The voyage west was delayed. Sometime before midnight, the command crew sent a message that they were in a holding pattern due to a firefight spilling into their flightpath. From the observation windows, they could see the flash of light on the horizon as a battle was desperately being fought. Streaks of burning wreckage could be seen falling into the darkness below. Sometimes the bursts lit up the entire cabin of the airship and had to be dimmed by the glass.
"Threat level is only slightly elevated. The wait is only a precaution and we have not been authorized to deviate from the original flight plan to go around, though we could send a request back if you wish, Mrs. Weaver," spoke the voice over the intercom.
Annabelle responded in a relaxed tone, "No, that's fine. We are in no hurry. Maybe we'll even get some sleep." She winked at Matt who was sitting on one of the recliners. They were all taking a bit of a break after several hours of fornication. There was a fully equipped bar where Okano sat, sipping a cocktail. The bartender was one of the tallest women Matt had ever seen, or fucked, with a spectacular, and unrestrained, chest that came dangerously close to knocking over the bottles as she tended the bar. She had to duck her head to keep from hitting the upper bulkhead as well so it took some skill for her to mix drinks without disaster.
Bee seemed entranced by the light show on the horizon. She wondered, "Such a pointless waste. Why do people still fight wars? There isn't much left of the world, just sadness."
"The same as ever, there is profit in it for someone, blood and treasure. And it keeps the rest on their toes," Annabelle responded with her usual aplomb.
Okano piped in, "Why do you think the old lion sends his boys out into that meat grinder? Less competition for the brood mares like her. Life is a zero sum game to them, and people are pawns to be used or thrown aside."
"Ooh, the cat claws are starting to show," Annabelle cooed, sliding up to Okano at the bar. "I like it. It makes me horny." She brushed her fingers along the Asian woman's side. She shivered uncontrollably.
"What a psychopath," Bee wanted to say, but she managed to keep it to herself. The silver haired fox seemed to read her mind and smiled.
Bee had gotten another promotion as she had been upgraded to wearing knee socks and a corset that pushed up her exposed tits, such that she almost had a complete wardrobe in addition to her previous items. Per the rules of hierarchy, the lowest servants wore nothing at all although the bartender was allowed a comically small apron over her midriff. Okano was sporting a leather outfit that clung tightly to her body with gaps for her genitals and breasts accented by a metal choker that matched the various silver buckles of the pseudo-bondage gear. Mrs. Weaver had slipped into yet another fanciful bodice made up of translucent layers that shifted slowly, changing patterns and colors like a cephalopod that concealed nothing despite it all. When she returned to sit on Matt's lap, his hand automatically grasped her hip and the material seemed to magically slip aside allowing him to touch her skin.
Grabbing a tall glass of something strong, Bee decided to explore the airship. Despite the new clothes, she knew she was third, or even fourth, string at this point but she wasn't too bummed out, or so she tried to console herself. A hatch slid open automatically to let her through into a connecting corridor that led aft from the forward lounge.
"Damn it, I'm not supposed to care!" she said to no one in particular. She handed the half empty glass off to a male servant who had appeared conveniently from some corner. They were good at that, she thought. After he left, the long corridor seemed empty but she felt that someone would pop right out with a piss pot if she had the urge in the middle of her walk. The areas the passengers weren't allowed to enter were securely locked, so she assumed she had free reign if she found anything that wasn't. Most of the side passages led to nothing very interesting, just utility rooms that she didn't care to investigate.
After almost tripping tipsily down a narrow set of stairs to a lower level, she found herself in what she believed was the storage bay. Pallets of shrink wrapped items loomed under the dim overhead LED strips that gave enough light for her to make out. It was louder, and colder, in the cargo hold. The drone of the engines and the creak of the airframe filled her ears. Fortunately, she'd found a pair of protective slippers or she'd have torn up her soles on the rough utility flooring. Goosebumps on her exposed flesh, Bee made her way through the stacks until she found what she was looking for.
As if intentionally placed under a glowing overhead lamp, the tank holding Matt's new wife was strapped on its pallet amidst all the other bulk items. Bee pressed her face against the side to peer at the woman's face. Her delicate features were not quite as beautiful or perfect as Annabelle Weaver's but not far removed either. Bee knocked on the glass, curious if the occupant would take notice. The woman didn't blink inside the suspension gel.
"You're not special. You're not," Bee said, hoarsely. She didn't know if she meant the woman inside or herself.
A voice sounded in her ear, almost startling her. Like the snake in the Garden, it asked, "Do you want to be special?"
After a short pause, Beatrice nodded.
***
Interregnum: Norma
Her time in the suspension gel was far more than it appeared. The smart fluid's nano particles constituted a complex interface array that meshed with every part of her that was enveloped in it, linking her nerve endings to an intelligent feedback engine that was able to analyze her reactions, body chemistry, neurological patterns, and multiple other metrics to dynamically create a pleasure-loop that practically drove her insane. From the moment she was suspended, it worked to stimulate her to a series of unbelievable orgasms that she could not control or stop. To the outside observer, however, it appeared almost nothing was happening.
After the initial handshake sequence, the intelligence engine could directly interact with her nervous system while her normal metabolic processes were suppressed. The fluid had a limited recycling feature and nutrient supplies, so it wasn't as if she could eat and shit in it indefinitely without exhausting its resources. Originally developed for astronauts for deep space hibernation, the gel had been modified for this unapproved use as well as for interrogation and psyops by intelligence agencies. It was far more advanced than the crash fluid used in mech suits.
For Norma, it was both an unending heaven and hell. Her brain had melted into a pure white hot light of eternal climax and fall as the intelligence engine reached its min-max cycle of stimulation. It was the perfect lover, except that it did not care in any way what she wanted. Time became meaningless as her mind flew apart.
