Mindscan

Praise for the writing of Jules Jones

Promises to Keep

Just when you think you know everything there is to know about vampires, Jules Jones comes along. Promises To Keep succeeds with new twists to everyone's favorite genre in this brief but beautiful story that will leave you yearning for more. -- Stephanie Vaughan, author of Jumping the Fence (Loose Id) Jules Jones has done it again! Promises to Keep is not only inferno hot, but the sly intelligence and wit engages the brain as well as the body. More, I say, more! After reading Promises to Keep, it will be miles to go before I sleep. -- Lena Austin, author of Sex World 1: Assassin (Loose Id) Remarkably involving and layered for such a short piece, with new twists on vampire mythos, characters that will linger in the memory, and deliciously crafted sex scenes. I'll be looking enthusiastically for more from Jules Jones. -- Elizabeth Jewell, author of Dark Callings (Changeling Press)

Promises to Keep is a quick, sexy, and totally delicious read with a surprising twist to keep you turning the pages. Jules Jones is on my to buy list from now on! -- Melissa Schroeder, author of Federation CTD: Hard Habit to Break (Loose Id)

Promises to Keep is now available from Loose Id.

BUILDUP: MINDSCAN

Jules Jones

www.loose-id.com

Warning This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

***** This book is rated:

For substantial explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable (multiple partners, homoerotic sex, D/s, exhibitionism).

Buildup: Mindscan Jules Jones This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Published by Loose Id LLC 1802 N Carson Street, Suite 212-29 Carson City NV 89701-1215 www.loose-id.com

Copyright © March 2005 by Jules Jones All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including, but not limited to printing, photocopying, faxing, or emailing without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC.

ISBN 1-59632-071-0 Available in Adobe PDF, HTML, MobiPocket, and MS Reader

Printed in the United States of America

Editor: Raven McKnight Cover Artist: Scott Carpenter

www.loose-id.com

Part One

“We surrender!” Reeve thought for a second, then gave the ceasefire order and stared at the screen. The prison transport lay before them, not just dropped into normal space, but stalled completely. Reeve chewed on his thumbnail, considering the screen. This was just a little too easy -- prison service ships weren’t normally crewed by fight-to-the-last-man types, but they also weren’t pushovers. And if any Protectorate prison transport was to be fitted with heavy armaments, it would be the one selected to carry a convicted Union spy to her punishment. He’d been lucky with the brief exchange of fire, the transport’s shields going down at the first hit to give him free access to her engines, but still it seemed too lucky. “Union ship! We surrender!” The other ship’s officer sounded panicked. “We accept your surrender,” Reeve reassured the man. Prison ships were occasionally attacked, but it was quite possible this was the first fight the other ship’s crew had been involved in. He didn’t want the man to start firing again out of pure nervousness. “For god’s sake, help us!”

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The man sounded genuinely frightened. Reeve glanced around at his crew. They all looked as surprised as he felt. Was there black propaganda about them? “We’ve only disabled your ship; we’ve no intention of destroying it.” “One of the prisoners -- yowch -- all right, all right, we’re asking them to collect you.” Reeve didn’t think that last comment had been addressed to him. “Am I to take it that someone wishes to leave your kind hospitality? I’ll be only too pleased to provide her with alternative transport.” Presumably Calliope had managed to get herself loose during the fight and was now causing trouble. If this wasn’t a trap, they had a much simpler job than they’d originally anticipated. “Captain, please take your people away and restore our life support,” the other ship pleaded. Calliope had got at life support? Nasty. No wonder the transport’s captain wanted her off the premises. Then it struck him what had been said. People. Plural. “People? Just how many do you want us to take away?” “Two of them. And anyone else they want, to be honest.” So Calliope had made a friend. A Union sleeper agent in the crew, or one of the convicts. Or a Protectorate agent planted on the ship for just this purpose. Trap or no trap, the job had just got a lot more complicated. He muted his mike and asked his crew, “Now what?” Jantis leaned back in her chair, looked around at the rest of the crew. “We’d already decided to keep her under lock and key, in case she’s bait rather than the real thing. We’ve got room for two of them.” The others apparently agreed with the pilot. The only other comment was from Mel. “Means more of us have to actually go over there and collect them, which could get dicey. But it’s probably a choice of two or none.”

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“Maybe not.” If the other ship was eager to co-operate, they might be able to do this the easy way. “I’ll go over with tracers. If we’ve got a nice, steady lock on them, we can teleport them back.” “Is that wise?” Jantis asked. “It does narrow down their choice of people to come after.” Reeve shrugged. “Don’t think it matters much. They’re already pissed off with us after our last caper, and we can certainly pass this one off as ‘dashing gallant heroes rescuing a damsel in distress’.” “So no flashing around the paycheque for this one,” Mel grumbled. Jantis grinned. “Nice to see you’ve got your priorities right, Mel. Don’t worry -- there’s a reward posted for her safe return.” “Enough,” Reeve said. “We have guards to rescue from their prisoner.”

***** He’d expected to find them waiting by the airlock. Instead, he was directed to walk further into the ship. The voice sounded like the recordings of Calliope he’d listened to. Easy enough to fake, but he decided to take the risk. Perhaps Calliope and her friend didn’t fancy the idea of waiting by the airlock. He might not, in the same circumstances. He found them in the ship’s main systems room. Calliope was watching the security channel. Her companion’s attention was focused on the life-support controls. Male, relatively slim build, shorter than Reeve, prison clothing; not a serious physical threat if he was unaugmented human and unarmed. Of course, “unarmed” probably didn’t cover someone who had command of the ship’s life-support systems. Calliope looked up at him and snapped, “Open your helmet.” “I’d rather not, thank you.” He did raise the glare visor so that she had a clear view of his face.

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“Good. He’s as paranoid as we are,” the man at the life-support controls said. His voice was a bit rough, as if his throat had been misused, but his accent sounded cultured. Calliope peered at Reeve. “Your voice sounds familiar. I know you.” She looked thoughtful, then said, “Captain Reeve. You’re the commander of the Gallant Foe.” “Not any more, I’m afraid.” The real Calliope should know that, but it was natural enough to refer to the command in which he’d become notorious. Calliope’s companion looked worried, but Calliope smiled slightly. “Oh, yes. Invalided out. But you’re still master of a ship?” “At your service, ma’am. We decided that we couldn’t leave you to rot. We haven’t forgotten, even if we’re civilians now.” She nodded at her companion. “He’s as good as we’re going to get, Frampton. I watched him spacewalk to the airlock from a shuttle, and walk through the ship, and I recognise him. Going with him is better than trying to hold this ship.” “Even if you trust him, we still have to get off this ship alive.” Frampton looked Reeve up and down. “And I suppose you won’t be any happier than she was about me making sure the crew aren’t in a position to stop us.”

Ruthless little bastard. “No, thank you. Heroic rescues are one thing; piracy is quite another.” He remembered the yelp of pain he’d heard over the radio. “And stop doing whatever it was you were doing to them.” He watched Frampton closely. There was a hard set to the man’s mouth, and a haunted look in his eyes. Frampton stared back at Reeve for a few seconds, then dropped his gaze, and did something to the controls he was handling. Reeve switched on the channel that linked him to the prison ship’s flight deck. “Are you all right?” “Yes, thank you.” The man sounded relieved. “Can we handle the ship yet?” “Warn them that the controls are still electrified,” Frampton said.

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How the hell had he managed that? Reeve passed on the warning, then said, “You’ll have to restore control to them once we’ve left the ship.” “Must I?” “Yes,” Calliope said. Frampton glanced at her, then shrugged. “As you like,” he said indifferently. Calliope asked, “So, how are we getting out?” He held the tracers out to her. “Teleport. Direct to the brig for you two, I’m afraid. We can’t take the chance that you’re not who you appear to be.” “Or that I am but I’ve broken.” She took the tracers from him and tried to hand one to Frampton, who stared at it as if it were a scorpion she held in the palm of her hand. Reeve could understand the man’s suspicion, but had no time to soothe his fears. “You can take that and come with us, or you can stay here. You’ll be swapping one prison cell for another in the short term, but if you stay here, you know you’ll be on a prison colony planet at the end of the trip.” “And if I go with you?” The man was a criminal, after all. It might be merely a change of gaol for him. “I can’t make any promises. It depends on what you did to be on this ship. But at worst, our prisons are probably more comfortable than the planet you were being sent to.” Frampton actually smiled at that. “True enough.” He took the tracer from Calliope, then said, “I suppose you’d like me to put this ship back to rights. I can put a time delay on.” “Five minutes.” Frampton’s hands danced over the controls. Reeve watched, fascinated. Frampton clearly knew exactly what he was doing. “Was your crime computer fraud, by any chance?” “Something of the sort, yes.” Frampton smiled briefly again. “Although my real crime was being capable of it. And almost getting away with it.” He stepped back from the control panel. “I’ve given it five minutes. The crew will have their ship back. In one piece, and

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almost fully functional.” He gave Reeve a sardonic look. “I assume that you don’t want the shield restored. They’re unlikely to be hit by debris in the time it will take them to restore it themselves.” So that was why the shield had dropped so quickly and conveniently. “No, but I’d better warn them as soon as we’re clear.” Calliope said, “Don’t worry -- I think they’re already aware that Frampton’s been into the defensive systems. The swearing was quite impressive.” “Shall we go?” Frampton asked. “Of course. Jantis, bring us over.” The view shimmered and reformed into his teleport room. “And someone bring the shuttle back on remote, thanks. Andra, I want you to check them over. Calliope first, but I think the man’s been tortured as well. Check for evidence -we’ll need it if the Protectorate kicks up a fuss about him.” “Not just a common criminal, then?” Jantis asked. Jantis would have been watching the link, but it wasn’t the same as being there. Reeve thought about what Frampton had said, the impression he’d formed of the man. “A criminal, but one whose crime could have political ramifications. Computer fraud, he said, and that he’s being punished for nearly getting away with it. I don’t think it was just money he was after.” Jantis stared into space. “If he was trying to get himself a ticket out of Protectorate space, that would make it political. They don’t like their educated classes opting out.” “No. It looks bad if people would prefer to take their brains elsewhere.” Jantis nodded. “We’d better handle this one carefully.”

***** Andra’s medical report made unpleasant but reassuring reading. Both of their new pieces of cargo had been tortured, although not in the time they’d been on the prison

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transport; and both still had traces of the longer-lasting interrogation drugs in their systems. Calliope’s DNA was correct. There were no physical tracers, weapons, or other implants. “If they’ve been planted, it’s a very thorough cover job,” Andra said. “And they’ve both got recent bruises, consistent with being beaten by guards or other prisoners on the transport. Calliope says their mindscanning is getting better, although it’s still possible to hold out against it. Hence the torture. The man won’t discuss it, but I think he was scanned, too. Unsuccessfully.” “They’ll still have to be tested when we deliver them,” Reeve acknowledged. There was only so much they could do here. “But I might as well start their debriefing. If nothing else, HQ will want to know who Frampton claims to be so that they can start checking his background.” Andra looked worried. “They’re both malnourished. Make sure he eats something before you start questioning him.” “I’ll see him now, and take a tray of food with me.” He decided on a light soup as being suitable. No need for sharp cutlery, and less likely to upset Frampton’s stomach. Frampton took one look at the second spoon provided, and said, “There seems little point. You would have already taken the antidote.” “It seemed worth it if it would reassure you,” Reeve said peaceably. “But you do need to eat something. Andra said you were half-starved.” Frampton looked half-starved, now that Reeve looked at him properly. “We haven’t eaten for several days. The food and water on the prison ship were drugged,” Frampton said. “Docility, inability to think, to make plans.” He started eating the soup, carefully, as if forcing himself to go slowly. “You’re thirsty? I can get you water, or rehydration fluid.” Frampton shook his head, then winced. “We rigged a still. The guards thought it was to make alcohol to sell to them, and to the other prisoners.”

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“But you were using it on the sly to purify the water.” Clever. “Didn’t get rid of all the drug, and we couldn’t produce quite enough. But it helped a lot.” “You knew we were coming.” “No. But Calliope said that someone might, and that we should be prepared to take out the guards.” Frampton wasn’t letting talking get in the way of eating, just using it to pace himself. He stopped to take a few more spoonfuls of soup, then went on. “I thought her unduly optimistic. It seemed to me that we should help ourselves, since there were two of us with the wit to try. As it turned out, we were both right. You arrived just as we’d put ourselves in a position to make life difficult for the crew, which made it easier for you to collect us.” “Only two of you?” Reeve asked. Frampton looked disgusted. “The rest were the dregs of the criminal class. Calliope and I were put on that ship as an extra punishment.” Interesting idea, especially if it was actually true and not just Frampton’s paranoia. “You have pissed people off.” “I didn’t properly appreciate the opportunities I was offered to renounce my criminal ways. It was intended that I should have one last chance to redeem myself by throwing myself on the mercy of the court at disembarkation, and one last opportunity before that to fully grasp what the short remainder of my life would otherwise be like.” Frampton shrugged. “I assume Calliope pissed people off merely by being who she is.” “Incidentally, who are you?” Frampton set down his spoon and sighed. “Well, thank you for asking nicely. My name is Marc Frampton. I am, or was, a theoretical physicist specialising in mathematical modeling. My citizenship number is ... have you got a recorder running?” Reeve nodded.

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“My number is 893456872068. Is that enough identification for now?” Reeve was impressed with the way Frampton had rattled off the long number. It did suggest something about Protectorate citizens being required to know their number without looking it up, or at least having to give it often enough that they memorised it anyway. “The people who need to know can start making enquiries from that, although the date and location of your conviction would be useful, as well.” There was a bitter twist to Frampton’s mouth. “I don’t actually know. Almost certainly not on the planet where I was arrested, but my formal sentencing was a few days before I was put on that ship. I think.” And that said a good deal about what had happened to Frampton, if he was telling the truth. “What was your crime?” “Using my valuable talents and the priority codes of a scientist on a classified weapons project in unauthorised ways -- to whit, breaking into enough systems to get a travel permit, a visa, and a ticket out of the Protectorate.” Frampton smiled properly, not cynically, and nearly took Reeve’s breath away. “And enough money to live in the lifestyle to which I’d like to become accustomed.” He looked around at the secure cabin he’d been taken to. “This isn’t quite what I was hoping for, but it is at least a good deal more luxurious than my last few cells.” Still on guard but more relaxed now, his cynicism now gentled in wry humour, Frampton was an attractive man. Reeve found himself warming to him, criminal or not. Even the memory of Frampton’s callousness towards the other people on the transport couldn’t quite dampen it. Andra’s medical report suggested that Frampton had reason for it. “Do you need anything?” Reeve asked. “Freedom?” “Anything that I can give you at the moment.” “An explanation of your so-convenient arrival?”

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Still distrustful, then. “Calliope is something of a hero within the service. The crew of this ship just happened to hear, from friends still in the service, which Protectorate prison transport she was thought to be on, and we thought we’d take a look,” he said blandly. “This ship, which just happens to be equipped with weapons that can take out a prison transport.” Frampton pushed the soup bowl towards him. “And yes, you can get me something else. More soup.” Reeve took the bowl, not surprised that Frampton had already finished in spite of his attempt to eat slowly. He’d made it a small serving on purpose. “We wander around in some rather dubious stretches of space. It’s as well to be better armed than the local pirates.” He nodded at the bowl. “Just more soup, or would you like something else now you’ve taken the edge off?” “Can I call for something later?” Frampton asked. “You might need to wait a few minutes if it’s the middle of the night and it’s only whoever’s on watch, but yes. You’re confined for security reasons, not as a punishment.” If Frampton had really helped Calliope to escape, he was owed a debt. His stay with them would be made as comfortable as possible under the circumstances. “Just soup and some bread, then. And coffee.”

***** Frampton provided more details of his biography as he ate his second helping. He rattled off a list of his recent publications without being asked. “The ones that haven’t been classified, at least, although your security services will probably have copies of some things that were only published internally.” He ran through another list, adding, “Of course, there are others.” “Very helpful,” Reeve said, wondering how he’d chanced upon someone he’d have probably been ordered to go after if it had been known that an errant weapons scientist was

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being shipped to Perdition. Intelligence was going to have fun sorting out whether Frampton was a plant or a fortuitous coincidence. Frampton grinned at him. “I’d like your masters to properly appreciate the asset they’ve just acquired.” “At least you seem to believe I’m who I say I am.” Frampton set down his spoon, picked up a piece of bread, and stared at it. “No, I don’t, actually. I don’t know whether this has been drugged. I don’t know if this is one more attempt to break me. It’s a bit elaborate, but I did piss people off rather badly.” He ate the bread, looking around him at the secure cabin. “But once I made the choice to go with you, I closed off all my other options. I can sit in this very comfortable cell and eat your food, or I can sit here and starve. I’ve given you nothing that my gaolers didn’t already know. So long as you don’t try to get more, I may as well behave as if you’re who you say you are.” Very rational. Very cautious. Frampton was a tough little bastard, as well as a ruthless one. The only slip he’d made was mentioning the real purpose of the still, and even that might simply be an assumption that since Calliope had vouched for Reeve, whatever Calliope knew about Frampton’s activities, Reeve would soon also know. Reeve wondered what would have happened to the crew and other prisoners on the transport if he hadn’t come along when he did, and Calliope and Frampton had managed to take over the ship completely. He decided not to ask, in case Frampton told him. Frampton kept answering his questions, but had questions for him in turn. “You look healthy enough. Why were you invalided out of the service? If you were, of course, and not just transferred to undercover work.” Unpleasant memory flooded over Reeve. It wasn’t something he cared to discuss, especially not when it was public knowledge. It had to be, to explain why he and his crew had been pensioned off with the gift of an old but not disarmed warship. But of course there was no reason that Frampton would know, unless it had happened to be one of the topics

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Calliope had discussed to pass the time on the prison transport. “We made a courtesy visit to an allied planet. Announced well in advance, so the Chyree were waiting for us. I went to pay my respects to the mayor of the port, and when I went back to my ship, I wasn’t the only one inside my skull.” “What?” It was possible Frampton hadn’t heard about the aliens’ latest tactic. It had been stopped fairly quickly, in part because of his own experience. “They’ve been experimenting with mind control again. Just taking over doesn’t work -- they give themselves away. The idea was to implant the mind of one of their people into one of us, but in such a way that the original personality wasn’t aware. Just got the odd nudge now and then.” He could remember it all now, how he’d taken his senior crew, one by one ... Frampton was watching him, his face utterly impassive. But then, Frampton had had his own experience of mind-tampering. “I’m sorry,” Reeve said. “I didn’t mean to bring back bad memories for you.” “I’ve learnt to live with it,” Frampton said. He held out his hand and turned it over, displaying both sides of his wrist. “That little gadget your medic used on me was certainly effective at removing the most recent reminders. The bruises healed almost instantly.” He settled back in his chair. “Go on.” “The control broke down, long enough for us to get a warning out.” They’d fought, but Reeve’s had been the hardest fight of all. He was the first victim, so he was the only one who knew all of the names in the first wave of infection. The only wave, as it turned out. “We were taken into custody and treated; then our interrogation specialists had a fine old time crawling through our minds, checking what information had been exposed. And making sure we’d really been cleaned out.” Frampton actually shuddered at that. “And then they decided that they couldn’t be quite certain that we had been, at least not enough that we could ever be trusted in a military chain of command again. But we were heroes, because we managed

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to get ourselves into secure storage and back home with the information that the Chyree could do that.” “So they gave you a ship and a pension, and toss you the odd job that they’d rather be able to deny.” “Something like that,” Reeve agreed. “How do you deal with it? “It’s better than the alternatives.” Reeve stood up and stretched. “And we’re together. We understand, because we all went through it.” He picked up the tray with the remains of Frampton’s meal. “Call if you want anything. Food, books, someone to talk to. Oh, do you need a sleeping pill?” Frampton shook his head. “I’d prefer to be able to wake up if I have nightmares. In fact, I’d appreciate it if whoever’s monitoring me wakes me if necessary.” Frampton’s assumption that he was being monitored was mildly depressing. On the other hand, his assumption that he would be offered help if he needed it was a good sign. He must have accepted, at least on a provisional basis, that Reeve’s ship was a refuge rather than one more prison cell. Which reminded Reeve of one more question he should ask, even if it was only a formality. “Do you want to claim asylum?” “Must I do so now?” “Keeping your options open?” Frampton nodded. “Once I’ve claimed it, I have to stay. If your people don’t decide to throw me in a more comfortable gaol, I may move on.” “Selling your skills to the highest bidder?” Reeve asked. Again Frampton smiled at him, this time cynicism and genuine good humour combined. “Naturally. I paid a high price to be here. I intend to cover my costs.” “I’ll try to see you’re offered a fair deal.” And with that, Reeve left, stopping only to make certain that the door was firmly locked on Frampton. That was one prisoner/guest he

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did not want roaming the ship without supervision. A Frampton who was exactly what he claimed to be was as much of a menace as a Protectorate agent would be. The man might decide to try taking control of this ship rather than be delivered to a comfortable gaol cell. Jantis watched him without comment, then, as they walked back to the flight deck, asked, “What do you think of him?” Reeve tried to put his thoughts into order. Frampton had disturbed him, badly, although with any luck he hadn’t let it show. “I think he’s real. I don’t think he’s political, as such. Just looking for a better deal than he had at home. And I’m glad that working out what to do with him isn’t our problem.” He ran a hand through his hair, trying to relax. “He must be tough, if he stood up to interrogation, but we’ll need to keep an eye on him in case he has problems.” “Tough, or just bloody-minded,” Jantis said. “Well, there are worse ships he could be on if he needs to talk to someone about it.”

***** Frampton did have nightmares that evening. He was thrashing around on the bed by the time Reeve got to him. Reeve shook him awake, and pinned down the fist that came in his direction. Frampton blinked slowly, then relaxed. He did not apologise. “Want to talk?” Reeve asked, letting go of Frampton’s wrist. “No.” Less curtly, “Thank you for waking me.” “Want to talk about something else as a distraction?” Frampton considered it, then said, “No. I really do need to get some sleep. I’d rather take my chances on nightmares now than worse nightmares if I get even more sleepdeprived.” Reeve looked at the dark smudges under Frampton’s eyes. “Not enough food or water. Not enough sleep, either, I’ll bet. Did you and Calliope sleep in shifts?”

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“Tried to,” Frampton said, and sighed. “Needed to. Dormitory prison cells aren’t much fun if you’re small and the wrong social class.” He settled back on his pillow and closed his eyes.

And I bet you weren’t going to make it easy for them, Reeve thought, looking at Frampton. No, the man wouldn’t have had an easy time of it in prison. He wasn’t all that short, but he was short enough and a light enough build that he would have looked like easy meat for bullies. The intelligence and wry humour that Reeve found attractive would have made him a target. His upper-class manners wouldn’t have helped. And the arrogance ... Reeve finally identified what it was about Frampton that bothered him. Paranoid, aggressive -- yes, those were reasonable reactions. But the man had an icy control, and arrogance behind that, even after what he’d been through. Maybe because of what he’d been through; if he really had beaten the interrogators, he had something to be arrogant about. Or perhaps that arrogance was both what had first led him to the interrogators, and given him the strength to resist them. Frampton had a high opinion of his own talents, an opinion Reeve suspected was justified. Jantis was right. The man was just too bloody-minded to give bullies what they wanted, be they interrogators or other prisoners. Reeve found the arrogance annoying, frustrating ... and oddly appealing. Frampton as a package was oddly appealing. Not so odd on the physical side, now that he’d had a chance to clean himself up a bit. He still had the dark hollows of fatigue around his eyes, the thinness of voluntary starvation, but you could see that he’d be good-looking once he’d recovered from the rough treatment of the last few weeks. And now that he’d finally relaxed in sleep, there wasn’t the disconcerting effect of that unwavering stare he favoured. Features that managed to be delicate but quite definitely masculine. Dark eyes and hair with fair skin. Rather too much nose, but a pretty mouth to go with it. He looked rather like

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a human-sized pixie; he behaved like one, too, a changeling that didn’t quite manage to conform to the norms of human behaviour. A changeling was exactly what he was, one way or another. Perhaps a sleeper agent, planted on them. Perhaps what he said he was -- a dissident scientist, but still one from a different culture, and one who’d been through hell besides. Frampton was going to have trouble adapting to living in the Union. He twisted slightly on the bed, not yet in nightmare, but still tense. Reeve was tempted to stroke one hand down Frampton’s face, comforting him with touch, but thought better of it. His own motives weren’t pure, and Frampton’s dreaming mind might interpret it as a threat. Instead, he said quietly, “You’re safe; you’re with Calliope’s friends.” It was enough. Frampton settled down, and had no more nightmares that night.

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Part Two

Reeve was early for his appointment with his contact in Intelligence. Stupid, of course, but he wanted to know exactly what they’d risked their lives for. Not that a fake or programmed Calliope was a bad prize, if uncovered. A fake Calliope meant that the real one was still in Protectorate hands; a programmed Calliope was useful intelligence on whether the Protectorate could break their operatives. And then there was Frampton. None of them knew what to make of the man. He had been mostly polite, although his tongue could be acid when unguarded or provoked. He had been mostly co-operative, answering their questions about his work -- in general terms, at least. He’d clearly enjoyed the company of people he regarded as, if not his intellectual equals, at least worthy of his attention. And he remained utterly closed off from them, refusing to discuss any personal or emotional details at all. He wouldn’t even discuss that with Calliope, beyond the details of their joint imprisonment on the Protectorate transport ship. Perhaps Intelligence had been able to get more out of him. “Ah, Reeve. Come this way, would you?”

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Reeve hated the way the woman did that, walking up behind him. He didn’t think that it was malicious, just a general habit that many of the Intelligence people picked up, but it still unnerved him. He sighed and followed her into a private room, asking, “Well?” as soon as the door sealed behind them. “She’s the real thing, and she didn’t break,” his contact said. “She’ll be useless for months as far as her psychological state goes, and with the exposure she’s probably useless for undercover work for good.” She smiled. “But the propaganda value of getting her back is enormous. And the boost to morale within the department ...” “You’re on your own. But we’ll still come for you if we can.” It was one of the reasons his team was prepared to do odd jobs for Intelligence -- they were given odd jobs because they were expendable, but they weren’t considered expendable unless necessary. “Exactly.” “And Frampton?” “Ah.” Reeve didn’t like the sound of that “ah”. It sounded as if he was about to hear something he didn’t like. She paused, then went on. “As far as we can determine, he’s exactly who he told you he was. A weapons physicist who decided to defect, but got caught.” Her expression took on a rather wry cast. “Not political, as such. Apparently he was tired of his superiors getting the credit for his work. They thought he should be content with a good salary, while they got much bigger salaries, the conferences, and their names as first author, or only author, on his papers. He’d rather have had the credit without the money. Scientists can be funny that way. So he decided he was going to have both.”

And enough money to live in the lifestyle to which I’d like to become accustomed floated through Reeve’s memory. “Are you going to give it to him? And what’s this about ‘as far as we can determine’?”

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“He won’t consent to full interrogation. As for giving him what he wants, that’s up to you.” “What?” She handed him a folder. “This is a summary of his dossier. You can take this one with you for your crew, and you can read the full thing before you decide. He says that if we won’t let him work on classified material without a full mindscan, we can let him work with you. Your ship is already under security interdiction for being not quite trustworthy, and you will understand why he doesn’t want to be scanned.” She smiled gently at him. “Quote, ‘Since their original science officer had the good taste not to get taken over by aliens, they could undoubtedly use a new one on their current ship. It’s not quite my thing, but it’s better than nothing.’” “The arrogant little bastard!” “Yes. But the man’s brilliant, and we don’t want to waste him. He won’t consent to a mindscan, which we quite understand from what we have managed to get out of him about the way he was interrogated after he was caught. And he’s right about your ship being the most suitable place for him under the circumstances.” She tapped the folder he held. “But read that, and make up your own mind. We’re not going to insist you take him, because we can’t guarantee he’s clean. And he’s a hard bastard. I don’t entirely trust him, quite apart from whether he’s a plant.” Reeve sat down at the table and opened the folder. “I felt the same way about him. Why are you taking so much trouble over him?” His contact sat down across the table from him, leaned her chin on her folded hands, and looked at him thoughtfully. “The details he gave you check out. We had the papers he mentioned analysed, and he’s probably telling the truth about being the author on some that don’t even have his name on them. Frankly, if he’s who he says he is, and we can give him security clearance, he’ll be worth the effort.”

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Reeve skimmed through the first page of the dossier. The gist of it seemed to be that he’d accidentally bagged one of the Protectorate’s weapons scientists, which he already knew. “I’m surprised they didn’t just quietly shoot him, rather than dumping him on a prison planet.” “Last-ditch attempt at making him talk. He got around security procedures that were supposed to be unbreakable ...” “No such thing.” As she should know, in her job. “Still, they wanted to know how. We’d quite like to, as well.” “But?” There was very definitely a ‘but’ in this conversation. “He won’t consent to a mindscan,” she said. “After the hell he went through resisting it, he’s probably incapable of submitting to it even if he was willing to try. But if he spends a few months with your crew, he might heal enough that he can drop his barriers.” She shook her head. “He’s never going to be normal, but he was probably never that normal to start with.” “So you’d like us to babysit your mad scientist while he gets back to a normal level of insanity. Thanks.” She stared at him now, the steady gaze reminding him uncomfortably of Frampton. “He’ll do better with your people than anyone else. And he’ll be useful to you.” He’d talk it over with the crew. But he knew what the decision would probably be. They did need a science officer. Someone who had the computer skills to almost get away with the stunt Frampton had pulled would be useful on some of their little jobs. And the willingness to put up with weirdness went both ways -- Frampton would understand them. “We’ll have to think about it.” “Good.” She tapped a control on her wristband, and a section of the tabletop slid away in front of Reeve, giving him access to a monitor. “Take as long as you want to read his dossier. You can’t take the full version with you -- there’s no point in hiding who he is and

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that we’ve got him, since you lifted him right off a Protectorate prison ship, but what he has told us about his work is need-to-know.” She stood up, then said, “Call me when you’ve finished,” before leaving the room. Reeve settled down to learn as much as he could about his latest odd job.

***** Frampton was waiting for him the next time he visited the Intelligence offices. Frampton looked a lot healthier, both physically and emotionally. He was good-looking, although still looking rather more like a pixie than classically handsome. A couple of weeks of being Intelligence’s current object of reasonably benign interest had obviously done wonders for his state of mind, although Reeve thought there was still likely to be need of a nightmare watch. “Thank you for agreeing to be my minder,” Frampton said, handing a small duffel sack to Reeve. “And your porter?” Reeve hefted the duffel over his shoulder. “Even the few belongings I currently possess are a little too heavy for me to manage,” Frampton said. “It will take another few days, or so the medic said, before I’ve recovered my full strength. At least they’ve given me a change of clothes.” “I promised you a comfortable cell.” Frampton grinned rather cynically. “You weren’t expecting to be my long-term keeper, though. How much are they paying you to make sure I don’t either run away or slit my wrists?” “Not nearly enough, I suspect,” Reeve grumbled. “I’m sure they didn’t put it to you in those terms.” “No, but it was clear what they meant. ‘They’ll bring you back when you’ve had a few months to rest and recover; you might find counseling of more help then.’”

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He stopped walking and gave Frampton a good looking-over. “You don’t agree.” There was just the faintest flicker of that haunted look in Frampton’s eyes before the mask came down. “I think they’re unduly optimistic. About my being able to allow them into my mind.” “Not about the wrist-slitting, though.” He repeated what Jantis had said at the crew meeting. “You wouldn’t give the bastards who tortured you the satisfaction.” The grin was savage this time. “If I can’t kill them myself, I can at least try to outlive them.” Well, there were better motives to keep living, but that one would do for now. Since Frampton seemed reasonably stable, it was time to get a few things straight. “You understand that we’re a working ship? We won’t be just babysitting you; we’ll be doing our normal work. It can be dangerous, and you’ll have to obey orders.” His guess from what he’d read was that obeying orders would be Frampton’s problem, not the danger. Frampton shrugged. “I’m used to dangerous work. And I can obey sensible orders.” Lovely. The one saving grace was that Frampton’s previous work must have taught him that rules and regs could have a real purpose. He’d have probably managed to kill himself in his own experiments by now if he hadn’t learnt that. “You’re on probation. We’ll try to help you fit in, but if it doesn’t work, you’ll be right back here with Intelligence’s psychiatrists cooing over you. I know they mean well, but ...” “... but you know only too well what they’re like.” “And I have the authority to restrain you by whatever means I deem necessary, up to and including tossing you in the freezer.” “Consider me duly warned.” Reeve had the uneasy feeling that the possibility had already been factored into Frampton’s plans.

*****

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Frampton was polite to everyone, said thank you nicely for being rescued and then offered a home, and spent the rest of the day acquainting himself with as much of the ship as Reeve would allow him access to. Reeve took him to his quarters at the end of the day, saying, “If you need anything, ask.” “Anything?” Frampton asked, raising an eyebrow. “Within reason.” Which was as good a time as any to bring up a particular topic. “We’re ex-military, so we have certain habits of thought about chain of command, but we’re civilian now. If you want sex, it’s all right to ask. Politely.” And just to make it clear, “It’s also all right to say no.” Frampton looked away from him and said quietly, “I doubt the matter will arise.” He wasn’t surprised, after what he’d read in the dossier -- one of the reasons he’d raised the subject was to let Frampton know that he might be asked, and that he could say no without causing offence. “We do make regular R&R stops, so if you feel a professional might help, there’s ample opportunity. But you’ll have a minder the first time or two.” “That could be rather off-putting for some,” Frampton murmured. He risked putting a hand on Frampton’s shoulder. “Sorry. But under the circumstances ...” “It’s not unreasonable. I’m not just cargo that might try to escape; I’m in a strange environment, and I could get into trouble without meaning to.” Frampton stared into the distance. “It’s better than the alternatives.” Very warily, Reeve put his arms around Frampton, ready to let go instantly if he reacted badly. “If you just need someone to hold you -- that’s available as well. It helps, sometimes.” Frampton held still for a few seconds, then pulled away. “I appreciate the gesture. But ... it’s too much. Now.”

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“It will get better. There will come a time when it’s not always at the front of your mind.” Frampton looked up at him. “That’s why I wanted to be here. You people don’t try to pretend it didn’t happen, and you don’t insist it would be good for me to talk. You know.” Which seemed a good point for Reeve to leave. He stopped long enough only to say, “You’ll be watched tonight in case you have nightmares.” Only one, as it happened, and that easily dealt with. Frampton was definitely improving.

***** Frampton was capable of giving his own gestures of comfort. He never said anything; he refused point-blank to discuss his experiences or his feelings -- but Reeve had seen him put his hand on Andra’s shoulder when Andra had a flashback. Not saying anything, and letting go as soon as Andra had recovered her poise, but offering silent comfort that didn’t intrude. The others reported similar experiences. They all agreed that he was an arrogant little bastard. He made no secret of his belief in his own superior intellect. It was annoying, but it would have been even more annoying if it hadn’t been obvious he was right. Once he’d settled in, he was often appallingly rude, and could be utterly scathing about what he saw as the shortcomings of others. It was forgiven because he was also quite willing to teach anyone who asked, without being in any way condescending. As for the general insubordination, they’d had dealings with civilian specialists before. At least Frampton paid attention to such trivial details as safety. After the first month, there was no suggestion that he be dumped back in Intelligence’s lap. He was one of them.

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Part Three

Reeve slid along the wall, careful to keep out of sight. He had no wish to try and explain himself to Frampton, why he was following Frampton during what was supposed to be an R&R break for the crew. Frampton was touchy about accepting Reeve’s command, unwilling to concede Reeve’s right to do anything more than suggest things he might work on. Reeve normally tolerated the insubordination, remembering what had driven Frampton onto his ship in the first place. But Frampton had headed not for the bright lights and high prices of the port Strip, but the darker alleyways. Reeve didn’t like the idea. Frampton had an inflated opinion of his ability to deal with trouble. Yes, he was good with a gun, and not at all reluctant to use it when necessary; and his hard work at the self-defence moves Andra had taught him made up for his smaller size. But not against a group, especially a group who knew about the price the Protectorate had placed on Frampton’s head. Best to follow him, make sure the arrogant little bastard didn’t bring the rats down on himself. At least Frampton seemed to have found his destination, only a street or two into the maze. This area wasn’t completely without the protection of the Strip police. The main Strip itself was well policed; the Sgangra authorities ensured that their visitors were fleeced

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honestly. They didn’t want free-spending spacers scared away. The protection grew thinner the further out one ventured, but here should be reasonably safe. Reeve watched Frampton pass through the door, then waited another minute or two to make it at least possible, if not plausible, that he’d come here by coincidence. Then he approached the door himself. It was a pub, somewhat seedy but not too grim-looking. Well, he might as well buy himself a pint now he was here. If it looked as if Frampton would be safe, he could have one pint just for luck and then go find his own pleasures. The bar area was nearly empty. Reeve ordered his pint, took a pull. Not bad at all. Worth coming in here for, in fact. He looked around. No sign of Frampton. The gents? He waited a few minutes, enjoying his beer. Still no sign of Frampton. Well, it might be worth asking the barman. “Excuse me, has anyone else come in in the last fifteen minutes or so?” “Such as?” “I was supposed to meet a friend here. He’s normally very punctual. About so high --” He indicated with his free hand. “-- dark hair, slim build, long nose but nice-looking anyway, upper-class clothing and looks -- and attitude. Although he’d probably have been civil to you.” Frampton was generally polite to strangers, for the first five minutes at least. The barman grinned. “He wasn’t civil to the big lad who bumped into him and nearly spilled his beer. Know a lot of long but rude words, your friend?” “That’s him,” Reeve groaned. “Left without me, has he?” “No, just gone straight through.” The barman nodded towards a door at the rear of the room. “Didn’t he tell you we run an outer room? The police don’t want us scaring anyone who wanders in by accident.”

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Reeve scrabbled for something inconspicuous to say. This pub was obviously more than it seemed -- but what? “I shouldn’t have thought that was a problem on the Strip. From what I’ve seen, anything goes.” The barman laughed. “It does, and space crew know well enough what to expect; but we get the occasional tourist wandering this far, and some of them are easily shocked.” “So why not put a sign on the door?” Reeve finished his beer, put the glass on the bar. “Another?” Reeve nodded. “We cater to the real trade.” The barman pulled another pint, a performance by a master of his craft. “Not the thrillseekers off the pleasure cruisers. They want to watch someone else do it, they can go pay in the theatres.” His lip curled in contempt. So whatever was going on, it wasn’t normal Strip trade. This pub really was a pub, just with a particular clientele. But what clientele? “So you use an outer bar?” The barman handed over his beer, accepted coins in return. “Why not? Strangers choosing a pub at random because they want a decent drink or a bar meal generally stay in the main lounge, and it’s easy enough to warn the odd one who does decide to go into the back lounge. If they still go through, and they don’t like what they find, well, that’s their problem.” The man shrugged dismissively and went on. “Some of them do like it.” “I suppose I’d better go and see for myself, since the little brat’s started without me.” He raised his glass. “Good beer.” The barman grinned. “I told you, we’re a pub, not a theatre with a so-called free show and fancily priced drinks.” Reeve went over to the door the man had indicated, pushed through to find himself in a short corridor. Another door, and he was into the back lounge, surrounded by a buzz of conversation. It was a leather pub.

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The scene itself didn’t shock him; he’d seen such before, even if it wasn’t an interest of his. Surrounded by happy D/s practitioners was far from the oddest situation he’d found himself in while talking to intelligence contacts. What shocked him was that Frampton had sought this place out, and not on business. The cold, controlled scientist hardly seemed the type. And yet ... Frampton had shed his usual style of outfit for this expedition, swapped the senior management garb for a leather suit. Nothing kinky about it, but the change was still unusual. Where was Frampton, anyway? Reeve found an inconspicuous spot by the wall where he could scan the crowded room. It was early; most people were still just drinking and chatting, eyeing up prospective partners or simply enjoying congenial company. A few had already got down to business. The group nearest him were playing with some new toys, to judge by what he could hear of the conversation, laughing at one of their number who’d bitten off more than he could chew. Someone was sprawled over the bar, waiting for someone else to take an interest in her exposed backside, which seemed rather unhygienic. Reeve was glad to see that the barman agreed, insisting that the woman remove herself and then cleaning the bar surface. He couldn’t hear the conversation over the noise, but the barman pointed to the far end of the room. Ah, that was why. There were beer barrels on pedestals over there -- empty, presumably -- of just the right size and height to be used by someone wishing to offer themselves for use by anyone who cared to take them. Twee, in Reeve’s opinion, but still, it was a pub. One was already in use, as was the person who occupied it. Very in use, a man at each end. He’d found Frampton.

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He tried not to stare as he checked for signs of force. No, Frampton appeared to be there of his own free will, nothing tying him down, the two men enjoying him holding him in position but no more than that. Frampton had his hands around the thighs of the man at his mouth, pulling him closer or using him for balance; it wasn’t clear which. It was clear that he was enjoying himself, eyes closed as he gulped cock. Reeve was hard instantly. He took a mouthful of beer to give himself time to think. This wasn’t a good place to stand; Frampton might see him if he opened his eyes. Not that that seemed likely until he’d finished servicing at least one of his newfound partners, but still ... Reeve shuffled along the wall, bringing him closer to Frampton but taking him a little behind, out of Frampton’s likely field of view. He stopped when he reached a couple of men who were propping up the wall while they commented in low tones about the performance. He joined them, trying to listen unobtrusively, distracted by the sight in front of him. Frampton sprawled over a beer barrel, black leather trousers pulled down to expose his arse, taking it in both ends at once. “You’ll have to wait your turn, mate; we were in line first,” one of his fellow voyeurs said cheerfully. “Huh?” was the most intelligent reply he could think of. “Don’t worry, I don’t think he’s going to run out of stamina before it gets to your turn. Not the rate he’s been going.” Oh. Stupid of him. He’d seen something like this before, had it explained to him by the man he’d gone to meet, who had seemed to have more than a passing interest in what had been going on in the pub they’d met in. Frampton was making himself available to anyone and everyone who wanted him. Or any man, at least, judging by what he seemed to be after. “Set time, or until he runs out of energy?” he asked, more out of morbid curiosity than anything else. That, and trying to assimilate the fact that it was Frampton he was talking about.

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The other man joined the conversation. “Marched in about fifteen, twenty minutes ago, announced that he had no idea when he’d be hauled back to his ship on some so-called emergency, and intended to get as much cock as possible before he was. Plenty of people were happy to oblige him.” “Pretty little thing like that?” the first man said, and chuckled. “Of course they were, even if he didn’t want anything else. Oh, looks like my turn.” Reeve turned his attention back to Frampton. The man at his rear had finished, was stepping away, his cock limp. He slapped Frampton lightly across the backside. “Next!” Reeve’s erstwhile conversation partner went over, shoved himself in. Not before Reeve had a good view of a trim white arse perfectly presented, hole invitingly on display, a hint of balls dangling beneath. Only a hint, because the trousers pulled down around Frampton’s thighs held his legs together quite nicely. Come trickling out, down over his balls, down his legs. Meat for the taking. Reeve burned for it. His companion nudged him with an elbow. “Any preference for which end? I’ll wait if you want his mouth.” He shouldn’t want either end, but he did. And he was going to have to go through with it -- after the interest he’d shown already, it would look odd if he turned, walked away. Or so his cock said. “No, you go first.” After all, he could leave while this man was otherwise occupied. That would be the decent thing to do. He’d followed Frampton here without Frampton’s knowledge; he had no right to do this thing even if Frampton was looking for anonymous sex. Because Frampton was looking for anonymous sex. “As you like.” The man drained his glass, set it down on a nearby table. “Myself, I’d like a little time with him in one of the private rooms, but that wasn’t what he wanted. Pity -- I wouldn’t mind having him as my personal property.”

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Neither would Reeve, but that seemed a most unlikely prospect. His new acquaintance went on, “If he’s not willing to be tied, I think I’d prefer his mouth anyway. Gives a man a nice feeling of submission, that does.” Reeve tried not to choke on his beer at the idea of Frampton trussed and willingly submissive. By the time he’d recovered, he’d been left alone. Nothing to do but watch his two recent companions using Frampton’s body, his mouth, his arse, filling him. He should walk away now, leave them to it. Instead, he walked closer, pulled by his cock, fascinated by the sight. Then closer still, as the man at the rear stiffened, cried out in triumph. A few seconds more, and Frampton was exposed to him, vulnerable, needy, wanting cock up his arse and not caring who it belonged to as long as he got it. Reeve undid his trousers, quite willing to oblige. Cock out, and straight in, ramming it deep. Frampton was hot, tight around him, even after however many men it had been. Slippery with come, communal property. He was far from the first to take Frampton tonight, and the idea was far more exciting than he ever would have believed. He grabbed Frampton’s hips, pounded into Frampton’s body, fascinated by the sight of the black leather clinging to the slim body, contrasting with white buttocks. Fucking Frampton, and Frampton didn’t know. Harder, harder yet, and then Frampton squeezed him and suddenly he was coming, just enough sense left not to cry his exultation aloud. He wanted to stay there, luxuriate in the feel of Frampton, but someone tapped him on the shoulder, indicated that he should move out of the way. Reluctantly he moved, paused just long enough to watch the rush of come from Frampton’s arse -- his come, mixed with others. He walked away, careful to keep out of Frampton’s line of sight. Another small queue had formed against the wall. New men, or those back for another bout? The idea was tempting. But he’d already done more than he should have, far more. Best get out of here, leave Frampton to his peculiar pleasure. He’d only been concerned about Frampton’s safety, and Frampton was clearly safe enough, here in a group of like-minded people. Time to leave.

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The barman in the front lounge called, “Did you find your friend?” “Yes, but he was far too busy to notice.” “Want me to tell him you were looking for him?” That would certainly be awkward. “No. He’d only feel guilty about it. Let him think I didn’t find the place.” “You’ll find us again next stopover?” Unlikely that they’d be stopping on this planet again, or that he’d dare follow Frampton if they did. Still ... “If only for your excellent beer.” The man had been helpful, after all, and he did serve excellent beer. “Thanks.” The barman smiled. “We brew it ourselves; we’re proud of it. Want a bottle to take with you?” A dangerous souvenir, but still ... “Yes, thanks.”

***** He had plenty to think about, as he sat in his cabin, drinking the beer. What had come over him, that he had abused Frampton like that? Yes, the man had been looking for sex with anyone who would give it to him, but he hadn’t invited any of his crewmates along. What Frampton didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, and Reeve was determined to let no hint of his own knowledge escape, but it was still ... unethical. And even now, he was tempted by the memory, could see Frampton sprawled in front of him, available, inviting. He should have stayed down there, taken his second turn. Having done it once, he’d do no further harm by doing it twice. Only the extra risk of Frampton realising ... It was no good; he’d have to masturbate before he got any peace tonight. He freed his cock and took a firm grip, thought about how it might have felt to have taken up that offer, taken Frampton’s mouth. That gorgeous mouth on him, frantic with need. Licking him,

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sucking him, tongue running around the head, and all the while he’d have had a good view of the man fucking Frampton’s arse, the cock sliding in and out ... Coming was good, but not as good as the first time today. He wanted to be in Frampton. He couldn’t have what he wanted. He didn’t understand why he wanted it, or at least why he wanted it that way. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t occasionally daydreamed about Frampton; about taking him and fucking him so thoroughly that the mocking tongue would be silenced for, oh, all of an hour or two; about making love to him and driving away whatever hurt it was that underlay the determination not to get emotionally involved with people. Daydreams, just daydreams, as he had daydreamed from time to time about the other crew members. Never this rush of desire to use Frampton. He’d been shocked by Frampton’s idea of recreation, but what did it say about him that he’d joined in? That was the most disturbing aspect of the whole business, that it had shown him a side of himself he hadn’t known existed. He stood and cleaned himself up, then tossed the bottle in the waste disposal. Better not leave that lying about the cabin; Frampton might just recognise it. And was Frampton back yet? After all, he’d followed Frampton out of concern for his safety. It might be as well to check on him.

***** Gage was still on teleport duty, reading a book. The first rotation obviously weren’t all back. Who was still missing, and why? “Some of them still down there then?” Better than a direct question. Gage looked up at him. “Mel and Andra. Jantis has been back a while; Frampton came back a few minutes ago.” “Don’t let them keep you waiting too long.” He turned down the corridor to the cabin area. Back to his cabin? No, stop at Frampton’s on the way, just to check that he was safe. He had a bad habit of refusing to admit to problems.

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As was obviously the case when Frampton snarled “Yes?” to his call. He went into Frampton’s cabin. “Just wanted to check you got back safely.” “Why shouldn’t I have?” “I saw you wander off the main strip. At least the Strip places are licensed and unlikely to give you anything worse than a hangover.” “You needn’t nursemaid me, Reeve. I am not Mel, to broadcast the unpleasant aftereffects of my indiscretions in an attempt to get sympathy.” “No, you’re Frampton, who wouldn’t admit to it if he was dying. Why, have you committed any indiscretions?” That was a safe enough joke, which allowed Frampton to confess all if he wanted to, without really prying. “As a matter of fact, yes.” Frampton winced slightly. “If you insist on looking after my welfare, you may fetch me a bruise pad from the medical unit.” A bruise pad? Just overindulgence, or had someone been rougher than Frampton had wanted? Had someone hurt him? “Now, Reeve. If you please.” He went.

Frampton accepted the pad from him. “Need any help?” “No, thank you, Reeve. That will be all.” “You aren’t going to tell me about it?” To Reeve’s surprise, Frampton looked as if he was considering it. Then he shook his head. “No. Thank you for your help, but I would rather be alone.” No snideness there, just a genuine, and polite, request to be left to himself. Reeve put a hand on Frampton’s shoulder. “All right. Call me if you do need anything.”

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“Reeve ...” He waited, watched Frampton’s expression flicker from one thing to another, and hoped that this might be a moment when Frampton would admit that he did need something from the rest of them. Then Frampton turned away from him. “... nothing. Thank you, Reeve. Good night.” He obeyed the dismissal, sadly certain that there’d be no more out of Frampton tonight.

***** Whatever it was that Frampton had done, or had had done to him, he was over it by the morning. Life went on as normal. The arguments went on as normal. The subtle, growing friendship went on as normal. And sometimes Reeve looked at Frampton, and remembered, and felt the burning in his groin.

***** A month later, and the chance for another recreational break. This planet wasn’t so well regulated as Sgangra, and Reeve was wary of Frampton’s sudden disappearance shortly after their party had left the first pub. All right, so there had been no agreement to stick together, but Frampton might at least have let them know where he was going. Reeve had an unpleasant feeling he knew why Frampton hadn’t. He scanned the area, fast, and just spotted in time what looked like Frampton disappearing into a side street well behind them. The same story as last time, a pub in the back streets, and Frampton obviously had some pre-knowledge. Asked in the first pub? It didn’t really matter; he was obviously heading for a specific destination, and there was a very likely reason. Follow him in, and risk giving in to temptation, or leave him to it, and risk him coming back battered, or even not at all? This one had a backroom, but the action started in the front. At least Frampton had stayed in the front -- god knew what was going on in the back. Same old thing with

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Frampton, he was shoving his trousers down when Reeve spotted him, and then he was over a table. It didn’t look as comfortable as the barrels had, too wide for comfort and not quite the right height, at least for Frampton. That didn’t stop the interest the other men in the pub were taking in him. At least Reeve wouldn’t look out of place, sitting here with his tongue hanging out; he was no different from most of the men in the room. A beer, to pass the time, but this one wasn’t as good as the last. Not bad, but not as good. The show was every bit as good as he remembered it. Two men in Frampton within seconds of him lying on the table. The one at the rear was massaging Frampton’s rump with his hands to start with, then forgot as his pace quickened. One hard thrust, and it was done, the next man stepping up to take his place. There was action elsewhere in the bar, but Reeve had eyes for nothing but the scene in front of him. Now the man in Frampton’s mouth had finished, another man waiting to take his turn. The first drifted away into the crowd, saying something Reeve couldn’t hear. More men started to wander over to see what was going on. Reeve looked around, realised that the clientele in this pub looked less pleasant than the last. The difference was subtle, but this time he didn’t feel he’d be leaving Frampton in complete safety should he go. The slight unease encouraged him to pay attention to his surroundings as well as to Frampton, and as he watched, several men came, and went. Frampton was still taking them on, and didn’t appear to have come yet. If he had, he’d been subtle about it. The thought stirred Reeve again. What would it be like to be the one to make Frampton come? He left his empty glass on the table, went to join the queue. Watched as the two men in front of him took their turn, was grateful that it was Frampton’s arse that was available when his turn came. No having to make a choice between risking Frampton looking up at his face, or causing a stir by hanging back.

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He wanted to grope for Frampton’s cock and balls, try for that orgasm, but the thought was driven out as he drove into Frampton. Hot, tight, slippery, clasping him so snugly. Just as good as the first time, and hadn’t he been a fool to walk away from a second go? It was only after he came that he remembered his good intentions, the need to watch Frampton’s back. But then, he’d been watching Frampton’s back, from a wonderful vantage position, and nobody was going to hurt Frampton while he was here. He’d break the neck of anyone who tried. Back to the bar for a refill, and into a dark corner where he could fade into the shadows. Where he could watch Frampton, watch over him. Think about what he’d felt tonight. This was a strange sort of possessiveness, quite willing to share Frampton’s body with others, quite willing to break any finger laid on Frampton with Frampton unwilling. He watched, and waited, and was considering a second go when there was a scuffle. As far as he could make out, Frampton had reached his limit, and the next man up wasn’t willing to accept it. Reeve raised his glass in front of his face, a shield should Frampton look his way. A weapon if he needed one, a typical bar brawl weapon that wouldn’t attract the attention his handgun would. But the scuffle ended with the barman pulling the man away and shouting at him, loud enough for Reeve to make out the gist of it. It seemed to be something about if the man thought it acceptable behaviour to delay someone’s return to his ship, they’d just hold him there until after his leave was done, and see how well he explained matters to his captain. That explained why Frampton was willing to risk it. A pub catering to space crew, rough enough some of them, but with a firm understanding that fantasy had to give way to the realities of a man’s work. Reeve felt a little happier about Frampton’s choice of venue. And Frampton had gone, slipped out while everyone’s attention was drawn by the explanation of what was deemed acceptable behaviour in this pub. Reeve considered it the right time to leave.

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***** Reeve brooded in his cabin. What he was doing was wrong, but it would also be wrong to leave Frampton to his own devices. That scene tonight could have ended very differently, had Frampton chosen unwisely in where he’d gone. What was he to do? He’d be burdened with guilt either way. Follow Frampton, when now he knew damn well he couldn’t resist taking what was on offer. Let him go alone, and perhaps have someone else follow him out of the pub. It would be so much simpler if he could just stop shore leave. In hindsight, it might have been better if he’d confronted Frampton immediately, the first time. And all that would have achieved would have been defiance, and maybe, just maybe, hatred. He was trapped, no right answer, no easy way out. And still he couldn’t wish that he’d never followed Frampton the first time. If Frampton had misjudged it, had never come back ... He was crushing his hands around the arms of his chair. He let go, with an effort. No, leaving Frampton to his own devices was not an option.

***** They were fast coming up on Helsa, and Reeve was fast coming up on the need to make a decision. He couldn’t hold the crew back from shore leave; it wasn’t fair on the others, and it wouldn’t do much for their fighting fitness. What was he to do about Frampton? It was his job to return Frampton to Intelligence sooner or later -- preferably sooner and preferably in a healthier state of mind than when he’d arrived. Frampton was also his friend, or so he hoped. Someone Reeve cared about on a personal level. Reeve wasn’t willing to let him walk into danger alone. The only thing he could do was make sure he was in the same group as Frampton, watch and wait. And follow, when Frampton quietly wandered off by himself.

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At least Frampton was following his previous practice, sticking to one of the pubs in the area surrounding the docks. Rough, maybe, but at least catering to transients who didn’t know the local rules. There was that small measure of reassurance to it. He could only hope that the local authorities viewed the docks as a resource to be protected and not a nuisance to be exploited. This one was more along the lines of the place on ... where was it, Sgangra? Clean, well kept, and so were the clientele. He was no longer certain whether that was a good or bad sign, realising now just how little he knew about these places. He’d been in them a few times, but had never paid attention before to anything other than the need to watch for spies and politely fend off the occasional offer. Something he should keep in mind; he should certainly be doing the first and might need to do the second. Thoughts about self-defence went out of his mind as soon as he spotted Frampton. A beer barrel again, although this one any old how rather than neatly lined up as a deliberate piece of furniture. More of the pale skin exposed this time; someone had shoved Frampton’s jacket and shirt up his body, showing his waist and lower ribs. Pinned to the barrel by the man up him, thrusting into him. Reeve wondered whimsically if the barrel was sanded down, or did the people who used it like the idea of splinters in a tender part of their anatomy? Perhaps it was just worn smooth with use. The idea broke his fascination, and he remembered the need for caution. A quiet corner in the shadows again, a pint mug to hide his face if necessary. Watching Frampton being fucked, but not allowing himself to get drawn in this time. Watching the audience. The line finally died down, only one person left. If he wanted it, now was his chance. Most of the crowd had turned their attention elsewhere, to a small group on the other side of the room who were doing a demonstration of some equipment they were pushing. If they weren’t watching Frampton, he needn’t watch them. Waiting for his turn, he realised the problem in that; if nobody came to join the queue, he would be last. Frampton was likely to look around, to check if there was anyone else.

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Well, perhaps it was time to face the inevitable. He unzipped his trousers, took his place in front of Frampton’s head. Frampton never looked up, not caring who it was, only that there was another cock available to feed his hunger. His mouth closed around Reeve. Wet heat. Hard sucking. Frampton. He shoved without even meaning to, and Frampton took it, choking slightly. Reeve came to his senses, pulled back, and Frampton grabbed his hips, tried to pull him closer. He couldn’t help it; he was thrusting, too hard, but Frampton didn’t seem to mind. His conscience gave up, and he sank into the pleasure of Frampton on his cock, watching what he could see of it as it moved in and out, then focusing his attention on the man in Frampton’s arse, thrusting against pert white buttocks. Hands on Frampton’s shoulders, the feel of leather against his skin, warmed by Frampton’s body heat. Frampton sucked hard, and he was gone. Frampton swallowed most of it, some dribbling on the floor. Kept Reeve’s cock in his mouth, apparently waiting for Reeve to make the decision that he was done. Reeve waited for the man at the rear to finish and pull out. Then he withdrew his own cock, stepped back a pace. “Time to go home, Frampton.” Frampton threw his head up, stared at Reeve. His face was chalk-white, eyes huge and dark in contrast. He made no move to get up. Reeve put a hand under Frampton’s shoulder, tugged. “You’ve had enough for one night.” Someone shoved him. “Leave him alone.” He turned to face his attacker. Big, heavily built, clad in leather. Reeve could probably take him, but it would mean a fight, something he’d rather avoid. Better to try appealing to common sense, hope that this place operated under the etiquette that dictated that a man not

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be held any longer than he wanted. “He’s due back at the ship. You want him to get into trouble?” A lie, of sorts; Frampton wasn’t expected back just yet. Would Frampton deny it? He could hardly deny knowing Reeve, not after his reaction. The man asked Frampton, “Do you want to go with him?” The expression on Frampton’s face as he stared at Reeve suggested no. But he climbed to his feet, fumbled with his trousers. Reeve glanced at Frampton’s crotch. No sign that he’d come. Not fair to interrupt Frampton’s pleasure, not fair at all. But they had to talk, and he wasn’t doing it here. He walked around to Frampton, put an arm around his shoulders. “Come on, Frampton, back to the ship and get some coffee down you.” He started walking towards the door. Frampton came quietly, making no attempt to escape. Reeve glanced at him. Still the whiteness of shock, gaze fixed on infinity. He guided Frampton out the door, into a dark street. When he was satisfied they were unobserved, he turned to face Frampton, shook him by the shoulders. “Frampton.” “Yes.” Absolutely flat intonation. Better than nothing; at least he was actually speaking now. “We need to talk. I’d rather not do it down here.” He rubbed at Frampton’s shoulders, trying to rub some warmth back into the man. “Can you face Mel?” “Mel?” “He’s on teleport duty.” “Oh. Yes.” A little life seemed to come back into Frampton’s face. Certainly nothing that would pass as normal, even for Frampton, but it would do. Reeve considered it the best he was likely to get before Frampton recovered from the shock he’d had, and dealing with Frampton once he had recovered was not going to be pleasant. He thumbed the communicator switch on his wriststrap. “Mel. Frampton and I have finished down here. Bring us up.”

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The dark street shimmered, reformed into the brightly lit teleport room, with Mel slouched behind the console. Mel looked them over. “You’re early. What’s wrong, Frampton?” Reeve answered for Frampton. “Ate something that didn’t agree with him.” Well, it was true enough. “He needs to sit somewhere quiet for a bit. Are the others back yet?” Mel shrugged. “It’s early yet. Don’t suppose you’d care to take over for a bit so I can get down there?” “No, Mel.” He steered Frampton towards the corridor. “It’s your turn on duty, and I need to see to Frampton.” He prayed that Frampton wouldn’t complain that Reeve had already seen to him that evening. Apparently Frampton was either still in shock, or had enough sense of self-preservation to make no comment. Only when they reached the door to Reeve’s quarters did he finally speak. “No.” “Yes. Or do you really think you can forget it happened?” Frampton finally looked at him. “Why did you do it?” Now that was an interesting question. He wasn’t sure he had an answer. “Do you want to discuss it in the corridor?” Frampton looked away. It seemed to be all the answer he was willing to give. Reeve hit the door control, pushed Frampton gently. Frampton came quietly, stood silently in the middle of the room as Reeve went to rummage for something to drink. There was a bottle of whisky in the cupboard; that might help Frampton’s shock. He poured two tumblers, handed one to Frampton, then sat down. “Sit down, Frampton.” The bed was the nearest seating to Frampton. He sat on it, then stood up, walked to the other chair, and sat down again, looking at the tumbler he cradled between his hands. “Why did you do it?”

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Reeve settled for the truth, or part of it, at least. “It was the only way I could be certain you couldn’t try to deny it.” Frampton looked up again, his face blank. “And what business was it of yours, that I should have the need to deny it to you?” “Your sex life is not my business. Your putting yourself in danger is.” Frampton tensed, and for a second Reeve thought he’d have to duck a flying glass. Then Frampton took a large swallow of whisky, shuddered. Not surprising, he rarely drank alcohol. “Oh, yes, of course. My life belongs to you. I may not put it in danger except at your bidding. Then it doesn’t matter what the danger is.” “That’s not fair, Frampton.” Still that cold, blank stare. “Isn’t it?” “No, it isn’t, and you know it.” He took a sip of whisky himself, letting it linger on his tongue. The only pleasure he was likely to have the rest of this night. “What if someone had taken a fancy to have more than you were offering? You could have been badly hurt! You could have been killed!” “Which would be very inconvenient for you.” He forced himself not to shout. “Do you really think that is all I care about? Yes, it would inconvenience me if you went off on shore leave and never came back. It would also bloody well hurt! You think I want to sit here wondering what had happened to you, wondering if someone hadn’t taken no for an answer?” “So I have to promise to be good and not take my pleasure when the others do.” Reeve sighed. “Take your pleasure, Frampton. Just don’t go off alone without someone to watch your back.” “And is that all they would watch?” Frampton hissed. “Or should I say, all you would watch. I take it you are nominating yourself?” “You can take one of the others, if that’s what you want.”

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“That is not what I want. It is not what you want either, is it? You wouldn’t want to share.” “But I did share, quite happily.” That brought Frampton up short. Only for a few seconds. “So you did. Enjoy it, did you?” “Of course I bloody enjoyed it. You’re an attractive man; I’m not a eunuch. Do you think I’ve never thought about what you’d be like in bed? You enjoyed it as well. You enjoyed it so much you didn’t even notice who it was.” He leaned forward. “You wouldn’t have bloody well noticed if there’d been half a dozen bounty hunters in there, all with your Protectorate wanted notice clutched in their hands.” He watched with dismal satisfaction as Frampton turned even whiter. Perhaps he was finally getting through. “Frampton, please listen to me. I don’t care what turns you on. I just want you to do it a little more safely.” Frampton closed his eyes. “So you don’t want to know why I do it, any of the sordid details?” “Of course I do. I don’t expect you to tell me, though. It isn’t any of my business.” Frampton’s eyes flew open. He stared at Reeve. “You really mean that, don’t you?” What was so surprising about that? “I’m as subject to prurient curiosity as the next man. But I’ve had too many people tramping through my mind to want to do it to someone else.” Frampton took a sip of his drink, rubbed his hand over his face. “Sometimes I forget how very odd a view of life that experience has given you. Very well, I grant that you might not be subject to the usual reaction to that sort of taste in sexuality. That still does not give you the right to control me on the pretext of some remote chance that I would be too distracted to notice that I was in danger.” “Remote chance? And what if you pick the wrong pub, and the next time someone decides you don’t have the right to call a halt, the landlord doesn’t put a stop to it?”

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There was utter silence. Then Frampton said, “How long?” “Sgangra. I saw you heading for the back streets, and I didn’t want you wandering off through there alone.” “And you said nothing.” “I hoped it was a one-off.” “And when it was obvious it wasn’t?” “What was I supposed to do?” Frampton smiled. Grimly. “As a matter of interest, what did you do?” “Failed to resist temptation.” “So why not continue to ...” Frampton looked away for a second, looked back at him. “... take advantage of the situation?” “Take advantage of you?” Frampton was silent. “Because what I was doing was wrong, but I couldn’t just sit and let you walk alone into a situation like that, wondering if I’d ever see you again.” “You seem obsessed with that.” “Frampton, I’ve been in leather pubs before. You find some very odd places to meet contacts when you do odd jobs for Intelligence. I know most such people are only interested in mutual pleasure. Most. Not all. One of the men in the queue at Sgangra -- he was talking about what he’d have liked to do to you if you’d been willing. He accepted your choice. Someone else might not.” “You stood in a queue to fuck me.” “Yes. And yes, I enjoyed fucking you. I enjoyed watching other men fuck you. You enjoyed it, until you knew it was me.” “And there’s the difficulty.”

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Talking was getting them nowhere. He set down his glass, stood, and walked over to where Frampton sat. Then he kneeled next to Frampton’s chair, put his arm around Frampton. “Is it so difficult, Frampton, to accept the idea of sex with me?” Frampton’s gaze was fixed forward. “Yes,” he whispered. “Why?” “You’ve seen what I like. Can you honestly say that you won’t carry it outside the bedroom, that you won’t think that because I like to be used in bed, I’ll accept being used in other ways?” “Have I done so since Sgangra?” Frampton turned to look at him. There was something in his eyes, some trace of emotion other than shock and potential hatred. “When you asked me if I wanted to tell you about it.” “Yes.” “You knew then.” “Yes.” “Had you ...” “Yes. Frampton, what had you been doing after I left? You’d obviously been hurt; that was what worried me enough that I followed you the next time.” “You left?” “I was finally convinced you were safe there, and I knew if I stayed I’d ... well, I didn’t think I should have seconds.” “You never said anything.” “I hoped it was a one-off.” “It wasn’t. No, Reeve, I hadn’t been doing anything in particular, other than too much of a good thing. I was safe enough there; I do have some sense when it comes to choosing

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somewhere to indulge.” He looked at Reeve sideways under his lashes. “Did it surprise you that you enjoyed it?” “Didn’t surprise me that I enjoyed fucking you. Surprised me that I enjoyed doing it in that setting.” “Thought you’d be disgusted?” “No, just didn’t realise I enjoyed that sort of thing.” He squeezed Frampton’s shoulders. “Until then, if you’d asked me, I’d have said that given the opportunity I’d have locked you up and kept you all to myself.” Frampton laughed, a strange sound after the tension. “Oddly enough, so would I.” He didn’t sound all that amused. Reeve felt an urge to hold him, stroke him, comfort him. He gave in to it, standing up, standing behind the chair, both arms around Frampton. “I’m sorry I did that to you tonight, but I didn’t know what else to do.” He bent to kiss the top of Frampton’s head. “And I’m sorry I interrupted your fun.” Frampton tilted his head up to look into Reeve’s face. “Not so sorry that you didn’t wait until you’d had yours,” he said wryly. Reeve squirmed with guilt. “As it happens, once I’d got into my stride, I don’t think I’d have noticed if there’d been a full dozen bounty hunters with wanted notices clutched in their hands. I did try once, about five seconds after I’d started, but you wouldn’t let go.” “I tend to get enthusiastic. I could have done without the shock.” “I know. I’m sorry.” “So you said. Well, I suppose it’s too late to go back down. And the mood’s been spoiled anyway.” Frampton put down his glass. “I shall have to make do with solitary pleasure this time.” He had no right to it, not after what he’d done, but his mouth went ahead anyway. “You don’t have to.”

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Frampton twisted around in the chair this time. “I have never met anyone else quite like you, Reeve. Fortunately.” Then he smiled maliciously. “Very well. I might as well get something out of the evening.” Reeve was starting to have second thoughts, but it was too late to back out. And he owed Frampton. If Frampton wanted his pound of flesh, whether as guilt or literally, then he was entitled to it. “Do you want to fuck me?” “Oh, no, Reeve. You can continue what you so rudely interrupted.” “I don’t have two cocks.” “I’ll make do.” Frampton stood, started stripping. Slowly, sensuously, teasing. First the jacket, then the silk undershirt. Staring in challenge at Reeve. Hand on fly, pausing. Reeve’s brain might think this was a bad idea, but his cock had a mind of its own. It wanted out, and then in. Frampton glanced down at it, and smiled, arrogantly, caressing his own cock through the leather of his trousers. Reeve’s cock leapt in sympathy. If this was what Frampton wanted, even if it was in revenge ... He tore at his own clothing, freeing his cock. Frampton followed suit, then bent slightly to pull his boots off, one hand on the arm of the chair for balance, the other working at the boot, all elegant lines, white skin above the waist, black leather below. Both boots off, discarded in the pool of black at Frampton’s feet. Then the trousers, peeled away so slowly, as Reeve watched entranced. Frampton wore no underwear, just the leather against his skin. Finally he stood naked, fully exposed to Reeve’s view. This, this Reeve had never seen before. Desire overrode conscience. He stripped his own clothing off, Frampton watching him all the while. Only when Reeve was nude did Frampton move, turning to walk towards the bed, swaying his hips rather more than he did normally. Reeve enjoyed the show, enjoyed watching Frampton move, the play of muscles beneath the skin. Only when Frampton had climbed onto the bed did he move to join him.

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“On your back, Frampton.” “Didn’t you notice I’m not the sentimental type?” “Yes. I also noticed you liked a lot of stimulation.” He rolled Frampton over before Frampton had a chance to realise what was happening, bent to kiss him. Frampton started to protest. Reeve held him down, kept on kissing him, thrust his tongue hard into Frampton’s mouth. The whimper of protest turned into quite a different sort of whimper, and Frampton relaxed under him. He kept it up a little longer, then satisfied that Frampton had taken his point, let go. “On your back?” Frampton stayed as he was, on his back. “You have a point.” “And it’s all for you. Lift your legs.” Frampton obediently pulled his legs up, exposing himself. Cock framed by his thighs, balls dangling below, leading the eye down to the small hole beneath, still slick with come. All of Frampton, laid out for him. He urged Frampton to part his legs a little, set his cockhead at the entrance, pushed. Hot and tight, just as always. Only this time Frampton was watching him, knew he was there. All the way in, and then he could reach down, kiss Frampton again, and suddenly Frampton was wrapped tightly around him, clinging to him, sucking frantically on his tongue. He’d have come instantly if it had been the first time tonight. As it was, he thrust hard, mindlessly, giving Frampton what he craved. Hammering into him, until some small fragment of rationality made itself felt, made him remember that this was supposed to be for Frampton’s benefit. He pulled away from Frampton’s mouth, resisted Frampton’s attempts to pull him back down. “Use your hands on yourself.” “I can’t ...” “I’m ordering you to.” That worked. Frampton let go of him, slid a hand between them. He could feel the pumping against himself, Frampton’s hand working on his own cock, Frampton staring into

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his eyes all the while. He held still, feeling the movement beneath him, watching as the sexual flush built up in Frampton’s skin. The first time tonight had taken the edge off his need; he could lie here and enjoy the feel of Frampton’s body gripping him, no need to thrust just yet. Then Frampton started squeezing internal muscles in time with his strokes, and Reeve’s resolve was undone. He pounded into Frampton, plundered his mouth, filling him. Frampton stiffened in his arms, and then there was stickiness on his belly and a far harder squeezing around his cock, driving him over the edge. He poured himself into Frampton, trying to satisfy that terrible need. When it was over, he lifted his head, looked at Frampton. Lying back, eyes closed, panting for breath. Grabbing at Reeve when he tried to sit up. He surrendered, lying on Frampton, holding him, then stroking his face with one hand. Finally Frampton let go of him, and he was able to slide off Frampton and sit up. He patted Frampton’s shoulder. “Turn over and let me check you’re all right.” Frampton turned over, spread his legs. Reeve inspected him carefully. No sign of blood, much to his relief. A warm shower should be all that was needed. “Do you feel all right?” The only response from Frampton was a noncommittal grunt. “Want a shower?” Reeve asked. “Now?” “You’ll only be sticky and sore if you don’t.” Frampton sighed, and sat up, wincing slightly. “A bath might be better.” “Shower first, unless you want to sit in your own dirt.” “Shower, then bath.” Frampton shuffled to the edge of the bed. “Reeve, help me up.” Reeve stood up, supporting Frampton with an arm behind his back as he stood up. He must be feeling stiff if he’d deigned to ask for help. Once on his feet, Frampton seemed to

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move relatively easily, making it to the bathroom under his own power. Reeve started the shower, stepped in with Frampton. “What are you doing?” “I need a shower too, and if you’re going to soak in the bath, I’d rather have it now.” Frampton nodded, then reached for the soap, and winced again. “Let me do it,” Reeve suggested. He picked up the soap and waited. Frampton turned around, and Reeve started soaping his back, working his way down. He was as gentle as possible when he reached Frampton’s buttocks, working his hand between, carefully cleaning Frampton without causing him any further discomfort. Then down Frampton’s legs, and back to the top to rinse off. “I’ve finished that side; you can turn around now.” Frampton turned to face him. He repeated the soaping and rinsing, taking extra care around Frampton’s cock and balls. At least they weren’t as sensitive as his arse. He dropped to his knees to finish Frampton’s legs, and was surprised to feel a hand playing with his hair, running lightly through his curls. He ignored it as best he could; if he acknowledged it, it might stop. Then Frampton was clean, and Reeve could stand up and deal with his own body. It took only a minute or two; he’d been cleaner to begin with, and much had rinsed away as he’d washed Frampton. He stepped out of the bath, set the taps running. “Need help sitting down?” “I’ll manage. Thank you.” He picked up a towel and started drying himself as he watched Frampton, ready to help if necessary. But Frampton made it down unaided, settled back, and relaxed. Reeve left him to it and went out into the main area.

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The bed was a mess. He could remake it, but it was easier to strip it and put fresh sheets on. The bed looked much more inviting when he’d finished, and he was glad of it. Would Frampton be willing to stay the night? He went back to the bathroom to check on Frampton. Frampton opened his eyes as Reeve came in, then closed them again. “Do you need anything?” Reeve asked. “My whisky?” Reeve tested the temperature of the water. Warm rather than hot; the alcohol would probably be safe enough. He fetched the whisky, nudged Frampton to get his attention. Frampton sat up and took the whisky from him, sipped at it. “Are you going to stay in my bath all night?” “A little longer. That position made my back ache.” He put his hand on Frampton’s shoulder. “Sorry.” Frampton closed his eyes, leaned back against the side of the bath with his arms sprawled along the top, the tumbler resting loosely against the bath. Picture of a man relaxing. Reeve took it as a polite dismissal, and left. He put on a dressing gown and picked up a book, settling down in a chair to read. At first, his mind kept wandering, reviewing the evening, but then he was drawn into the book. He looked up on hearing a noise, to find Frampton standing in the door of the bathroom. He glanced at the clock. Frampton had been in the bath for over an hour. Frampton was dripping wet and holding a towel. “Reeve ...” Either still stiff, or just happy to make use of an excuse to treat Reeve like a servant. Either way, Reeve was willing to oblige. He put down his book and went over to take the towel. Frampton stood calmly dripping on the carpet as Reeve toweled him down, going over every square centimetre of Frampton with the soft cloth. “Do you want to stay?”

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Frampton answered by walking over to the bed and climbing into it. Reeve shrugged, spent five minutes in the bathroom getting ready for bed, and then went to join Frampton. “Lights down.” Safely in the dark, he put an arm around Frampton. Frampton snuggled up to him. It had been a very interesting evening, and he’d been very lucky to get away with it. It would be interesting to see if Frampton was as civilised about it in the morning.

***** There were strong fingers wrapped around his cock, another finger probing gently at his arse. Reeve sighed, enjoying the feel of a warm body pressed up against his back. A pleasant dream to wake up with, this ... It wasn’t a dream. Memory came back to him in a flood. Frampton had shared his bed. But Frampton’s sexual aggression hadn’t taken this form last night. He twisted around, loath to lose the hand on his cock but needing to see Frampton’s face. Frampton stared at him, enigmatic as ever. No clue there as to what was going on in that strange mind. “Do you normally start without asking first?” he asked. “Do you?” “You --” He tapped Frampton’s nose with his finger. “-- had already offered it to all the world.” “Jealous?” “No.” It astonished him, but it was the truth. He put an arm around Frampton. “Would you rather I was?” “I’m not sure.”

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That was probably the truth as well. However, it didn’t answer another question. “Why start groping me? You didn’t seem interested in that side of it last night. Or any other night I’ve seen you.” “I’m interested now.” Was there a challenge in that? He couldn’t read Frampton, not in this mood. “Well, now that you’ve woken me up, you might as well go ahead.” Faint astonishment in Frampton’s face, quickly suppressed. “You don’t mind?” “As long as you don’t insist on my active participation. I don’t have your stamina, and I’ve already come twice in the last twelve hours.” He rolled onto his belly, spread his legs. “Cream’s in there.” He pointed at the relevant drawer, then shut his eyes. He was still tired, and he had no intention of wearing himself out in a futile attempt to keep up with Frampton’s sex drive. If he came, he came; if he didn’t, well, it would be pleasant anyway. Fingers at his hole, working him loose, more gently than he would have expected given Frampton’s belligerent attitude. In and out, making him slick with the cream. “Tha’s nice,” he mumbled, relaxing under the careful attention to his arse. Fingers out, and a cock in, stretching him. Frampton’s weight on his back, on his hips, forcing him full of cock. Oh, but it was good, good enough to make him wake up and take an interest, for all that he’d had plenty last night. Frampton pulled back and plunged in again, and he pressed back against Frampton, wanting all of him. Frampton slid a hand under him, took hold of his cock, those clever fingers milking him. Then Frampton’s hand stilled, and squeezed, as Frampton came. Not quite there, it hadn’t been quite enough. He wanted more, wanted to finish it, but was content to enjoy the feel of Frampton against him for the moment. Finally Frampton slid off to lie by his side. Reeve turned over to lie on his back, the feel of cloth brushing over his cock as he moved tantalising him. One hand on his cock, the other

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reaching out to Frampton, needing to touch the man, to hold him, to keep that thread of contact as he brought himself to his own climax. Frampton moved, propping himself up on one elbow to lean over Reeve. “What do you want, Reeve?” He looked up into the dark, expressionless eyes. Was Frampton toying with him, or was that a genuine offer? “Suck me. Please?” he pleaded. Frampton stared at him, long enough that he thought he was to be subjected to some horrifying punishment for his temerity. Then Frampton slid down his body, lay between his legs, kissed him. The touch of Frampton’s lips brought fire to his cockhead. Then Frampton’s tongue started teasing him, flicking into the tip of his cock, dragged across the exposed head as Frampton pulled his foreskin back. The whole of his cockhead taken into that miracle of a mouth, Frampton’s tongue performing magic. One last squeeze of the hand around his shaft as Frampton sucked hard, and he was gone, shouting Frampton’s name as he came. Frampton was lying next to him, watching him. He took Frampton in his arms and kissed him. “Thank you.” His voice was husky, more than he would have expected. Frampton laid his head against Reeve’s shoulder, silent. Reeve stroked his head with one hand, enjoying the feel of Frampton’s hair against his palm, wanting to convey in touch what Frampton would undoubtedly refuse to listen to in words. Frampton gradually relaxed against him. Had the man been so tense to start with? Finally Frampton stirred. He sat up, left the bed, vanishing into the bathroom. Reeve waited some minutes, then went to find him. Frampton was about to get into the shower. “May I join you?” “It’s your shower.” “That’s not quite what I asked.” Frampton looked away from him.

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He walked over to Frampton, put his arms around him. “Frampton, please don’t do this. Don’t run away from me.” “Reeve, don’t meddle in something you don’t understand.” “If I don’t understand, then explain it to me.” “And you said it was none of your business.” Rejection? No, Frampton hadn’t moved out of the circle of his arms. “It isn’t any of my business. But I would still like to understand. I’m willing to listen, if you’re willing to talk.” Frampton stood silent. Finally, “Not in here.” “Then come and sit down.” He let go of Frampton and walked towards the main cabin, hoping Frampton would follow. Sitting naked didn’t seem such a good idea. He put on his dressing gown, found his spare and tossed it to Frampton, then dragged the chairs together. “Do you want some tea?” Frampton nodded. Reeve busied himself with the tea. Perhaps Frampton would find it easier to talk to his back. “Tell me about it.” “I found out quite by chance that I enjoyed the occasional session of mindless sex with a lot of men. Vanity, of course -- I enjoyed being the centre of attention. And I liked the security of a place where it was safe to be submissive, where I could let someone else take charge without wondering how it would affect the office politics, where I didn’t have to always take responsibility.” “A safe outlet.” Reeve kept his attention on the mugs. “Yes.” “And?” There was obviously more to it than that. “And then I went to prison.” Oh. He finished making the tea, took the mugs over, and handed one to Frampton.

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“What happened?” “I was questioned, enthusiastically, about exactly how I’d stolen the money. They knew I’d done it; they could prove that. But they didn’t know exactly how I’d got around the security in the first place. Nor could they work out where I’d put the money. It’s the sort of complex technical detail that can be very difficult to extract from an uncooperative subject -the drugs are good for getting names and dates, but not for exact details of several thousand lines of code and some very sophisticated electronics.” Frampton admitting that he’d actually succeeded in stealing, and keeping, the money was an astonishing intimacy. Reeve dared a previously denied intimacy in return. “Go on, Marc.” “They gave up eventually, but they had one final trick. I was sentenced to life on a drop-them-and-forget-them penal colony. I was offered commutation to a light sentence and rehabilitation if I co-operated in ensuring that method of fraud couldn’t be used again. They put me in a shared cell for the two months before a transport ship was available, to give me an opportunity to understand what life on a penal planet might mean for someone of my former social status.” Frampton paused to sip his tea, then continued. “The cell selected for my education housed three men serving a year’s sentence for assault. The assault in question having been committed on a willing, indeed enthusiastic, recipient.” “Leathermen. And Security thought they’d make a good threat.” “Indeed. They had already been used to break several people. After all, what else were they to do to pass the time? Unfortunately for Security, professional sadists don’t necessarily understand recreational sadists.” Reeve started to get a glimmer of where this was leading. “Your cellmates might go along with what was expected of them, to have a quiet life. That doesn’t mean they enjoyed doing it. Most leathermen want willing victims.”

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“Oh, they enjoyed doing it. That was what worried them -- that they were sliding into something they didn’t approve of. I was a godsend. They were so glad to have a real, if occasional and fairly vanilla, bottom that they were quite happy to respect my limits while still providing an acceptable show for Security. It was a very convenient arrangement for both sides.” And how they’d worked out that arrangement must be a very interesting story, but it really wasn’t any of his business. “So what happened?” “It had been an occasional thing. In prison it was daily, and not just fucking. And I learned to associate it with safety, with protection from those who would have wanted my fear, not my willing participation.” And perhaps with what little affection or human comfort he was given in prison, if Reeve was reading between the right lines. “And now it isn’t just an occasional game; it’s a necessity.” “An occasional necessity. I will be able to function normally for some time now. Then I will gradually find that masturbation no longer works as well, that I need to fantasise, and finally I will need more than the fantasy.” “And sex with someone else, not just masturbation?” “No, I have not had sex with anyone outside the group sessions. Until last night. Does that satisfy your curiosity?” “Why not?” “Do you think I care to expose my unusual requirements to the people on board this ship?” “No, I don’t suppose you do. Although I think we’d be more understanding than you give us credit for.” He realised he still hadn’t had any of his tea, and took a mouthful. “I don’t want your understanding!” Frampton snarled. “Don’t you?” Reeve asked softly. “Then what was this morning about?”

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Frampton was silent, taking refuge in his cup of tea. “You expected me to refuse you. You set yourself up to be hurt, so that you could have the proof that I wouldn’t want you except as an object to be used. You wanted my understanding, and you didn’t expect to get it.” “Don’t try to psychoanalyse me, Reeve. You’re no better at it than the psychiatrists my dear government set on me.” “And no worse.” He watched Frampton for a response. “I followed you because I care about you. I confronted you with it because I care about you. Do you still think I’d think the less of you because of your sexual tastes?” “Why should I care what you think?” “It’s obvious from the things you’ve said these last few hours.” “Why does it matter to you, Reeve?” “Because I don’t want to see you hurt or killed because you’re too proud to ask for backup. Because I want to have sex with you again, and I don’t think you’ll agree to it until you can accept that I’m not disgusted by your needs.” All at once, Frampton gave in. He set down his mug, stood up, and came to stand in front of Reeve’s chair. “But I’m not just what you saw in the bar, Reeve. I need more than that.” “I know, Marc.” He reached out, pulled Frampton into his lap. “I wanted what happened this morning; I wasn’t doing it as some game to manipulate you.” Frampton leaned against him. “You won’t let me go, will you?” “No.” “Can we have our shower now?” “Yes.”

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Part Four

Reeve had been ordered to return Frampton for further assessment within four months. He’d pushed that time to the limit, giving Frampton as much space for recovery as he could, but it was time to go back and see what progress had been made on healing the mental damage. Frampton was visibly disturbed when told that they were on their way back to Intelligence headquarters. “You knew you’d have to go back,” Reeve said patiently. “You’re not afraid that they’ll force you into interrogation, are you?” Frampton shook his head. It hadn’t seemed likely. If that were something Frampton had genuinely feared, he’d had the opportunity to run before now. “What, then? If you just don’t want to work for them, you’d rather go somewhere else ...” Reeve realised he might be looking at that from the wrong angle. “... or you don’t want to leave this ship, they’ll give you more time to think about it. This is just the earliest point at which it’s worth checking if you can submit voluntarily to any level of scanning.”

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“I know,” Frampton said. “They didn’t quite come out and say it in so many words, but the last few months were partly to convince me that my rescue wasn’t an elaborate interrogation scenario.” He stared into his mug. “They can’t begin to work on helping me unless I believe they really are Union Intelligence.” “Do you?” Reeve asked gently, careful not to touch Frampton. He didn’t want Marc thinking that he’d been seduced by order. “Let’s say that I find it the most plausible explanation.” Reeve took the mug out of Marc’s hand and set it on the counter. Frampton often fiddled with things as a way of making it easier to deal with emotions he didn’t like, but he also occasionally used it as an avoidance tactic. Reeve wanted his full attention. “So what’s the problem?” “You’re going to go straight in there and give them a detailed report on everything I’ve done, aren’t you?” “Of course I am. It’s my job.” Now he did reach out, stroking Marc’s cheek with his hand. “And besides, I want you to stay sane. Not just as your commander, but as your friend.”

And lover. Marc caught hold of his hand, pulled it away, but didn’t let go of it. “But that’s the problem. You’ll tell them everything.” Things fell into place for Reeve. “What you like is a bit odd, but Intelligence won’t care. Not about something that only involves consenting adults. They’ll be worried about you needing it, but that’s why I have to tell them.” He embraced Marc, kissed his forehead. “It might be embarrassing for you, but you’ve faced much worse ordeals.” Marc held him in turn, resting his head on Reeve’s shoulder. “But then I thought they were the ones with something to be ashamed of, not me,” he muttered. “Reeve, doesn’t it bother you at all?”

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Not resting his head on Reeve’s shoulder, but hiding his face. Not just embarrassed, but ashamed. Frampton had grown up in the Protectorate, with Protectorate mores. The men who’d accidentally conditioned him had been imprisoned for a consensual act. Reeve chose his words carefully. “Of course it bothers me. Obsessive-compulsive behaviour is going to bother me regardless of context.” He stroked one hand down Marc’s back. “You know, the psychiatrists might be able to help you disentangle things, so that you can go back to doing it because you want to rather than because you need to.” Marc looked up at him and sighed. “Maybe. Eventually. But it’s not going to be high on their priority list. And I will still want to do it.” “You are improving, you know,” Reeve said. He smiled at Marc. “You’re even discussing this with me.” Marc actually smiled back, if rather weakly. “It’s good practice.” “What are you going to tell them?” “What they want to know. They’ll have to take my word for it --” Frampton had that haunted expression again. “-- because I’m not going to be scanned. But I don’t think they’ll be too unhappy about even a verbal and out-of-date report on the weapons programme I was working on.” “Not holding it back for the highest bidder, then?” Reeve teased. Frampton stared at him. “They’ve already paid a price that my former employers weren’t willing to offer.” Frampton hadn’t been paid anything other than the best medical treatment available and the salary he was due as a ship’s science officer. He was no better off financially than he had been as a Protectorate government scientist. But he had the respect of his Intelligence handlers, both for his abilities as a scientist, and for his courage in resisting interrogation and then attempting escape against all odds. They wanted him so badly that they’d let him run

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loose for four months in the hope that he’d go back to them voluntarily. Reeve hugged him tightly. “I’m glad you’ve decided to stay in the Union.” “Sod the Union,” Frampton said. “I owe a debt to the people who treated me decently, not some bloody political entity.” Reeve couldn’t help laughing. “You’re still the same arrogant, self-centred little bastard with no concept of any loyalty beyond the personal, aren’t you?” “At least your Intelligence minders don’t insist I try to fake it. They don’t ask for what I haven’t got to give, let alone demand it with nothing given in return.” Frampton pulled away from him and retrieved his mug of tea. “I don’t want to go back to them for more questioning, but I think they’re better than any other alternatives I have. Don’t worry, I’m not about to try to run away.” Reeve would have sent an emergency message to Intelligence if he’d thought that Frampton genuinely wasn’t up to dealing with them again yet. But Frampton had clearly faced his fears and knew where his boundaries were -- and trusted his handlers to respect those boundaries. He’d manage. Reeve went back to the flight deck.

***** Reeve’s Intelligence contact glanced at her notepad. Reeve very much doubted that she needed to refresh her memory; it was simply a polite gesture to put them at their ease. She looked at Frampton. “Dr Frampton, you’re scheduled to see the psychiatrist this afternoon for a general assessment, followed by a trial mindscan.” She smiled reassuringly. “This is only to assess whether you can submit to scanning at all, and if so, how deeply the scanning team can go without triggering your barriers. We don’t intend to question you, as such. Do you feel ready to at least attempt it?” “I’ll try to sit still while they fit the equipment,” Frampton said. “I don’t expect to succeed. And I want Reeve with me.”

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She nodded. “Sensible, and I would have suggested it myself. It will be easier to relax if you have someone familiar with you. A friend?” she asked, sounding hopeful. Frampton looked around at Reeve. “I suppose I have to tell her?” “Tell me what?” “We’re sexually involved,” Reeve said bluntly. He wasn’t sure if “lovers” would be too much of a claim of emotional intimacy for Frampton to handle. She stared at him, then looked at Frampton. Whatever she saw in Frampton’s expression seemed to satisfy her. “I’m ... surprised. That’s rather better progress than the psychiatric team had hoped for.” “I’m surprised as well,” Frampton said, with a rather whimsical smile. Then he sobered. “But don’t assume I’ve made rapid progress in other areas. I’ll answer your questions in detail now, but not under scan.” “Anything we can cross-check against other sources will be useful, even without the confirmation of the scan. Would you prefer to do it before or after you see the psychiatrists?” Frampton looked rather surprised. “It will take longer than the morning; you’d need to reschedule my other appointments.” “They’ll just move one of the other crew members into your slot with the psychiatrists this afternoon,” Reeve said. The Intelligence officer nodded. “Your ship has a block booking for the rest of the week. Emergency cases take priority, of course, but otherwise we can just shuffle people around.” She looked at Frampton, and sighed. “This was explained to you, Dr Frampton, but you may not have taken it in properly. Captain Reeve and his crew are required to undergo regular monitoring. Just in case.” Reeve watched Frampton think about that. Finally Frampton asked, “Will I have to have that monitoring as well, if I stay with them?”

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“Not until such time as you can be deep-scanned,” she said. “Whatever it is you did to yourself may be a damned nuisance to us in most respects, but it has also made you one of the people we need to worry about least when it comes to Chyree mind games.” She gave them a rather grim little smile. “Unless, of course, you were already infected before you got here, and that’s why we can’t get in.” Frampton winced. Reeve reached out to him, put a comforting hand on his shoulder. It wasn’t a pleasant possibility, but it was a fairly unlikely one. “I don’t think they’d have had many scruples about involuntary scans if they thought that was very likely, Frampton.” “No. It’s just a remote possibility that you both need to be aware of before Dr Frampton goes to a nice quiet room to tell us all about what he was doing before he joined us.” She set down her notepad. “Dr Frampton, there is also the possibility that you underwent some sort of conditioning as part of Protectorate security procedures. You may not even be aware of it. If you feel that there is the slightest possibility that you are being influenced, if you feel at all unwell, tell us. You will be stunned if necessary, and there is always a medical team on standby in this building.” “Thank you,” Frampton said. “You’re willing to risk it?” Reeve asked. “Better here, under proper supervision, with people who have a vested interest in looking after me,” Frampton said. He stood up. “Let’s get on with it.” The Intelligence officer touched a control on her wristband, then stood up and walked around the table. She held out her hand, and shook Frampton’s when he warily offered her his. “We appreciate your trust in us, Dr Frampton. We’ll try not to betray it unnecessarily.” “Interesting way of phrasing it,” Frampton said, grinning. “At least you’re honest.” He nodded to Reeve before following the man who’d silently appeared in the room. Reeve watched him go, trying to ignore the niggling worry that he’d never see him again. Unlikely, very unlikely, but not impossible.

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“He’ll be looked after,” his contact said quietly. “I know. But I can’t help wondering if he’ll be all right. I think he’s real. But I also know that you can be real and still be carrying something unawares. And ... I don’t want to lose him ...” “So sit down and tell me all about it.” Reeve sighed, sat down, and told her all about it. It was a relief to finally be able to discuss it with someone else. But it wasn’t just Frampton’s sexual problems he wanted to discuss. Once he’d done his duty and given his report, he said, “Look, I know I could ask about this when it’s my turn to see the psychiatrist. But I don’t feel comfortable with them.” “I’m not a psychiatrist. But I am very familiar with your dossier,” she said. “If you think I could give you a useful outside perspective ...” She was as much of a friend as someone from Intelligence could be. She’d try to help, not just as his handler but as a friend. “It’s the BDSM. I’ve never been interested in anything like that before. It’s always been just something that some of the people I know enjoy. I’d have done it if it had been part of the job, but it would have been just a job. It isn’t just part of the job with Marc. Why have I suddenly taken to that particular kink?” She leaned back in her chair and folded her arms. “But it isn’t BDSM, is it?” “I’d call it BDSM.” “No, what I mean is that it’s not BDSM in general. From what you’ve said, there’s no sadomasochism, and I’d be surprised if there was, or at least if you did it because you wanted to rather than doing it because he wanted it. No bondage, either. It’s very specifically dominance and submission, and willing submission, at that.” He thought about it. He’d never really made the distinction, but she was right. “Reeve, you enjoy being the one in charge of people who’ve willingly put their lives in your hands. Willing submission by your junior officers. It makes you a good commander,

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that willingness to take on responsibility. You’ve also been thoroughly trained to not see people in your chain of command as sexual partners.” “But I wouldn’t, anyway,” he protested. “I couldn’t know whether they were just humoring me.” “And that also makes you a good commander. You want a strong partner; you’d never be interested in someone who felt that they couldn’t tell you where to go.” She leaned forward now. “You have the potential to be interested in a consensual dominance/submission sexual relationship, but only with the right partner, and you’ve never met a potential partner. Until now.” “But why Marc?” “He’s an unusual combination of the strength you find sexually attractive, and the vulnerability that triggers your protective instincts. Frampton has enormous courage and strength of will -- you know that if he submits to you, it’s because he’s a strong man who’s chosen to do so of his own free will. He’s never given in to anyone who tried to force him in anything. But he’s also a profoundly damaged man, and one who finds it hard to accept the help he needs. Being able to give him what he needs -- well, that must be quite a turn-on.” It was so damned obvious when someone pointed it out to him. He’d been attracted to Frampton right from the day he’d met him, had admired the man’s courage and stubborn refusal to give in even when, by rights, he should have had no hope left. But he’d assumed that Frampton was off-limits, until the day he’d followed him to that pub ... “I was too close to it to see it,” he whispered. Then it occurred to him. “Did you people expect this to happen? Is that one of the reasons you sent him back to us?” “No. We didn’t know the exact details of what happened to him in prison or what effect it had, but it was clear that he wasn’t about to get sexually involved with any of you.” She shook her head. “I don’t know how you reached him, Reeve. I’m glad you have, for his sake. And yours.”

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“Pardon?” “I’ll wait until I’ve heard what the psychiatrists have to say. But I think helping him has helped you. You’ve never quite forgiven yourself for what the Chyree did to your crew through you, even though you know rationally that nobody could have resisted better than you did, that you well and truly earned that medal and your reputation as a hero. Only now that experience means you can help someone else. Frampton wouldn’t accept pity. But from you it’s not pity -- it’s empathy.” No, he’d never pitied Frampton. Grieved for him, for the damage done to him, but not pitied him. “I want to help him. It’s too easy for me to imagine what he’s been through. Only I knew that there was help for me if I could just get to it. He didn’t.” “He does now.” And that was a comfort to Reeve.

***** The scan was not a success, to nobody’s surprise. To Frampton’s obvious surprise, he not only sat still for the preliminaries, he managed to remain calm while they did the initial very shallow pass to check the calibration. He only started to panic when the technician asked his permission to go deeper. “That’s enough!” their handler snapped. Frampton regained control immediately, the only obvious sign of his panic the deep breathing he was using to control himself. “Sorry. But I don’t think I can take any more.” “That is a distinct improvement on the last time we saw you,” she said, examining the instrument readings. “We’ll have to study this, but we could probably take you further under with the right drugs, if you can bring yourself to take them.” “Not yet,” Frampton said.

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“You almost certainly could with the right incentive,” she said. “If, for example, Reeve was in danger and we had to dig the solution out of your subconscious.” “Don’t even think about it!” Frampton snarled. “I want you to think about it. That wasn’t a threat. I sincerely hope that such a situation does not arise. But I don’t want you assuming that your mind is locked down so tight that nobody can find a way in.” Marc calmed down. “Of course. I had nothing to lose before. Now there’s an effective lever.” As explicit a declaration as Reeve expected to get for quite some time.

***** They were turned loose after several days. Reeve hadn’t seen Frampton for most of it -he assumed that Frampton had been spending his time talking about his work for the Protectorate. They had one final joint interview with his handler. “Until Dr Frampton can be given full clearance, there is no reason he shouldn’t stay with you and write a full report to be delivered to us when convenient. It is to be your eyes only, and you must not allow it to fall into anyone else’s hands.” That was a major concession. Frampton’s report would be dynamite, in the most literal sense. “I must ask you again, Dr Frampton. Do you wish to apply for Union citizenship?” Frampton smiled cynically. “It won’t make any difference to my security clearance, will it?” “No,” she said. “But it makes a difference to how much protection we can give you. I urge you, at least apply for asylum. It makes a difference to your legal status. If someone tries to snatch you, we can snatch you back with less chance of causing a diplomatic incident. Which makes it easier to justify a rescue attempt to our political masters.”

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“Why now?” Frampton asked. “Why not leave it until we have a better idea of whether there’s any point to me staying in the Union?” Reeve finally lost patience with tiptoeing around the subject. “When I took you off that prison transport, you had every excuse to think that you might be running through a simulation designed to get you to crack. It wasn’t unreasonable of you to refuse to take an action that could have seen you on a treason charge if you were really still in the Protectorate. But if you still believe that now, you’re crazy beyond our ability to help. You have to ask for asylum at the first opportunity, or you’re deemed to have not been in need of it in the first place. This could be argued to be your first genuine opportunity, given your valid reasons for concern about who we are, but we can’t stretch things out any longer.” “Thank you for your eloquent explanation, Reeve,” Frampton murmured. “I assumed that it was obvious that I don’t believe that now, and didn’t think about it further. That aspect hadn’t occurred to me.” “It wouldn’t be impossible,” their handler said, “but it will be a lot easier to get it through without question if we do it now. I would be a lot happier if you did so. The Protectorate has apparently discovered how much it values you now that it no longer has you. The price on your corpse is quite nice; the price on you returned sufficiently intact for questioning ... well, at ten times what they paid you in a year, it would have been cheaper for them if they’d just given you a decent pay raise in the first place.” Frampton looked indecently smug. Then he said, “I wish to apply for asylum. I fear for my life if returned to the Protectorate.” Reeve sighed in relief.

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Part Five

Reeve watched Frampton strip for him, admired the view with a certain sadness mingled into his pleasure. He’d watched Marc go from equal partner, to preferring to be submissive, to needing it. No, not submissive, that wasn’t quite the right word. Passive was better. Marc wanted things to be done to him. He wanted to be fucked, whether in his mouth or his arse. He still liked being sucked, even if he no longer wanted to do the fucking. And last night, even that hadn’t been enough. Frampton had warned him that the time would come when he would need more than just Reeve to be able to come. It didn’t bother him, the idea of sharing Marc, but it did bother him that Marc needed it, rather than making a free choice. This shouldn’t be forced on him by some twist in his sexuality. It made Reeve uncomfortable about taking his own pleasure when Marc might not be able to find his, not until the next time they had the chance to give Marc what he needed. He fucked Marc, thoroughly, putting everything he had into it, and it still wasn’t enough. Marc wasn’t soft, but he was never quite hard. Reeve stroked Marc’s cock. “I’m sorry.” “Don’t be. I enjoyed it.”

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“Another go when I’m up to it?” “Please.” He occupied himself with stroking Marc’s body, not bothering with the half-tumescent cock, but paying attention to the body as a whole, feeding Marc’s need to be physically appreciated. Marc stretched and purred as Reeve worked his way over the less obvious erogenous zones, finally rolling over to give Reeve access to his back. Reeve kissed his way across Marc’s shoulders, murmuring obscenities about how infinitely fuckable Marc was, about how he was looking forward to watching him writhing under the attentions of a queue of men. It was having as much of an effect on him as on Marc, and he switched his attention to Marc’s arse, spreading his cheeks and plunging in. One hand around Marc’s cock in a punishing grip, fucking him with both hand and cock. Harder, and harder, and then too hard for his own self-control, and he was gone. He lay panting for breath, slowly recovering. No need to move; Marc liked the weight pinning him down so long as he could actually breathe. It meant Reeve could stay where he was, cock buried in Marc, slowly pulsating warmth around his cock, never squeezing too hard as it softened. Delicious. Marc still hadn’t come. Hard, but not there. “Sorry, Frampton. I can’t manage another tonight.” “Certain?” “The only way you’re getting any more fluid out of me tonight is if I piss in you.” Marc’s cock twitched in his hand. He thought about it. “Frampton, are you seriously ...” What he could see of Marc’s face was turning pink. “I don’t know which I find odder -- you liking the idea or you being embarrassed by it. I didn’t know you could be embarrassed.” Marc turned even pinker.

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“Well, do you want me to?” “Yes.” It had been simply a throwaway comment, but the idea was interesting him now, thanks to Marc’s obvious excitement at the mere thought. Frampton submitting to him, needing him so badly that anything of his was acceptable, desirable. “Yes, I rather think I want to as well,” Reeve murmured. “I like you needing me that much.” It might just be physically possible; he still hadn’t slipped out of Marc’s body. “All right, Frampton, you’ll have to wait a minute or two until I can.” And, incidentally, give his cock a chance to desensitise, just in case this did set Marc off. “But if you need something up you that badly, you can have my piss.” Marc came, suddenly, clamping around him. Just the idea had been enough for him, then. Or the realisation that Reeve hadn’t been disgusted, had even been turned on by the idea as well. Reeve held him tightly until Marc finished. Then Reeve pulled out, moved to lie beside him on the bed. Marc looked rather dazed. “Are you all right, Frampton?” “Yes.” He slid his arm under Marc’s neck, offering a cuddle. Marc rested his head on Reeve’s shoulder, rubbing his cheek against Reeve, affectionate now in the afterglow. Then he stilled, and they rested for a few minutes. Finally, Marc left the bed and went to the bathroom. Reeve followed him and cleaned up briefly before going back to bed. Marc didn’t come back, and after a few minutes Reeve started to wonder whether to go and look for him. Just as he was about to get out of bed, Frampton re-emerged. “You were a long time.” “I was thinking.” “You don’t want to try doing it for real next time, then?”

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“Maybe. Although we’ll have to think about the logistics. It could get messy.” “You did like it, then.” Frampton smiled rather wistfully. “Yes. The idea never occurred to me until you mentioned it. Perhaps my tastes aren’t quite as simple as I thought.” “Perhaps not.” Reeve held out his arms, and Marc climbed into bed, lying on top of him, propping himself up on his elbows to carry on the conversation. As always, Reeve enjoyed the contrast between Frampton on the flight deck and Frampton in bed. Marc trusting him not to take advantage of the relationship in here to try and rule Frampton out there. “You’re going to need a visit to a backstreet pub soon, regardless.” Frampton looked down into his face. “It really doesn’t bother you, does it?” “No.” He rubbed at Marc’s back, massaging the muscles. “It would bother me if we’d started a sexual relationship and then I’d found out about it. Maybe if you’d told me about it first, and I hadn’t seen for myself. But knowing first -- no, it doesn’t bother me.” “Why not?” At least now that question was genuine curiosity, not bitterness or testing. “They’re just sex toys to you. They don’t mean anything else. Even if I’d never touched you sexually, I’d have had more of you than any of them ever will.” He expected Marc to deny it, or pass it off with a joke, not acknowledging it. But Marc bent his head down and briefly touched Reeve’s lips with his own, a kiss of tenderness rather than passion. Reeve held him, even after Marc had laid his head on the pillow. Held him, and then finally returned to stroking the small of his back, soothing the tense muscles there. Only when he was certain that Marc would be comfortable the rest of the night, his back not nagging him about the position they’d used first, did he suggest a shower. One of the oddities of Frampton’s sexual conditioning was how much he enjoyed being washed, being pampered, afterwards. It was definitely linked to the cycle of submissiveness,

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becoming more obvious as time went on. Reeve had no objection at all to it. He enjoyed the opportunity to give as well as take, enjoyed being able to give pleasure this way even when Marc was beyond full sexual pleasure. Perhaps Frampton could enjoy it because it wasn’t obviously sexual. The full intelligence dossier had suggested that there was one more reason for Frampton’s odd sexual needs, one that Frampton had never so much as hinted at to his crewmates. Guilt. Frampton had had a partner in his criminal enterprise, one who hadn’t survived interrogation. Perhaps one day Marc might even trust him with that.

***** The planet spun slowly in the viewscreen. Boring, no more than a convenient waypoint for traffic, and well away from anywhere Reeve and his crew had made themselves unpopular. All of which made it ideal for planetside leave. Frampton had volunteered them to stay behind, letting the others take first turn. Now Reeve understood why, as Frampton pored through the detailed gazetteer he’d downloaded. “Have you found anything useful?” Reeve asked. Frampton looked up at him. “I think so.” He ordered the computer, “Print a location map for the Green Dragon.” The computer obliged. Frampton examined the printout, then folded it and put it in a pocket. “Our turn off-shift soon. We should be prepared to leave. Come along, Reeve.” Frampton turned and left the flight deck, Reeve following in his wake. They went to Frampton’s cabin, where Frampton proceeded to strip. Then he pulled out a tube of lubricant and handed it to Reeve. Reeve raised an eyebrow. “Don’t be obtuse, Reeve. I don’t normally enjoy pain, and I may not get the chance to use this once we’re down there.” Frampton pressed up against him, arms around him.

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Very pleasant, but it was also distracting. He busied himself getting the top off the tube, and some of the contents onto his fingers. He tried applying it to Frampton and discovered a minor technical difficulty. Frampton was naked, and he wasn’t, and his boots exaggerated the difference in height. He couldn’t quite reach. “Either turn around or stand on your toes.” Frampton chose the latter, hands on Reeve’s shoulders for balance. Reeve managed to apply the cream, open Frampton up, in spite of the distraction offered by Frampton’s naked body pressed closely against him. Finished, he said, “You can get dressed now.” Frampton let go of him and walked over to the bed where his clothes for the evening were laid out. Black leather and silk, as before. Silk shirt slipped on, buttoned slowly for Reeve’s benefit. Then the trousers, no underpants, the silk tucked into the waistband. Socks, then boots, outlining Frampton’s slim ankles. The leather jacket last. “No belt?” “It might give people the wrong idea about what I’m willing to do.” “Your gun?” Frampton went to a cupboard, picked something out, and showed it to Reeve before slipping it into a pocket in his jacket. “Less conspicuous than a standard-issue handgun.” The neat little gun was small, but Reeve had no doubt it could be deadly at close quarters. He wondered how often Frampton carried it even when conventionally armed. “Time to go?” Frampton grinned at him. “We may as well try to get away before Mel gets back and starts trying to wheedle someone else into taking his turn at the teleport.” “Good idea.” Mel would wheedle anyone, even his captain, to get out of duties he found boring.

*****

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The pub was, oddly enough, in one of the more salubrious parts of the port area. Reeve hoped it served decent beer. They walked in, Reeve’s arm around Marc, making it clear that Marc was his property. He might be willing to share, but he wasn’t about to let anyone else get possessive ideas about Marc. It was still early, local time, and the pub was relatively quiet. Frampton glanced around, scanning the place, then said quietly, “It looks safe.” “What do you want to do?” They’d attracted attention already, a few of the customers sizing them up. No wonder. He might not be any great catch, but Frampton was another matter. Not the classical idea of handsome, but compelling nevertheless. The close-fitting black leather only added to the allure. “One of the tables.” “Want me with you?” “Not yet. And Reeve ...” “Mmm?” “Don’t drink too much.” Marc patted Reeve’s cock, an action that attracted more attention from their audience. Perhaps he shouldn’t have admitted how he’d passed the time while watching Frampton on previous occasions. He pulled Marc to him and kissed him thoroughly, his hands wandering over Marc’s back and arse. Then he let go, patted Marc’s backside. “Go and have fun.” He enjoyed the looks of envy from one or two men, and several of the women, as he walked over to the bar. He ordered a pint and leaned back against the bar. He’d missed Frampton getting into position, but had turned around in time to see him presented nicely for his first two tricks. A sturdy bench table, the right height for him this time. Trousers down around his thighs, exposing his arse, balls peeking coyly between his legs. Hole tight, in spite of the attention Reeve had lavished on it not so long ago. A man hastily undoing his trousers, eagerly shoving

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his cock in. Another at Frampton’s head. Reeve couldn’t see but could well imagine the feel of those pouting lips closing around the man’s cock. “Yours?” someone at the bar asked. “Yes,” he said with satisfaction. “I’m surprised you let him out.” “A reward for good behaviour.” “Mind if I have a go?” “You’ll have to join the queue.” And there was a queue, already, in spite of the low numbers in the bar. Three men, obviously waiting their turn, one of them unable to wait and masturbating, his cock out and in his hand. He came even as the man in Frampton’s arse did, obviously spurred by the man’s cry of pleasure. Swearing, he left the lineup, returning to his table and his drink. The man in Frampton stepped away, his place immediately taken by another. Reeve watched as one man after another had Frampton. All the while, Frampton grabbed greedily for more cock, but never once looked up at the face of any man. They were nothing but cocks to fill his hunger. They filled him, but never satisfied him. The man who’d masturbated too enthusiastically came back for another go, plunging into Frampton’s mouth. Reeve moved, sitting where he could watch both ends, cocks moving slickly in and out. Finally Marc refused another cock offered to his mouth. The man was one coming for seconds; he accepted the rejection politely enough and moved away. Marc dropped his head, denying any further access, obviously just waiting for the man in his arse to finish. Reeve moved up to the table, said “Mine” to someone who growled a complaint about queue jumping. The man’s partner whispered something in his ear, and they moved away. Then the last one finished, and Marc was left exposed. “Trousers off.” Marc scrambled to his feet, peeled off the boots and trousers.

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“On your back.” Marc leaned back on the table, gaze locked with Reeve’s. Reeve leaned down, unzipped the jacket, and spread it open. “Mustn’t get that pretty jacket dirty. The silk washes so much more easily.” He pushed up the shirt, exposing Marc’s belly. “Lift your legs.” Marc obeyed, lying back on the table and lifting his legs up. Reeve stepped forward, undid his trousers, set himself against the entrance, and shoved. Marc gasped in pleasure as he was impaled. Solidly set in Marc, longing to thrust, Reeve pulled at Marc’s legs until they were wrapped around Reeve’s waist. Then he took hold of Marc’s hands, holding them as he leaned on Marc’s hips. “You are mine.” He thrust, hard, never breaking the link with Marc, looking into each other’s eyes. Marc whimpered at each thrust, trying to arch up against him. “Come for me.” And Marc did, squeezing tightly around Reeve, making soft inarticulate noises deep in his throat. Come splashing on Marc’s belly, visible evidence for their audience. Reeve let himself go, releasing his hold on his own orgasm, pouring come into Marc. The last to do so, the only one to get an answering response. When they were done, he pulled out, not letting go of Marc’s hands. Then he tugged, gently, helping Marc sit up. Marc slid off the table, collected his trousers and boots from the bench, and dressed, Reeve’s hand on his shoulder all the while. Shirt tucked in, covering the drying come, jacket done up, and Marc leaned against him, face turned up for a kiss. Reeve obliged, making a display of it, enjoying the murmurings of envy he could hear. Then he broke the kiss. “Time to go,” he said quietly. Marc nodded, and they left the pub, arms around each other. They moved down the street a little way, then stood quietly, watching the passing traffic. “If anyone recognised us,” Marc said, “you’ve certainly added to your legend tonight.” “If anyone ever believed it, of course.”

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“There is that.” Marc shifted position, letting go of Reeve and moving away just enough to give himself room to stretch, ease his back muscles. He moved back, took Reeve’s hand in his. “I need a hot bath.” Reeve spent a second or two marveling at the feel of Marc’s hand in his. Then he kissed Marc’s hair gently. “Time to go home, love.” Reluctantly, he slipped his hand free and brought it up so that he could speak into the mike on his wristband. “Mel, bring us up.”

Jules Jones Jules Jones is a materials scientist, whose publishing credentials include such gems as European Union research reports. Thrilling though these might be to at least three readers, Jules believes that variety is the spice of life. Writing erotic sf provides an adequate amount of variety. Recent publications include The Syndicate series (with writing partner Alex Woolgrave), published by Loose Id, and short stories in Fishnet Magazine and the 2005 Ultimate Gay Erotica anthology. Jules can be found on the Web at http://www.julesjones.com .

***** Read on for a tantalizing glimpse of

Jumping the Fence by Stephanie Vaughan Available Now from Loose Id

Jumping the Fence Kevin's eyes came open at the sound of the voice, and he realized he'd dreamed the whole thing. The weak winter sun shone on his back, and he knew he must have fallen asleep. The best blowjob of his life, and it was all a fantasy. He didn't know whether to sigh with relief or cry in frustration. As intense as the whole thing had been, he should probably be thankful it hadn't been a wet dream. “Hey, Beltrán -- you coming?” The door leading out to the patio off the lunchroom stood open, and the new guy, Durrance, leaned his head and shoulders out. “We've got a one o'clock meeting.” “Yeah. I'll be there.” Shit. Kevin tossed the remains of his lunch in the trash and wondered how long Durrance been standing there. How much had he seen?

***** Slipping in through the conference room's back door, Kevin tried for unobtrusive, a tough pull at six-foot-one. Still, the meeting was a big one and there were probably fifteen people gathered around the room's big oak table. No time to hunt for a seat, Kevin grabbed the first available -- next to Durrance, naturally. The pre-meeting banter was just beginning to die down as he dropped into the vacant chair. “Thanks for making time, y'all. I know everybody's super busy, but I'd like to get an update from everyone on where y'all stand with the transition. Margaret, could we start with you?” Still unsettled by his dream, Kevin only glanced briefly at Helen at the head of the table before allowing his gaze to focus on the notebook he'd brought with him, and his thoughts to wander. It would take a good twenty minutes for Helen, the project's lead, to work her way around the table to him. That meant he had eighteen minutes to ruminate on what the hell was wrong with him.

Stephanie Vaughan

It wasn't like he was gay, or anything. Fuck, no. As much as they drove him crazy, he'd always done fine with women. Kevin knew he was okay-looking. He was no Brad Pitt, but wasn't a troll, either. Women liked him fine. But, Jesus, lately they were driving him over the edge. They wanted it. They didn't want it. They didn't do it on the first date. Didn't give head. Could they just kiss? Not with the lights on. It made his head want to implode just thinking about it. Whatever they possessed that passed for a thought process was totally alien to him. Maybe that was why, more and more lately, Kevin found himself thinking about other guys. Not like in a gay way, or anything. But just about meeting up with another guy. Maybe stroking each other's tools. Checking it out. He'd like to give a hand job. Or a b.j. God. Just thinking about it got him hard. The chair next to him creaked as Durrance chose that moment to shift in his seat. Kevin's eyes flicked automatically to the new guy's crotch. An image of what the other man might have hidden there flashed into Kevin's mind. In an instant, he pictured himself running his fingers down the sides of it. Feeling the fully engorged shape of it. Comparing it to his own. Would it be short and thick? Long and curved? What about the color? And the taste? He imagined taking it into his mouth ... Christ! He yanked his thoughts back to the meeting. Rodriguez from Marketing was droning on, as usual. Kevin hoped what he'd been thinking didn't show on his face, and glanced over at Durrance. The other man was looking back at him. Oh, shit . He couldn't help himself. Kevin looked back. And felt his cock, already half hard from his fantasizing, swell even more. Durrance's gaze dipped for the briefest splitsecond to Kevin's lap, where, Kevin knew, his baggy chinos couldn't entirely hide what was

Jumping the Fence happening to him. The expression on the other man's face didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes, and Kevin knew that he knew. Shit, shit, shit. Kevin closed his eyes and looked away just as Bhapodra from Finance, sitting next to him, began his report. Shit, shit, shit.

***** What people are saying about

Jumping the Fence Jumping the Fence is a wonderful book about a man who is confused about his sexuality and the partner who is able to open his eyes to the possibilities … If you have ever thought about reading a M/M love story, I would wholeheartedly recommend Jumping the Fence as a great introduction. -- Ann Lee, Just Erotic Romance Reviews

Jumping the Fence was a highly-erotic, quick-moving story about one man’s discovery of himself and the risks he takes in exploring his fantasies. Ms. Vaughan does a praiseworthy job at showing the guilt, excitement and fears of a man taking a sexual journey to places he’s never been. -- Michelle, Fallen Angel Reviews

Jumping the Fence has it all – it is wildly amusing, genuinely sweet and real, real hot! -- Karin, Mon Boudoir