The Dark Forest

The slim towers of the Silkenway seemed like reeds from here; streaks of navy-blue jutting into the sky, the arresting glow of Shinano-II framing them in green like an emerald dawn seeping through the cracks of a blanket woven in steel.

The terrace is filled with the gentle buzz of afternoon conversation as you lean sideways, returning your sight to Roger as he smiles slowly. "You got lost again," he tells you.

"I'm a lost woman," you reply in turn, putting your chin over your hand and winking at him.

"The most dangerous kind, I'm told," he says as the server bot floats up to your part of the bar, placing two finger sized synch-shots on it.

"Complements of the house," says the bot in a suave voice before flying away in its antigrav thrusters, towards a big table with a dozen naval ratings laughing out loud at some joke.

"Cheers," you say as you grab the shot and clink it with his. You tap the top of it against your forehead as Roger does likewise, and hum in pleasure as you sway your head. You begin to feel light, relaxed; taken by gentle gusts of warm wind that drift ever upwards.

"Good taste," says Roger as he shakes the shot, leaving it on the table. "You come by here often?" The both of you are practically alone by the bar itself, though other guests leaned on the railing by the other side, gazing at the mesmerizing vistas as they talked. More still were in the middle of the terrace, chatting around small circular coffee tables.

"When I have the time. I work long shifts," you say, letting out a long breath as you look at him in the eyes. You hadn't exactly cloned Curt Lambton; that would have been crass. No, you'd just… improved upon the original model. A bigger, even sturdier black skinned ex-marine with a subtle smile and a rumbling voice. He leans back on his puny chair by the slightest margin, letting out a low, shallow breath of pleasure as the synch gets to work.

"I'm guessing… Navy?" His voice had the same purring quality as Curt's but with even smoother reverbs, a feast to the senses just as entrancing as his well-toned body, hid behind an old-fashioned buttoned shirt. He was just delectable.

"Got it in one. This is my end-of-the-month break," you say as you lean on him, whispering in his ear, "And I for one intend to enjoy it," you say you pass a finger between the folds of his shirt.

"The straightforward sort, huh?" he says as he grabs your hand and gently pushes it away, leaving you sighting with frustration. Hard to get. You loved that.

Self-correcting routines doing their job it seems…

"I've been learning to be more direct as of late," you say, repositioning for the attack, "You should try it sometime."

"I'm plenty direct, when I want to be."

You fake aloofness, "I must be plenty boring then."

He laughs, a deep baritone within the terrace. Night had befallen Shinano-IIa, the green giant beyond glittering against the skyscraper's windows. Complete darkness was rare in your homeland; night or day, the white light of the primary star almost always reflected on the titanic orb just beyond your touch, swirling with tones of forest green and mellow emerald. Distant club music sneaked through the double doors leading to the lounge of your little sandbox, and you found yourself swaying your head to the beat.

"Not at all," says Roger, flipping the synch-shot with his thick fingers, "I think you're the most intriguing catch of the night."

"Then prove it," you say as you stand up abruptly, sized by something cold and fast. You grab his head as you lean on him, surprised by your own boldness. "Kiss me like your life depended on it."

"That's a bit sudden," he says as he leans away a bit.

"Fuck it, let's just have a good time. That's why you're here, aren't you?" Customizing routines be damned, you'd tweak Roger later. Right now you just needed this.

He cracks a smile, "Alright," he says before leaning on you, his lips light on your own. Your heart stutters a bit when you don't feel anything at all, and deepen the kiss as you push him against the bar, trying to lose yourself into it.

"Take me," you tell him as you unbutton his shirt, "Take me here," you say before he can respond, kissing him again as his hands drift down. You felt sluggish, grey, barely on to it as you break the kiss. "Pump up the party!" you tell the server by the other end of the bar.

"You got it," the man calls back. The music amps up as the buzz around the room rises to meet it, people standing up from their tables and speaking louder as server bots appear from the service vents, synchs in their clamps as people call for lights and beacons.

"You the club's administrator or something?" says Roger as he holds your eyes quizzically, combing away a tuft of your deep violet hair. It had been so long, you just wanted to have a little fun.

"Yeah, an admin, something like that," you say, your words growing frantic as you kiss him faster each time, willing your dress to open up like a flower as it flows down your chest like thin gossamer leaves. A flicker of warmth manages to form somewhere in your belly, reluctantly following Roger's hands as you tear open his shirt and buttons fly apart. You deserved this.

You still feel the girl's gaze piercing your back, a streaking torpedo filling the Iris with shrapnel. They're like a guilty black thorn, poking you relentlessly the harder you push.

"More!" you yell as your arms snake around Roger, chasing his lips with no quarter.

The music amps up again as the doors to the lounge slam open, spilling out party goers as they jam to the synth-rail beat now dominating the terrace. Any pretense of conversation takes a swift death as tables are taken aside and flickering neon lights begin streaking through the tiles, the people breaking out into dancing circles and showing their moves, shouts of exhilaration growing stronger with each drop of the base.

Yes. You were getting there, a flickering core of swirling warmth within your chest. You laugh breathlessly, coaxing that little reluctant flame, pushing yourself into it with each short breath, clearing your mind of everything else as you devour Roger's form with your hands and lips, an explorer of his broad landscape which now embraces you like a warm, heavy blanket. He fights back admirably, tilting you against the bar as you nuzzle his neck.

The party was almost like home; the exuberant faces whooping in joy, fists up as they jumped. The green gaze of Shinano slashed through couples locked in dual jams, swaying from side to side in synchronized beats to the all-thump of the heavy bass now consuming all. The world could end right this moment and nobody would notice, so great was the rave. Had they all died at once to the calamity? Or had there been enough warning to evacuate to the shelters below, away from the emerald giant and the stars above, below to die in fear and darkness?

"More! Max it out!" you shout at the sky.

The lights now flash every quarter-second, the music consuming you from within as the impromptu dance floor grows absolutely packed with partying guests. The naval ratings by the big table are kissing and making love to each other between the cutting neon holograms streaking through the air like living auroras, swaying silhouettes melding with each other as synch beacons float above the crowd in a dozen different colors.

You extend a swaying hand towards one of the beacons, grasping the pulsing red light from afar and drawing it over Roger's nose. You sneak your finger past his lips, and he gasps harshly as his eyes widen, hot breath tickling your eyelashes. You smile as you sway again and lick your finger, savoring his scent. Flylove-22 hits you like a speeding maglev train and you moan lowly, Roger's hands grasping your breasts as you melt into his embrace. You'd been fighting before, you realize, keeping him at bay. Now you're soft against his form, your skin afire against his, electricity curling around your mouth with each kiss and you moan in ecstasy at the sky. A brilliant airship docks with the terrace and connects its dance floor to the event, groups of off-worlders from Nagamo joining the party as its great spotlight blinds you to the world and life narrows down to the burning anchor now grasping you close.

Yesss, you think, exhaling as if near death.

The overall volume drops down to half, the crowd parting around a straight-backed person of androgynous gender, immaculate in its naval staff uniform. "Commodore, we've a priority three finding on the scope."

"Go away!" you growl, returning to Roger's lips and kissing him franticly, but the electricity is gone, the black spike popping the swirl in your belly. Your duty was all you had left. Would you murder it for sex with a mangled scrap of persocode? And then; alone and adrift, dead stars and dead purpose. The pulse pistol's muzzle would be a comfort then.

I'd do it, you realize. Park the Iris in a long eccentric orbit. Fab a set of tungsten plates with warnings for those to come. You saw yourself standing in the bathroom, looking at the mirror, but not in your uniform. Never in the uniform.

No. Purpose was everything. Duty meant life. You whimper as you hug Roger close, taking long breaths.

"I don't know who he is, but he can fuck right off," he whispers, lips angling for another bite.