raging thirst and the pounding in his head. Doc Connate would have a theory or two about why they were able to communicate through the plexus network without drummed-up endorphins. Was it their intimacy? Their bond? The fact that Rene was relaxed and happy when she dreamed? Who knew? Maybe love found a way when technology failed. Kent no longer bothered to lick his cracked, peeling lips. Scratching at his beard, he leaned his plexus helmet against hers and smiled. Rene's dreams were colorful and vivid. He was a child alongside her, running through ripening vineyards with scabby knees. The soil was rich and spotted with chalk, the grapes a vibrant green; the rose bushes at the end of each row were heavy with blossoms. The sky was an intense blue—bluer than any sky he'd seen as a child

in his home state of Virginia. She squealed with delight when a tall, black-haired man caught her, threw her up in the air, only to catch her safely in his strong arms. Kent's smile widened at the sound of Rene's childish laughter as the man blew raspberry kisses against her neck, set her down and let her run off with a scruffy dog that wagged its tail and barked with excitement. Kent stiffened. She was back in the Omegon lab. Pain. Oh, god, she was in such pain. He wanted to wake her, stop the nightmare in its tracks, but if she woke, she'd remember. If he let her sleep, the dream would fade like smoke from her memory. He held her and squeezed his eyes shut. In her dream, it was cold, bright, and she was naked and defenseless. The warrior core inside her rebelled at being defenseless, rebelled against her gender, her most basic definition as a human, being used against her. Kent followed her into a lab, one he'd never seen before. At first he thought it was just a figment of her imagination, a compilation the nightmare had cooked up for its perverse edification, but the details were too specific. He saw ten machines—incubators—of different sizes and complexities and knew along with her that the air had been warmed to match the temperature of her body. Rene's body. The pictures the Omegon showed her were of something they'd taken from Rene's body. Something sacred, something so intimate and fundamentally part of her she screamed over and over when she looked at them. Then the Omegon pointed, shared with horrible glee where the last two embryos were growing. One inside the Omegon. One inside her. The dream in her head changed. She was in a modern healthcare facility on Earth, surrounded by smiling doctors and nurses. Rene smiled back then pain gripped her belly. Despite the pain, this dream was better. Happier. Normal. She held onto a hand, a strong, large, male hand with a scattering of brown hair across the back. Kent flexed his own hand unconsciously. He'd been away on active duty when his daughter had been born, but his wife had sent up vids of the delivery.

They'd been taken by her labor-coach, a close friend she'd started spending a lot more time with, who also, by happy coincidence, had some medical training because she was a dental hygienist. Kent shook his head and surprised himself by grinning wryly. The people around Rene continued to smile, told her to push, and she did. More pain, then a feeling of great release and euphoria. She looked down between her knees. A smiling doctor was holding something out to her. It was small, bundled in cloth and made soft, mewling sounds. She held out her arms expectantly, took the bundle and lifted a corner of the cloth away from its face. The thing in her arms gazed up at her with dark, multi-faceted eyes. Tiny pincers on either side of its mouth opened and closed. From behind her, she heard the sound of clicking closing in on her. "No," Kent yelled and Rene started. What's wrong? He had no answer. The totality of the horror of what they'd done to her crashed down on him. He knew Rene heard every thought, saw every terrible picture in his head. Why didn't you tell me? He saw Rene trying to hide her thoughts from him, but he cupped her pussy gently and strummed it insistently to stop her leaving his head. They planted something in me. Something alien, and . . . and I knew I should have stayed behind and died on the Omegon ship. Me and this aberration I'm carrying. But you wouldn't have let me. No. I wouldn't have. We'll make it back to Mars Orbital One, she thought after a while. Like she always did when the stakes were high, she built a mental picture of herself in her head—healthy, strong, confident and free of whatever was growing inside of her. They'll take it out of me. They'll kill it, and that'll be the last of them.

They . . . they took something from me too. Gritting his teeth, Kent finally let himself think about that one time the Omegons had taken him into a lab. The violation. The theft of his human, genetic identity. Her violation was terrible. Kent knew that, and he hated himself for feeling like what they'd done to him was worse. Because it was worse for a man, wasn't it? He was the dominant one, the one who was supposed to protect her along with everyone else in his life. All that he was—made him the one in control—the one who penetrated, made him strong and the master of everything he set his mind to. The Omegons had stripped one of the most basic tenets of his life from him. Even worse, they'd made him face the fact that he was a chest-thumping Neanderthal who cared more about himself than the woman he supposedly loved. Maybe part of the baby is mine, he thought. Maybe all of it is mine. And yours. Her breath caught. It was the first time she'd thought of the cells inside of her as a baby. Through his head, she saw Kent's pain, his sense of failure, felt the wretchedness of his violation. You think they diminished you, she reasoned. They didn't. You see my . . . my pregnancy, and the first thing you do is reassure me, lay your pain and shame out for me to see, so that I won't be terrified of the thing growing inside me. Thing? No. Kent's thoughts were gentle, and they felt like soft nudges against her temple. It's a human baby. Beautiful and pink and normal. Your cells and mine. Nobody else's. We'll make it through this, Rene, together. Like you said, we'll get back to Mars Orbital One. We'll take it one day at a time after that. He lifted his hand from between her legs. Before the plexus link eventually winked out, he lost himself in her thoughts. She thought about flying among the stars, being at the top of her game, one of the best of the best. How much would she have to give up because aliens

had played god with her body? Like on the Omegon ship, she felt vulnerable. I used to be better than this. Stronger. How much of herself had she lost? Her eyelids felt heavy, scratchy. Her tongue was swollen and it felt like her gums were being stretched, pulling back from her teeth. Dehydration and exhaustion started to shut her mind down. I love him but I want to fly. I need to fly. I'm not ready to be a mother. Rene fell back to sleep or perhaps she simply lost consciousness. Kent didn't disturb her. Instead, he monitored the ship's systems, their position and the autopilot as he held his lover's dying body and watched the stars scream past overhead. ***** The following day, by common agreement, they created an amendment to the ship's log. They added details of the alien experimentation on their reproductive organs, as well as their speculation on Omegon sociology and vulnerabilities. Finally, they described exactly how they'd destroyed their ship. When they were finished, Kent locked the new log away in the Connate's computer with instructions it be opened only by General Henry Stephenson. He cried without shedding tears when he tried to wake Rene and couldn't. He laid his hands on her chest, felt its hesitant rise and fall, clung to the feeling for as long as he could. He was bigger, stronger. What if he lived and she didn't? Only it wouldn't just be her dying. She'd take his heart and their baby with her. His head hurt so much. The skin at the base of his cuticles had slowly split and curled up in thin fissures. His forehead dropped forward and leaned against the back of Rene's helmet. After that, there was nothing. *****

The feeling was so strange Kent didn't recognize it. His arms and legs felt weighted. Even Rene's slight body felt heavy against his. His eyeballs were coated with sandpaper when he forced his crusted lids open. Kent's hand shot out and latched onto the throat of the alien leaning into the cockpit. He squeezed. The saucer in the alien's hands shook. His skin was warm and pliable and beneath it, Kent could feel neck bones. Watching Kent with wide, silver eyes, the alien moved the saucer toward Rene with aching slowness. The alien was a bald, humanoid male, with three slight, bony protrusions rimming his brow, pale skin, a protruding breastbone and elaborate ear jewelry. He smelled like citrus fruit. Kent released his grip on the alien’s throat when Rene lifted her hand. It dropped, but she immediately tried again. This time, she managed to grab onto the saucer. She placed her hands over the alien's smaller ones and started to drink. Kent's nostrils flared and he grinned insanely when he smelled the water. The alien re-filled the saucer and offered it to him. Kent shook him off and refused to drink until Rene forced him to take the fourth refill. ***** "So how is it that you are alive, my esteemed friend?" Kent looked around the neat, oval galley inside the Pneomidite trading vessel. "Rene got us out. She sees patterns in behavior, almost like number puzzles. Thank you, Tot," he added when the stubby Pneomidite set yet another dish on the low table. The Connate's chronometer had told him he and Rene had been unconscious for three days. They and Tot were now lying on their sides, propped

up on their elbows on long, thick cushions. Tot had fashioned rudimentary forks and spoons when he realized his guests weren't used to eating with their fingers. They'd insisted it wasn't necessary, but he viewed hospitality as a point of pride and wouldn't be dissuaded. There was a large pitcher of ice and water in the middle of the table, which he kept topped up, along with steaming saucers of some sort of nutmeg-scented tea. Mentally, Kent took back every bad thought, xenophobic attitude and mental snub he'd ever directed toward Tot and all the other Pneomidites that had entered Earth's solar system. "I am overwhelmed to hear such good news," Tot said and ladled a tiny portion of what looked like chicken pot pie onto their plates, and a generous serving for himself. "I hope with every ounce of my being you will sample this recipe, my marvelous friends. It is one I grew up on and learned to make at my exceptional grandmother's knee. If it is not to your liking, please do not hesitate to say. I will prepare something else and something else after that with the most great delight until we discover all the things you find good and nutritious and pleasing to eat. Hmm? Try now, please." His grin was infectious. The pie tasted like chicken in butterscotch ice cream. Odd but interesting. They ate with gusto, and Tot refilled their plates with undisguised glee. When they were finally finished and sitting up with saucers of water in front of them, Tot shook his bald head and sighed. "The Dun'Liaf are a terrible species." "Dun'Liaf?" Kent asked. "Is that what they call themselves?" "We do not know what they call themselves." Tot held his hands out and shrugged. "It does not matter anyway, because they do not speak." "We wondered about that," Rene added. Nodding, Tot topped up her water dish. "Drink, most beautiful one," he said kindly and nudged the saucer closer to her.

Kent's heart felt lighter at the sight of her smile, even if it was directed at their gracious host. Tot had given them a salve for their lips and a tomatoflavored liquid to rinse out their mouths. Both had worked fast and although Rene's lips still bore red lines, they no longer cracked open when she spoke. Her eyes were sunken and there were dark circles under them, but they shone when she smiled. Just like they used to. Tot continued. "The Dun'Liaf are one of a few species known to my people who communicate through scent." "Scent?" "Yes. Scent, my esteemed friend." Tot nodded as he spoke. "Although most species like them do not venture far into space. You and I, noble Colonel Parnell, communicate through the transmission of simple sound waves." Tot tapped his finger against a small, metal box he wore on a chain around his neck. It was a little disconcerting, talking to Tot. His lips and jaw moved, but the words coming through his translation device were wildly out of sync, even delayed. It was like watching one of those antique, Japanese samurai movies. Tot continued. "This allows for communication across great distances. Communication by scent requires thousands of chemical combinations. I know of no device capable of producing such complex combinations, let alone doing it quickly." He snorted with disdain. "The unworthy Dun'Liaf do not even have ears and have no idea there is such a thing as sound." Rene touched her throat. "The last day, one of the Om . . . the Dun'Liaf touched my throat while I spoke. I suppose before then they thought we were just randomly opening and closing our mouths." Tot exhaled slowly. "Then it is a great thing you destroyed them when you did, most lovely and brilliant Lieutenant Aubrey. The Dun'Liaf are quick learners. If they discovered we communicate across vast distances, the rest of the galaxy would be at a great tactical disadvantage."

Leaning back, Kent grew thoughtful. He remembered the small openings they'd thought were ventilation shafts. They'd obviously been communication tubes. "So we can be confident that any information they gained from Rene and I has been destroyed, right?" "Yes. Yes indeed, my noble friend." Tot nodded happily. "They communicate in person, or through a series of lights or the transmission of numbers. They have not invented even the most rudimentary of written languages because, after all, how does one describe scents when one has no language to do so?" "How did you learn they communicate through scent?" Rene asked. Tot tapped the side of his nose. "Pneomidites are blessed with a highly developed sense of smell. Much like your . . . ." There was a long pause between the word Tot's mouth formed and the one that came out of his translation device. That happened when the word was one he'd never used before. "Bloodhound. During our first contacts, the Dun'Liaf were not hostile and communicated freely with us." "How do you know so much about us, Tot?" Rene asked. "Or bloodhounds, for that matter?" "Ah. So beautiful and discerning, my lovely lieutenant. Your . . . ." Again there was a pause as his translation device worked. "Television broadcasts are most entertaining and enlightening." He leaned forward and winked. "I Love Lucy," he pronounced sagely and winked again. "Although Kojak is a-okay too." Tot ran his hand over his bald head and grinned. "He is especially popular on my home world, as well as your commercials for the post office." Kent and Rene looked at each other and laughed. Then they grew serious. "You said they weren't hostile at first," Kent asked. "When did that change?" "You have . . . hit the nail on the head, as it were, gifted and handsome Colonel."

Kent grinned at Tot's generous praise. Rene smiled at him and squeezed his hand like she agreed with the Pneomidite's description. Tot continued. "The Dun'Liaf are inquisitive observers. They watch other species during first contact, disregard what does not interest them or that which will not prove useful, and take those things that are." "Take?" Kent's voice shook with repressed anger, and Rene laid her hand on his. Tot nodded sadly. "Yes. Take. Our own contacts with them, and the information other species have shared with us, tell us the Dun'Liaf are little more than galactic thieves. Only it is the improvement of their species they hunger after." He looked around the tidy galley, and his face drooped. "Only men of my species travel in Dun'Liaf space. With other races, it is their women. Right now, it is evolution the Dun'Liaf covet." "I don't understand." Rene said. "The Dun'Liaf perpetuate through asexual reproduction. They have no gender. Conception—or rather, duplication—takes place randomly and is beyond their control. They are, I am profoundly sad to say, interested in humans because they discovered, upon first contact, you have two genders. They see that as more evolved." Tot sighed again. "I dare not travel with even a drawing of my wonderful wife's beautiful face for fear the Dun'Liaf will take an interest in me and discover the secret we have hidden from them for over a . . . century. That our species, like so many in the galaxy, is made up of men and women." "Then that means they'll come back," Kent growled. "Forgive my impertinence, my esteemed friend, but I believe not. You see, you destroyed one of the Dun'Liaf's most powerful ships. They could not transmit data about your capture and therefore the success of their mission. The only thing the Dun'Liaf home world will know, in time, is they flew to your Earth and were destroyed."

"They're not creative thinkers," Rene said slowly. "No imagination. Very linear." Her head came up a little higher. "If you perform an action they disapprove of or don't understand, and if you keep performing it despite being told not to, they simply come to accept it. Quickly too, except if it's something obviously counter-productive to their mission." "Like stockpiling water. Or . . . or hurting your fellow captive." Kent's lips thinned until Rene squeezed his hand. Despite his guilt and self-recrimination, he was happy to see her spirit coming back, her discernment . . . so many things he'd been terrified of losing when they were dying. "I agree with my whole mind," Tot said. "They barely escaped their first encounter with your species. They did not survive the second. It is likely they will not return; yet you are right to be wary. They are without compassion. They seem incapable of recognizing pain in others. They are . . . psychotic." Slowly, Kent drained his saucer of water. "I wish we'd known." Tot refilled the saucer. "I would have told you," he said quietly, "but your species has proven reluctant to exchange of any kind." Kent lowered the saucer and his gaze. "Tot, I—I'm sorry for all those times we ran you out of our space without good reason. You're a good man and we never gave you a chance to show us." "Indeed, esteemed one, but we are past that now. The Dun'Liaf behaved most barbarically toward your forefathers. Many in the galaxy understand your reticence, although the Argnauf will, as you say, rub your faces in it by making you gather fruit." Tot's smile was gentle, like he was trying hard to take the sting out of his words. "We are all capable of growth, Colonel Parnell," Tot added, patted Kent's hand then jumped up to retrieve another dish. "We can all aspire to be as intelligent and discerning as your lovely Lieutenant Aubrey." *****

"Unknown Pneomidite vessel. You have entered restricted space. Leave or we will open fire." "I am so happy to greet you, Major Rougeau, my esteemed friend." Tot set his engines to idle and touched the thrusters, halting the ships momentum. "Bonjour, Tot. I repeat, this sector is inhabited. All attempts to proceed further will be met with full and lethal military force." "Connate Beta," Kent said through the open communication link. Or was Rouger's ship now Connate Alpha? Kent and Rene had probably been classified as dead or MIA. "This is Colonel Kent Parnell. Access ID Alpha Alpha West Point Charlie." He grinned. "Damned good to hear your voice, Rouger. See if the old man won't grant Tot here clearance to land. I'm sorely in need of a change of clothes and a shave." All he heard for about half a minute was dead air. "Kent? Allons done! Rene . . . is she with you?" "I'm here," she said with a smile, and then grimaced. Kent caught her expression and figured her lips still weren't fully healed. Through the open and unscrambled channel, they heard Rouger's excitement and adamancy as he told the tower to open up a landing bay. Kent hugged Rene and made sure she was strapped into the seat beside Tot. There were only two in the cockpit so he hung on to what he could and braced himself against the back wall. It was a tight fit because most Pneomidites, so he'd learned, topped out at about five feet in height. As he started his approach into Mars Orbital One, Tot produced two small packages. "Gifts for my most wondrous friends," he said. "For you, my fine Colonel Parnell, a jeweled ornament for that magnificent facial hair of yours. Do many men of your species wear such wondrous growths? Ah, the sales I will make if they do. And for you, my most treasured Lieutenant Aubrey, a small gift for the little one you carry." "But . . . how?" Rene stuttered. She started to shake.

Tot didn't know, and he didn't seem to realize how traumatic their imprisonment onboard the Omegon vessel had been. By unspoken agreement, they hadn't told him; the pain was too raw, the guilt too close to the surface. Hour by hour, Rene struggled with her feelings over her pregnancy, her fears. Well, against all odds they'd made it home. She had to face them now. Tot simply smiled and touched his nose. "My heartiest congratulations to you and the Colonel. I myself have been blessed with seventeen children, and each one is an immense joy to me." Tot returned his attention to flying his vessel, lit up his marquee to display his wares and landed in the Connate hangar with little more than the tiniest of bumps and a puff of steam. The last Kent saw of Tot, he was standing beside his lit-up vessel, wearing an animated smile and displaying lengths of fabric to the mechanics and space jockeys, expounding on their quality with the enthusiasm of an old-time trader. ***** Kent and Rene were whisked away by medical personnel. As they walked through the space station, people stopped, stared—then cheered. He nodded in acknowledgement, waved to the many faces he recognized. Rene did too. They'd only been gone seven weeks. It felt like a lifetime. He hovered over Rene as they walked and looped his arm around her protectively. When they entered Medical, they walked into choreographed mayhem. The chief medical officer had obviously prepared his troops, even though they'd had maybe ten minutes warning, at most. Kent and Rene were shuttled into separate exam rooms. He was stripped down to his skivvies, scanned for parasites, had his vitals measured and blood drawn. "Kent." General Stephenson burst into the exam room. "My god, I can't believe it. Are you all right? What about Lieutenant Aubrey? What the hell happened?"

"No." When he heard Rene yell, Kent jumped off the exam table, pushed the doctors away from him and started running. He pulled back a curtain. Rene, dressed in a hospital gown, was standing with her arms stretched out, palms facing forward, backing away from a med tech armed with a sub-dermal spray. "It's just a blood sample, Lieutenant. I promise it won't hurt." Rene shook her head. Her eyes were wild, crazy. She backed into the plasti-steel wall. "Rene," Kent said quietly, and she ran to him. He wrapped his arms around her and scanned the room until he spotted the person he was looking for. "Dr. Karsten will look at you. You remember Janice, hmm?" he said and stroked Rene's hair. "Everyone else, out," he barked. He even shot the general a look. "We'll be fine," he told General Stephenson. "As soon as medical clears us, I'll report to you. The Dun . . . the Omegon vessel has been destroyed. Best intelligence advises they won't be back any time soon, if at all." The general's jaw worked hard. His blue eyes narrowed, then, after a moment, he gave Kent a curt nod. "Well done, Colonel. Lieutenant. Report to me when you're ready. Welcome back." He exited Medical, followed by a crowd of cheering personnel. When Janice stepped up to them, Kent loosened his hold on Rene. "It was bad, Janice," he said quietly. "Real bad. They did . . . experiments." Dr. Karsten nodded then tipped her head so she could see Rene's face. She brushed Rene's hair off her forehead and smiled. "I'll take care of you," she said quietly. "I need to run some basic tests. Nothing we haven't done here before." Gently, Kent helped Janice lead Rene back to the exam table, smoothed out the cover and set a footstool in front of it so Rene could climb up. "Let me make sure you're healthy, see if there's anything you need to make you comfortable. Just a stroll in the sunshine."

Rene exhaled slowly, straightened her back and let Janice help her up onto the exam table. Gently, Janice examined the scar on Rene's abdomen and the ones on her ankles. "I'll take a close look at these. Make sure nothing inside is damaged. Can you feel that?" She stroked the skin on one side of a scar, then the other. "The first one, yes." Rene answered. She gripped the edges of the narrow, padded bench and tried not to shake. She knew she was safe. She knew Kent was standing a few feet away, but she couldn't stop thinking about the exam table onboard the Dun'Liaf vessel. "Hmm. They cut a nerve, but we can fix that," Janice said in a calming, professional voice. "It'll likely grow back on its own in four to six months, but if it doesn't, I'll hook you up with a great micro-surgeon I know. He'll reconnect the ends, and it'll feel the way it used to. I can clean up these scars for you myself. I'll laser them down. In a day or two your skin will be flawless." She powered up the CAT scan. "You're no longer dehydrated, but I'd like to hold off on an elective procedure, just to be safe." Inside the relative privacy of the CAT scan room, Kent and Rene were dressed in paper towels and thick, donated socks. Nothing else. The machine started to hum, and Rene jumped up like the bench was on fire. Janice stared at her but didn't say anything. There was no judgment, no reproach in her brown eyes. Just calm patience. Rene exhaled shakily. "Sorry," she said and let Kent take her hand. "The . . . the Omegons tied me down to a table like that. They . . . I think they harvested eggs from me, Janice. I . . . I think I'm pregnant." Janice's eyes narrowed. "I don't see how that could happen, Rene. The birth control inoculate we get shuts down our reproductive system. We can't produce ripe ovum."

"They injected her with something," Kent said. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and tucked her shaking body against his side. "Into the veins in her ankle. Three days later they, they stole a semen sample from me and put something in her . . . into her." He shook his head and stared up at the ceiling. "I don't know what's inside her, but from the images they showed her, it was one of eleven . . . embryos, I'd guess you'd call them, they'd made. Could be human, or it could be alien. We don't know." Janice was very quiet for a moment. "All right. Here's what we're going to do. I'll run some tests. We'll get you some answers. You have to be brave, Rene, and let me do this. I promise not to hurt you. Are you ready to suck it up, troop?" Kent hugged Rene when she dredged up a grin for him. "That's an Army expression, you know," she said to Janice, and, on shaky legs, climbed back up onto the bench. "Just make sure you take a picture of my good side, doc," she added with thin bravado when the machine hummed back to life. When the bench began to slowly slide into the machine, she grabbed the edges, and her body jerked. She let go only after Kent held onto her foot and rubbed it gently. "Great. I'm a pilot who jumps at shadows. If you're handing out nerve transplants, I'll take one, Janice. Mine seem to be shot." Rene shook her head ruefully then held it still when Janice reminded her not to move. Despite her bravado, she felt shaken to the core. Pilots were supposed to be large and in charge. She'd been reduced to this quaking lump who was frightened of her own shadow. Rene wanted to say to hell with that, tell herself to suck it up and get on with it. Trouble was, her fears were real, invasive and growing inside her, cell by cell. *****

Almost two hours later, Janice looked up from the screen on her desk. She turned it around so Kent and Rene could see. They were dressed in work uniforms, freshly showered, and Kent was, for the first time in weeks, beard-free. He scratched his chin. The nakedness felt weird. "I've got no bad news for you," Janice said, getting right to the point. "Kent, you're healthy. A touch of malnutrition but nothing a week or so of solid chow won't fix." She handed him a bottle of vitamins. "You're showing posttraumatic symptoms, but you're coping surprisingly well. I'm going to recommend you get leave on Earth, maybe three months, although I'm already hearing rumors the PR bigwigs are promoting you as Earth's biggest hero. You too, Rene. Maybe the general can pull some strings and limit your exposure to the press. You both need some down time, some rest and a chance to get your heads around what happened to you. "I'm also recommending you talk to a psychiatrist. Do not roll your eyes at me like that, Colonel Parnell," Janice added without looking up at him. When she turned her attention to Rene, her smile was hesitant but kind. "You are pregnant." Rene inhaled and grabbed Kent's hand. "The baby's his. One-hundred percent human. I can even tell you the sex if you like." "Are you sure it's human?" Rene asked. Her voice was tighter than usual. "Are you really sure? I don't doubt your skills but there have been some very scary scenarios running through my head for weeks now. Kent tried to reassure me, but just the thought of carrying one of the Dun'Liaf's offspring. Of them planting something alien—" "Absolutely." Janice hit a few icons on her monitor, and a small picture in the corner of the screen got bigger. The image magnified.

Kent and Rene squinted at a tiny, tubular-shaped cluster of cells. Half of it was head, but they could clearly make out eyes, a mouth, legs, arms . . . even stubby little fingers. "You're six weeks pregnant. Because of your dehydration, the baby's development is a little slow. Despite that, it should be fine and healthy, especially considering your age, fitness and overall health." She handed Rene two different bottles of vitamins, one regular and one prenatal. "That's the first time I've had to dispense those up here." Janice grinned then grew serious. "According to your blood work and my best guess, the Omegons used in vitro fertilization. Made a test-tube baby with your egg and his sperm. I suspect that gray serum they injected you with was synthesized, female hormones. The Omegons paid particular attention to the blood chemistry of their first female captives." Janice's mouth thinned. "The injections overrode the blockers we're given, allowing your body to produce ripe ovum. It was probably enhanced since you mentioned you'd produced at least twelve ova at once. "We can terminate the pregnancy, if you wish. Or you can keep the baby. You don't have to decide right away. Questions?" "Am I . . . will I be okay?" Rene asked after a moment. "Absolutely. There's no scarring on your ovary. As perverse as it sounds, the Omegons obviously took great care not to harm you." Rene and Kent exchanged a look. The Omegons planned to repeat the process, Rene realized. Repeat it over and over until they had enough human subjects and knew enough about sexual reproduction to start incorporating human DNA into themselves. Kent gripped her hand and held on hard. Rene stood slowly. "Let me think about it. And I . . . I don't want to know the gender." She turned, and, with Kent beside her, left. He and Janice seemed to have no problem with the fact that she was carrying a baby she hadn't wanted. That her career was about to come to a big,

screeching, halt. That she was the one who had to submit to yet another invasive medical procedure to kill something that was part of her and Kent. Something that maybe, in a few years, should have been—could have been—a product of their love, mutually agreed upon and anticipated. Kent hung back just inside the doorway and tipped his head back to Janice. "Boy or girl?" he asked quietly once Rene was out of earshot. "Boy," she answered after a second. Kent nodded and followed Rene to the general's office. ***** Four days later, the alarm went off in Kent's quarters. He rolled over, slapped it into silence, grunted then rolled back to the small, warm body that had been nestled next to his. In the dark, they lay without talking. Kent ran his hand up and down Rene's back. They were in Kent's quarters because hers had been reassigned while they were gone. Most of their belongings were still in the storage cases piled in the corner. Their things had been carefully packed away when they'd been declared dead. He and Rene had unpacked a photo of Rene's family, one of Kent's daughter and a change of uniform for each of them. The only thing that hadn't made it into the storage cases was the bottle of scotch Rene had won for not puking in space. The rest of the Connate crews, the mechanics, General Stephenson and Doc Connate himself had drunk it in memory of their fallen comrades. Rene didn't begrudge its loss. Kent got up, used the head then stood beside the bed, looking down at her. She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. The indirect light coming

from the head showed her black fan of hair spread across the white pillowcase. Her eyes tracked his movements with a guileless need that made his breath catch. The sheets covering her hugged the sweet mounds of her breasts. Kent pulled back the covers, climbed back in beside her, propped himself up on one elbow and nuzzled one breast then the other. He kissed her nipple gently then drew it into his mouth. She trembled and held him close. It had been over seven weeks since he'd touched her. The last time had been the morning before the Dun'Liaf attack. Tugging the sheets farther down, he laid his hand on her soft, warm belly. Her scar was gone. Janice had been as good as her word, and the ragged ridge of flesh had been replaced by a thin, pink line. More of a slight sunburn than a real mark. It would fade to nothing in another day or two. Kent tried not to think of his son, growing inside her as he suckled her gently, cupped her breast and plumped it with a delicate squeeze. He'd never admitted to himself how much he wanted this baby. The demands of his job kept him away from the child he did have for months, sometimes years at a time. Despite that, he wanted another child. He wanted this child, with her. This one and a couple more on top of that. Only problem was, he knew the baby and the Dun'Liaf were connected in her head. There was no way he could start busting her chops about paternal rights. It wasn't his body that had to carry a child associated with the worst nightmare of his life. "Is this all right?" he whispered. He lifted his mouth from her breast, smoothed his lips over her jaw then levered himself up to look down at her. While he brushed her hair back, he thought about how well Rene had pulled it together the past few days. She no longer lost it when medical personnel came at her, and that happened daily, to both of them. The chief medical officer and his staff were obsessed with their health, mostly because nobody could still quite believe he and Rene had made it back alive.

Rene offered him a lazy smile. "Yes, Colonel," she whispered and slid her small, strong hand across his chest, teasing his chest hairs with her fingers. "I know you've been worried about me but our shuttle will be here at 0900. This might be the last time you can put that morning wood of yours to use before we get back to Earth." She stretched lightly, and her thigh slid against his hard cock. She grinned. "You haven't let me out of your sight since we got back, you don't complain when my bad dreams wake you up, and if you had a rose bush this cabin would be so full of flowers we couldn't move." Her smile and tone were teasing. If there was more in her head than a simple need to love and be loved in return, Kent saw no sign of it. He kissed her mouth, letting his tongue sink in slowly, then dragged his teeth over her lower lip until she smiled. Since their return to the station, they hadn't spent more than a few minutes apart. They hadn't been able to fly because their Connate was being repaired. A lot of their time had been spent working out—running and weight training, mostly. The physical activity emptied their minds. The rest of the time they conferred with the fellows in cyber intelligence. They also brushed their teeth a lot more than they used to. Despite all that time spent together, they hadn't really talked about anything. Rene was trying so hard to appear normal and unaffected that he didn't have the courage to challenge her about the baby. Before the Dun'Liaf, he'd had no problem with being a swaggering chauvinist. He liked being inside this Kent Parnell's skin better. It was just taking awhile for him to regain his balance. Were her breasts a little bigger? Sighing, he rolled onto his back when Rene pushed his shoulder. Her soft curves pressed into his chest when she slid on top of him. Were her nipples a little darker? Kent wondered. More sensitive? There was a need in him to see changes in her body that would affirm the life growing inside her. Make their son more real, for both of them.

When she drew her tongue down his throat and nipped him, Kent growled, tipped his chin up and entwined his fingers into her hair. He stroked her back, squeezed her ass gently and ran his hands across her thighs. Rene's warm mouth found his nipple, and he inhaled with a sharp hiss when she tightened her lips around him and licked. Her fingernails traced the sides of his body. Her mouth and teeth pulled, aroused and made him groan as hot spears of sensation arrowed down his belly, made his cock pulse and his balls draw up so tightly they hurt. When she licked a path down his abdomen, biting sensuously, scratching, dragging her soft body down his, Kent trembled. His trembling stopped in an instant when her mouth touched his cock. Tensing like he'd been punched in the gut, Kent blinked against the darkness crowding his brain, the surge of terror that made his erection falter. "It's okay," Rene whispered and lifted her head. When she looked up at him, her eyes were shimmering. "It's just me. There's nobody else." She cupped his hips in her hands and waited. Kent swallowed hard as the darkness receded. "Just you," he repeated, laid his head back, combed his fingers through her wild hair and sighed when the warmth and wet of her mouth engulfed him. Her tongue slid against the head. A gentle, slow, comfortable slide. The heavy silk of her hair felt familiar, as did her touch, the sound of her breathing. Kent relaxed even more and smiled gratefully when he started to get hard again. "More. Please," he whispered and groaned when her mouth slid down his length; her lips pursed and formed a tight ring around him that stopped only when her nose rustled his pubes. When she drew back he felt the vacuum of her mouth, pulling on him. Looking down, he moaned. She was looking up at him, her eyes heavy lidded and focused on his. If he lived to be a hundred and fifty, Kent knew he'd never see anything as sexy as his Rene, watching him with his cock in her mouth, pleasuring him like he was the center of her world. That he'd never feel like this .

. . the erotic surge that went straight to his spine and lifted his hips when she tongued the head of his cock. Lying back, he twitched and groaned when she swallowed him up again, licked his length, drew one of his balls into her mouth and rolled it over her tongue. Kent groaned when she released him, pressed a soft, chaste kiss to the head of his cock then lay beside him. He groaned again when she ran her fingers over the tiny patch of black curls at the top of her mound. Despite his raging horniness and her blatant invitation, Kent kept his touch gentle. Their heads were still messed up. He stroked her breasts like they were spun candy, suckled her like she was rare nectar. The one thing he didn't do was linger over her belly as he kissed a slow, teasing path down her body. What he wanted to do was kiss her, nuzzle her, make love to that still-flat plane, in homage of the life inside her. They had to get over this hurdle first—get past what the Dun'Liaf had done, regain the love and intimacy the psychotic experiments had tainted. After, when the time was right, maybe when they were back on Earth, they could talk about the baby, them, a future. For now, Kent drew his fingertips across Rene's hip, his touch light and deliberately, infuriatingly slow. He chuckled when she growled. "Hmm. My lover's impatient," he whispered and kissed her thigh, watching his hand caress her skin and squeeze her taut muscles. "Not an optimal characteristic in a pilot." "Pilot, my ass," she snarled and rolled her hips seductively. "Your woman's in need of some loving." "Spoken like a true Annapolis brat," Kent teased. Taunting her, he slid down the bed so he could kiss her knee. Grinning, he sat up on the end of the bed, lifted her foot to his chest and caressed her ankle, stroked her calf. Despite her bravado, despite the need in her voice, Rene stiffened when he lay down between her legs and stroked her mound.

"It's just me," he whispered, repeating her words. He looked up at her and offered a small smile. "Just us. We're okay." "We're okay," she repeated and sighed as she relaxed. Kent kissed her gently, searched her face, kissed her again only when she didn't tense. Still watching her, he stroked her plump labia with his tongue. "Delicious," he purred and licked her slowly, up one side and down the other. In slow increments, he lifted her knee and laid it over his shoulder. Kent sighed and firmed his touch. Rene's response was nothing but sensual. The only tension in her was her rising need. No fear clouded her eyes as she looked at him and bit down on that lip that was still a little swollen from sucking his cock. The memory made his erection twitch so violently he had to lift his hips off the bed so his over-eager rod wouldn't snap in half. Resisting the urge to chuckle, Kent stroked her pussy with his thumbs, eased her lips open and licked a slow path up through her cream and around her clit. She groaned and jerked but wove her fingers into his freshly cut hair to hold him right where he was. "Yes, ma'am." He grinned and licked her again. Starting off gentle, he gradually firmed his touch. Circled her clit then nudged it. Licked it with the nubby flat of his tongue. Flicked it with the tip. He watched her face carefully when he eased a finger into her pussy. Rene trembled and he stopped, only to breathe a sigh of relief when she exhaled, relaxed and tightened her grip on his head. Sliding his finger in slowly, he turned his wrist, stroked the front of her sheath and withdrew. Two fingers next and Kent filled her carefully while his tongue lashed her swelling clit. Stretching out comfortably, he settled in for a long, patient loving. Rene's gasps, the twitching of her body and her growing wetness told him his efforts were appreciated. When her small body tensed, when she lifted her hips and tilted her pussy just so, pressing against his mouth, Kent sped up his strokes. His Rene was

coming, faster than he would have thought possible. She started to shake then moaned. Her moans turned to breathless cries of pleasure as her sheath squeezed down on his fingers, released then squeezed again. She was so beautiful when she came. Kent stared up at his lover's face, the curve of her mouth, watched the flush tint her throat, her chest. Watched her nipples harden, saw the flexing of her belly in time with the pulses of her release. When she was finished, he withdrew his fingers, lapped up her wetness and crawled up her body. "Just me," he whispered and put her hand around his cock. "Just us," he said as he nudged her opening with the head. Rene guided him into her, and he trembled when her wet heat kissed him then slid around him. She was swollen, hot, and she held him like she couldn't bear to let even the tip of his shaft slip away. He wasn't about to disappoint her. Holding his weight on his forearms and digging in with his knees, Kent pushed forward slowly. Her heat parted for him, held him, slid over every inch of him. When his balls nudged her ass, he grunted and flexed his hips so he could feel it again. It was like he'd forgotten this . . . forgotten the pleasure of being inside a woman's body, the ecstasy of loving Rene. It was a bitter pill to swallow, and the only thing that sweetened it was the surety the Dun'Liaf had failed. They hadn't kept what they'd taken, and by god they hadn't taken this pleasure from them. Kent withdrew, fought the tingling that built up in the base of his spine, squashed his spiraling hunger with ruthless deliberation and filled her again. Rene clutched his arms, his shoulders. Her head tossed, disturbing the fall of her hair against the pillow. Her hips lifted to him, the softness of her thighs welcomed him, her strength drew him back again and again. The slow slide into his lover's body made him groan, stole his breath as her wetness gripped him. It squeezed hard in time with the baring of her teeth then eased so he could slide

back. Sweat ran down his back and between their bodies, making them slap together in an erotic rhythm as his belly came down on hers. Again the tingling built in the base of his spine, the base of his balls, but Kent tamped it down, resisted the urge to come as he filled her faster, loved her harder. He drove his hands under her body, lifted her, held her tight. Rene hugged him just as close. The closeness seemed precious, sacred somehow, even as the need built and roiled in both of them. Rene came first as he intended. Her body stiffened. Her neck arched. The movement crushed her hard nipples into his chest. Kent growled as he rolled his torso into hers. Her legs tightened around him yet managed to lever even farther apart, letting him sink into her fully, hard, fast. They groaned at the same time when Rene's pussy started to convulse, when the grip of her swollen, wet core tightened until it hurt. Her heels beat down on his ass, and Kent bared his teeth like a feral animal. When the pulses faded, when her gasps quieted and her breathing came ragged but steady, Kent tightened his hold on Rene, shoved his cock into her hard and deep and kept thrusting until the tingling in his balls erupted and ecstasy claimed him. The cries he heard were his as he trembled, sank into her as far as he could, held himself there hunched and straining until his hips flexed, released then drove forward again. Sanity returned slowly. He felt drowsy, sated, tucked up warm and safe inside Rene's body. She was so wet, and the wetness bathed him as her swollen sheath twitched around him. There was wetness on his shoulder too. Confused, Kent lifted his head then felt a corner of his mouth turn up when he saw the smile on her face, saw the tears running down her cheeks. He wiped them away, kissed her mouth and held her tight. Chapter Eleven

"Dad." Ignoring the cameras, the reporters leaning over the barricades and the press of military brass, Kent ran up to Kendra. The tall, skinny girl bounced up on her toes, and waved her arms in the air. He scooped her up, hugged her tight then set her back down. "Damn, you're getting tall." "Potty mouth," she scolded him then grinned. "Five-foot six last time I measured." Standing up tall and straight, she held out the edges of her frilly skirt and spun around in a perfect circle. "Lynn says I've got killer legs too." Kent's face grew warm. "Yeah, well Lynn can keep her damned opinions . . . ." His voice trailed off when Susan, his ex-wife, stepped up to them. "You're looking good, Kent," she said and brushed Kendra's hair back over her shoulder. "It was awful when they told us you were dead." His face grew even hotter, but this time it was because he was uncomfortable about his knee-jerk reaction to the mention of his ex's significant other. Trying to hide his thoughts, his emotions from the press, his mouth thinned when he nodded to his ex-wife. He kissed his daughter's forehead, rubbed her back when she hugged him and lifted his head to scan the crowd. He spotted Rene, or at least the top of her swept-up hair, in the middle of a press of olive-skinned men, a crying woman and a clutch of small children. Someone shoved a vid cam into his face, but he ignored it. "Papa. Ici." Kent heard Rene's voice, saw her holding a middle-aged man's arm, pulling him through the crowd. "Papa, souhaiter la bienvenue, Colonel Kent Parnell." The man stuck out a sun-darkened, rough hand, grasped Kent's firmly then pulled him in for a hard hug. Kent blinked as his cheeks were kissed in a flurry of motion then he was passed from relative to relative for the same, effusive greeting.

"Um, hi." Rene looked at the tall, thin-limbed girl standing beside her. Her resemblance to Kent was startling. Except for her hair, which was dark brown instead of golden—dark haired, just like the short woman with the guarded smile, standing near her elbow. "You must be Kendra." Rene smiled. "I'm—" "Rene," the girl interrupted and hugged Rene fiercely. Even though the child was still more bone than padding, she was at least an inch taller than Rene. It seemed like she was squeezing as hard as she could. "You flew my dad home. Thank you. Really, really thank you." The smaller woman standing beside them produced a tissue. Kendra used it to wipe her eyes and blow her nose. When Kendra was finished, she beamed at Rene, revealing a dimple beside her mouth that was so beautiful and familiar it made Rene's heart skip a beat. "Oh my gawd, I'm a mess." Kendra sighed and pointed at the shorter woman. "This is my mom, Susan Parnell. And her partner, Lynn Cochrane." A pretty blonde, perhaps a few years older than Kendra's mother, stepped up. "Thank you—from all of us," Lynn said and took Rene's hand. "When they told Kendra her father was dead, when they told all of us . . . ." She shook her head as if to clear it and blinked tears out of her blue eyes. "And then when they told us he was alive . . . ." Her voice faded away when a man cleared his throat behind Rene with a loud rumble. Through her flight suit, Rene felt Kent's hands on her shoulders. "I see you've met my daughter. And the rest of the, um, family." She turned to look up at him and smile. That was the last she saw of him until the official military reception. Rene was again swept up by her family. They hung on to her as she was led out of the docking port by military escort. Kent followed maybe fifty meters behind,

surrounded by his family . . . such as it was. Separately, they were transported to the White House where they were given thirty minutes with their families before being hauled into a broadcast studio. ***** Rene recognized her interviewer. The woman's news show was broadcast nationally. It was even shown in some European countries. Still in her flight suit, Rene responded to a series of scripted, vetted questions and tried to remember not to touch her face and disturb the make-up they'd slapped on her. She spoke animatedly about Tot and their rescue from certain death, how they'd learned not all aliens were dangerous and how the quartermaster aboard Mars Orbital One had purchased lots of what the Pneomidites called Battle Silk. Space jockeys were already trying out the new material in prototype flight suits. If anybody noticed the anti-puke patch still glued behind the ear of the pilot famous for not puking in space, they didn't say anything. Despite the patch, she'd up-chucked nearly everything she ate on the transport back to Earth and knew it wasn't space sickness. The military bigwigs had let her and Kent tell the press as much or as little about their captivity as they chose. Some things, though, were still classified. Her interviewer skirted those issues without being obvious. Some of the questions were leading, and Rene was taken aback by how glowingly she was being painted. The inquiry rate from women about joining the Navy had apparently tripled in the last week. In a way, Rene understood the fuss. Being a pilot was something people could understand. Being a Radar Intercept Officer was a little harder to conceptualize. After the interview, she was taken to a private office, given a dress uniform to change into, and, holding her parents' hands and flanked by her brothers and their families, she walked a gauntlet of saluting Marines into a

grand ballroom. She saluted the Joint Chiefs. Shook hands until her elbow hurt. Answered questions and smiled until her jaw hurt. Managed to talk to Kent a grand total of about ninety seconds then she and her family were led away to a waiting French military transport. Before she left, she scanned the crowd for Kent and found him standing beside his daughter, flanked by enough brass to open a metal emporium. She wanted to join him. Instead, she obeyed the French Ambassador's polite order to keep walking. The Americans had had their welcome. The French were just as eager to have her home. ***** Three days later, Kent sat at the kitchen table in his ex-wife's house. Well, his house too. His living arrangements while not on active duty were unusual, almost downright weird. The second-largest bedroom was his. His ex and her partner kept it clean and set aside for him. They'd decorated it in a way he liked, hung his diplomas, certificates and awards on the walls. They'd even framed his patches and put them under glass for display. The room kept him present for Kendra's sake, but it also made him feel welcome. Like he wasn't an afterthought in the train wreck of his marriage. For the first time, Kent really thought about how Susan and Lynn made room for him in their lives. They didn't have to, and there were times he hadn't made it easy on them. He hadn't hidden his animosity toward Lynn, although that had faded over time. Twelve years ago, his wife had made her choice. Despite his frequent absences, she hadn't abandoned him. Kent realized she'd simply chosen to be with someone she loved, someone who was there for her and not running off all the time to follow their own dreams instead of attending to business at home. Lynn, he admitted grudgingly, was good to his wife, a great

second parent to his daughter, and had shown a lot more tolerance and respect for him than he'd ever shown her. Kent realized his living arrangements also made spending time with Kendra during leave very convenient. His ex, a genius when it came to money, saw no need for him to waste part of his pay on a condo that would sit unused for months on end. This house was a lot bigger than the one they'd bought together way back when. Susan worked as an accountant at the Pentagon—something that required almost as much clearance as his job and paid very well. Her partner, Lynn, still worked as a dental hygienist and brought in a respectable salary. He looked at the two of them and dropped another cube of ice into the glass in front of him. They'd been sitting for hours and despite the open bottle on the table, he hadn't drunk much. By now there was more melted ice than single malt in his glass. Susan ran a hand through her dark, styled hair and crossed her legs. They were short but toned. Lynn glanced at them and something in her eyes lit up. Kent realized he hadn't thought about his ex's legs for years and still didn't. Instead, he looked at the neat, military stationary on the table . . . the letter that had arrived by courier that afternoon. "Are you going to accept the assignment?" Susan asked in that straightforward way of hers. It was one of the things that had attracted him to her in the first place, back when he'd been a candidate for the space program and she'd worked in the payroll office on the base he'd been assigned to. "I didn't know Henry was up for promotion," Kent said, skirting the question. He wasn't up to being straightforward tonight. In the wake of their victory over the Dun'Liaf, the promotions were starting to trickle down the chute. General Henry Stephenson was getting another gold star and in two months, a job at the Pentagon. The powers-that-be

had offered Kent the job of CO of Mars Orbital One. Promotion to the rank of brigadier general came with the job. "What job do you think they'll offer Rene?" Kent shot his ex's girlfriend a hard look. Lynn had a gift for getting right to the meat of the matter. He was in no mood for that tonight either. "A promotion. At the very least. Not that she'll be able to take it right away." Cursing his loose tongue, he drained the contents of his glass. Even with the melted ice, the scotch still burned. He set the glass down and rubbed his thumb across his forehead. "Why?" Lynn looked at him with those discerning, blue eyes of hers. She was only three years older than him, but she always seemed to be able to pull the truth out of him like he was a little kid. He tipped more scotch into his glass. "Because she's pregnant." The women fell silent and shared a look. "Well if you're going back up, and she's staying down here," Lynn said, "maybe she'll need a labor coach." She flashed Susan a wink and a lecherous grin. Susan chuckled and raised her glass to her lover. "No fucking . . . ." Kent lowered his voice and glanced down the hall toward the end of the house where the bedrooms and his sleeping daughter were. "No fucking way," he hissed and set the bottle on the table with more force than necessary. Then he sat very still. He caught the laughter in their eyes and realized they were teasing him. Huh. Too bad he hadn't decided to give his homophobia a rest a few years back. He would have appreciated the time he'd spent with these women a lot more. "Hmm. Thought it was something like that," Susan said and dropped an ice cube into his glass. Kent scowled at her, despite liking the way both of them knew him well enough to anticipate his needs, cared enough to let it show. Without fawning over him, they'd always shown him friendship.

"We saw the way you touched her," Lynn added. "The way you looked at her." She took a sip of her drink. "You used to look at Susan like that." She and her lover exchanged another look. This one was tender, poignant and had the comfort of long use about it. Lynn leaned in and kissed Susan on the mouth. "Oh, save it for later," Kent groused, lifted his glass then set it aside without drinking. "So what are the two of you going to do?" Susan asked. "About the baby?" she added when Kent shrugged her off. "It is yours, isn't it?" "Yes," he admitted and toyed with his glass. "But there's more to it than that." Both women leaned back in their chairs, crossed their arms beneath their breasts and looked at him skeptically. "The Dun'Liaf," he said, "they . . . experimented on us. Created a total of twelve test-tube babies." The women's mouths fell open. They leaned forward. "When we escaped and blew their ship up, we also killed eleven of our . . . children." Again, Kent rubbed his thumb across his forehead. "Hell. The poor things probably never stood a chance anyway. The Dun'Liaf were experimenting with artificial wombs. They'd even implanted one of the embryos into one of their own people to see if it would take." He shuddered and sat back heavily in his chair. "The only one that's still alive is the one they implanted in Rene." Susan trembled and Lynn clutched her hand. Kent continued. "I want this baby," he whispered harshly. "I want Rene too. I love Kendra and I always told myself she was enough, but I want this son too." His ex-wife reached out and squeezed his hand. "What did Rene say when you told her?" "Told her?" Kent laughed. "I can't tell her. You don't know what they did to her. What I saw . . . saw them do to her." The pressure on his hand increased.

"How do you tell the woman you love to let the thing growing inside her live when it only reminds her of what those bastards did to her?" Susan stood. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, laid her head beside his and held him. Kent patted her hand. Even Lynn got up. She took hold of his head, kissed his forehead then released him. Yeah, they accepted him. Maybe even loved him in some quirky, let's-just-be-friends, girl way. Whatever it was, Kent realized that that love and friendship had been part of his life for years, waiting for him to accept it. "I spent a lot of years being angry at you. Both of you," he admitted quietly. "That was stupid. That stupidity may have spread to my career because I fostered a homophobic atmosphere that threatened the success of the . . . well of the secret space program I'm part of." He grinned crookedly when Susan and Lynn made faces that said he was too big for his britches. Then they leaned their heads together and laughed quietly at him. He knew they knew his work was classified. They were just real good at reminding him that, here, he was nothing more special than just family Kent continued because he needed to apologize. "I'm sorry I never really thanked you for saving a place for me. I just never had the sense to acknowledge it." "Why don't you go to bed, Kent," Lynn said after a moment. Her voice was gentle. She closed up the bottle and put it away. "Even heroic icons need their rest." They grinned at that. "We'll talk some more tomorrow if you like. And, from both of us, you're welcome." Kent nodded tiredly, got up and headed down the hall. ***** The next morning, around 0900, Kent ran full tilt up the long driveway to his ex's house. His Army t-shirt was so drenched with sweat it clung to him like a

second skin. His legs burned, but he just pumped them harder. The hurt made it impossible to think about anything else. When he reached the front portico, he stopped, jogged lightly in place and checked his pulse rate against his watch. It was way over his target range. No surprise there. He'd been running over an hour, going full out most of the way. He jogged around the back of the house, blinked back the freshening sweat that stung his eyes then tried to shake the weariness out of his bulging thighs. "Thought you might need this." Kendra stood on the back porch, a tall glass of water in her hand and a glass of juice in the other. She had on the uniform they made them wear at that fancy academy her mother sent her to. "Thanks," Kent gasped out, took the water, drank it down without a pause then wiped his face with the towel his daughter handed him. He started sipping the juice next. "So Rene's knocked up, hmm?" He spat juice all over the patio stones. "How the hell do you know that?" "I eavesdropped," Kendra answered with a shrug. "And you should watch your language around impressionable youths." Kent's mouth thinned. "Listen, Dad, maybe I should have told you before, but I do not want to grow up an only child. I love Mom and Lynn, but with me around, neither one of their biological clocks is in any hurry to start ticking. That leaves you." His mouth thinned even more. "I don't want to have this conversation with you." "Well, I do. I want that baby brother. Okay, maybe I won't get to see him all the time, but some of the time is better than nothing. Look . . . I can't even begin to imagine how horrible it was for Rene. All I know is you love her, and she loves you. Trust me. I know she does," Kendra added in a bored, superior tone.

Hell. When had his baby girl turned into an adult? Kendra continued. "I saw the way she looked at you. Anyway, as horrible as it must have been, the only good thing about it, other than you coming home alive, is that baby. After everything else, why should it die too just because you haven't got the balls to tell Rene how you feel?" "Language," Kent growled in warning then rubbed the towel over his face before draping it over his shoulder. Kendra nodded and looked properly abashed. "She's hurting. So are you. Make a family. Make it better." She grabbed his forearm and turned his wrist over to check the time. “I've got to finish getting ready for school." She kissed his cheek then made a face as she wiped the sweat off her lips. "If you're not here when I get home, I'll figure you caught a flight to France. See you when you get back." Kendra waved and disappeared inside the house. ***** Rene lifted her face to the intense, blue sky and absorbed the warmth bathing the north of France. She was sitting on the old swing and doing the same thing she'd been doing for four days now . . . thinking about nothing. And everything. She wanted to fly. She needed to fly. She'd received a formal letter from the US Navy, congratulating her on her pregnancy and advising her that her flight status was suspended. Understanding, even condoning the Navy's refusal to let her harm the fetus growing in her by flying didn't make up for the disappointment at having her ticket pulled. During flight, especially in space, all kinds of bad things could happen. Things that wouldn't cause her any long-term harm but could seriously harm the baby. Things like a drop in oxygen, getting banged around during landing. Getting shot at.

The easiest thing to do would be to abort the fetus. The easiest and the hardest. She couldn't imagine making such a huge decision without Kent's input. The baby was his too. Theirs. There was a time when they'd talked about a future together. Would he look at her differently, if he knew she'd killed his child? Would he support such a decision, let her have a few more years focusing on her career before they tried for another? She tried not to think about it, but she worried he looked at her differently anyway. He'd seen what the Dun'Liaf had done to her. Every time he saw her, did he remember his inability to protect her? The way the Dun'Liaf had violated him? Despite all that, the idea of killing the baby growing inside her didn't sit right with Rene. It was part of her, part of Kent. She hadn't wanted a child, not now, anyway. She wasn't ready to be a mother. What would happen to the poor little thing after it was born? Would she be like Kent, leaving her baby at home for her family to take care of while she chased her dream in space? Still, the idea that a beautiful, brown-haired baby with dimples was growing inside her at that very moment, stirred feelings inside her she'd never expected to feel. Happiness, elation, fear too, but mostly anticipation. Tucking one bare leg up under her, she used the other to push against the old, wood stoop that ran around the front of her family's ancient home. Elegant, wrought-iron furniture dotted her mother's herb and flower garden beyond the stoop. For some reason, this old swing had always suited her best. Beyond her mother's garden, intricately designed landscaping and massive trees created the perfect foreground for the kilometers of grapevines stretching out around her. A breeze fluttered the hem of her simple, linen dress, and she smoothed it absently. Pitou, her mother's ancient spaniel, lumbered out of the house, leaned against her shin and looked up at her mournfully. "What have you got to be sad about, hmm?" she chided the dog and cupped its silky chin. "The village girls all think you're beautiful. You've got more admirers than you know what to do with."

Pitou gazed at her lovingly then turned his head. He stared myopically down the long, gravel lane lined with ancient cypress trees and barked. Once. Lifting her hand, Rene shaded her eyes and looked. Her pulse sped up. She'd know that walk anywhere. Those shoulders. Even dressed in a plain shirt and jeans, Kent was every inch an army colonel. His short, golden brown hair shone like a beacon. Even though it didn't need it, she smoothed her dress again and became so absorbed in watching him move she even forgot to turn her head and call out to her mother they had company. When he reached her, he dropped to his knees and laid his hands on her stomach. Rene thought her heart had stopped entirely. "I haven't decided yet," she said quietly in response to the question, the longing in his eyes. Kent exhaled. "Decide to keep it." He spoke softly, but there was a ring of command in his voice. "I want you. I want my son." "Son," Rene whispered shakily. She laid her hand over his. "I . . . didn't want to know what it was. It made it too real. Too human." "The Dun'Liaf stole part of us we can never get back. The decision to have a child, to start a family together, should have been ours and nobody else's. They punched holes in my sense of self, my sense of worth as a man and an Army officer." He looked up at Rene, brushed a strand of hair off her forehead then caressed her cheek. "They made you jump at shadows, although you're working hard to regain your strength, your courage. "The hurt might never go away, but if we kill the only good thing to come out of this, we'll hate ourselves. I'm sure of it," he added and reached into his pocket. He withdrew a small, velvet box. "If I keep it." Rene's voice wavered. "I'll have to stay on Earth for almost a year. They won't let me fly if I'm pregnant and scuttlebutt says you're going to be the next commander of Mars Orbital One."

"True. You'll have to put your career on hold for nine or so months. But being the CO has its privileges, one of which is I can take my family with me. My wife included." Kent opened the box. Sunlight fractured into rainbow colors as it shone through the myriad facets of the big diamond sitting up on a plain, gold band. Somewhere to his right, he heard a woman gasp. He turned and saw Rene's mother, dabbing at her eyes with an apron then pressing her hands together in an imploring gesture aimed at Rene. Turning back to Rene, he looked up at her expectantly and ignored the fat spaniel trying to wriggle between them. Her hand shook when Rene reached into the box. She lifted out the ring and let him slip it on her left hand. "Is that a yes?" Kent asked. "Hot damn, yes, that's a yes," Rene's mother exclaimed. "Go call your father up from the fields," she ordered and tugged off her apron. "I'll call the relatives. And for once, to hell with that fancy wine your father goes on about. This calls for my best Kentucky sipping bourbon and no two ways about it." She stopped and glared at Kent for a moment. "You are a bourbon man, aren't you?" "Religiously, ma'am." She smiled. Kent was surprised to see the vivid purple of Rene's eyes looking out at him from another woman's face. "Hot damn," Mrs. Aubrey repeated as she rushed up to her daughter, squeezed her hard then ran back into the house. Epilogue "Tower, this is Connate Delta, requesting permission for take-off," Rene said. The long-limbed three-month old infant lying across Kent's shoulder lifted his head and looked around when his mother's voice came through the speakers.

His hands flailed and drool spotted the cloth covering Kent's epaulet and the star on it. "Thanks, Kendra," Kent whispered as he handed the baby to its big sister. Kendra was up here for her school break. With the report she was preparing about the station, she figured she'd get an automatic pass in mechanical studies next term. "Don't tell anybody, but your brother likes you better than his nanny." "Don't tell me that," Kendra whispered back. "I'm just about ready to steal him and take him to Earth with me." "Yeah, but Rene would kill you and me. She'd rather have you come up for your next holiday. She's already put in a request through official channels." "Official channels, as in you?" When Kent nodded, his daughter grinned then turned so her baby brother could see the Connate hangar through the observation glass. Kent straightened, put on his serious-guy-in-charge face, and used his firm voice when he broadcast. "Good morning." Rene grinned when Kent's deep, measured voice came through the little speaker jacks in her helmets. "Today's exercise is a simple obstacle maneuver. This is your first flight with the Connate Bong so you'll fly for only ten minutes to get a feel for things out there. Permission granted for take-off, Commander Aubrey. Commander Sparks. Make us proud." Huh. I knew there was no way the old man was going to miss the inaugural test of the Connate Program's artificial opiate. Rene heard her new RIOs undirected thoughts and agreed with him. She figured the rest of the space jockeys were thinking the same thing. A year ago, Kent was their colleague. They’d accepted his command without question or complaint. She directed her thoughts. Focus, David. This is just a walk in the park.

Oh, yeah. No pressure. Rene's new RIO grouched inside her head. Major David West tweaked the flow of the artificial opiate into his pilot's oxygen supply, opened up the fuel valves and hung on to the hand grips. And if this stuff doesn't work, guess whose hand is going to get cut off for slipping inside the general's wife's flight suit. Rene breathed deeply. This new stuff had no kick to it, just like Professor Connate intended. It just made them feel a bit calmer. Her flight status had been re-designated as active a week ago. Spending time away from the baby was difficult but she loved flying too much to give it up. Kent had made it easier by hiring a fulltime caregiver. Not that he gave the poor woman much of a chance to do her job though. Kent had fixed up a crib in the corner of his office and added nursemaid, diaper changing and cuddling to his official duties. Returning her focus to work, she deliberately thought, If it doesn't work, Dave, I promise to ask the general to knock me up again so you won't have to fly with me for another year. Praise Jesus, yes. Rene grinned. "Acknowledged, tower. Take-off in five, four, three, two . . . ." ~The End~ About the Author Gwen Campbell got her start in the magazine industry, writing everything from news stories to children's fiction to obituaries. When the company she worked for succumbed to economic turndown, she looked at her bank book and gave herself one year to pursue writing full time. The deal was if she made money, she didn't have to look for a real job. It's worked out pretty good so far and she still doesn't have a real job. A life-long believer in romance, she now writes romantic fiction. Gwen is married and she and her husband contribute the success of their relationship to

making a point of saying “I love you,” at least once a day, sometimes saying, “Yes, dear,” just because, and making sure the toilet paper always comes over the top of the roll. She says her best sticky-plot resolutions come to her while dog walking. Gwen loves to hear from her readers. You can contact her through her website atwww.gwencampbell.net