have to leave early today. I'm right in the middle of spring cleaning and I want to get the bookshelves dusted before my new research manuals come."
"Bridget," he whispered, remembering hearing her talking to Tina outside his cell door one afternoon. He would bet a month's credits she liked to clean. Maybe she even thrived
on the organization of doing such repetitious idiocy. Most women did.
"What are you doing right now, Bridget?" he asked, then frowned heavily.
Why hadn't she been there that last day? Had she been reassigned? Handed over to
another warrior whose punishment had just begun? Was she even at that moment giving
another man solace and comfort and the sweetness of her gentle touch on his fevered
flesh? Was another man looking into her beautiful green eyes?
Cree grimaced. He didn't like to think of her smiling eyes looking down on another
man. The thought of her soft voice speaking gently to some other warrior to calm his
anxiety made the Reaper acutely uncomfortable and not a little angry. He squirmed in his
chair.
"Bridget."
ABC Amber LIT Converter
http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
ABC Amber LIT Converter
http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
And he sure as hell didn't like the notion of her touching any man other than himself.
"His name is Konnor Rhye. Do you know him?"
"Bridget," he growled and it was more a curse than anything else.
His natural competitiveness asserted itself and he shifted in the chair again, his eyes
narrowed into dangerous slits.
"He doesn't like to be kept waiting."
"Oh, yeah?" Cree growled. The image of Bridget with the faceless man made his lip
curl. That he would put a stop to ASAP!
He pictured her sitting across the room from him and almost smiled, although smiling
was not something he did very often or had ever done well. He was unaware that his right
hand was caressing the chair arm, his thumb moving sensually over the edge, until the
faint sensation started in his groin and he wiggled, trying to ignore it.
"Captain Cree?" the Vid-Com interrupted with a pleasant chime.
Cree's mouth turned vicious. "What?" he barked.
"Shall I send for a surrogate, Sir?"
"What?" he repeated, suddenly realizing what he was doing with his hand. He jerked
his fingers away from the chair arm. "No, I don't want a surrogate! Did I ask for a
surrogate?"
"No, you did not, Captain," the Vid-Com answered in its polite, reasonable tone, "but you appear to be experiencing sexual excitement and Article 26 of the Ministry of
Defense Code of Elite Conduct states..."
"I know what it states!" Cree shouted. He reached out, grabbed a pair of dirty
underwear and threw it at the Vid-Com screen.
"Sir," the Vid-Com stated in a slightly miffed tone, "you seem agitated as well as sexually excited. Perhaps you would like to take an extra injection of triso."
"What I would like is to take you apart and leave you that way!" the Reaper spat,
throwing another piece of dirty laundry at the screen.
"You have neither the authority nor the expertise to do that, Captain," the Vid-Com insulted him. "I suggest you take something to eliminate the uncharacteristic behavior
you are exhibiting; it does not compute." The Vid-Com clicked off with a squelch.
"Compute this, you piece of shit!" he suggested, grabbing his crotch, but there was no answer to his vulgarity.
He glowered at the intercom plate thinking how much he loathed the monitor that kept
tabs on him for his Controllers. Every facet of his life was probed by the men in the
Defense Lab. He could undergo no sensation, no stimulation, nothing without his
Controllers being aware of it. They monitored him more closely than they did the others
of his kind and kept precise logs of his activities. They even monitored him in his sleep
with a specially designed implant that had been given to him when he reached puberty.
The implant had been designed to block dreams—pleasant or otherwise—the moment
the forbidden vision began a switch
"Bridget," he whispered, remembering hearing her talking to Tina outside his cell door one afternoon. He would bet a month's credits she liked to clean. Maybe she even thrived
on the organization of doing such repetitious idiocy. Most women did.
"What are you doing right now, Bridget?" he asked, then frowned heavily.
Why hadn't she been there that last day? Had she been reassigned? Handed over to
another warrior whose punishment had just begun? Was she even at that moment giving
another man solace and comfort and the sweetness of her gentle touch on his fevered
flesh? Was another man looking into her beautiful green eyes?
Cree grimaced. He didn't like to think of her smiling eyes looking down on another
man. The thought of her soft voice speaking gently to some other warrior to calm his
anxiety made the Reaper acutely uncomfortable and not a little angry. He squirmed in his
chair.
"Bridget."
ABC Amber LIT Converter
http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
ABC Amber LIT Converter
http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
And he sure as hell didn't like the notion of her touching any man other than himself.
"His name is Konnor Rhye. Do you know him?"
"Bridget," he growled and it was more a curse than anything else.
His natural competitiveness asserted itself and he shifted in the chair again, his eyes
narrowed into dangerous slits.
"He doesn't like to be kept waiting."
"Oh, yeah?" Cree growled. The image of Bridget with the faceless man made his lip
curl. That he would put a stop to ASAP!
He pictured her sitting across the room from him and almost smiled, although smiling
was not something he did very often or had ever done well. He was unaware that his right
hand was caressing the chair arm, his thumb moving sensually over the edge, until the
faint sensation started in his groin and he wiggled, trying to ignore it.
"Captain Cree?" the Vid-Com interrupted with a pleasant chime.
Cree's mouth turned vicious. "What?" he barked.
"Shall I send for a surrogate, Sir?"
"What?" he repeated, suddenly realizing what he was doing with his hand. He jerked
his fingers away from the chair arm. "No, I don't want a surrogate! Did I ask for a
surrogate?"
"No, you did not, Captain," the Vid-Com answered in its polite, reasonable tone, "but you appear to be experiencing sexual excitement and Article 26 of the Ministry of
Defense Code of Elite Conduct states..."
"I know what it states!" Cree shouted. He reached out, grabbed a pair of dirty
underwear and threw it at the Vid-Com screen.
"Sir," the Vid-Com stated in a slightly miffed tone, "you seem agitated as well as sexually excited. Perhaps you would like to take an extra injection of triso."
"What I would like is to take you apart and leave you that way!" the Reaper spat,
throwing another piece of dirty laundry at the screen.
"You have neither the authority nor the expertise to do that, Captain," the Vid-Com insulted him. "I suggest you take something to eliminate the uncharacteristic behavior
you are exhibiting; it does not compute." The Vid-Com clicked off with a squelch.
"Compute this, you piece of shit!" he suggested, grabbing his crotch, but there was no answer to his vulgarity.
He glowered at the intercom plate thinking how much he loathed the monitor that kept
tabs on him for his Controllers. Every facet of his life was probed by the men in the
Defense Lab. He could undergo no sensation, no stimulation, nothing without his
Controllers being aware of it. They monitored him more closely than they did the others
of his kind and kept precise logs of his activities. They even monitored him in his sleep
with a specially designed implant that had been given to him when he reached puberty.
The implant had been designed to block dreams—pleasant or otherwise—the moment
the forbidden vision began a switch
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