Dark Sun - 2. Chapter 2

II

The grav-lifter shuddered slightly as it moved out of the protective embrace of the land cradle and began its slow ascent. Four long boring hours later it clawed its way out of the planetary gravity well, and slipped outside the thin atmosphere to reach New London high spaceport, orbiting above the blue and green sphere below.

He felt the movements of the lifter throughout his body with a series of often nauseating manoeuvres as it climbed giving way to a steady course buffeted by the occasional sideways movement from a gust of high-altitude wind. He had seen this view often enough through the porthole and ignored it, whereas newcomers gasped and laughed as the ascent continued. .

For him there was another dimension. Since he enlisted at 17, this view had usually been the preliminary to anything but fun.

Closing his eyes, he ran over the details again; the long process of conditioning that would prepare him for what was to come:

I am Jarrick Samuels, age 32, born on Fomalhault, now resident of Gateway. I am a cyber-security consultant, and travelling to Dannerfell IV for business after work on New London. My work is classified, here is the reference number. No I am not carrying any declarable items. No I do not have any communicable diseases….

He repeated the legend in his mind, internalising the details with each repetition, the process of assuming a new identity advanced as the atmosphere thinned around the lifter and gravity diminished, imperceptibly at first.

He liked the Samuels identity from the moment it was presented to him, courtesy of another dead drop at a branch of the Guild Bank. It was close enough to his past to be easy to slip into.

Samuels was ex-military, like himself. It was a way of life that invaded every part of him in ways he didn’t realise but often stood out to the trained observer, from the way he spoke to the way he wore civilian clothes. His friends had sometimes joked that he carried ‘the stench’ with him; the smell of ex-military, merc, security contractor, spook. So why not spell it out, in a way that covered up the harsher reality. The easiest place to hide something was always in plain sight.

He liked the little details too; he was casually convincing in cyber security given his military speciality. Even his birthplace; Fomalhault was a noted Francon colony, and he could easily slip a hint of Galfranc into his accent, but the name meant he was likely an Anglic, so he wouldn’t be expected to be fluent.

The chance to use the Samuels identity almost made him feel better about suiting up so soon after his last assignment. Almost, but not quite. He worked its folds and creases over in his mind, the myriad parts of the legend absorbed into his memory, while studiously ignoring the emotions he had avoided from the moment he kicked the kid out of his bed two nights before.

Unease? Anger? He couldn’t put his finger on it. Like most things he couldn’t really understand within himself, he pushed the feelings deeper and got on with business.

Why the rush, why immediate, why him?

The implications nagged at him and wouldn’t quite go away. Not a good sign, when something was laid on as rapidly as this. That meant trouble. Had he been chosen because he was uncommonly good or uncommonly expendable?

The coded message started the train. He knew his destination, and he knew which identity he would be using for the assignment from the six currently in his possession. An identity was used once only, then discarded, and he shuddered at the thought of the cost that had gone into developing such a solid identity and its accompanying legend and those little checkable details that supported its existence. Whoever did this for his employers was the best in the business. He knew because he was experienced, no ex-merc could avoid it, and he still used his contacts to acquire personal backup. The years had made him cautious. They must have; he was still alive.

The reminder of the message told him how he would receive the rest of his briefing. 3-2-7.

3- first contact en route to destination

2- list of dead drops provided en route

7- assignment briefing on landfall

With a shrug he inserted the Samuels identicard into a spare comm-unit, and checked for messages. As expected, a booking reference for an Oberlind Highliners journey flashed in the message box. Here to Gateway, two jumps. Change liners, then Gateway to Dannerfell IV, three jumps. About five days to complete the journey.

And so he had come, another traveller in the check-in line for a grav-lifter to take him to the orbiting spaceport above New London, his old identity melted away as he assessed the feel of Jarrick Samuels on his skin. As always he travelled fairly clean, he carried only one or two small personal precautions readily explained to even a moderately searching examination. All he needed would be waiting for him upon landfall, or sent by other, untraceable means..

Returning to the here and now from his internal reverie, he realised the stewardess was trying to vie for his attention. Giving a winning smile, she rewarded him with a grin and a slight blush as she noticed him noticing her checking him out. He blew a kiss, and ignored the disapproving snort from the lady beside him. He ordered a large drink to sustain himself through the last part of the journey. Soon they would be entering transitional flight, when the reaction control jets of the lifter kicked in as gravity dropped. Everyone would be strapped in until docking.

I am Jarrick Samuels, age 32, born on Fomalhault, now resident of Gateway. I am a cyber-security consultant…..

++++++++++++

Inbound clearance proceeded smoothly, his belongings checked through to the liner. As he was only transiting at Gateway, he would not face customs until he reached Dannerfell. Before that time, he would be perfectly into his new life.

He headed for boarding, his body getting used to the artificial gravity of the spaceport, set at 80% of planetary normal in preparation him for the lower gravity on the liner, something he would need to recover from once he landed on Dannerfell.

Though he had told the kid he could no longer remember his real name, it was an obvious lie that Jaden had not bothered to challenge. Perhaps it would be better to say that he no longer wished to remember it. The reality of his life was a strange facsimile of the ones he assumed for his job, similar yet divergent.

Born Cole Riley, unwanted child of a free trader always one jump ahead of his creditors, he had first been brought up mostly by his mother after his father had skipped the system. She died in an accident when he was 14, and the young Cole had been sent to an orphanage, like most in his position. No-one wanted someone else’s child in these times, least of all an overgrown surly man-child like Cole.

He had continued growing, a precociously developed youngster with a set of scything fists and the willingness to use them. While these would normally have proven to be survival traits in his circumstances, Cole proved his own worst enemy in two respects; a willingness to openly admit his sexuality, and an inability to stop himself responding violently to provocation. His mother had always taught him to be honest and to stand up for himself, in true Francon tradition. It did not serve him well.

His fists found much gainful employment, as he learned the first of many harsh life lessons; never ever trust people with who you really are. There was a general sigh of relief from all concerned when he enlisted in the stellar marines at seventeen, along with a well subscribed betting book on how long he would last before being dishonourably discharged. It gave him grim satisfaction to know no one had collected.

Late at night in the orphanage dormitory he would play a game, imagining himself as anything, anyone but the despised orphan faggot boy, a game he came to share with his best mate and subsequent first lover. They would think up elaborate scenarios, sometimes as rich bankers or sports stars, sometimes as all powerful people, Governors, Senators. Anything they could not possibly be in real life.

Now he got to play the game for real, but instead of sports heroes, Governors, rich and powerful, he played less damaged versions of himself. Ones with families, and a past that wasn’t shameful. Versions with a future. He put on these identities, and for a time pressed his nose against the window of an alternative life, like the one that kid Jared would have. A partner. An apartment. A stupid fucking dog called Rex.

The temptation to stay in a role permanently and kiss off his employers was all powerful sometimes, a drug with drug-like consequences. He might as well have chewed on the barrel of a gauss rifle and pull the trigger, the end would be the same and a hell of a lot less messy.

Waiting patiently for boarding to commence, he sized up his fellow passengers, a motley collection with a heavy emphasis on power types. Power suits, power ties, power personalities and egos to match. A liner bound for Gateway, capital of the Federation after Earth was abandoned, would get more than its share of dickheads. Power attracted dickheads like honey attracted ants.

Do I really envy them? Or despise them? He did not truthfully know the answer.

Finally, boarding commenced with the usual imitation of a herd of buffalo heading for the airlock, and he used his bulk to good effect, at one time sending what looked like a senior government type spinning before reaching the boarding turnstile and the obsequeous attendant.

It was here that the next stage of his assignment began, as he smiled confidently and placed his forefinger on the scanner. Handing over his new identicard, he mentally shrugged and stepped into character.

“Welcome aboard the Argonaut Mr Samuels. It is good to see you on Oberlind Highliners again so soon. We have taken the liberty of upgrading you, and hope you enjoy your new cabin on deck eight.”

“Thank you, and about time. I travel enough with you people.”

“Rest assured we value your custom Mr Samuels. If you would step this way please, Damis will show you to your cabin.”

He audited the smiling Damis, noting the way the steward scrutinized him, a plastic smile on his face. As he ruminated on the significance of a new cabin, he decided it was just what it looked like, a zealous attempt at providing value to a good customer. Based on the Samuels legend he had memorised, he would be a frequent traveller over long routes, something that should be reflected in his identicard. So far, everything checked out perfectly.

Arriving at his cabin after a long and complicated journey, all the while absently chatting up his guide, he hesitated a moment. He had spent the walk admiring Damis’ frankly stunning backside, and the languid grace of his movements as he navigated the corridors. They shared an easy banter that had them laughing by the time they reached the cabin.

He had been denied his usual rest and recuperation, the beautiful green eyed Jaden notwithstanding. His cock twitched in subconscious anticipation, knowing that his policy was never to get into anything planetside on a mission. Last chance for a while…

Entering the cabin, he noticed Damis checking him out, the smile now less plastic and shyly reaching his eyes.

“Is there anything I can do for you Mr Samuels? I would be happy to show you the features of your cabin, or arrange room service during the journey. We will have nine hours before the first jump point. By the way sir, there is a personal capsule for you beside your bed.”

Looking around the cabin, small and cramped by planetary standards but spacious for a liner, he returned the smile, taking in the full beauty of his new friend. In his early twenties, Damis had a cute butt, very kissable lips, and stunning hazel eyes.

Turning up the wattage on his smile, he gazed into those hazel eyes.

“Please, enough of the Mr Samuels and Sir. I bet you’ve dealt with enough pompous assholes on this route; I’m not one of them. Call me Jazz. Thank you for all your help Damis, I appreciate it. Oh and, I wouldn’t mind taking you up on the offer to show me the features of my cabin. Not now though, perhaps later?”

“Yes, sir. When would you like me to return?”

“Well…how about when you get off duty?”

He had done it well, a crooked smile, half naughty boy, half werewolf, appealing to his prey, exciting while putting him at ease. Damis laughed and nodded, hesitant at first, but delivered with increasing certainty.

“Two hours before jump. I get six hours off duty.”

“See you then?”

“Yes Mr…Jazz. See you then.”

Smiling, he flopped down on the bed and reached for the capsule bearing the crest of Oberlind and his name.

Opening it with his fingerprint, he checked inside.

There was a single key, bearing the number 112, and nothing else.

Time to go exploring.

He found the gym about two hours in, a small but functional affair with a few busy business warriors already hitting the treadmills, lower gravity compensated by weight belts as they got in the zone.

In the locker room, he found a bank of lockers against a bulkhead. His key read 112, but locker 112 was open. He tried the key - it didn’t fit.

Curiouser and curiouser.

On closer examination, he saw the key bore a cryptic inscription OHL-1127, the only marking other than the number 112

A puzzle; one his new friend may be able to help him with.

Thinking of Damis brought a smile to his face. Two hours before jump. If it went well, they would be at it when the ship passed through hyperspace. He had heard all the legends about the magical effects of sex during a hyperjump, but for all the jumps he had made, he had never had the opportunity of testing it out..

++++++++++++++++++++

He had used the hours well, reading up on innocent guidebooks on Dannerfell, taking a nap, then heading for the gym for a workout before his date with the sultry steward. He knew his body was an asset, one of the few he owned, and he needed to work on that asset lest it depreciated. Besides, no one could resist his body when he had just come from a workout with muscles popping, a hint of musk and sweat lingering and an added surge of testosterone that made his cock twitch and burn.

The overgrown boy had grown into a formidable man. Well above average height, people were often surprised when he stood next to them as he appeared shorter than he was from a distance. This was due to his bulk; his unusual dimensions deceived the eye. Broad shoulders, barrel chest, wide hips, powerful thighs, short cropped brown hair and placid outward expression gave him the appearance of a bull, albeit a calm one.

Under civilian clothes that he never seemed to wear well, it was sometimes difficult to know whether the bulk was muscle or fat. The answer was obvious enough when he was naked; his body a tapestry of thick defined muscles and occasional scars.

He liked his body and the effect it had on people. It brought him what he was after, including hard uncomplicated fucking, no love, but a lot of lust. He had developed a sixth sense when he was still young, a sense that said someone was checking him out, and wanted the same thing. Strangely, none of the guys that eyed him with obvious hunger seemed to want to invite him to a poetry reading, or home to meet their parents.

He had learned to use it to get what he wanted, and gave up on the harder things, like love and passion and things that made him vulnerable. The despised orphan faggot boy would reclaim himself by using and never being used, at least that was the theory. In practice, he had been fucked over so many times in so many ways he had begun to belatedly question his strategy. Too late now however, he knew no other way and had too many debts to pay.

Got to get that fucking Jaden out of my head, he’s made me all dewey-eyed the stupid kid.

Perhaps that was what had got to him. Jaden still had that sense of possibility, of a story yet to be written, choices yet to manifest. He was the promise. And it hurt. The young and naïve blonde also reminded him of another blonde kid whose face occasionally haunted his dreams.

The door annunciator saved him from his dark thoughts, and he let out a soft grunt as he reached for the switch. A familiar figure appeared in the doorway, now dressed casually in off duty attire. He was a hot package, and just what was needed.

Thankfully not much small talk seemed necessary, which suited him fine in his current mood. They progressed from sharing amused grins like a couple of naughty schoolboys meeting behind the shelter sheds for a smoke, to urgent kisses and touches, bodies slamming together as if almost trying to merge. Clothes disappeared in untidy flying heaps as they got to the serious business, lips and tongues and fingers exploring roughly.

Finally he was naked. Damis stared, admiring his fuckbuddy’s naked form. Damis had a lean and graceful body, like a dancer, and the thought of the dance he had planned made his cock salute like a raw recruit, drawing a small round of applause and a widening of the eyes from Damis.

The fuck was perfect, a wild uncompromising celebration that left him feeling spent and relaxed. So many sensations to savour; the sharp tang of blood as Damis bit his lip hard during a kiss. The sweet smell of musk as he explored his crack, tongue lapping at the soft perineum of his conquest. The incredible feeling of heat as he sunk slowly into the perfect ass from behind, Damis gripping the head of the bed with white knuckled hands and breathing out the sexiest low half moan half cry he had heard.

They had gone on for what seemed an age, his efforts having already coaxed one violent orgasm from the younger man, before Damis begged him to cum, finish, end it with a hard final effort. With a low growl he moved into his favourite position, using his big body to surround and cover him with skin slick with sweat. Fingers curled around Damis’ own, mouth nibbling on his delicious exposed neck, he negotiated the final wild ride. His own cries matched the rhythmic slap of skin against skin until the point of no return.

Afterwards he lay with Damis spooned against him, his cock only partly soft and still inside, as they shared the afterglow, breathe heaving like racehorses after a two miler.

“Attention! Attention, all passengers and crew. We will commence our first jump in thirty minutes. All crew please secure the ship for jump and man your stations.”

Damis nuzzled in against him, enjoying the warmth and comfort of a post sex haze, his ass slowly burning. But it didn’t matter.

“Hmm Jazz…have you ever?”

“No, I was going to ask you about it.”

“I have a few times, one of the few perks of the job. At least as a steward you get time off, all the bridge and engineering crew are on duty for a jump.”

“What is it like?”

“Want to find out?”

He laughed at the offer, the lithe man against him was an impressive sexual athlete, and obviously one hard to satisfy. Just the way he liked it.

His answer involved wrapping a big fist around Damis’ cock, still slick and semi hard after its own releases. The answering moan was all he could hope for, the body against him arching in pleasure as he used his other hand to work one sensitive nipple.

This time he lay Damis on his back, enjoying the signs of pleasure on his partner as they made slow languid love while the clock ticked down to jump. Damis had this amazing expression in those beautiful hazel eyes, triumphant, even ecstatic, and it drove him crazy seeing that sexy smirking look, part of him wanting to fuck him harder and wipe it off, part of him wanting to tease and make him wait.

Finally the count reached single digits, and as he drove into his lover, the count reached zero.

The jump was instantaneous, and yet eternal, the same feeling that had puzzled him since his first experience at 17, a feeling that seemed to turn him inside-out and suspend him above his own body to watch for eternity while leaving him wondering if it really happened.

As he regained his sense of place he realised he had started to cum in that moment, and the arched body and shooting cock of his lover told him he was not alone. In a partial daze he rode out the orgasm before collapsing onto Damis, his body registering an unprecedented languor. He held the dark haired beauty against him and drifted into a strangely disturbed sleep, strange dreams troubling his unconscious.

When he woke, Damis was dressed and preparing to leave.

“Hey!”

“Hey Jazz. I didn’t want to wake you, you seemed to need the sleep.”

“Good to see you’re so attentive.”

“Well we aim to please here at Oberlind.”

“Must admit that is the longest cum I’ve ever had, thirty-two light years from start to finish. Some sort of record.”

“I’ve had longer, but not many. I definitely haven’t had any as good though. Something about the jump always seems to make me more tired after sex, so it’s always best to warm up first.”

Walking to the bed, Damis cupped his balls gently and bent down to kiss the head of his cock.

“Anything else, sir?” he asked with a mischievous grin.

“Actually, one thing. On the bedside table, there’s a key. I picked it up on a trip one time and I can’t remember where. Does it look familiar to you?”

Damis took the key and examined it curiously. “Looks like an Oberlind gym locker key, but not one of ours. OHL-1127, that’s the hull number for the Golden Hind. It does the Gateway to Dannerfell run at the moment.”

So that was the answer. For some reason they had placed his list of dead drops on the next liner, not this one. It was unusual, even unprecedented, but if this assignment had been as rushed as he thought , they may have had no choice.

“Thanks Damis, that makes sense.”

“See you later Jazz.”

“Thanks for a fun time. Next time I’m on your run we should do this again.”

“Might take that long for my ass to recover.”

With a throaty chuckle Damis left, and he lay back to ponder the next days ahead before he reached Dannerfell.

++++++++++++++++

Damis walked down the main axis of the ship, reaching the last checkpoint before he entered the bridge section. A large iris lock blocked the way, bearing a sign in bold yellow letters in three languages.

“Attention. Bridge and ship control section. Authorised personnel only. Do not enter.”

Pulling out an identicard, he inserted it into the slot beside the door and pressed his finger on the reader. The lock pinged and the iris cycled open. Walking ahead, he turned to the left before another door, unremarkable as were all in this section of the ship inaccessible to guests and most crew.

“Communications Room. Authorised Personnel Only”

Pressing the actuator, he opened the door, the duty communications officer rose with a start at the unexpected entry.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” the question sounded severe but it was belied by the genuine uncertainty and fear on the young comms officer’s face. The briefing had been couched in euphemisms, but he had got the message. Whatever the mysterious man may appear to be, he was not a steward, second class. As to what he was, you could use your imagination, but it was enough to have his Commander fawning and cowering like a trainee, as well as sweating like a pig.

His imagination ran wild, conjuring up all sorts of scenarios, in spite of the strict injunctions to forget anything he saw, and not speculate. What he thankfully did not know was how far he had low-balled the appropriate level of anxiety.

“I am able to use the comm system at any time, as you have been so ordered. Your job is to do and not ask stupid questions.”

The officer blanched a bit, stammering his response in his confusion. “I…I know sir but, we are in interstellar space preparing for our second jump. There is no one here with whom to communicate.”

“I am aware of that. I want you to prepare the following transmission, and execute as soon as we emerge for hyperspace at Gateway.”

Damis handed a slip of paper to the officer, who used a minute examination of the technical details of the message as a chance to recover his composure.

“So, two receivers, one in Gateway, one in Kalarin Prime?”

“Yes”

“And only one word…Peregrine?”

“Yes”

“I…yes sir.”

Whatever question the officer had, he thought better of asking it.

With a satisfied smirk Damis returned to his cabin in crew quarters and changed for his next shift. The fear in the quaking Fourth Officer was a nice bonus.

Peregrine. Mission on timeline and all stages successful to date.

He almost regretted what was going to happen to the man. That fucker could really screw like a champion. It was a pity to waste one like that.