Wild Space

Her name was Olana, and she had needed a ride from Florian to Azura. Lucky for her, Marik was headed in just that direction.

She helped him load up his cargo containers and he chose this opportunity to lay the groundwork. He was just kind enough to have her drop her guard but not flirtatious at all. Marik always let them come to him. It was much easier that way, but did result in their sticking around longer. Oh well, he thought. You can't have everything.

"You're from Azura?" She wanted to know.

"Yes," He said briefly. "I was born there, my aunt left me the ship. I run her old loop now."

"Weird name for a ship," Olana said with a smile. "The Queen Bee?"

"That was Auntie Raychelle alright," Marik told her and smiled tightly. "She saw herself that way. I'd rather name her the Avenger or the Dagger, but it's bad luck to rename a ship."

Everyone knew that, or anyone who was a freighter pilot or crew. One didn't rename a ship. One also never ran on a ship without a name, or at the very least a numbered designation. A man didn't trim his beard or a man or a woman their nails while they were aboard. No flat footed people or whistling. The list of superstitions went on and on, and it was up to the captain to enforce which ones he or she chose. Aunt Raychelle had enforced a handful, Marik only enforced the ones that would not get him ostracized on his home planet. Azurans were nothing if not superstitious and backwards.

After the cargo was loaded, he invited her to relax in the lounge or sit up in the cockpit with him. Olana chose the latter. She wasn't used to being a passenger, she said, and didn't like it. She wanted to earn her keep. She had flown a small attack fighter to Florian, a gift for the son of the local prince, but had no way to her next job. Marik and the Queen were happy to provide.

As he readied the Queen Bee for blast off, tapping buttons, rolling marbles on the dash, pulling levers and so forth, he covertly studied Olana. She was in her late 30s, a handful of years older than he. Her light brown hair had been dyed with a garish blonde that was growing out. Her skin was a pale olive shade, eyes a light, enchanting shade of green. Her face was elegant and graceful but showed her age, especially when she smiled. She had small breasts underneath her shirt and scarred old pilot's vest, but the bum that filled out her patterned green pants and the co-pilot's seat was large and firm and high and round despite her age. Marik had been won over by her smile and her worn, faded beauty from the moment he had laid eyes on her.

"Can I help?" Olana asked. She had rough hands but looked skilled and ready to tickle the dashboard like a musician.

"Sure, why don't you raise our cargo bay door and ready our stinger."

"The stinger?"

"Sorry, the aft cannon." Marik smiled again. When he smiled with his teeth, he thought he came off as fake, but everyone else told him he had a roguish and charming grin. So he used it now, teeth and all. "That's what its always been called."

"Right, captain," Olana frowned prettily at the dash, scrunched up her nose and blinked her green eyes. Hesitantly, but with more confidence as she went on, the older woman manipulated the Bee's controls.

Florian fell away beneath them as the Queen Bee blasted off. In her belly was a handful of secured cargo boxes, some kind of machine parts. More and more of the boats on his homeworld were going metal instead of wood, a contentious issue to the humans there. He would turn some manner of profit with this run, but that's hardly why he was running cargo. It was more about the adventure, the chase. And getting away from home.

"Flight time to Azura?" He asked his temporary copilot.

"14 hours, seventeen minutes, captain."

"Don't call me that," He said. When Marik spoke people often had a hard time figuring out if he was being serious or not, so he tended to explain before the question could be asked. "I'm not captain of much. Not like we are in a Capital Navy carrier here or something."

"It's just a courtesy," Olana told him. She had a wonderful smile. Her teeth weren't perfect by any means but jumbled together and framed by her pink lips made her entire mouth look sensual and inviting. "I'm on your ship, after all."

"Speaking of ships, do you have your own?"

Olana went into a speech that he only listened to for major points that he could bring up after she stopped speaking. She had had one but gone bust due to cold leads. Formerly married. Her husband took the ship, told her to meet him in a nearby planet,and never arrived. That was the end of her married and freight running days. Now she put her pilot skills to good use by making one time trips around the local sectors, ferrying new ships to their owners, signing on as a member of a freighter crew on bigger vessels, scrimping and saving for a new ship that could haul cargo herself. She got to ride in a new vessel each time but always had to pay for a charter flight to her next stop. Or find a ride to save silver, as she had now. For which she was duly grateful, Olana said with a smile.

Marik saw her sneaking glances at him as they spoke. He tried to see himself as she was seeing him, for the first time: he was a touch above average height, not of spectacular fitness but nowhere near flabby or weak. He had a full head of long blond hair, dark brown eyes, was clean shaven and sharp featured, with an aquiline nose and strong cheekbones. A friendly and open face that was windburned, tanned and rawboned. A prominent scar over the chin gave him a piratical air, or so he likes to think. He always said that it came from a knife if anyone asked, but in reality he had fallen onto the edge of a boat when he was young.

Marik could see her thinking, trying to get over his walls, trying to get a rise of emotion from him. They all took it as a challenge and wanted to celebrate when they thought they had won.

It didn't take long with her, either.

"Were you close to your aunt?" She wanted to know. They had dampened the blinds, but some of the collapsed starlight from the blazing faster than light travel got through. It decorated the cockpit in a sparkle of blue and green and black and white.

"Very," Marik admitted in a reluctant voice. "She raised me, right here on this ship. When she passed I knew I had to keep the Queen Bee going. For her."

"That's very nice of you. I bet you were an amazing nephew. Or son, I guess you were to her. Right?"

"You got it," He told her, and smiled again, this time more shyly. "Not many pick up on that so quick."

"Well, you're very easy to talk to." Olana told him, and blushed, turning away to pretend to study a readout.

After that, it was only a matter of saying the right things at the right time. No one was better at that than Marik.

Olana fell back onto the bed after she had stripped off her shirt and vest. Her belly gently overflowed the band of her pants, and stretch marks traveled up it. Her breasts matched and bounced merrily as she fell. Marik fell atop her, kissing the smile off of her face. Her arms clasped around his neck and shoulders as they both wriggled to find their place on the bed.

Comfortable now, he interlaced his fingers with hers and gently but authoritatively pinned her wrists above her head. Her small breasts pressed against his chest. His mouth traveled from hers to her forehead, then to each eyelid, cheek, ear and finally the sides of her neck. He pressed his lips against it, causing her to moan. Her hips rose incrementally off of the bed, a sigh escaping her lips.

One hand cupping her cheek, thumb on her cheekbone, Marik moved down, his open mouth grazing her collarbone, then her breasts, reluctantly letting go of her face. He cupped each one with his hands, taking her nipples in his mouth and sucking gently before giving each a tiny bite, causing her to hiss and arch her back. When he kissed her stomach, she gave a low sound of embarrassment and tried to cover herself.

"What's wrong?" He murmured against her soft skin.

"My stomach, the marks..." Olana said quietly. "It's ugly."

"Stop. It's not. They're just lines leading me where I want to go." He said, making her laugh.

To prove he was a man of his word, Marik unbuttoned her flight pants and hooked his fingers into her underwear, skimming it to her ankles, feeling her legs the entire way down. Between her legs, her pussy was covered by a well trimmed thatch of brown hair. He kissed her there, right on her hair covered mound, and continued kissing her lower and lower until he had a nose full of her rich, earthy scent and could suck and taste her dripping wet cunt.

Olana kicked off her remaining clothes bunched around her ankles so she could spread her legs. Her heels dug into the muscles of his back as he tongued her sweet sex. She rose her hips in response to his movements, and he found himself bobbing his neck and head along with her to maintain contact. His tongue flicked roughly over her clit with each movement, causing her to move harder and more frequently with a plaintive cry coming from her puffed and reddened lips each time.

His breath came hot onto her exposed vagina and her rough pilot's hands spread flat on the bed and then curled deep into the sheets as she lost control. Her hips bucked against his mouth and her moans became a crescendo of effort and ecstasy as the orgasm racked her body.

Her thighs were as slick as his lips and chin as she trembled. Her arms helped him up when he knelt between her spread legs. She laughed and wiped his mouth after their first kiss left them both of them wet.

"Give me a minute, I am still too sensitive," She told him, but was shifting to make room for him anyway.

"You're the boss," Marik replied, but it was clear to both of them that he was in control. He decided to prove that to her just in case there was any doubt.

The head of his cock was already brushing against the open lips of her pussy. Taking it in hand, Marik playfully slid himself along her slit, giving her the time she said she needed but teasing her as well. A low, needy growl rumbled from her. She tried to arch her back again to take him in, but he wouldn't allow it.

Finally, showing some kittenish frustration, she reached down and firmly took his penis in her rough grasp, and sank it home. They both gasped as the union was made. Marik pinned her wrists down again and kissed her hard as he forcefully thrust his hips to meet hers. The suddenness and ferocity when he took his pleasure caused them both to cry out through their shared kiss.

For a few minutes they worked in tandem, her small, natural breasts shaking back and forth with their movements. Their breath came hard and quick, filling the room with the ragged sound, as did the soft and wet sounds his cock made as it fulfilled her pussy.

They finally slowed down, their movements becoming less controlled and more purposeful as they each approached their climax. She stopped kissing him and whispered for him to stare into her eyes. Marik did as she asked and his vision was filled with her pale green, lustful eyes, the wrinkles around them that held so much character and were vital to her mature beauty. Her face contorted beneath his and his above hers until they both unconsciously closed their eyes and let loose a simultaneous, uninhibited moan that rattled the very bulkheads of the Queen Bee.

The next few hours passed quickly for the pair. Alternatively dozing and sharing the bed in other ways, they continued to talk. Marik excelled at all manners of play in the bedroom, including pillow talk. Olana's smiles came more and more, as did their shared laughter, tickling, and again and again, consummation. Finally, they slept after a brief break in the cycle to check their course and to consume something else besides one another.

******

Now that he was nearing Azura, messages had come through the Queen Bee's ancient comm array. Marik sat in the captain's chair, reviewing. There no less than a half dozen banal messages from other freighters about sensor readings in the area, but only one from someone he truly wanted to hear from, Abaro. Eagerly, he called up the message system and replied.

A few hours later, Marik was seated at his customary spot at Kim's. There weren't many restaurants that were not fish places on Azura, given that the world was nearly 90% water. Kim's was no exception, and like any self respecting Azuran restaurant it stank headily of fish, unwashed fisherman bodies, and was cool and dim as a refuge to the sweltering brightness outside. Marik had been going there for as long as he remembered, always the same place with the same people. And the natives were welcome, too, or so the owner always said. Marik hadn't yet seen one there. It was still illegal for natives to run freight, and Kim's was a freighter pilot bar. Pilots went there to drink or eat and wait for jobs to trickle in from the nearby spaceport. If one couldn't or didn't want to leave the planet, captains often visited to hire on crews. Azura was one of the few worlds where wet trading, piracy and whaling was rampant. As he took a meditative pull on his drink, Marik felt a hint of pride at that.

"There was a loose dog in town today," Abaro was saying. "Import, from one of those families that settled here from the Capital Systems."

"You sure? That was over a hundred years ago."

"Some stayed, you know that. Anyway, the dog started off on Fishcliff Road, that's the first time anybody saw it. By the time it got to the square it had half the town chasing it." Abaro smiled at the memory. "Me and Monda, we were having lunch."

"Here?" Marik asked.

"No, cooked for once. Cutlets and bread with herbs." His friend said. No specification for the type of cutlet was needed. On their world, unless you were rich, you ate fish, and enjoyed it. "Pitcher of homemade tsara, too."

"Sounds good. Back to the dog?"

Just then, Marn, the alleged captain of a loosely boarded and barely seaworthy trawler, wandered in. Abaro made a big show of standing and looking presentable, but just like he always was, Marn was there to party, not to hire a crew. His duties lied elsewhere, but ostensibly he was still a sailor. Having appeared ready and willing to work, Abaro sat down and continued drinking.

"We cordoned it off with some nets and line, fed it and made sure it had clean water. No one has stepped forward yet."

Dogs weren't indigenous to Azura. Contemplating the mystery of the dog, he lost himself in the yellow depths of his ale. It carried very little bite. Summery. Bitter drinks weren't for this world, Marik thought with a flash of clannish nationalism. Here they kept it light.

"How was the run to Florian?" Abaro wanted to know.

Briefly, Marik discussed the cargo he had hauled and the woman he had picked up. But his friend had heard this all before and was hardly listening. When Marik was done talking or took a pause to drink, Abaro spoke up.

"Gonna call her?"

"Sure." Marik said. But they both knew he wouldn't. He changed the subject. "Coming to the fights tonight?"

"Can't. Promised my wife I'd mend some nets. I saw Tira there last time, though."

"Oh yeah?" Marik put down his cup on the scarred wooden surface of the bar. "I might be leaving you shortly, then."

"Go get 'em, captain."

******

He walked out into the sunlight. The heat embraced him like a wife would her husband after returning home from war. Somewhere nearby a bird crowed, a throaty and hungry squeal.

Marik had wet a cloth before he left Kim's. He wrapped it around his neck to cool the blood in the prominent arteries there and set off through the sparse crowds. The matriarch of a fishing family was scowling as she watched her children or grandchildren string up a shark they'd caught. It looked like it was bony and too small to her, judging by the displeasure on her face. Marik gave that entire debacle a wide berth. On Azura, the women were tough and wholesome, running the households while the men hauled in a catch day after day. For a woman to rise to the head of an entire family fishing operation was rare and denoted a woman to be respected, maybe even feared.

As he left the seaside and all of its sounds and smells the sand became cooler and the plant life more abundant. Marik stepped on some shells and cursed softly. He was already bleeding. But his destination wasn't far. He made his way gingerly, leaving tiny blood stains in the pure white sand.

A copse of unusually tall and tightly packed trees lied ahead. From within rose a cluster of noise that made Marik smile and walk a bit faster. The wind moved through his long blond hair as he did so.

Inside the trees a group of men and women stood in a circle, yelling and pumping their fists. In that circle stood two men, stripped to the waist, wildly throwing punches.

"Two," Said the reedy man working the crowd. He had a crude money belt and a large bottle of a brown and purple spirit. He spotted Marik and approached sky an expectant hand. "Two silvers."

"How's it looking today?" He asked as he handed over the money.

"This lot won't put on a good show," The man said. "Wait a few."

Marik accepted the traditional first sip of tsara from the man and wiped his mouth. All rituals observed, he made a show of watching the fights, but he was really scamming faces. No Tira yet.

The men's fist fighting had degenerated into a wrestling match. They grappled and thrashed in the sand. The circle's cheers turned to boos as even the half hearted grappling slowed. Finally, the smaller man submitted. His opponent stood and raised his hand, blood streaming from his nose and mouth.

Both men wore the traditional Azuran garb: white cotton pants, shirtless or sleeveless white cotton tops, heavy sandals. Marik wondered if they'd follow the other, newer traditions and didn't have to wonder long. The loser hunkered down on his hands and knees and was barely in position before the winner mounted him. But it was the briefest and most cursory embrace, clothed and not sexual, before the men disengaged, slapped hands, and retreated to the circle to talk about their fight and yell at the next pair of gladiators.

Many years ago the Capital Systems had arrived on Azura and subjugated the planet. Homosexuality was traditionally repugnant to the humans there, an old sentiment that they had never let go of. The human leadership at the time worked hard to protect every inhabitant after they were conquered. Including trade concessions and various other gouges, the Capital dipped their wick into the native and colonial culture, back when they wanted to be loved by the locals. They allowed the fights to continue and even took part. Allegedly the first Capital soldiers and sailors reflexively attempted to rape anyone they beat, and allowed their women to compete as well. The entire traditional fight ceremony had to be slightly modernized, the occupiers demanded. Women should be allowed to fight and it only made sense that the victor sexually possess those that he or she defeated. The humans on Azura capitulated. Over the years, as the Capital troopers had been assigned elsewhere, the mounting tradition stuck but to couple with another man was considered scandalous and rare on Azura. And no Capital Systems diplomats or soldiers were coming back to this place to make sure an ages old treaty on a fight club was still being upheld. So long as the humans on Azura ran the planet, not the natives, and the tribute still flowed they could do as they pleased.

"Silver for your thoughts."

Marik turned and reflexively smiled at the female that had interrupted his reverie.

"I was thinking how I haven't had a fight in too long." He lied. Like every word he spoke, he said it with confidence, and he lied most confidently of all. "How are you, Tira?"