Moonshot

"Well," Princess Ilsadore said, flopping down on the rigid cot and stretching out, "that went well." She brushed traces of ash from her scorched clothes and looked over at her companion. "You're blocking the light, Hoff."

Even stripped of his armor and clad only in a sweat-stained jumpsuit, Hoffstadter cut an imposing silhouette a head and a half taller than her. "Apologies, highness," he said, his voice low and resonant. He stepped to the side, allowing the lantern's dim glow to fill their cell. "I should have been more considerate."

"For stars' sake, Hoff, it's just a light. It's not like there's anything to see in here anyway." Ilsa's gaze swept over the grimy walls, the bare ceiling, the welded-shut grate in the floor. "I've not had lodgings this bad since finishing school. At least this place has some insulation, unlike that forsaken third-rate excuse for a space station."

"As you say, highness."

"Can't say much for the reception committee, either. Present company excluded."

Hoff said nothing, but the barest shadow of a smile crossed his scarred face.

"Moon cultists. Literal lunatics. I'll admit that this hasn't turned out to be one of my better ideas." Ilsa ran her fingers through her hair, searching for a hint of brown amid the ice-white strands. "Seems like a pretty tight spot."

"You had no way of knowing it was a trap, highness. I should have been more vigilant."

"No need to martyr yourself tonight, Hoff." She sat up and stretched, raised arms pulling what was left of her flight vest up above her midriff. "Plenty of time for that later, once we're free of this damp hell. Let's get down to business. Status report?"

Hoff shifted his feet and glanced at the door to their cell.

"Oh, right." Ilsa's lips twisted in concentration as she touched forefinger to forefinger, thumb to thumb. She mouthed a few harsh syllables and looked at each corner of the room through the spade-shaped hole between her hands, and a buzzing sound filled the air, giving way to silence as quickly as it had begun. A slight flush blossomed on her cheeks. "Okay, we should be clear to talk," she said, her voice muffled, deadened by both the spell and the exertion it had required.

"Should be?"

"Help!" Ilsa leaped off the cot and slapped her palm against the door. "Help! My bodyguard's gone mad! He's going to kill me!"

There was no response.

"Told you." She walked back to the cot and sat down again, breathing hard, pushing free-flying strands of hair out of her eyes. "I know, I know. 'Trust but verify' and all that."

Hoff let out a long breath. "...very well, highness. I do wish you wouldn't joke about that."

"And I wish you had been born with a sense of humor. And also that we weren't in a prison cell." Ilsa snapped her fingers a few times. "Come on. Status report. Let's walk through this. How'd this happen, what do they want with us, how do we get out, and what's for breakfast."

Hoff slid down along the wall until he landed in a squat. He looked even less relaxed than he had while standing. "The distress signal was a ruse intended to lure in would-be rescuers."

"I figured that much out when they shot our engines out from under us." She lay back and rubbed her fingers along the bare metal wall. "Thanks for getting us down to the surface in one piece, by the way."

"If only I'd reacted sooner—"

"Hoff."

He fell silent.

"Say 'You're welcome, highness.'"

A moment's pause. "You're welcome, highness."

"I need you staying in the here and now so we can get out of this, okay?" Ilsa massaged her tired eyes. "Okay. So they shot us down. Then they boarded us?" She fingered the burn holes in her vest. "Between the crash and the stunners, I'm a little fuzzy on the details."

Hoff nodded. "They blew the door and fired stun grenades. And then they boarded. You were unconscious."

She exhaled, hissing the breath out between clenched teeth. "My turn to apologize."

"Of course not, highness. They would have simply shot both of us if we'd been able to resist."

"Fine, but that doesn't make sense either. Why not just kill us and strip the ship? That's what they do to most fish caught in their net, based on the patchwork interior design choices."

"I couldn't speculate."

Something in Hoff's voice made Ilsa pause, hands still on her face. "Couldn't."

"No, highness."

She turned her head to watch him. "Why not?"

"Why not what?" Hoff's voice hadn't changed, but his gaze was fixed on the nothingness above the cot.

"You're too smart to play dumb. You can't speculate because you know already, don't you? Why are we still alive?"

"Highness—"

"Tell me what you know, Hoff. That's... that's an order." The phrase left her lips reluctantly, and she winced ever so slightly as she spoke the words.

He leaned his head back against the wall and finally met her eyes. "They boarded our ship wearing black robes with purple trim."

"Yeah. Do you know them?"

"The robes were pinned with an emblem. Two silver crescent moons facing inward, an eight-pointed star between them." Hoff traced the shapes on the floor, leaving faint lines on the damp concrete. "An old order of demonologists with... inflexible beliefs. Natural-body sanctity—no implants or augmentations. Complex rituals intended to summon their patrons. We fought them in your father's time. Their numbers are often reduced, but never stamped out."

Ilsa searched her memory for any trace of demon lore. "Rituals. Sacrifices, you mean."

"Yes. They offer up the blood of a maiden to invoke—"

"Oh, for the love of the gods!" Ilsa punched the wall, then winced and cradled her fist. "Sorry. But that's idiotic, even for a pack of spiritualist lunatics."

Hoff nodded. "Traditions die hard. And you are known to be unmarried, uninterested in suitors—a royal maiden is, to their eyes, the greatest of all offerings."

"Fantastic. I never would have thought a marriage of convenience could've had an upside." She chewed at her lower lip. "So they kept me alive to kill me later in a more dramatic way. What about you?"

"I do not know. Perhaps they thought I would prevent you from taking foolish risks."

"Shows what they know, then." Ilsa grinned at Hoff, and was relieved to see him smile back. "On to the next issue, then: getting out of this alive. How about our resources? Did you smuggle anything through the searches?"

Hoff nodded again. With a glance at the tiny window and its still-closed metal shutter, he pulled a few small objects from some corner of his jumpsuit and held them close, shielding them from any prying eyes with his body. "Not much. They were very thorough."

She looked over the stash. Two small knives, an autohack module for electronic locks, some hard currency, a tiny explosive charge... "A nanosurgery injector? Did you grab that by accident, or were you planning on replacing somebody's kidney?"

"It may save your life."

"An organ-fixing nanobot swarm isn't going to patch a laser hole through the chest. What's this one attuned to? What bit of me did you think needs replacing?"

He took a deep breath. "Please hear me out, highness."

"You're off to a pretty bad start, Hoff. I hate this already."

"The cult does not keep written records, and so I cannot be sure of this. But all of their sacrifices, as far as I know, have been of maidens."

"Yes, you mentioned."

Hoff held the injector in his palm and ran his thumb over it. "No matter their... experience, men are not considered maidens. If you—"

Ilsa bounced off the cot and stood abruptly. "You cannot be serious."

"It does nothing on a genetic level! It will be completely reversible when you make it back to a proper hospital." He held up his hands in a placating gesture. "If you look male, if you are male to their eyes and their religious sensibilities..."

"Absolutely not." There was the steel of royalty in her voice.

Hoff pressed on. "When they find out, they'll have no reason to sacrifice you. We might convince them to ransom you. At the very least, it will buy you more time."

"No, no, a thousand times no!" Ilsa glared at her bodyguard, whose expression suggested he'd expected this. "Nanosurgery is not instant, Hoff, and the recovery time means I would be useless in a fight. I'd be useless anyway—do you remember how long it took me to become competent at magic again after breaking my arm? Do you have any idea what this sort of physical change will do to my concentration?"

"No. Do you?" Hoff asked, face still neutral.

Ilsa rolled her eyes. "Please, Hoff, I know you think you've thought this through and all, but please think just a little harder. Even if it works and I'm not comatose for the next day, then what? Do you really believe you can appeal to the rationality of a bunch of cultists? They're not going to send a message to ransom me and let the whole star system know where they are. They'll just kill us both."

"I know it's dangerous." He looked down at the little glass injector. "I know it's not a pleasant prospect, highness, and that it might still fail. But I can think of no other suitable way to keep you safe."

"Suitable." She rolled the word around in her mouth, eyes half-closed in concentration. "The only suitable way, you say?"

He nodded.

Ilsa heaved a long, deep sigh. "Stars above, you're denser than a neutron star sometimes."

Hoff blinked. "Highness?"

"'Royal maiden,' right? Let's unpack that." Ilsa held up three fingers. "Royal. I could abdicate right now, give up the throne, but I bet they're after blood more than the title, so that's out." She put a finger down. "Maiden. A virginal woman. You want to change the woman part. No." She put down her forefinger, leaving only her middle finger extended. "That leaves one more thing."

"You can't possibly—"

"Hoff." He fell silent once more. "I appreciate you being gentlemanly in a time like this, but we both know there's a much easier way to make these profane perverts lose interest in me. Irreversible, too, as far as they're concerned."

Color rose in his cheeks and he shot upright. "Highness," he stammered, "I... I wouldn't dream of suggesting—"

"Of course you wouldn't." Ilsa walked to him, looked up into his shocked face, tapped a finger on his chest. "You're too noble for that. Too honorable. Which is why I'm the one suggesting it. You're blameless here, if that's important to you."

"It's not a question of blame, highness!" Hoff tried to step back a pace and hit the wall, frustration etched in his brow. "This is out of the question. Forbidden."

"Would it feel like a violation, then?" A smile touched her lips. "More so than turning me into a man, knocking me out, stripping me of what little magic I still have in me?"

He raised his chin. "I would see you safe, highness, whatever it takes. The surgery removes the largest threat, and we will face the others when they arise."

"Or we face that largest threat together, like we do for everything else, in the best shape we possibly can! Besides, we might not..." She stopped, pressed her lips together for a moment, then took a deep breath and continued. "Things may still go poorly for us, and I would rather this be a time of kindness, not of pain." Ilsa ran her hands down her sides. "I would rather die in a form I know, should it come to that. Between this, or the trauma in that little vial, or bleeding out on some crusty old altar, I know which option I prefer."

Her bodyguard shook his head. "No," he said, pushing the nano injector toward her. "I'll not be a part of this. If you won't administer it yourself, then I must—"

Ilsa spat a word of command and swept one hand in a semicircle. Hoff clenched his fist, but he was too slow—the injector slipped from his grip and flew through the air, landing safely on the cot.

"I'll shatter it if you try to force this," Ilsa said, swaying with the momentary exertion. "And then you'll have no choice. I don't want that."

He looked from her to the cot, which seemed much further out of reach than the bare two meters of space that actually separated them.

"Hoff." Her voice was soft, now, and she pressed her palm lightly to his chest, feeling his rapid heartbeats beneath taut muscle. "Do you find me ugly?"

"Of course not, highness." His gaze was locked on the metal wall behind her.

"Then look at me." Ilsa slid her arm up his chest and cupped her hand over his cheek. "Please look at me, Hoff."

He did, at last, and she saw the indecision clouding his eyes, the two sides of him at war with each other. It was more stress than she had seen in him than during any battle, any moment of deadly danger. "I... this is a duty I cannot perform, highness. It is not... there is no way..."

"Duty?" She leaned in, craning her neck back to keep eye contact as she drew herself closer. He stiffened but did not pull away. "So you want to do this, but duty prevents you? Even though it may save us both?"

"I swore a vow to the throne and to your parents, highness." His face was inches from hers now, his voice a hoarse whisper. "To do nothing to hurt you, nothing to endanger the royal line. As long as I live, I bear the armor and duties of the royal guard."

"I see no armor now, Hoff." Ilsa smiled. "You are relieved of duty."

"Highness?" he breathed.

"Call me Ilsa." She kept her eyes open long enough to see his close, stood on tip-toe, and met his lips in a soft kiss. He was slow to react, hesitant to respond. She felt his hand touch her side then begin to pull away, and she reached out to grab his wrist, pulling his arm more firmly around her. "Touch me, Hoff," she whispered, still so close that she could feel his breath. "Please."

He did. The arm around her gently pulled her closer as the other pressed into the small of her back. She melted into him, sliding a leg between his, her cheek to his breast.

They stood like that for a few seconds, then Ilsa cleared her throat. "Come on, Hoff." She pouted up at him. "When I said 'touch me,' I didn't mean 'like you'd touch me at a formal ball.'"

"I've not had the pleasure of that experience."

"The next civilized planet we find, I'm signing you up for dancing lessons." She felt his hand drift down, pressed her lips together as it cupped the seat of her torn trousers. "Better."

"I don't want you to be uncomfortable."

"Far from it. I'm looking forward to this." Her fingers plucked at the fasteners on the front of his jumpsuit. "May I?"

"As you wish, highn... Ilsa."

She lingered on the first buckle, drawing it open carefully, then moved to the second with more haste, then her fingers flew to the third. She ran her hands over the worn cloth once more before pulling it open over Hoff's chest.

For a heartbeat, Ilsa's breath caught in her throat. Beneath the jumpsuit's bulky fabric were the marks of countless battles—shiny laser burns, evenly spaced suture marks, spiderwebs of scars from who knows what. The few patches of unmarred skin were pale and hairless, contrasting sharply with the many shades of pink and red surrounding them.

"This is what I am," Hoff said, shrugging the jumpsuit off of equally scarred shoulders. "Do you find me ugly?"

"No," breathed Ilsa. Then she spoke more strongly. "No. You are perfect, Hoff. These are badges of honor, and you wear them beautifully."

"Beautifully?" He paused, then pulled the suit down to his waist. "That is not the word I'd have used. Ilsa," he added, almost as an afterthought.

"Well, get used to hearing it. Stop!" Hoff froze, instantly on alert, thumbs hooked into the jumpsuit at his beltline. "I'd like to... finish undressing you."

She saw him take a deep breath and relax his muscles. "Very well."

Ilsa's hands were less steady, now. They shook with anticipation, or nerves, or possibly both as she placed one, then the other, at his waist. After a deep breath, she eased down the jumpsuit in one long movement.

"Oh, stars," she breathed.

"High-"

"Shhh." Ilsa reached out and touched a finger to his member. The brush of skin on skin sent a jolt through him as if he had been shocked. "You are... heavily armed, Hoff." A second finger, and now she rubbed gently along its length, which was... considerable. Already as large as some she'd seen in anatomy texts, even though it was only half erect.

"I'm told it's proportional." Hoff stared straight ahead, up at the ceiling, anywhere but down at her. "Highness, if you've changed your mind..."

She flicked the tip of his penis, sending another twinge of motion through him. "Ilsa, remember? 'Highness' is what a guardsman says." Ilsa stepped in close again, pressing her body up against his, one hand stroking him in earnest, slowly and deliberately. "Right now, you're not a guardsman. You're a lover."

"Ilsa." He wrapped her up in his arms again. "I would like to see you, too."

"I'd have to stop touching you for that."

In response, he brought her chin up with one finger and bent down to kiss her—boldly, this time. Not a chaste closed-mouth kiss, but parted lips, shared breath. It left Ilsa hungry for more.

Then he turned her on the spot, her hand slipping from his penis for a moment, before holding her close with her back to him. He reached around and began fumbling for the buttons on her vest.

"Clever." Ilsa looked down, watching them come undone one by one. She wriggled her torso and let the vest fall, dangling from the crook of one elbow, her chest bare. Hoff's hands worked their way back up her midriff to her breasts. She smiled as he stroked them, shivered in spite of herself as he brushed her nipple between thumb and forefinger. "You've done this before."

"I... yes. A long time ago."

She looked up and offered her mouth for another kiss, which he took without hesitation. "Well, you're doing just fine so far. But it'd be faster if I did the rest of the undressing myself."

"Of course. They won't leave us alone forever." Hoff withdrew, touching every part of her he could as she stepped away.

Quickly, she stripped out of her trousers and undergarments, setting them in the least damp spot. She looked up to see Hoff staring unabashedly. Hungrily. A thrill went through her, and she gestured down at herself. "This is what I am," she echoed, smiling as felt her heart pick up speed.

"Ilsa. You are beautiful." He was fast, so fast when he wanted to be, standing before her in an instant and pressing her body to his as their lips met, tongues touching. He broke the kiss and slid sideways, whispering words lost to the muffled corners of the room as he kissed his way across her cheek and neck. His erection rubbed up against her, one more touch of flesh on flesh, and she was dimly aware that his hand was moving steadily from side to hip to thigh and ever inward.

A finger, or perhaps two, brushed the wetness between her legs.

Ilsa snapped back to full attention and immediately lost her balance, twisting as she fell. But Hoff was there first, scooping her up in his arms as if she weighed nothing at all.

"Thank you," she murmured, then cast a glance at the cot.

He took the hint without a word and carried her across the room, laying her down and bending over her, hands so warm as he kissed her again. Then he simply looked at her, looked her body up and down, and she fought the urge to close her legs against the heat of his gaze. But only for a moment. With a deep breath, she parted them. "Come here."

Hoff stepped up, the cot creaking under his weight, and sat beside her, an arm on her upper thigh, fingers moving in a tiny circle on her skin.

"Come closer."

He moved to kneel astride her legs, running both hands up and down her torso from breast to hip bones.

"Closer."

Hoff shifted his weight forward. He held himself up by one arm, the other resting gently below her navel, and leaned in for a kiss.

Ilsa met his lips and thrust her tongue into his mouth, tasting his breath, feeling his hand tighten on her skin and move down, down to the center of the radiating heat that was almost all she could feel. She broke the kiss and turned her head, pressing her cheek against his. Her breaths were coming more quickly now, less controlled, despite herself. "Closer."