IGO: Sudden Snow (6 page)

“I can send down a medic, or rather you can contact her. Use medic code to reach the medical assistants,” he said, stepping away from her though he knew his heart had been firmly attached to her. Squashing the overwhelming desire to plaster her against his body, he clenched his fists.

“Thank you, Darryl. It means a lot to me. I -- I’m really sorry about, well, you know,” she said. The anguish behind those eyes squeezed his heart.

“Sleep well, Cricket,” he said, holding his hands in front of him to keep himself from touching her. He shot her a smile and received a waning one in return.

She sniffed, stifled another sob and vanished into the visitor quarters.

Darryl watched the doors close before heading down the corridor. The turbo lift was faster, but sometimes manual labor allowed more reflective time. His mind needed scouring, and walking did that for him. In an instant, Cricket had rubbed out his cautiousness and zipped between his defensive walls with one well-placed kiss. She managed to scrape away his icy indifference and ignite a furious blaze of lust in him.

Careful. I have to be really careful. She was very upset tonight, and tomorrow she may find she didn’t quite fancy me as much as she thought, especially once she got to know me
.

He sighed as he reached the fifth level and made a right.
I miss her already
.

He entered his quarters, stripping off his boots and uniform. Empty except for the usual standard-issue IGO furniture, the space felt gloomy. Darryl’s mind continued to transmit pictures of her, replaying her smile and her sauciness from earlier today -- a video feed into his brain. The feel of her kiss across his lips and how wonderful she felt pressed against him plagued his body and he fell back onto his bed in torment.

Folding his arms behind his head, he knew he had to push thoughts of her aside if he ever hoped to get some sleep. With his shift beginning in only six hours, he wasn’t going to get a full eight hours of rest. He hardly ever did.

After a good night’s sleep, things would look different for both of them.

Chapter 6

Loud beeps forced Darryl to bolt out of his bed in a cold sweat. The covers lay scattered about the foam mattress, a physical representation of his chaotic slumber. His knuckles rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He caught the scarlet time on the plasma screen and groaned. It was time for his shift and he groggily stretched, easing the kinks and crooks. He snatched the earpiece from the ledge beside his bed and slung it over his ear. Waterproof, it would withstand his shower.

“Alarm off,” he croaked, cotton mouth causing his words to catch. Hearing the fatigue in his voice, Darryl sighed. He’d been asleep for over five hours. Couldn’t tell that by how sluggish his body behaved.

The only aspect of his body that seemed to be alert was his cock. It shot up from his nude body and the sprouts of ebony hair like a beacon. Slumber hadn’t banished his thoughts of Cricket, but instead placed her right up front and center. Distracting every logical, duty-oriented thought with that luscious body and whiplash-causing smile, his cock pulsated out its SOS. He closed his eyes as he wrapped his hand around his solid cock. Damn. Hard, rigid stone, his member grew taller beneath his hand, as his thoughts turned to Cricket.

As his hand slipped up and down his member, he shuddered. The silky head dripped a bit of dew beneath his palm, leaving a thin line of semen. God, he so wanted her -- to feel her tightness clamped around his cock. This manual stimulation wasn’t enough.

He stared at his cock, trying to make it lessen so he could move on with his day. But like a rigid, stubborn pole, it remained, begging him, no, forcing him to confront it and deal with it. “Shit.”

He took his cock into his hand once more and, using his already damp masculine dew, began to stroke. Up and down, cupping his balls and up and over once again. In his mind, he conjured Cricket’s lovely body, dancing before him seductively. Hips swinging to the music, something Martian and exotic, his mental Cricket met his gaze and was giving her all to him -- something the real Cricket wouldn’t do.

Darryl let go, relinquishing his thoughts and his body to the fantasy of her. He closed his eyes, and his hands became hers. Her fingers brushed across his torso and pinched his right nipple, making his lower belly bunch in response. His cock thickened and bobbed up and down as if nodding that he couldn’t wait to touch her. Using the water mixed with his precum moisture, the refreshing lubricant felt so good, warm and inviting, but he knew she would feel better, much better.

Tight her pussy would be. Like a vise, she’d hug his cock and those muscles would caress his cock until he shot his release. The fantasy Cricket nodded, confirming his thoughts. The tremble of pleasure bolted through him as he gently squeezed the head of his cock. Using his other hand, he cupped his balls and fingered them, shivering in absolute lust. He stroked, faster and faster, pumping harder and harder as his Cricket whispered for more.

Gimme that fat cock, Snow. More, more, make me come,
Cricket whispered against his ear.

Again and again, over and over until the bright burst of gratification shot through him and out into the shower’s warm spray. Heaven, he’d love for it to be her instead of the flat steel of his shower box.

Several long minutes later, showered and dressed in a fresh uniform, he checked his reflection, touching the scar beneath his eye.

As he strolled to the horseshoe, he thought of how she seemed to fit in his hands, his arms, and maybe she could even fit into his life like a tailor-made spacesuit -- nothing wasted or given over to fluff. Only essentials warranted a place in his heart, and he’d be lying to himself if he said Cricket didn’t meet his essential criteria. Nevertheless, this realization shocked him. He barely knew her, but those brief minutes felt right to him. Inexplicable, his attraction to her couldn’t be given over to loneliness alone. Something about her made him feel, well, worthy.

Even now as Cricket lay snuggled on her bed, soft ebony skin beneath the IGO issue blanket, he longed to be near her again. Next time maybe without clothes or distance. There was something intoxicating about her, those luminous eyes, puffy, full lips, and the killer curves of her made-for-a-spacesuit hips.

I can’t. She isn’t well. She may anchor herself to me only for stability and then be gone. I can’t risk hurting her or myself. I’ve got to detox my mind
.

He swallowed his groan as the doors to the turbo lift opened to reveal the early morning shift. Nearly two in the morning, Lars piloted the ship through inky black space and Rojas had taken up post at security. Kovacs was back at comms. Normally nothing criminal occurred on this vessel. Cricket’s arrival managed to be the most excitement they’d had in a long while.

“Good morning, Lars,” Darryl said, tossing up a wave as he fell into the commander’s chair. “Rojas, Kovacs. Round robin report.”

“Security is at maximum shields. No suspicious activity reported, sir,” said Private Rojas. “Shields at 99%, engines at 98%, and all is well.”

“On course for Earth Prime Space Station and then on to Mars Outpost 1,” Lars added with a chortle. “Home, sweet home.”

“Kovacs?”

“Nothing but more gossip and IGO detail reports on the comms,” Kovacs replied sleepily from behind him.

Darryl spun around to him, and saw the hefty Kovacs slumped in his seat. Again. “Medic,” Darryl said into his earpiece, finger on the round button. “Send up a caffeine shot for Kovacs.”

Kovacs snored as if he agreed.

“At once, Sergeant Snow,” the female responded.

Lars was chuckling into his slim, pale palm. “Late night for some.”

“Probably ate too many carbs,” Rojas said, laughing himself.

Darryl smiled. “All right, back to the tasks at hand.”

“Yes, sir!” Lars said and pivoted around to the front view.

Rojas fell silent.

Darryl watched the empty ink of space unfold and noted how evening looked the same as morning. A blanket of ease fell over the ’shoe. Soon discussions rotated around to the upcoming IGO tournament soccer games and the expected leave time approaching. Darryl heard the conversations and weighed in with polite comments here and there. But his thoughts were locked on Cricket.

Would she awake and meet his eyes with regret, embarrassment, or shame? Or would she want to keep the spark between them lit? He didn’t like complications, but he had to be honest with himself if no one else. For those delightful, intense minutes he’d spent with her, he’d been happy.

The turbo lift’s doors slid back and a medic stepped out. Her uniform matched every other IGO-issued attire, except on the collar beside the red, white and green IGO insignia was a gigantic M. The medic, Dr. Krongkon, tossed him a brisk wave and headed for Kovacs. A waif of a woman, she exuded a steely strength common to experienced IGO doctors. They’d seen it all -- war, off-world colonization, and intergalactic life. She seemed youthful but was over half a century old.

Darryl checked the screen for the time. “I called for a medic an hour ago.”

“Sorry, Sergeant. Two privates got into a rather stupid fight down in the commons. Broken bones that had to be healed at once, of course. JC Lee had to be called, as you were on duty. He was none too happy. Anyway, where’s your fire?” she snapped, the hint of her Saturn lilt bouncing over her words. Consonants rough and unpolished met his ears.

He nodded in Kovacs’ direction.

“Ah, snoozing again. This is the third time this week, Sergeant Snow.”

As if he didn’t know it.

She raised her umber eyes to the ceiling, before lifting Kovacs’ chunky arm. The private awoke at once, fighting and disoriented. “Get off!”

Doctor Krongkon sidestepped his heavy-handed swats without so much as a ruffled hair. Her thick raven hair had been tied up in a bun. She adjusted her stance once Kovacs’ flaying ceased. With a hard-eyed stare, she snatched up his arm once more. She scowled at him and, dutifully reprimanded, Kovacs grew still.

Kovacs wiped his face with his other hand and stared at Darryl gloomily. “Sergeant?” Kovacs asked, voice cracking at the end. “Don’t give me the sleeper.”

“Caffeine shot,” Darryl explained, smiling. He didn’t give anyone the sleeper. Who wanted to be in stasis for months at a time? You awoke stiff, muscles creaking and diminished from disuse, disoriented, memories scattered, space sickness -- uh, no. “Thank you, Dr. Krongkon,” Darryl said.

In moments, the good doctor was gone and Kovacs returned to monitoring the comms with artificially induced gusto. Satisfied, Darryl relaxed and turned back to the window where space zipped by them. He wanted to think about Cricket. Seemed the irrepressible thoughts remained with him.

“Oy! Sergeant Snow,” Kovacs groaned, breaking the supple, almost tangible vision of Cricket in Darryl’s mind. “There’s a comm. For you. Internal. Transferring.”

Darryl shook his head to rid it of the cobwebs crafted by Cricket. Sure enough, the crimson light on his unit flickered. He mentally kicked himself before answering. “Sergeant Snow.”

The unmistakable voice of Commander Taylor came through. “I’m sending Lee to relieve you.”

My shift isn’t over for another five hours
. But Darryl held his tongue against the tide of questions burning for release.
Why
?

“Before you begin asking, don’t,” Commander Taylor ordered. “Meet me in Dr. Moore’s quarters in ten minutes.”

“Yes, sir.” The feed was already disconnected.

Darryl stared out the front window. In three days, they would come to the Earth Prime Space Station, the EPSS, for fuel and supplies before pushing on toward Mars Outpost 1 and
The Discovery
. They hadn’t expected the additional trip out to Io’s Outpost. They didn’t intend to return to Mars for some time and so they had to stop to replenish supplies.

Kovacs said, “Strange. The A.I. asked for you. Internal comms aren’t usually like that. Sorry, sergeant, they might’ve contacted earlier, but I missed it. Uh, sleeping, sir.”

“Who was it?” Lars asked, spinning around in his bucket seat, a wide-mouth yawn erupting across his face.

“No one,” Darryl said.

Lars’ mouth formed a question, but one glance at Darryl’s stony face forced him to swallow it. “Easy, sergeant, easy,” Lars said, barely audible, hands patting the air. “Easy.” Lars spun back to the window, where stars streamed past in streaks of bluish silver-white.

Commander Taylor had hidden his voice for a reason. Why? And what was going on with Cricket? Now Darryl would unearth the truth about her hasty retreat from Io. Did he really want to know?

Chapter 7

Commander Taylor struck a powerful image inside the quarters’ somber décor. His ivory IGO uniform seemed to almost glow like an angel of Earth Prime lore. The severe scowl across his face, however, kept it from being true. The light caught his two silver commander bars and reflected like a spotlight against the wall.

Dressed in civilian clothes of tan corduroy pants and an ebony turtleneck sweater, Cricket shuddered against the cold threatening to overtake her.

The A.I. had blasted her awake with a horrid siren and then in nonhuman cadence proceeded to tell her of the commander’s imminent arrival in fifteen minutes. She’d hurried to shower and dress. In fact her hair was still yanked up in a ponytail, the ends damp. She had managed to terminate the beach simulation. Sterile, dull gray met the commander’s somber expression.

She had hoped to have several long hours to reflect on her attraction to Darryl, but all too soon, he strolled into her quarters, trailing the commander. Confronted with his sexiness, she couldn’t quite focus on what the commander was saying. His tone warned it wasn’t good so she doubled her efforts to block out the sergeant’s sexy allure.

“Sergeant Snow is here solely at my discretion,” Commander Taylor began, voice like thunder rolling through the tiny space. He tried to seem relaxed, but his eyes gave it all away. “Dr. Moore, it has been discovered that several of your colleagues, both on Io and Europa Outposts, are currently missing or were found slain.”