Chapter 9

Camp Schmitt, July 17, 2145 Geosynchronous Orbit over the Camp Lejeune Crater

The tall, skinny Martian fighter pilot drifted into Camp Schmitt, a marine space station in geosynchronous orbit above Camp Lejeune. “Lieutenant Commander Scarlett,” said Captain Schirra, “This is Major Pandora Vermillion. I trust that you two will get along and play nice.” Alan and Pandora shook hands. “What do you do?” asked Pandora.

“Fighters. We’re here testing out the F-733A multi-roll interstellar fighter. We don’t know if the side-by-side seating will work for the Navy.”

Pandora smirked. “While the Marines are worried about winning wars the Navy is discussing seating arrangements?”

“Ahh, yeah, when you put it that way it sounds a bit weird,” said Alan. “Look at it this way, you jump in a fox hole you hope it’s not fifty foot deep with twenty feet of water at the bottom, right?”

“Right.”

“So you’re saying that the marines are picky about holes in the ground?”

“Touche.”

“What do you do, ma’am?”

Pandora shrugged. “I fly bombers. B-171’s.” She just got assigned as a command pilot trainee in the 5th Interstellar Bombardment Wing [Heavy].

“Holy shit, that’s like flying a house.”

“Sometimes it seems like it, twenty man crew with bunks and kitchen.”

“Twenty people on the crew?”

“Captain, exec, two pilots, two navigators, bombardiers, communications, electronic warfare, gunners and ships maintenance. We often haul special forces and marines to their assignments.”

“Two pilots! Wow, that must be a lot of work hitting the auto pilot on those beasts,” he said with a grin.

“Fuck you Popeye,” she said with a grin as she punched him.

Captain Schirra left. Young officers are strange, he decided. He can’t wait to tell his wife Estelle about this pair. Hopefully, Lieutenant Commander Scarlett can keep the high-strung major out of his hair for a while. They’re both outstanding officers, a little too energetic as people, however, but he could see them going far and he planned to keep his eye on them.

“Do you gyrenes have a gym around here? I want to unwind. I just arrived from Jupiter.”

“Oh? Did you fly coach?” she grinned.

“F-303 the whole way. Talk about a butt numbing adventure.” The F-303 was a space fighter that was adapted for atmospheric use. After modification, it couldn’t do either properly, space or atmosphere. They were used to shuttle pilots around the solar system until they could be scrapped.

“We have four gyms. One G, Martian, Lunar, and Zero G. You look like a Martian; would you like to hit that gym?”

“No, I want to try the Zero G. That’s just a whole lot of fun.”

“Follow me,” said Pandora.

“I need to get my gym stuff,” said Alan as he turned toward his quarters.

“You’ll be fine. Follow me.” And she led him by the hand to the hub of the station. The zero G gym was a cargo bay that was set aside for zero G training and goofing around. There were weight machines that used elastic for resistance, bikes, and rowing machines. In the corner was a wash-down area with moist towels.

“What do I...” Alan turned to Pandora, and she was naked. She had slithered out of her flight suit and was putting it in an empty locker.

“What’s the problem? This is a gymnasium. The word comes from gymnos, which means naked. Gymnasium means a place to exercise in the nude.” Alan could barely hear what she said. Pandora Vermillion was breathtaking. Her milk white skin called for him to touch her. Pandora’s small, firm breasts were pointing at him, daring him to touch her erect coral nipples. Her abs told him she was muscular, and her flashing green eyes told him she was playful.

Alan shook his head and wrestled off his own suit. Normally he doesn’t have a problem dressing and undressing in zero G, but the problem is compounded when a slim, sexy redhead with a trim, athletic build is watching hungrily.

As he unceremoniously stuffed his flight suit in a locker, she said, “If you can catch me, you can fuck me.” Laughing, she pushed off from the wall and flew away like Supergirl.

“Damn!” gasped Alan, and he pushed off after her. As he neared her, she grabbed a handrail and suddenly changed direction ninety degrees and shot across his bow, so to speak. She was beautiful, with long, flowing red hair which she tied off in a ponytail. Tight, perky breasts, slim waist, and narrow hips. Her face was pixie cute, flashing green eyes, a tiny, pointed nose, luscious lips and a very light smattering of freckles. She trimmed her pussy but left a thin landing strip of bright red, and Lt. Commander Scarlett was aching to come in for a landing.

They bounced back and forth, up and down. She was a master at navigating in zero G, and even better at staying out of his reach. But she was giving him pointers, and he was catching on. “Stop thinking with your dick! This isn’t golf, you’re not going to sink a long putt.”

That had him laughing so hard he had to stop for a moment. As he caught his breath, he was clutching a padded bar near the ceiling (or near the floor and he was upside down; he lost track) when suddenly he felt a mouth close around his balls. “Oh my gawd” he groaned as she suckled one swollen ball and slithered her tongue all over it. Then, quick as a wink, she was gone.

“You have to pay attention!” she called from the other side of the room.

Soon, it became time to put that fighter pilot training to work. He noticed two things. When he chases after her, he’s aiming for where she is. He needs to aim where she’s going to be, to lead his prey. Most important, when she’s away from the walls, she’s helpless. She can only go in the direction she’s chosen. There she goes. She kicked off the wall, heading toward the wash-down corner, so Alan kicked forward into her path of flight and she gave a squawk when his arms wrapped around her waist.