Young Rissa by F.M. Busby

quieted.  
    â€œOut of atmosphere now,” said Chira. Rissa nodded. A silent pause lengthened. Then Tregare entered.  
    â€œInspection time.” He gestured toward Rissa’s luggage. “Open ‘em up.” Is this the time to defy him? No — not yet. She complied. He searched skillfully, she thought — but did not discover any of the built-in hiding places. He held up the lock box Osallin had obtained for her. “Open it.”  
    Now was the time; she shook her head. “That is private — Hulzein business.”  
    â€œAll the more reason. I’m in on a lot of Hulzein business, myself.”  
    â€œNot on this; I have my instructions. Why, I cannot open the thing.”  
    He looked at the box, then back to her. “You almost lie like a Hulzein — but not quite.”  
    She shrugged. “Believe what you wish. I cannot oblige you.”  
    He turned the box over in his hands. “Photolock, isn’t it? An old trick.” He put one hand to her nape, holding her, and brought the box to her eyes. “Keep ‘em open!” She did; the scanner, seeing the plastic-aided patterns of Tari Obrigo, did not respond. Tregare released her. “Somebody else’s pattern, then,” he said. “Well, I’ve opened photolocks before.”  
    â€œIf you try to open this one, do it somewhere else. Or let me out of here — and Chira, also.”  
    â€œBooby-trapped, is it? That’s fine; you can tell me how.”  
    Rissa evaded his reach. “You know Erika better than that. Would she allow me to be a possible weak link? I have no idea what the protection is. It could be any of fifty ways — you know that, if you stop to think.”  
    â€œYeah.” He scratched his head. “All right — if it’s set up that tricky, maybe it’s out of my league anyway. And if you can’t open it yourself, I don’t have to worry you’ve got a weapon in there.”  
    She laughed. “Is that what you were afraid of?”  
    His lips twitched; he raised a hand but lowered it without striking her. “Afraid? Don’t use that word to me, you bitch!”  
    His reaction shocked her. Has he so much fear that he cannot stand even to hear the word? But she said, “Why not, you bastard?”  
    This time he did slap her. Trained, she moved enough to take the sting out. “I see,” she said. “You can call names but I cannot? This is hardly a good beginning for a friendly relationship.”  
    His face relaxed; then came his lopsided grin. “Friendly, eh? All right — let’s see you be friendly.”  
    Without answering, she stood and removed her clothing. “You see? No weapons on my person, either.” She lay supine on the larger of the two beds and slowly, deliberately, flexed her knees to raise and spread her legs.  
    â€œVery well,” she said, “let us get on with it. What are you waiting for?”  
    His mouth opened; he licked his lips. “You know something? You’re not a very feminine woman, are you?”  
    â€œI did not have a very feminine upbringing. I am as I am.”  
    â€œYeah — well, we’ll see.” He stripped — the scars on limbs and body startled her — and was ready immediately. Without preliminary, so that briefly she felt pain, he plunged at her like a bull — no finesse or technique, only a rhythmic pounding. Angered, she had impulse to use words and motions she knew to deflate his potency. Then she thought better of it and began to move so as to slow him, to vary his movements and prolong the act. When he climaxed, bellowing like that same bull, he lay spent.  
    Eventually he pushed himself up and sat. “You didn’t come?”  
    â€œI seldom do.”  
    â€œYou didn’t even fake it — try to make me feel good.”