Grayson Sontang in Space - Chapter 4 - Part 2

Chapter 4 - Part 2

Grayson plopped back into the chair with a groan. "If it isn't about sex, I don't think I'm interested."

"What's the next best thing to sex?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes. "I don't know. A good bar fight?"

"My thoughts exactly."

She gaped at him. "Have you been in my Tantalean brandy?"

"Things have been getting tense with the passengers. Cooped up together, sleeping in turns on cots..."

"Not my problem," she said with a dismissive wave.

"No, but you could be part of the solution."

"Okay, I'm officially, totally lost."

"Friday night fights. Only more organized than a bar fight."

"Are you nuts?"

"Maybe, but I found some sparring equipment in the rec room."

"Sparring equipment?" She really was going to have to do an inventory soon.

"Yeah. We set up some matches, get the passengers involved, let 'em bet, let the kids sit ringside."

"Don't see how all that involves me."

"You love to fight."

"Brawl. Doesn't lend itself to Marquess of Queensberry rules. And since we're being perfectly honest, what I love is to start it then sit back and watch the show."

"You could referee," he suggested.

"What do I know from refereeing? What I know is the last one standing wins."

"There's a note in your file that says you were professionally trained. That you are to be approached at all times as if armed."

"What? Who put that in there?"

"Apparently, someone who had you under observation on some planet where you started a number of fights, and may or may not have been peddling Tantalean brandy."

"Well, there you go. Why would I draw attention to myself if I was selling contraband?"

He shrugged. "Since you weren't arrested, it's presumably a moot point. So, you don't want to be involved in this?"

"The only way I'd want to be involved is if I got to kick your ass."

"Done. Tomorrow afternoon on the lower level."

"Wait, what?"

He grinned. "You and me. Grudge match. I'm favored by the way."

"You've got to be kidding!"

"Did I mention I spotted you five contacts. I assumed you'd want to go full contact, right?"

"You're out of your fucking mind!"

He frowned. "You need me to spot you more?"

"I don't need you to spot me anything."

"Oh. Okay, then. I'll let Het and Sip know."

"What?"

"They're holding the bets. If you want to get in on it, you need to do so by noon. Oh, and you can't bet against yourself."

She stood up and glared down at him. "How much did you bet?"

He shrugged. "Twenty."

She leaned over him, bracing her hands on the table. "Add two zeros."

He grinned. "Deal."

---

Bogart was trying to get Grayson to stand still long enough that he could put gloves and headgear on her, like Evans was doing for a much more cooperative Hendon. Every time Bogart tried to put the headgear on her, he got her hair pushed forward into her face until she finally took it from him and strapped it on herself. She was barefoot, wearing a tight tank top and loose silk pants. She was relieved to see Hendon kick off his space boots, but when he had peeled off his tee shirt, she had cringed inwardly, not from the toned muscles that he'd revealed, but from the potential distraction all that bare, space-pale skin presented. She could think of all kinds of things she'd rather be doing to that chest than trying to bounce punches and kicks off it.

A ring had been taped on the lower level floor. The children and a few others had been allowed to watch from that level, but most of the people were above on the bridgework. Grayson was only vaguely pleased that the girls had picked her side of the ring to stand on. She was pacing and swearing in a more colorful way than the children standing nearby should have been exposed to. She was beyond irritated, both at Hendon for tricking her into this spectacle and because the protective equipment made it feel all too much like eight years ago on Earth when she'd set out to learn ways of fighting where her size wasn't a deficit. Basically, it had amounted to almost a year's worth of getting the crap beat out of her on a regular basis, and then being scolded for not following instructions, or dropping her guard, or whatever had allowed the sensei to knock her on her butt yet again.

When Bogart tried to block the path of her pacing in order to get gloves on her, she pushed at him impatiently. "I don't need gloves, damnit."

From across the ring, Hendon called out, "Put the gloves on, Sontang. I don't want to break your fingers with my jaw." Laughter echoed around the metallic room even as Bogart managed to corner her against a wall and pull one glove partway on.

"You're supposed to make a fist after the glove is on," he muttered. "Not before."

"Sorry you drew the short straw, now?" she asked.

He grinned at her. "I bet on you. I want my money back." He leaned toward her to whisper in her ear. "I'll split the winnings with you if you knock him on his ass."

She rolled her eyes, but allowed him to get the gloves on her finally. "How does he fight?" she asked.

Bogart shrugged. "Never seen him have to. He just stands there and intimidates people."

"Gonna be a hell of a dull fight then. Come on, help me out. What do they teach at the academy?"

"How to use a blaster." Grayson scowled at him, and he relented. "In non-lethal situations, they teach you how to restrain, more like wrestling than hitting. Don't let him get hold of you and you'll be fine."

"Swell. His arms are, like, twice as long as mine, but I'm supposed to stay out of his reach?" She looked over at him. "He's worked freighters, so he must know how to brawl."

Bogart nodded. "He came back in one piece, so I think that's a safe assumption."

"His size, he'd be the sort to wade in," she said thoughtfully. "What about Karate?" she asked Bogart.

"What?"

"Judo? Taekwondo?"

"I don't know those words," he confessed. "Is that how you fight?"

She shrugged. "I trained. I was told I didn't have enough self-discipline to ever be any good at it."

"Now you tell me, after I bet a month's wages," he muttered, but with a smile. "Remember, it's for entertainment, just get a few good licks in."

Hackner, the security person from the poker game, walked into the center of the ring and raised his hands. "What's this?" Grayson asked.

"He's the referee," Bogart explained.

Grayson groaned. "The guy I took for all his money is the referee? The Siriun who works for the same government as Hendon?"

"Technically he works for the royals."

"Oh, that makes me feel way better."

"Let me explain the rules," Hackner called out and the crowd noised quieted.

"We don't need no stinking rules!" Grayson called over to Hendon across the ring. Laughter rang out and Hackner had to wait again for the noise, reverberating around the metal walls, to die down.

"The rules are simple," he continued. "The winner is whoever achieves an eight-count knock-out, five knockdowns or thirty solid contacts first." He looked over at Grayson. "As judged by me." Grayson glared at him. "Step outside the ring, your opponent will be credited with a contact," he continued. "Please touch gloves in the middle of the ring, return to your sides and we will begin."

Grayson strode to the center and bumped gloves with Hendon, strode back to the edge of the ring on her side, turned and bowed deeply, noting that Hendon belatedly copied her move. When Hackner gave the word to begin, she strode halfway back to the center and struck a ready pose, watching Hendon closely. She was sure he knew at least something about martial arts. The whole full contact business ruled out boxing or wrestling as the central context. But she was gambling that he didn't know enough about the martial arts she'd been trained in to defend against them. Bogart had confirmed he hadn't learned as a Confed and certainly not as a spacer. So let him think that was how she intended to fight. She was also gambling that his intent was to draw things out, let her get in some hits, provide entertainment as Bogart had said.

He waded in, as she had expected, though cautiously, his hands held in a boxing stance. She ducked under his left side and spun in a flying kick at his back, staggering him but only a couple of steps. She hit him far too close to his center of gravity; her small stature had been an advantage ducking under his side, but a deficit in hoping to topple him, though Hackner grudgingly credited her with a contact. Worse, Hendon was already adjusting his approach, arms held lower and closer to his sides. And he was grinning. Grayson shook herself and resumed her ready stance. He was baiting her with that grin. She could hear a sensei berating her for allowing the distraction. But then again, she'd quit listening to those voices seven years ago. They were very wise, but they hadn't spent time on freighters or in bars.

She made a come-hither motion as well as she could given the glove on her outstretched hand. Hendon's grin widened. His caution deepened, though. He moved to circle her, trying to figure out the significance of her pose. Grayson suddenly straightened with her hands on her hips. He followed suit, straightening, and she rolled a summersault on his right side and kicked out at his calf. If she couldn't hit above his center of gravity, she could certainly hit below. He went down on one knee. When he jumped back up and spun to face her, he wasn't grinning anymore. So she did. Grayson's young female cheering section was clapping and screaming for her.

"Cramping up?" she asked.

"Feeling fine," he answered. "Run out of acrobatics yet?"

"Let me check my instruction manual. I think there's a few left to try."

He suddenly rushed her, low with arms spread wide, and she realized she'd remained too close to the edge of the ring. She jumped back out of bounds and Hackner gleefully credited Hendon with a contact point. But Grayson now understood his plan was to pin her for the eight-count. It made sense. He'd used the same basic technique, successfully, on her before and it avoided the risk of injury that a kick or hit carried. Can't endanger your pilot, after all. He backed away, allowing her to reenter the ring, and she made for the center.

This time, he was within a couple of steps of the ring edge. Grayson took a deep breath and leapt. She knew if she thought too long about it, she'd chicken out. She hated getting knocked on her butt. And she hated it even worse if it occurred while she was midair. Still she figured she'd either be able to get a contact point or make him back out of the ring to avoid her flying foot. Her torso twisted and then her hips. As she had hoped, Hendon was reaching to bat away the wrong foot. When he realized his mistake, he pulled backward and his heel left the ring. Grayson rolled and leapt back to her feet in front of Hackner.

"He was out," she yelled.

"Full foot," Hackner said by way of explanation, with a grin. Grayson saw his eyes flick over her shoulder at the same moment she heard a gasp from some of the watchers. Without looking, she dropped and rolled, coming up on her feet as Hendon turned back toward her and was lunging again. She aimed a graceless kick at the side of his head which he easily batted away.

"You could find gloves but not mats?" she bitched, when he straightened to consider his next move.

He shrugged. "Didn't know you were going to spend so much time on the floor."

"No harder than a spacer bar floor and a hell of a lot cleaner," she snarled, circling him. She kept her eyes on his face, but she was thinking about his feet. She went barefoot on the ship frequently, even occasionally running for exercise along the bridgework above, usually more from boredom than any fit of healthfulness. But she suspected he practically slept in his spacer boots. There should be some way she could use that. He lunged again, arms reaching to snare her, but this time she was more prepared. He had lowered his head, aiming for her center of gravity, which was a lot lower than his, throwing his balance off just enough. She leapt straight up, swinging her foot for his head again, eluding his grasp. When he tried to deflect her leg, he had to push up and over and then both ended up rolling on the floor. The only difference was that Grayson had learned early on how to land, roll and bounce back to her feet. Hendon wasn't used to being on the floor, let alone hitting it with a thud.

She already had her next move planned before he'd even straightened fully. She jumped at him, landing as hard as her minimal weight allowed with one heel on the toes of his foremost foot. As her other foot came down on the decking for leverage, she slammed up with the heel of her hand into his chin, or as close as the headgear would allow, anyway. His head snapped back and he went down with another thud as she sprang away.

Sip or Het - she still couldn't tell them apart - was keeping score on the wall of the cargo hold. She pointed to it with her gloved hand as Hendon straightened. Two hits and one knockdown for her. "Ready to throw in the towel, yet?" she taunted.

"Just getting warmed up," he said with a grin. Then he was lunging at her like a freighter in planetfall. Grayson tried to spin away, but he managed to grab the fabric of her loose pants and she felt the inside seam go. Apparently well-pleased with himself he held on even though it forced him to go down on a knee, and the seam shredded even further, until it hung open practically from her crotch to the cuff at her ankle.

"Wearing underwear, today?" he called, though it appeared that he landed on his knee hard as he got slowly back to his feet.

"You're going to have to do better than that to find out," she challenged, dancing away from him as he stalked her. He had obviously figured out that she had figured out he was trying to get her into a restraint hold so he gave up any pretense of boxing and tried to back her up to the edge of the ring. She was far more light-footed than him, but he had much more patience on his side. When he caught her with her weight on the wrong foot to pivot away, he lunged again. Grayson stood her ground this time and kicked out at the knee he had fallen on earlier. She was rewarded with a soft grunt as he went down, but unfortunately, he went down on top of her and was grappling, wrestler-like, for a grip on her arms.

She kicked with both feet at his other ankle, collapsing that leg as she pushed at his shoulder to roll him off her. He rolled, but managed to get a purchase on the shoulder strap of her tank top, pulling her on top of him. "Let go, you perv," she muttered, and surprisingly he did, though he reached for her as she rolled away. She was starting to breath harder when she found her feet, though she was pleased to see that he was slow getting up. Grayson glanced at the scoreboard and saw that Hendon had been awarded a knockdown.

"What the... Time out! I hit him first," she yelled at Hackner.

"A knockdown trumps a hit," he said with a shrug.

"Did you bet on this fight?" She looked over at Het or Sip. "Did he bet on this fight?" The Siriun shrugged. Then Hendon hit her, hard, knocking her to the floor and wrapping his arms around her, pinning her down.

"No time outs," he said in her ear. Grayson howled, trying to throw the heavy man off her but barely moving him. Hackner began counting but well before he reached eight, Hendon released her. She leapt to her feet, seething. "Consider that a freebie," Hendon said, circling her again. "Your only one," he warned.

"I don't need your charity," she sneered, ignoring the fact that if he'd held her for a few more counts, which he was undeniably capable of doing, he would have won. He just grinned and feinted, watching her reflexive actions. "No time outs?" she said. "Fine. Bar rules it is. How's your knee?"

"Feels like my toes," he conceded, not that that told her all that much. He was moving cautiously, so it was hard to tell if he was favoring anything, and she wouldn't have put it past him to pretend to do so as a bluff.

"How's your balls?" she asked, dancing back and forth in an effort to confuse him. "Well protected?"

He curled his glove tips at her. "Bring it."

Grayson dove onto her back and spun, trying to sweep his good leg. He went down on that knee and she whipped to her feet, using both hands to deliver a blow to his helmet covered ear. She suspected he barely felt it. She'd figured out early on that her upper body strength wasn't going to do any good against the solidly built lawman, and would mainly serve to bring her well within his reach. But she was going more for distraction anyway, because she immediately fell onto her outstretched hands and kicked back with both feet at his shoulders. He went down to his hands and knees. She kicked her legs over into a summersault and rolled back to her feet, comfortably out of range as he swung around to grab for her, still on his knees.

Grayson glanced at the scoreboard. Hackner had grudgingly credited her with three hits. Hendon still had two knockdowns to her one, and she was beginning to think that his slowness getting back on his feet was a bluff or stall for time while he plotted his next move. She on the other hand was wondering if she could even make it to thirty contacts. Hitting Hendon was like hitting a brick wall, and had just about as much result. Plus, he was adapting way faster than some drunk in a spacer bar. She knew, while her attempt at misdirection had worked last time, it wouldn't work again, any more than a particular move would fool him more than once.

She paced around the edge of the ring, as he stood in the middle watching her closely, waiting for an indication of her next attack. She suspected he knew if he just kept letting her come at him, an opportunity would present itself eventually to wrap his arms around her and immobilize her for a pin. With gloves on, she didn't even have fingernails for self-defense. Not to mention they were a serious impediment to any judo-type throws. In a fit of pique, she wriggled one hand free of the glove and tossed it out of the ring. As she expected, Hendon charged her the moment she reached for the laces of the other glove. She sidestepped his outreached arm, grabbed his wrist, twisting his arm as she bent and rolled him over her back. He landed with his classic thud, and actually seemed slightly dazed or surprised, perhaps. Grayson yanked her hand out of the other glove and threw it. In a bar fight, she would have rushed in for the coup de grace, but she didn't trust what Hendon was showing her. He had the decency to look disappointed when he climbed back to his feet, looking his usual bright-eyed self. Grayson tossed a scowl at Hackner who hadn't even started counting as Hendon lay there. He was signaling the Siriun to give Grayson another takedown, though, and missed one of her better scowls. She turned back to Hendon, wondering if she could keep him off balance long enough to get in another throw. She rolled her shoulders. At least she figured he'd think twice before charging her again.

"Getting bored here," she called out. "When you going to start fighting?" She was pacing near the edge of the ring again, but he had figured out that was a ploy to trick him into running into a throw.

He raised his gloved fists in a boxing stance. "Come and fight, then," he challenged.

Grayson stopped pacing and put her hands on her hips. "Not in the mood to be a punching bag. How about I tap-dance on your head?"

He smiled. "Come and try."

She shook her head. "No. You come here." And all of a sudden, he was, sliding across the floor feet first. Grayson leapt straight up but he lifted both his legs and managed to tangle one with hers, preventing her from hitting the floor in a roll to stay out of his reach. He managed to throw himself onto the lower half of her body and wrapped one arm about her thighs, trying with the other arm to catch one of her wrists. Grayson twisted and kicked as well as she could, trying to pull herself out of his grasp or at least keep him from getting a firmer hold. Hackner was counting already, of course.

Then Hal's voice was booming throughout the ship. "Mass detection."

"Hal, evasive maneuvers. Get down!" Grayson yelled. She saw Het and Sip diving for the children. Hackner was looking for the prince, but if he had been among the children, he now had a hairy Siriun laying protectively atop him. Hendon rolled off her legs and she leapt to her feet, running through the people laying on the floor to get to the ladder closest to the control bridge. The bridgework was a mess of people laying and holding on as best they could. Evans had run for the nearest ladder but it would be nearly impossible to pick his way to the control bridge from there. Grayson could hear Hendon following her. She didn't know if that was because he'd come to the same decision, or if he simple trusted her judgement. She stumbled several times as the maneuvering exhausts fired, but managed to keep her feet. She heard Hendon's now unmistakable thud at some point but didn't look back.

"ID, Hal?" she called as she reached the ladder and began to climb.

"Energy signature of small ship. No beacon."

"Deploy blaster," she ordered as she reached the top of the ladder and leapt over the people laying in her way. The portal opened for her and she raced for her seat. She almost sat on the prince as she swung the chair to slide into it. She grabbed his arm and yanked him out of the chair and onto the floor. "Stay down," she snapped as she glanced at the monitors on the console.

"Hal, visuals on monitor one. Replay sim on big screen."

"I want to see," the prince said, though to his credit he remained on the floor, looking up at Grayson.

"Shut up," she muttered, looking from the small screen to the large.

Hendon entered the bridge, glanced at the prince, then went to stand next to Grayson, bracing himself against the console. "That's a trader configuration," she said. "Not to say it hasn't been gutted on the inside and rebuilt. But the speed..." She shook her head as she hit a key and additional info popped up next to the sim of the ship. "Hal shows it decelerating at forty-five gees. Only ships I know that can do that are Fed fighters."

"Decelerating?" he said with a puzzled frown. "But it's heading out of system."

"Technically speaking, it's trying not to head out of system. I think it's our bogey from the wormhole. Hal, could that mystery ship have done a slingshot around El Rehla and be here now?"

"Ninety-six point two three probability given the current rate of thrust was maintained approximately four point five hours in system and nine hours out system with minimum ten gee thrust in between maximum thrust periods."

"Now tell Hendon what the probability is that that same ship would be in mass detection range of us on inward and outward swings, Hal."

"Zero point zero three six without cumulative sixty-three degree course correction," the computer answered.

"And that means?" Hendon asked.

"That it was aiming for us. Or for where it predicted we would be. We both came in over plane for the system. That ship should have swung around and under plane when it went behind El Rehla. It adjusted to stay above plane. Most inbound ships stay above plane and most outbound stay below. That pilot adjusted to be above, either because he was looking for us, or because he thinks of himself as being inbound. Or both."

"There is no up or down in space," the prince said proudly.

Grayson scowled at him. "Relative to the counter-clockwise rotation of most systems. You can go back to the cargo hold now."

"Do you recognize it," Hendon asked.

She looked back at the monitor and sighed. "That body is a dime a dozen. And I don't see any visible markings. Hal, can you give us a blow-up on the main screen?"

Evans came on the bridge and settled into the control chair. He studied the ship. "That's our bogey?"

"Both bogeys, probably." Grayson said. "Somebody is very interested in us. I won," she added.

"Did not," Hendon replied.

"Evans?" she asked.

He threw his hands up in the air. "I was never there. What do you want to do about out bogey?"

Grayson went to run her hands through her hair and realized she still had the headgear on. She yanked it off and tossed it to the prince. "Take that back with you. Memento from the winner. Scat!" Then to Evans, she said, "Give them the all clear in the holds. He's long gone."

"He's?" Hendon said. "Looked more like a woman driver to me."

"Oh, my god. You did not go there!"

"Didn't have to. I won."

"Okay, that's it. Who was keeping score, Het or Sip?"

Evans and Hendon looked at her like she'd suddenly gone blind. "Sip," the prince supplied.

"Get her up here." Again, they simply stared until the prince supplied, "Him."

"That's what I said. Him." Grayson somehow managed to stare at all of them defiantly.

"Let's tend to navigational issues first," Hendon said waving at her console.

"Fine," she snarled. "El Rehla Prime gave us fast track privileges. Let's use them. Can you get people ready for thirty gees in an hour? Evans, can you see if Prime has any info on that ship or if they even saw it?"

"Aye, aye," he said, donning headphones.

"Hendon, get that brat off my bridge. Hal, let's look at options. And Hal, I want projections on that ship's trajectory. Throw them up on main screen."

---

An hour and a half later, they were 'cruising' at thirty gees deceleration, circling to overshoot the prime planet toward an inner orbit then accelerate back out toward it, falling neatly into orbit. Grayson had proudly proclaimed that no one could project that approach, and Evans had to agree, given that it was nearly unheard of to come into planetary orbit under hydrogen thrust. He'd had to do a great deal of fast talking to get ground control to even approve the approach, given they hadn't seen the bogey and had only vague sensory data from system mass detectors. But El Rehla was a small independent system, and staying on the right side of a huge neighboring sector like Sirius was just good business, so in the end, they conceded the point.

Grayson hadn't bothered to mention to the Confeds that Hal still had the blaster deployed, and if they had noticed they weren't mentioning anything, either. She had already decided that if the bogey showed up again, she was going to shoot first and ask questions - and permission - later. She'd programmed some potentialities for Hal and she was still staring at his projections for possible trajectories the other ship could achieve, trying to decide what she might have chosen. It would have been much easier if she had any idea what their intention was. If the ship had engine and grav capabilities of a F ed fighter, couldn't it have laser capabilities, too? If it wanted to blast them, and had a laser, it could have done so on that first flyby. Or on the second flyby with a laser or a blaster. So if it didn't want to destroy them, what did it want? She slapped the console in front of her in frustration.

Her chair was suddenly yanked around. "That's it. Rest period," Hendon commanded.

She narrowed her eyes and gripped the chair arms in defiance. "I don't take your orders."

"Really?" he said with barely disguised humor clearly intended to annoy her.

"In case you haven't noticed, we are deep in system. Of a white giant, no less. I need to be on the bridge."

"Evans and Hal have the flight plan..." He leaned in close, "And were not engaged in a full contact fight just a few hours ago."

"Pffft," she said with a wave of her hand, "That wasn't a real fight..."

And just like that, she found herself thrown over Hendon's shoulder and he was carrying her off the bridge, despite the thirty gee thrust. She banged her head on the wall above the portal as she struggled to free herself from his grasp.

"Ouch! Put me down, you fucking asshole."

He swatted her ass as he carried her toward her quarters. "We really need to talk about your language. There are children on board, you know," he chided condescendingly. "You might want to keep your head down this time," he suggested as the portal to her bedroom opened for him.

"Hendon, I swear if you don't put me down right now..." And then she was down, on her back on her bed. She sat up. "What are you going to do, tie me to the fucking bed?" she demanded.

"If need be. I had more in mind pinning you for a full eight count." He rested one knee on the bed and leaned in real close. "So we can end this silly argument about who won."

"What?" She leaned back, staring at him. As usual, she had no idea what he was really thinking, but his pupils were dilated and he was in a more vulnerable pose than he usually allowed when he was that close to her. "I thought you liked 'em meek and submissive," she said, edging back as he leaned even closer.

His eyes tracked slowly down to her chest, then back up just as slowly, again displaying a vulnerability strange for him. "Oh, I suspect I could convince you to submit," he suggested in a low, husky voice.

'Trap!' he mind screamed, though other parts of her were screaming something else entirely. "Don't toy with me, sailor. I've been too many days without," she warned, scooting back on the bed. His hands were suddenly on the headboard, with her pinned between his arms, both his knees on the bed. Grayson drew her own knees up, the torn pantleg falling away from one leg.

"Like you've been toying with me?" he challenged. "For instance..." He reached down and grabbed a handful of silk from the intact pantleg. "If I were to give a tug, might the inseam of this pantleg rip away, just so?"

She eyed him. "It might." He grinned and tugged. The inseam parted as if on command. "They just don't make clothes like they used to," she complained.

"Or fair fights."

"Ha! With the referee in your pocket?" she argued.

He grinned again. "Point conceded."

"Wait. Did you just concede?"

He shrugged, sitting back slightly. "On the referee. Nothing but Siriuns to chose from. Do you concede on the rigged pants? Not to mention trying to flash me with all that panty-less temptation peeking through?"

"I'll see you the rigged pants and raise you pretending to be stunned after I threw you."

"Half point," he conceded. "I was stunned that you could flip me airborne."

"That's okay. My sensei would have been stunned, too."

"That's your trainer?"

She nodded. "So now what?" she asked, eyeing him.

"The passengers aren't the only ones needing a break from the close quarters and tension," he replied. Grayson gave him a puzzled frown. "I suggest we put aside the teasing..." She opened her mouth to protest, but he raised a finger in front of her face. "On both sides. I suggest we address our tensions so we can function better as a team."

"We're not a team," she muttered, though she had to admit the thought of releasing certain tensions sounded awfully good to certain parts of her tense anatomy.

"We are now. I may have neglected to mention something."

Grayson stared at him. "Something worse that wormholes blowing up centimeters away and getting thrown around space at light speed and almost running out of oxygen?"

"Depends on your point of view, I guess," he replied eyeing her warily.

She groaned and buried her face in her hands. "Okay. Hit me with it."

"The Feds may or may not be annoyed about the monarchy sending their problems into Fed space in the form of the prince. They may or may not be looking for us."

Grayson looked up in disbelief. "You mean that little shithead is contraband?"

"Yes. The SON you are carrying in your hold is contraband. Now, about that tension I mentioned..." Hendon took advantage of her gaping mouth and wide-eyed stare to twist her around on the bed and pin her down with his weight and a deep, long kiss. Long enough to distract her from thoughts of long-lost sons, Feds and mystery speeding ships. When she began gripping his arms instead of trying to push him away, he reached down to disabuse her of what was left of her pants. That went without protest, so he pulled far enough back to roll her tank top up and over her head, though getting her to let go of his arms so he could pull it entirely free was somewhat more challenging. The moment she let go of his arms, she was tugging at the hem of his shirt.

"Why'd you put the damn thing back on," she complained as they became thoroughly tangled.

"My magnificent chest was obviously distracting to the pilot."

"Full of yourself, aren't you," she muttered as she managed to disengage her arms.

"Said the super-nova to the nova," he countered.

Grayson reached for the snaps on his pants, but he grabbed her wrists. "Before I expose my tender parts to a potential full contact frontal assault, I want to hear you say it."

"Say what?" she demanded impatiently.

"Truce."

She glared at him. "Fine. One hour truce."

He shrugged. "I can live with that." He rose up on his knees to remove his pants and the protective equipment underneath.

Grayson grinned. "Did you really think I'd go low?"

"Yes," he replied.

"Smart man. Now, would you hurry up? We only have an hour."

He grinned, but this time it didn't set her teeth on edge like it usually did. Especially when he dove between her legs, spreading them wide, and making a feast of her pussy. In minutes, she was writhing, both trying to pull her way closer to his teasing tongue and trying to entice him to explore other parts in need of attention. It didn't even bother her - too much - that she knew he was grinning through it all.

"I heard a rumor that you like it from behind," he murmured against her nether lips.

"For the grand finale. I expect at least four or five movements before the operatic finale."

"Operatic? Who sings?"

"Me, if you're good enough."

"Ah, a challenge. I love it." He dove deeper with his tongue and Grayson gasped, wondering if Siriun settlers had evolved some prehensile ability with their tongues. They seemed awfully good at maneuvering them in tight spaces. When he returned his attention to her clit, his fingers replaced his tongue's deep explorations and in moments he had her screaming as her back arched impossibly high, an artifact of her judo training, so recently refreshed in her memory.

"I thought you said the operatic singing came at the finale?" he commented, feigning the thoughtfulness of a music critique.

"Oh, baby, you haven't heard anything, yet," she said pushing him back and diving on his cock like a starving vampire.

"Sounded more like a sick coyote," he replied, though not without a gasp.

Somehow, she managed to keep the head of his dick in her mouth as she replied, "You have no idea what a coyote sounds like, sick or otherwise." Having said that, she plunged down, sucking and humming around the full length of his cock until he was moaning.

"It hasn't been an hour yet," he rasped out. "Damn, Sontang!" He tried to push her away, but couldn't find the leverage, almost as if she'd planned it that way.

She smiled in victory as his come shot down her throat. She licked her lips and smiled up at him. "You've got about twenty minutes to recover, spaceman. I'm a very demanding trick."

He drew a deep, shuddering breath and pushed her away. "Don't call yourself that, damn it! How can you expect others to treat you with the respect you deserve if you don't respect yourself!"

Grayson lay on her back and laughed softly. "No one I've ever fucked - or been fucked by - has ever called me a trick. You won't, either," she said, looking over at him. "It's the ones I refuse that call me a trick, or whore, or..."

He rolled on top of her. "Then I better make sure I fuck you, huh?"

"Damn right, sailor," she agreed with a laugh.

He slid lower and set his tongue to work on her nipples, riding it out as she bucked and twisted under him. She tried to lace her fingers through his close-cropped hair, and when that didn't work, grasped his ears to pull him closer until his mouth closed over her small breast, drawing her nipple deeper, closer to the full force of his tongue's abuse. With his fingers, he twisted and pinched the other nipple but she only thrust her chest higher, demanding his attentions. "That the best you got, sailor?" she challenged, then yelped as his teeth pinned her hard nipple firmly and his tongue began an intense, rapid flicking that shot through her like an inescapable electrical current. She gulped for air like a spacer in vacuum, but when she tried to pull back, he held on, unrelenting, until she screamed his name.

When he finally released her with a grin, he asked, "Ready for the other side?"

She was gasping, her chest heaving, but when she caught enough breath to speak, all she said was, "Bring it." He chuckled and dove in, if anything teasing her other nipple to an even more tender hardness before sucking her areola in range of his teeth and bringing his tongue to bear. He splayed one hand against her back, preventing even the attempt to escape his tongue's assault, and his other hand slid down her belly and between her legs until she was impaled with two fingers and no amount of squirming or judo throws could free her from the sensory overload. She screamed his name again, but still he didn't relent until she was virtually begging him, in between wracking orgasms.

When he finally did relent, he backed off only an inch and stilled his fingers, before asking, "Who won?"

"Hour's not up," she replied, though it came out more as a hoarse whisper.

He rose up and without warning rolled her onto her stomach and straddled her back, beginning a deep muscle back massage that had her groaning in pleasure, then in arousal as his strong, large hands proceeded farther down her spine to her ass and tailbone. When his thumbs began to stroke along the crevasse of her crack and slide between her thighs, her groans changed to gasps. "Oh, fuck, Hendon. Oh, my fucking..."

He pulled her up on her knees. "This how you like it?" he asked, pushing into her without warning.

"More negative declination, sailor."

"You got it," he said, leaning over her even as she pushed back against him. He looped one arm under her, pulling her back up against his chest and began short, pounding strokes into her belly. "Wanna hear you sing, baby."

She didn't know from singing, but with each of his downstrokes, she was uttering a guttural, "Uh, uh, uh," until her arms collapsed on the mattress and it became just one, long, "Uhhhhh." And then a "Fuuuuuck!" He felt the shock waves roll through her body. She was rocking back and forth with them, and had returned to the "Uh, uh, uh," save the tone was more like a receding tide, rolling back out to the immense sea where it had arisen.

"I won," he said, leaning close to her ear. Then he straightened and began slamming into her, pulling back at her hips until she gathered herself and began pushing back against him on each thrust. He reached forward and palmed her breasts, easily encompassing them in his large hands. When he was almost there, he reached to pull her hair back, wrapping it around one hand, his other hand splayed against the small of her back. She obligingly dropped to her elbows, arching her back to give him even deeper access.

Grayson smiled as his grunts gave way to a long, low moan. He buried himself as deep as possible within and shuddered long and hard. She smiled secretly and silently mouthed the words, "I won."

---

Grayson strode onto the bridge just after Evans and Hal had made the course corrections and begun acceleration to match orbit with the prime planet. She glanced at the main screen, then down at Evans and Bogart, who was standing next to him and pointing out something on one of the monitors. They both turned to look at her, watching as she retrieved a cup of coffee from the dumbwaiter and took her seat at the command console. When she realized they were still staring at her, she scowled.

"What!" she demanded. They both snapped their attention back to the monitors in front of them. Grayson smiled to herself.

Continued in Chapter 5 - Part 1...

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