Out in the Blac

This is a book-length work, so not every chapter will involve sex. If you're just looking for a quick wank, this may not be your story.

Thanks for reading!

=====

For the first time since Rusty made that whole "decapitation" comment, I didn't stop to put my clothes away before crawling into bed. Well, there'd been that one night in my room, but leaving your clothes on the floor because you're in such a hurry to be naked with a sexy engineer didn't count in my book. The night before we docked at the Ring, though, I could barely put one foot in front of the other enough times to make it to the bunk. I just stepped out of my boots and jumpsuit on the way.

Because my brain is an asshole, the moment my head hit the pillow, I thought of a million things that absolutely needed to be done before I slept. "No." He just said the one word, but Rusty's firm grip on my arm told me there was no point arguing. I tried anyway, of course.

"But I need - "

"No."

"There's still - "

"No."

"You don't understand!"

"I think I do, actually. You're scared shitless of what you're about to do, so if you keep moving, you don't have time to think about it."

"That's - shit. Actually, that's exactly it." I inhaled sharply through my nose. "You suck."

"True." He lay on his back and held out an arm. "Come here." His presence exerted an almost physical pull on me and I decided to stop fighting it. A few hours of sleep and then I could do everything that needed to be done.

"Thank you for agreeing," I whispered sleepily once I was tucked against his side. "Gotta admit, I didn't think I'd have to talk you into visiting home."

His arm tightened around my shoulders and I felt the movement of his head and neck as he looked down at me. "What makes you say that?"

"Did I imagine our conversation in the galley?"

"No, I mean about the Ring being home."

"Isn't it? I thought you were born there." A yawn cracked my jaw and I muzzily tried to remember where I'd heard that he was from the station. Maybe it had been the way he'd been so passionate when telling me about the sickness ravaging the kids in the Bottoms, like he took it personally.

"Hell, I don't know. I might have been."

"Oh." I felt like I had stumbled into quicksand. "Sorry."

"Nah. You couldn't have known." He kissed the top of my head. "Get some sleep." I wanted to push - it seemed like the kind of thing I

should

know - but my body added its vote to Rusty's and I was overruled. Boots thudding down the passageway sometime later woke me.

"Wha time izzit?" I mumbled.

"We don't need to be anywhere yet," he said, which wasn't exactly an answer, but I liked the sound of it so I didn't press. "How'd you sleep?"

"Like the dead." And my mouth tasted like it. Ugh. Dentites could only do so much when a person insisted on sleeping with their mouth wide open, as I had apparently done. "Gross," I grumbled, wiping at the strand of drool that connected my mouth to a puddle of the same substance on Rusty's chest. My head bounced as he chuckled. "Didn't you sleep?"

"I did," he responded around a yawn. "Woke up a few minutes ago but thought I'd let you finish drooling on me before I got up to pee."

"Ha ha." I caught his yawn as I rolled over onto my back. Rusty climbed over me, making sure to drag the damp skin on his chest across my shirt. "Fuck off!" I said, laughing as I tried to push him away. He disappeared into the toilet area and I thought back to what he'd said the night before. "Rusty," I called tentatively, "can we talk about it?"

"About what?" he asked, wiping his hands on a towel as he reappeared.

"That thing you said. Last night. About not knowing where you were born."

"Oh." He tossed the towel back toward the tiny sink. "I guess. Not really much to say." The engineer stretched his hands over his head and directed the next words at the ceiling. "I was abandoned as a baby in the toilets of a club in the middle decks. Owner kept me until the government took me away from him and charged him with neglect."

"Oh, shit. I'm sorry," I said, horrified. Rusty shrugged and bent to touch his toes.

"Not your doing. Lived in a group home until power shifted on the station and the deck we were on became part of the Bottoms. Then us kids were left to our own devices." He stood straight and shook out his arms. "Stealing, fighting, fucking - we did whatever we had to so we could survive." I thought of the scars on his back and couldn't suppress a shudder. Rusty noticed and guessed what I was thinking. "Yeah, that's where I got those. The big one was from my last time. Guy got a little overexcited and his hand jerked when he blew his load, opened my back to the bone. Still managed to turn around and shove that knife into his eye."

He started to pace, though the small room had him turning around every couple of steps. "The cops down there have a, um, unique way of doing their jobs. They found us, spaced the body, and dumped me on the next outgoing shuttle. I consider myself lucky they didn't just space me too, honestly."

"Fuck, Rusty," I said, shaking my head. "How?" He stopped and looked at me, head tilted, obviously confused by my question. "How did you go through all that and become so wonderful?"

"Ah, um," he muttered incoherently, dropping his head and rubbing the back of his neck. "Ain't nothing all that great about me." The tips of his ears were turning pink and I realized I had embarrassed him. I would never understand the workings of that man's mind.

"But you are," I protested. "You're kind and thoughtful, generous with your timMMPH - " My last word turned into a muffled grunt of surprise when he kissed me. It was frantic and fumbling; our noses bumped and he leaned too far and lost his balance, one hand coming down painfully hard on my shoulder as he caught himself.

"Fuck. Sorry," he mumbled, trying to pull away. Once his hand shifted, I wrapped my arms around his neck and pressed our lips together again, this time getting a better angle. His mouth slid against mine and the tension in his muscles changed under my hands, desperation giving way to desire.

Rusty tugged at the waistband of my shorts and I forgot my own name for a bit as all my blood rushed south. There was none of the usual confidence or grace in his movements as he stripped and groped blindly in the cubby, unwilling to stop kissing long enough to find what he was looking for. Slick fingers probed and I moaned encouragement, pushing back to meet him.

Resistance gave way before a familiar pressure. Rusty hooked one of my legs and pushed it toward my chest, leaning down to kiss me as he set a punishing rhythm that had our bodies making audible smacking sounds as they came together.

"I need - I can't - " he panted.

"It's okay," I whispered. "Just let go."

A few more thrusts and he did, freezing in place and moaning against my mouth as he released deep inside me. The engineer dropped his head to my shoulder and I held him close, running my fingers down his neck and over the skin of his back, feeling the bumps and ridges of his scars. As soon as he caught his breath, he was crawling between my legs and preparing to take me in his mouth.

"No, Rusty - it's okay. You don't have to," I protested, levering myself up on my elbows.

"You didn't - I just - " He took a deep breath and released it in a sigh that gusted across sensitive skin, making me shiver. "I can't be like them. I need you to enjoy yourself, too." His eyes pleaded with me to understand. Giving up the argument, I dropped back onto the bed, wondering why I had tried to stop him in the first place; I could live a thousand years and never tire of that man's mouth. It wasn't long before I was calling his name as I exploded. Rusty drank down everything I gave him and licked me clean before climbing back up to lie next to me.

"Not that I'm complaining," I said, caressing his cheek and giving him a loopy smile, "but please understand that I enjoy myself with you whether or not I come."

"Good to know," he responded, voice raspy. He pressed a kiss to my palm and then folded his hand around mine.

I searched his face as we lay there on our sides, hands joined between our bodies. There was a shadow in his eyes that nudged a thought forward. "Is being on the station going to trigger more of your episodes?" I asked haltingly.

"Maybe." He closed his eyes and squeezed my hand. "Probably."

"I'm so sorry, I didn't think - I'll get someone else. I can't believe I pushed you into - "

"No. I'm going with you." I tried to object and he talked over me. "It's my decision, Matt. I said I'd go and I'll go. You never know - maybe it will be good for me." I made a skeptical noise. "Okay, probably not." The corner of his mouth curled up. "But if I fall apart, you'll be there to put me back together, right?"

"Always," I promised. "But - "

"No buts." He kissed my knuckles and held my hand close to his chest. "I knew what I was agreeing to when I said I'd run the cameras. You're not going to talk me out of this, so you might as well stop trying." I blew out a breath in frustration, but did as he asked. How had we managed to completely switch positions on this?

Rusty kissed me, sealing the deal. "As much as I hate to say anything, it's probably time to get out of bed if we're going to manage this last rehearsal of yours." He made a face and I turned to follow his gaze. The clock unrepentantly informed me that we had less than an hour before we were due in the cargo hold.

"I

suppose

you're right," I said with a melodramatic sigh. Rusty chuckled and kissed me once more before gently pushing me away, turning to sit on the edge of the bunk to watch me dress. My pout was rewarded with a roll of his eyes and a snort of laughter which caused the corner of my mouth to curl up in response. And just like that, I was actually looking forward to the day ahead.

"See you down there," I tossed over my shoulder as I stepped out into the corridor and moved quickly toward my own quarters. At this time of morning, the hall wouldn't be empty long and I wanted to put some distance between myself and door I'd just stepped out of. It wouldn't do to have my so-called walk of shame witnessed by my crew on the day I was asking them to risk everything for me.

~*~

"Fuck." I dropped my head into my hands and focused on my breathing. It had taken everything I had to hide my shaking from Matt. I hadn't been lying - I was going to that station with him if it killed me - but pretending the idea didn't get under my skin was rough. I waited until there was barely enough time left for me to shower and dress to give him room to clean up and make his way off the crew deck. Didn't figure he'd want us showing up together, all things considered.

The whole rehearsal deal went about as well as could be expected with a bunch of people who were all mixed up between being excited to break a news story and terrified about the consequences. I figured there was also a pretty good dose of nervousness in there due to where we were going. Most people had heard of the Bottoms, but all they knew were the horror stories. Having lived there and experienced some of those stories firsthand, I was a damn sight more than nervous. Luckily, the whole stoic badass image I'd built up over the cycles allowed me to not do a whole lot of talking; keeping my mouth shut meant I was less likely to throw up all over everything.

And then our gear was packed up and we were docking and I had to focus on remembering to breathe. Cap was talking, the team was doing last minute equipment checks, but I tuned it all out. Going over my stuff for the hundredth time ain't much help if I run screaming in panic the moment the airlock opens. It was only my pride that kept me in place, gave me the ability to put one foot in front of the other as I followed everyone onto the docks. The Bottoms is home to most of the station's actual workers, so the docks down there are used almost exclusively for creaky old cargo freighters. I could just about guarantee they had never seen a ship the likes of the

Marzi

.

People didn't stare, though, at least not openly. Residents of the Bottoms know better than that: if someone shows up in a fancy-ass ship, it means trouble and only assholes go looking for trouble. I could feel them checking us out, though - covert glances and watching from the corner of the eye. It felt wrong to ignore them, to keep my face impassive and follow the captain, but talking to them would just cock everything up. So I pushed it all down and kept trudging along.

Before docking, Bailey had made a few orbits of the station at a distance, taking X-rays and LiDAR and whatever else he could think of to give us something resembling a usable map of the lower decks of the Ring. Cap had chosen an enclosed site that seemed abandoned for our initial destination. It would hopefully give us a spot to set up for our first broadcast without being told off by what passed for the law, but we fully expected to have to stay on the move after that. Everything had been pared down to the absolute essentials, and if anything still couldn't be carried, it was left on the ship and we'd learn to do without.

As soon as we were clear, Bailey got the fuck away from the station. The ship was our only way of getting our broadcast to the rest of the system and the captain didn't want to risk her getting boarded or impounded, even if that left us stuck down here. It was a smart call, but I can't deny it hurt my heart a bit to see her take off without us.

Most everything between leaving the docks and beginning the broadcast was a blur. I was like a robot - following orders without thinking or feeling anything. The captain standing there, microphone in hand - which was a prop, but it was what people expected to see from "serious journalists" - snapped me back to myself. It was like I was really seeing him for the first time. This was Matthison Carolinas as he wanted the system to know him.

I had to admit that the stylists had their shit down. Gone were the flamboyant styles and bright colors of the celebutainment look. Cap's suit was a simple cut, but it was tailored to fit him damn well. It was the color of slate with subtle burgundy highlights that looked incredible against his skin, and they had done something with his makeup to make his features sharper and more defined. Those blue eyes drew attention anyway, but standing there in that rundown corridor in the Bottoms, they were piercing. It felt like he could look right through a person and weigh the worth of their soul.

The captain's hair fell across his face in a toned-down version of his usual style. Again, the team had done their magic - adding color in a way that kept his hair from looking flat without the curls and height he had used with his previous subjects. All in all, he looked like a responsible man with something important to say, like a guy you should listen to. Physically, Matthison Carolinas had become the journalist he had imagined himself to be. All that was left was getting the rest of the system on board. Which was where I came in.

Using the custom HUD we'd designed, I directed most of the cameras to capture him from various angles. Two of them were set to fly around on their own, scanning our surroundings. Since everything had to be mobile and I didn't want to break my back carrying it, I focused on recording first and sending later. Cap had wanted real-time transmission, but I didn't figure we'd get the best results if I was trying to run the cameras and make sure we were connected to the

Marzi

at the same time. Or whoever I thought would be running the cameras, since this was before Cap had bothered to tell me I was that guy. We'd gone around and around about it, arguing past each other until I called him some choice names and stormed off. He'd been pissed enough to send Li over to deal with me for the rest of that day.

Our compromise had been to toss another hat on one of the creatives who was coming with us to the station. She was originally the single writer who hung around after The Scandal, but she had proved herself able to do at least a little bit of pretty much everything once this project got rolling, so Cap called her his "production assistant" and basically relied on her to be the creative version of an XO. In addition to being the one who had to make the captain camera-ready and do whatever touch-ups were needed to keep him that way, she was expected to deal with anything else that came up and now take on the responsibility of getting our content out to the ship each time I dumped the drone drives. Thankless work, that.

As for the

Marzi,

she

was in orbit, ready to receive the data so the production crew we'd left on board could get to work cutting everything together. Cap and the XO planned to broadcast a dedicated feed, but the hope was that the major newsfeeds would pick up on it and recast it. This was the gamble. We could break the biggest story in cycles or get completely ignored and we had no control over which happened. And, of course, there was the risk of getting murdered or arrested and possibly spaced. It was highly likely we'd all lost our damn minds.

"Ready?" Cap asked, looking at me, his face the picture of confidence. Gritting my teeth, I nodded and began recording. "This is Matthison Carolinas coming to you from the Ring station where a mysterious illness is striking down the children." His voice was strong and sure. Listening to him, I could almost believe what we were doing was actually going to work. "You may be saying to yourself that this doesn't look at all like any part of the Ring you've ever seen. Well, you're right." He strolled slowly toward the curved wall of the corridor where "Deck 184" was faded, but visible. Surrounding the text were the stylized rings of Saturn that marked every official communication from the Ring's government. Some would still claim we faked it, but it was an opening, a tiny crack into which the captain could begin to insert truth.

"As you can see, we are on Deck 184, in a place the locals call 'The Bottoms.' These decks are not on any tour. The Bottoms are not anyone's vacation destination. Here are the forgotten people: the laborers, the abandoned; the addicts and the criminals. This place is home to those on whose backs civilization rests, and yet they are not cared for, nor are they respected. Instead, they are packed away into neglected corridors and condemned spaces where the air recycling is barely functional, and the temperature and gravity controls often experience sudden and violent shifts.

"This is Matthison Carolinas reporting from the Bottoms and I am here to tell you, people of Sol, that it is past time to open your eyes, to face the shame of a system that fails its most vulnerable. The children of the Bottoms are dying and they are crying out for aid: cries that have gone unnoticed, unheeded, until now. I am Matthison Carolinas and I am here to say, 'no more.' No more will we ignore the pleas, the shouts, the screams from those ground under the boot of 'prosperity.'

"People of the Bottoms, this is Matthison Carolinas here on your station. I have heard the news of your plight and I ask that you speak to me, speak through me. Citizens of Sol, it is time to listen."

There was utter silence after he stopped speaking and I realized I had forgotten to breathe. The captain raised an eyebrow at me and I flicked my fingers to stop recording, giving him a nod once the cameras were off and the data was dumping to the main drive in my pack. He seemed to deflate - head dropping, shoulders rounding - and he took a few gasping breaths. It impressed the hell out of me that he had apparently been scared shitless and none of that had come through on camera. The man was damn good at his work.