Recruit - Jonathan Brazee (highly illogical behavior .txt) 📗

hated Lysa wearing the fabric, on this undulating goddess, it seemed pretty natural.  Of course, he rather liked the rest of her body better where nothing was left to the imagination.  What he was able to imagine was what he would like to be doing with her.

“I see you enjoy what a woman can offer,” a soft voice said in his ear, startling him out of his reverie.

He looked back to where a blue woman was standing.  Blue skin and yellow hair.  Very little clothing.

“May I sit down?” she asked.

“Uh, uh, sure,” Ryck stammered out, pulling a chair from the next table to beside him.

“Your buddies seem to be interested in other things,” she said, pointing a long blue finger at them. 

They might have been discussing other things a moment before, but as she sat, she had all of their undivided attention.  When she smiled at them, her teeth dazzling white, before putting one hand on Ryck’s arm and turning her body to face him, they shrugged and went back to what they had been doing, even if glances kept being shot her way.

“So, what’s your name?” she asked Ryck.

“Private First Class Ryck Lysander,” he told her.

She leaned her head up and gave a trill of musical laughter.  “So, your mother named you ‘Private First Class’?”

“No, no.  My mother and father named me Ryck.  I’m a private first class in the Marines.”

“OK, Private First Class Ryck Lysander, sorry for teasing you like that.  It is just that you are so cute!”

She put her hand back lightly on his arm.  It was barely touching him, but he was extremely conscious of it.

Ryck stared at her hand for a moment, then followed the arm up to the rest of her.  She was blue, all right.  That was her skin color, not some tight-fitting clothing.  She was a deep, almost incandescent blue.  Her hair was bright yellow, and her eyes seemed to glow with the same shade as her hair.  She had on a small v-neck halter and nancishorts, both the same shade of blue as her skin, but with the lights in the bar, it was hard to tell where fabric left off and skin began.  Ryck thought back to his Grand Lit class back at school.  They had spent a week on comic books, anime, and shorts, and one of the comics had been an old 20th Century volume of X-Men.  This woman reminded him of one of the characters in that comic named Mystique.  She didn’t quite look like what he remembered of the fictional character, but the blue skin color trumped other aspects of their respective appearances.  He wanted to ask of her skin was a genmod, or if it was superficial.  He knew he shouldn’t stare, but she didn’t seem to mind his attention.

“Are you enjoying Vegas?” she asked.

“Uh, yeah, sure.  It’s great.  We’ve only been here a few hours, though.  We’re on the . . .” he started, then realized that he shouldn’t be talking about military details.

“You’re on the Adelaide, and you are just back from Atacama where they had a tax revolt.  Yes, we know all about the comings and goings of ships here in Vegas,” she said as her face broke out in a dazzling smile.

That took Ryck by surprise.  Was she grilling him on military secrets?  He glanced back at the others. Corporal Pallas was sitting on the other side of him, and the NCO seemed to have heard her, because he was looking back at Ryck, a smile on his face.  He lifted up his bottle of Bud in a mock salute to Ryck, then turned back.  The lack of security awareness seemed weird to him, but if Sparta didn’t think much about it, it had to be OK.

“By the way, I’m Purety,” she said, offering her hand.

“Uh, hi, Purety.”

There were a few chortles from the others and one sarcastic-sounding “smooth move, there.”  The other Marines had given him the field of battle, but they still had the two of them under reconnaissance. 

“So, you boys have been deployed for a while with nothing to do.  Saved up all your pay, right?” she asked him.

“Yeah, you’ve got that right.  Nothing we could spend it on there.  But Vegas, you know, this place can suck it out of you.  I’ve already contributed to your economy on the blackjack tables,” he said, trying to be funny.

He didn’t quite get the reaction he’d expected.

“Lost it already?  Everything?” she said, pulling back ever-so-slightly.

“Oh no, nothing like that,” he said hurriedly.  “It wasn’t much.  I’ve got most of it here,” he added, patting his back pocket and wallet.

Seemingly mollified, she leaned back into him, took his arm, and said, “Good.  There are better things to do with your money.  Much better.”

As she said the second “better,’ she leaned even farther forward, pushing her left breast up against his arm.

Ryck wasn’t naive.  He hadn’t needed the liberty brief where the sailors and Marines had been warned that while prostitution was legal on Vegas—as it was throughout the Federation, with a few exceptions, as a matter of civil rights—it tended to be a very costly proposition.  There would be no pay advances for anyone who spent all of his money, so making sure it stretched out for the entire four-day liberty was up to each individual.

Still, it had been a long time, and she was a very sexy woman.  Her blue skin added to the attraction.  It seemed more appropriate, somehow, that if he was going to enjoy the company of a working girl in Vegas, she should be rather unique, and Purety certainly fit that bill.  He hadn’t planned on doing anything other than drinking and gambling, maybe taking in a show.   But sitting next to Purety, he felt his resolve begin to falter.  This was Vegas, after all, with their hundreds-of-years-old motto of “What Happens in Vegas, Stays in Vegas.”   

She scooted a little closer, this time pressing her leg up against his.  Her leg was bare, but he had on full Dekes.  Still, the heavy fabric of the Dekes did nothing to lessen the electricity that flowed into his leg.

“So, you interested in partying?” she asked him in a husky voice.

Ryck was just about to give in when the recall button on his collar sounded.  Groans and curses sounded from other sailors and Marines as they realized what the buzzing buttons meant.  Their liberty was cut short.  Something was up, and they had to get back to the ship.

“You heard it, gents.  Let’s get going,” Corporal Pallas told them as he stood, swiping his card to clear his tab.  “Pay up if you haven’t already, and we’ve got 20 mikes to get back to the shuttle.  Wan, you and T-Rex make sure Smitty gets back.  OK, move it!”

Ryck stood up and looked back down at Purety.

“Uh, sorry, I mean, I wanted to, but I’ve gotta go.”

She shrugged indifferently.  “I know.  Go ahead.”

Her voice had lost some of the sultriness.  Despite her still exotic looks, she suddenly sounded like anyone else at a humdrum job; bored and wishing she was someplace else.  He wanted to say something more, but as the others started to rush off, he simply turned away and sprinted off to the shuttle port.