Chapter 5

Life would be a good deal simpler if our thoughts and emotions were fully integrated, that we could all say what we mean and mean what we say. We spacers have little time for anything else. Living in close proximity in cramped quarters, it has always been important to make plain how we are feeling and the cause of it. We have plenty of time for self-analysis - as a culture, we spacers are all self taught psychologists and philosophers. To have on board an Earth woman who is mixed up, conflicted, unsure of the way she's feeling, imposes a tension on our light ship I've rarely encountered before. Over the previous few days I've tried to persuade Andrea to open up - to express how she is feeling and examine the reasons. It seems to me there are dark forces that stalk her subconscious. Some may call it 'depression'. I see it as a basic disconnection between her mind, body, and what some people describe as 'the spirit.'

Most days she is breezy and pleasant to be around. As her knowledge of our language grows, she is able to converse freely for longer and longer periods. During her sleep periods - usually out of sync with ours, of course - she seems happy at those times when we can nestle together on my bunk. Her body is warm and relaxed as we adopt a 'spoon.' My bunk being so narrow, there are few other ways we can comfortably sleep together. However, when I'm in a state of sexual arousal - as frequently happens and generally beyond my control - she becomes tense and defensive. This can be in the form of open resentment or self deprecation. When I suggest we change our sleeping arrangement so these situations don't arise, she becomes sullen and insists she desires the feelings of comfort afforded by our cuddling. That may be so, but it does little to ease the tension I feel.

To express our basic sexuality is, of course, a primal urge whether you come from Earth or either of our stellar systems. We spacers, lacking the normal outlets found planet side, relieve our tension with the aid of extensive libraries of erotic material. There is no shame attached to this practice as one might encounter on Earth with it's strange cultural injunctions. Tvir, having the privacy of his own quarters, can indulge himself fully with whatever proclivities he has. Myself, however, has Andrea, and little opportunity for any privacy in this matter. I'm finding myself becoming more and more obsessed with it.

If only, I think, I could take her in my arms and express the way I feel in every way. If I was less confident, I might take this reluctance on her part personally, but I know the problem lies with her. I keep trying, of course, to understand and encourage her to open up, while, at the same time, controlling my own natural desire, but, it's true to say, at times, I feel like bashing my head repeatedly on a bulkhead.

Andrea's growing knowledge of the language has unintended consequences in that Tvir and I are no-longer able to have confidential conversations without running the risk of being overheard. The accommodation on the S-7 is so cramped, it's impossible to have a conversation out of earshot of one another, unless we hide away in his quarters. Such secrecy is, again, a possible source of tension between Andrea and me.

Tvir is older than myself and better schooled. He and I have known each other since childhood. Like myself, he is spacer bred, but, unlike me, he went planet side to study, whereas I learned all I need to know in space by auto-tutors. I have depended on his wisdom and knowledge since the Privateer days in the Third Trade War.

Tvir never partnered, like many a spacer. Instead, he has women he sees planet side, again, like most spacers. It's a tough ask to expect any woman to share the life we lead, let alone raise a family in the confines of a cargo ship. My parents achieved that, and others have, of course, but the partnership needs to be strong, tasks equally distributed, and accommodations made between a couple to form a good team. My parents achieved that bond through something I've heard on Earth a lot, but is hardly expressed with us in quite the same way. On Earth the word is 'love.'

It has been three weeks since we left Earth. In that time, we are a mere quarter of the way back to our home worlds - 5 light years. So far, we have not encountered anything unexpected - not fused with an uncharted asteroid or joined with the core of a sun. Such events have very rarely happened in the history of faster then light travel. Proximity alerts built into navigation systems are obvious enough for even the most inept navigator. To fly into a planet would indicate either a suicidal nature or a level of stupidity that, you would think, drawing breath would require the utmost concentration.

Sometimes, life can get so boring, you begin to wish for some crisis to overcome. At least one that can be dealt with with a little effort. Space travel has its risks and always has done. Space will always be a hostile environment to live and work in and the consequences of catastrophic failures of vital systems will inevitably lead to death and sometimes, a rather slow and agonizing one. Technology has vastly improved safety since our first ventures off world, but as they say on Earth, 'shit happens.'

Andrea is starting to read my diaries, starting with the earliest, first. They date back to before the Third War, when I used to jockey on the Caskade routes. Psskalach was in turmoil, resenting the government imposed transport monopoly that was killing off-planet trading. We all knew special interests were trying to persuade the governor to secede and join the Independents, then grouped as a 'Confederation.' To be fair, Government bungling of the crisis would eventually push everyone to war. But, in those days, in various places in our systems, a Mining Company jockey was as welcome as a dose of herpes. The Mining Company was a cartel, and still is to a great extent. The Mining Company subsidiaries controlled exploration, extraction, transport and sales all at fixed rates with no possibility of a negotiation over charges. To be a jockey meant to work for the Mining Company, or choose an uncertain and perilous employment with the Independents. The Mining Company offered a jockey the guarantee of a lifetime's employment - some thing the Independents couldn't possibly do. Did I compromise my values for credits in the bank? I don't think so, but others will judge me more harshly.

Everything revolves in cycles and there are swings and roundabouts. Criminals may run the government for a spell, then are pushed out by the morally upright, to be corrupted in turn. This has always been so. I don't think the fractious, squabbling Independents have any purity license, either. Self-interest, the pursuit of wealth, take precedent over high principle, and I think it always has. Ethically, I see little difference between serving the Government, the Independents or even the Mining Company. As they say, they are just as good, or as bad, as each other. But, it has given me a life of adventure and wealth - something I would never see as a rock chipper on the planet Psschev.

It is near the end of my waking cycle. Andrea is asleep in my bunk, and I look forward to these times when our need for sleep coincide. As usual she is lying on her side and I gently roll over her to take the side by the wall. I wrap my arms around her and she gives a little contented murmur. Nestling against her warm body, I soon and relax and fall asleep.

I'm not sure how long it's been, but, through the fog of sleep I become aware of movements in the bed. Andrea has her bottom pressed hard against my crotch and, of itself, my penis is achingly hard. My hand, that had been wrapped around her middle, has been now placed against her left breast and held firmly in place with hers. Although there is the fabric of her shirt between her skin and my palm, I can feel texture, warmth and a stiff nipple. She's making soft mewing noises and breathing in short gasps. It is then I can feel the cheeks of her bottom clenching and unclenching and rocking backwards and forwards with small, restrained movements. I have little doubt she is pleasuring herself.

I am a man with normal desires, but I also possess dignity and self control. Even as a young shaver, I have never forced myself on any woman who has not wanted to be forced upon. I believe I have conducted myself admirably around Andrea, respected her boundaries, and tried to understand her unwillingness to mate. I have listened as she has released to me her deepest emotions, but as I have declared to her, I desire her more than I have any woman in my life. Even with all these thoughts in mind, there is a point where erotic desire is far too powerful to control and when the woman of your waking dreams is writhing in self pleasure right beside you, I challenge any man to just lie there impassively. In short, this is too much.

My hand softly squeezes her breast and lightly pinches her nipple. Andrea gives a short gasp so I slide my hand out from under hers and inch down, over her naked midriff, to where her other hand is working away inside her briefs. I seek to replace it with my own - to feel the moist sexuality I was briefly acquainted with back on the base. I gently pull her hand free then insert my own in its place. It is wet, wide open and aroused and I slide my long finger over it. She gives a little jerk, then clamps her hand over mine, pressing it harder against her.

I sit up a little and rest myself on my elbow, move over her seeking her lips. In response, her face turns towards me, eyes shut, lips slightly parted, her skin soft and flushed with excitement. I kiss her and her mouth opens, pulsating, undulating. A hand flies to the back of my head and presses my face harder against hers. I diddle her some more with my finger and her face disengages, sucking in gulps of air, and expelling them in low moans.

I turn her over completely on her back and pull up her shirt. Between gasps, she murmurs 'no', but puts up her arms to allow me to pull her shirt right off. Her pretty breasts lie exposed, wobbling with her shaking, and I lavish kisses on them, feeling them with the palms of my hands, nibbling and sucking on her nipples. I am frantic, given over to the heat of the moment and there's no stopping now.

"Please, don't!" she gasps, but doesn't offer any resistance as I assault her lips once more. In fact, her hand is caressing my naked back. "No!" she says once more as I drag down her briefs to her knees. Andrea, herself, pulls her leg free and kicks them down her leg before spreading her knees as I roll between them. She has her hand gripped firmly around my erection, but I'm beyond being denied this time. I reach down again with my long fingers, rub her fiercely until she's moaning and gasping, jerking her hips at me, the fingers around my back digs into my sensitive skin - they hurt, and pushes me beyond any consideration of her stated wishes. I thrust forward with my hips seeking to take her regardless, but it is Andrea who guides me to the exact spot. "Gentle!" she sucks in her breath and I resist the temptation to thrust myself hard into her. She squeals and yelps, jiggles her bottom, locks her legs around mine, pushes back furiously until we have found a mutual, steady rhythm. She comes with ragged, rasping breath, but continues rolling and thrusting against me as I seek my own climax. I come with deep, satisfying jabs until my months of pent up frustration floods her so that her crotch is slippery with juice.

We lay there locked together catching our breath. Her eyes are shut, but I see tears as she strokes the back of my head. She's in no mood for chat as we comfort one another in what has been a spiritual experience for us both. There is little doubt in my mind that we are partnered, that that wasn't some casual experience driven by our mutual need, but a coming together of like souls. I eventually roll off her to the side, and she sighs with the loss of intimate contact. Her eyes open and she wipes away tears with the back of her hand, managing a weak smile through her exhaustion. Hesitantly, she adopts our usual spoon once more, but she makes no attempt to put back on her shirt and briefs.

Later in the cycle, I awake to find her lying on top of me, grinding. With little ceremony or foreplay, she impales herself on me. I reach my hand around her sweat sticky bottom and enjoy the sensation as her flesh ripples and clenches. Of rather less duration, this time, I think it was the best way to awaken.

Andrea does not seem to want a post coital discussion, any outpouring of feelings or expressions of love. It's as if we have said it all through the erotic act. It is not a wish to forget, either, or, if it is, her memory blockage last no-longer than a few Earth hours before she signals she is ready to go again. Of course, as her caring partner, it would be churlish of me to ignore her needs.

It has been some three cycles since Andrea and I first mated. In that time, we have conspired to spend as much time as practical together on my narrow bunk. The change over her has been dramatic - all notions of self doubt and reluctance has been set aside amid an outpouring of passion and need. I find she is at least my equal in stamina - what can I further say that doesn't drift into outright smugness and boasting? Suffice to say, Tvir feels decidedly left out, but that is a problem I've no intention of offering solutions.

I'm lying naked, nestled against her warm body, when I become aware, through the fog of sleep, the pulsating amber glow. I'm instantly alert and extricate myself from the arms of my mate. Through into the control room, I'm beaten by Tvir by half a pace. It's clear from our first glance the field has collapsed - we are no-longer enclosed in the glaring white bubble. Through the view screen, I see the distant stars of normal space flickering through the residual gas that protects us from obliteration. What has gone wrong? I look at Tvir, see the astonishment on his face, and we frantically run the scans that should tell us the cause.

"Object, see?" I show him. Our proximity alert has triggered an automatic shutdown. This is a relief as it doesn't indicate a problem with the ship's drive. To be stranded this far from possible rescue would be our doom.

"What is it?" Tvir hisses, as if we could be overheard. The change in the atmosphere of the control room is unsettling. We no-longer feel the static charge that accompanies the field, ironically, raising the tension.