143. Memoirs or Beer

Las fire intensified. I could feel the heat above my head and no matter how tightly I tried to squeeze myself against the bulkhead, no matter how small I tried to make myself, I felt as exposed as those winter nights in the hopper.

My eyes burned with salty sweat dripping into them.

“Kyra, can you read me, over? Repeat, Kyra, come in, over.” I sat in the corridor trying to make myself as small as possible. Las fire whipped passed me in sight and sound. The colorful bolts of energy traveled at near the speed of light yet still they seemed to whiz forth in slow motion.

Salty sweat dripped into my eyes making them burn. I dared not release my grip on either las pistol, nor expose my side by trying to rub them with my shoulder. So I sat, eyes on fire, in the dark corridor watching the colorful bolts of energy whip pass me in sight and sound.

Silent night. I saw the light, those wonderful, colorful bolt of death, each heading my way, each hoping to be the shot that ended this impasse. If I moved just a few inches to the left, the next bolt would take me out. I would hardly feel it; and then, maybe just then, I could be reunited with Chaz.

I leaped out into the corridor, both las pistols firing on full auto, grips burning hot in my hands. Executing a full one-eighty, I nailed three . . .

With las fire whipping past left and right, and no support, I charged, both las pistols firing on full auto . . .

The rest of the crew had abandoned . . .

I stood, risking life and limb, firing both las pistols, against impossible odds . . .

I saw the forced and violent abduction. Mairi's cry echoed into the night, her voice silent to all, it seemed. But I heard. Not her voice but the plaintive cry of her heart. There was no time to alert the rest, I knew I had to take immediate action . . .

Yul was indifferent, but I knew something was amiss. I grabbed my stuff and headed into harm’s way, my own well-being be damned . . .

Against impossible odds I powered my las pistols for full auto and maximum effect. Mairi was in harm’s way. The rest may sleep, unaware, but I would not let these barbarians have their way. Bastards. Risking all, I charged . . .

Impossible odds. Forgotten by all. I recharged my las pistols. Wiping the sweat from my eyes, I steeled my nerve for a full frontal charge. Frail the rest, now or never, I wouldn’t let the bastards have their way with one of our own . . .

I heard her plaintive cry. What could I do? Ignore what needed to happen? I grabbed my two las pistols and headed into harm’s way. Like a sonic boom I exploded upon the raiding party. Surprised, I would say, they were to receive a little Rog heat . . .

Yul nestled up next to me. I looked into her gorgeous blue-grey eyes. Frail me was written all over them. My lips lowered toward hers, her warm breasts and hard nipples pressed against my rock hard pecs. I felt the warm dance of her tongue . . . And, yet, I felt the need to move, to seek resolution, to feel needed in a time of urgency . . .

My thighs flexed as my abs contracted. Shadows danced on the walls. Moans dominated the night as the smell of snoot intermingled with the female call of night. I partook of the mutual pleasures rightly earned and deserved. Yul never heard the call. I knew. Grabbing my gear, I headed for the door . . .

Las fire whipped passed. Sweat dripped into my eyes. I tightened my grip on both las pistols as they warmly hummed to life. I had twelve rounds to make a difference. Twelve rounds to change the story, to change reality, to carve my name . . .

My eyes rolled inward as Yul worked my mind into perpetual debt. Breathing deep, and deeper with each rotation of her Lospusian lips around my . . . Frail, what was that . . . I leaped out of the warm cocoon of our abode, grab my gear and headed toward . . .

Sweat dripped from my brow on to Yul’s forehead. I rotated my hips upward and increased my pace. Her moans turned more and more submissive, which only led to me increasing the intensity of my thrusts. My impressions matched her sighs. Fluid, dance-like movements, heaven building in my mind. Then, something other, something urgent, something needed. I paused. Yul’s wet eyes pooled before me. Question unasked. I had no answer . . .

Yul’s legs wrapped around my hard torso. My ears filled with the sweet sound of affirmation. Yet, still, I felt something more. Something other. My triceps flexed in suspension. I listened. A single drop of exertion slipped from my chin to the nape of Yul’s neck. I knew. Time to move . . .

Yul arched into the starlight. Her cool blue shadow, curve divine, my mind beyond logic, body on instinct, then a sound, not a gasp, but a gasp, a gasp that didn’t fit . . .

My guts contracted. My mind expanded. Instinct took over and nausea surged forward pushed aside by . . .

Damn this writing stuff, thought Rog. Where's the interviewer so I can just tell the story. With that, Rog put his pen down and headed to the fridge. Seems this thing they call beer is not so bad. "Yul, where are you baby? We have some unfinished bidness."

Categories: Story, Rog, Earth