Princess of Zenina Page 5

  He fought the desire to touch her, to reach for her and take her. He was her guest, a refugee, she had saved their lives. Never in his life had he gone to bed with a woman who had simply turned away and gone to sleep. His determination lasted a full half hour, when he moved closer to her, turning so he faced her back.

  He nuzzled into the black forest of her hair, the length of his body, taut and tense pressing into her flesh. She did not stir. He moved his arm around her waist, stroking her stomach and breasts. She still gave no response. He reached down, burrowing his fingers between her legs. Her breathing remained unchanged. He tried to gently wake her, caressing her body, kissing her shoulders and neck. He could not believe she could still be sleeping.

  At last annoyed by her sleeping though his attentions, he pulled hard on her shoulder, pushing her onto her back. He roughly kissed her lips, forcing his tongue into her mouth.

  “Let her pretend to sleep through that,” he thought.

  The darkness brightened a little and he looked down at her, her eyes wide open. Marina sat up shrugging him off as easily as if he was a kitten. The lights increased a little more. She returned his look with a silent enquiry.

  “I want you”, he said “I want to make love to you.”

  “I know.”

  “How long have you known?” he blurted out, “You were asleep.”

  “I was tired. It’s been a long day, supporting regeneration is tiring.” She paused and then she said. “I’m not being a good host. Are you aware of the risks to your body from sex with a Zeninan Gold?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “Do you just need a woman? I can get one of the others, the risks would be less.”

  “No, I want to have you.”

  Marina slipped out of bed and walked to the desk. She picked up a sheet of paper set apart from the other papers and a pen. Returning to the bed, she handed them to Bromarsh. He looked through the writing. It was an official disclaimer. He was to declare sex between them was at his own request and his own risk. The gist of the form was no liability would be accepted and he waived rights over any progeny howsoever conceived. His own name was handwritten at the top in full, and at the bottom by the date was a space for his signature. He signed and handed it back to her, annoyed both with her and his self. She had been so sure of him, so clinical. He should be overjoyed at her acquiescence, not furious at her assurance.

  “You can sulk, but I’m due on watch in three hours’ time. The form avoids litigation as there have been legal suits, a couple from men I’ve never even met. I keep an exact record or who, when and where. It may be unromantic, but I’ve found it a practical solution. Please don’t inflict your self-criticism on me. Your embarrassment at your own desire is misplaced. It is the normal reaction of a healthy male when in close confines with a Zeninan woman. It’s not vanity on my part to expect you to want sex. Now unless you’ve changed your mind, remove your prosthesis. I don’t find metal and plastic sexually appealing. I am not offended by the amputation of your arm, but if you are uncomfortable about being seen without it, I’ll darken the room.”

  He unbuckled the straps binding the prosthesis to his body and eased it off the stump of his arm. Dumping it bad temperedly on the floor, he returned to the bed. Even all of this had failed to lessen his erection. No longer caring what she thought of him or for her pleasure, he mounted her without delay. She received him gently, adjusting their positions to allow for his missing arm. She let her mind flow into his, encompassing him within her thoughts.

  He gasped as he realised his mind was now in hers, just as he was within her body. Yet the urgency of his need was more powerful than the shock of the vision of her mind. That she was slowing him down, holding him back, he knew. That she was responding to his desires by what she was doing to his body was known to them both. But he was too pre-occupied with the erotic sensations he was experiencing and the urgent driving force of his body to reciprocate.

  But even she could not hold him back much longer, as he came to the end of their mutual control; he felt a sharp pain in the stump of his mutilated arm. As the waves of ecstasy filled his mind, her thoughts were hard to fathom, they were not only of their pleasure even he could tell that. As his fluid surged into her body, he felt disappointed at his failure to satisfy her, mixing with his own personal relief. Spent he lay back, her head on his chest wrapped in his arms.

  Bromarsh lay there for a few moments, relaxing in the glow of pleasure. He ignored the pains and itching in his arm and hand. He knew it was not there. He had thought his mind had finally stopped imagining those phantom fingers, as it had been months since they last bothered him. He could almost believe he could feel her skin soft like velvet snuggled into his arm, the gentle rise and fall of her breathing as she lay quietly in his arms. He kept his eyes firmly shut, refusing to look at the imaginary arm. He was enjoying the sensation of wholeness, even if it was an illusion. She untangled herself from his body and clambered out of the bed as the lights brightened. He watched her open one of the cupboards, removing a sterile wrapped package which she brought back to him.

  “Sit up please,” Marina requested, placing the hand of his missing arm high upon his left collar bone. She then proceeded to take a rubberised bandage from the packet. Strapping the bandage tightly around his body; tying the arm firmly into position. He finally accepted he had been denying the existence of reality.

  “Why didn’t you tell me what you were doing? Even when we were in mind link, I had no inkling what you were planning. After all that ethical waffle about requiring permission to treat my former comrades, you proceed to regenerate my arm without a by your leave.”

  Marina waved the paper he had signed under his nose.

  “Did you read this? It states and I quote ‘that I and the Zeninan Empire accept no responsibility for any damage, death, change whether physical or mental howsoever caused before, during or after sexual participation.’ I had no way of knowing if regeneration would take place. Laser injuries are complicated to repair. There is usually nerve damage and sometimes genetic cell damage to the wound.” She disposed of the bandage wrapper and sat back down on the bed.

  “I knew regeneration might start automatically during sex with me or another high Zeninan, so it seemed sensible that I should be prepared for that possibility. So I studied your medical case notes from your army career before retiring, so if regeneration were to take place, I’d be prepared to assist and prevent random regeneration. I even checked your finger print records so I could reproduce them exactly. However, the regeneration may not be perfect. Perhaps we can improve on it later.”

  “In what way isn’t it perfect? It looks like it used to be.”

  “I’m not sure there is a problem, but you didn’t experience the depth of pain I anticipated you would have. There could be a dozen reasons, but it leaves me uneasy.”

  “You think I’ll reject the arm, that I’ll not be able to accept it? How will you know if it has been rejected and what will happen?”

  “I’ll do some tests on it tomorrow, but in the worst case in a week or two, gangrene will set in and I’d have to re-amputate. If it is merely a failure to regenerate some control or sensory nerves, a colleague will do microsurgery to fix the damaged nerves or replace the damage with artificial nerves. There are many reasons for low pain reception. Move your fingers a little and try to accept its existence. Tomorrow I’ll run a few tests. Try not to worry about it, it may be fine.” She paused and grinned.

  “Now I don’t want to jar that arm so if you’ll just lie back and enjoy it, I’ll take what I need.”

  Marina stretched out her hand, her fingers rippling down his abdomen. She did not need to reach his groin, because he was fully erect before she touched him there. He lay back and let her envelope him with her body. As he sunk deep into her, she again brought her mind to him, sucking his thoughts into the drowning depths of her own.

  He wanted to please her now, as she had him, by doing what she wanted. But
now the initial shock of merging minds was over, he found himself fascinated not by her desire for him, but by the sheer magnificence of her mind. It seemed limitless, extending in all directions of his consciousness in structured precision. Her thoughts were myriad, multi-layered, and glorious in glowing brilliant colours. That this kaleidoscope of thought was not a tangled mass of chaos should not have surprised him.

  Everything he knew about her, fitted in with the controlled organisation of her psyche, but he was not prepared for the magnitude of it. The vast expanse of thought swallowed him up. He swam like a tadpole in a great sea. His ego bewildered by the proportional comparison, it made between their minds. He felt like a small child alone and naked in a world populated by giants. He had never examined his own intellectual limitations, but now was astounded by his insignificance.

  Bromarsh concentrated his thoughts on the corporeal transports which ebbed and flowed between them. The confluence of their bodies were engorging and withdrawing rhythmically as Marina methodically made use of his passion. He saw rather than felt the series of crescendos which welled through her mind. Even amatory abandon patterned itself into a symphony of pleasure, as she reached the dramatic conclusion in their mutual exhaustion; he knew he had experienced only a fragment of what she was capable of giving.

  But in spite of, or because, he now appreciated her intellectual superiority, he was joyful. He was just a small peg, but he was in the right hole. Then his arm pierced with a pain of such intensity, burning needles entered it from all angles, tearing at his flesh and bones. His arm was burning in an invisible fire, he sweated in the sudden agony as she caught and tossed his pain, taking it to herself. As his mind screamed in hers, that he could stand it no more, the pain lessened, diminishing into a dull ache. He lay back on the bed, trembling from the aftermath of the fire. She smiled broadly down at him as he lay tensed, from the trauma of his re-grown nerves, which had come back to life with a vengeance.

  “We can forego those tests on your arm. I am sure regeneration is now totally satisfactory.” She brushed his forehead with her lips, “Sleep now,” she ordered.

  Bromarsh watched through half-closed eyes as she went into the bathroom, returning to dress in plain brown trousers and shirt. She re-braided her hair and before she left the room he was fast asleep. As she left, the lights went out. Marina walked to the bridge, checking their position and progress. Letinza was up and just finishing breakfast, so Marina asked her to remove Ondiella’s bandages and help her to the bathroom. Chilka and the new baby were both fast asleep. Marina let them sleep on. In cabin seven Father Debenden was up and fully dressed, sitting by Tippy who thrashed, talking sporadically as if in a delirium.

  “I was going to look for you, he’s been talking wildly. Some of it is calling for his mother and some woman called Karella. But he’s also mentioned a General and Major Bromarsh, and then he got distraught and guilty about something. He goes on and on about “I should’ve told” then he screams and babbles on about dead women and children.”

  “Thank you, you’ve been a great help, I expected something of this sort. Brain shock often starts with one suppressed trauma which the patient has been unable to resolve satisfactorily in his mind. A second shock triggered a brain overload, which regressed his mind into childhood.”

  “Will he get any better? Is there no treatment you can give him?”

  “His brain probably needs rest, time and sleep. Sleep may help his brain come to terms with reality. There may be nothing structurally wrong with his brain; it has shut down memories of anything which upsets him. The brain cross references everything sequentially so the only memories it finds safe to access are from early childhood, when everything was safe and simple. We’ll do what we can to help him come to terms with the shock, but I need some idea of what is troubling him. By disturbing him further, he could be driven into permanent insanity. It would help if you write down any words he says whilst semi-conscious. That could assist his recovery.”

  “But it is obvious it’s to do with the massacre of those innocent women and children, by that blackguard Major Bromarsh. Why can’t you read Tippy’s mind and find out exactly what disturbs him?”

  “I believe the Xandabal massacre caused the initial trauma, but Major Bromarsh was neither present nor responsible for it. He was framed. By whom, Zeninan Security hasn’t discovered, but we’d like to know the answer. Mind linking with Tippy could trigger further withdrawal. The non-telepath is rarely completely mind-deaf; many experience low level telepathy during childhood, which Tippy is reliving. In that state, the intrusion of another mind can frighten the brain into irreversible damage; particularly if it has information it must forget or never tell.”

  “How can you declare Major Bromarsh innocent? The evidence was damning, how he was let off so lightly, I never understood, just thrown out of the army in disgrace. He should’ve been shot; those poor innocents were gratuitously hacked to pieces. That’s the kind of madman we’ve on board with us. Tippy’s kind of madness is infinitely preferable. Why, the man admitted he was the Major Bromarsh, who’d been cashiered for that massacre. Denied doing it, but you could hardly expect him to admit to doing that.”

  “Father, you’re wrong. He took no part in, nor did he direct that massacre. There’s no trace of it in his mind. His thoughts attempt to understand what happened to him and a not unreasonable desire for revenge on those who ordered the massacre and framed him. The Zeninan Department of Internal Security, what you might call our secret service department has long believed that Major Bromarsh was not only completely innocent of the massacre, but was not actually in the area at all when it took place. What I have discovered from his mind only confirms that opinion. Your prejudice against Bromarsh may blind you to the truth.”

  “Tippy may have information that would clear his name, but that is less important than getting Tippy’s sanity back. Please write down what he says for the next hour. He will then become conscious. We’ll bathe and feed him, then sedate him again. When we reach Zenina he’ll be admitted to hospital where machines will examine his mind. Now I’m due on the bridge, I’ll send someone to relieve you soon.”

  Chapter Nine – Waking

  Bromarsh woke with a smile on his face. His arm hurt a little and was stiff as it was still secured to his chest. Where his body had been scarred before, the skin itched like crazy. He wiggled his new fingers and was gratified to find they responded. He struggled up into a sitting position. It was still pitch dark. What should he do now? He decided his luck must be changing for the better. So he sat there humming a popular tune in the dark to himself.

  He had been awake for little over five minutes when Vlama entered bearing a covered tray. She adjusted the lights, drawing her knife. She too had put on shirt and trousers, though their colours were rather vivid. Bromarsh blinked as the light displayed her in fuchsia and lime green patterned trousers combined with a loud orange shirt. He was wary as she approached with the unsheathed knife, but as she proceeded to sever the constricting bandages around his chest, was amused by his own fear.

  “Do you want to bathe before breakfast? I’m to keep an eye on you, so you don’t do too much with that arm.”

  She kicked the prosthetic limb on the floor, then bent down and picked it up.

  “Don’t think you’ll need this again, has it any sentimental value?” she asked with a wink.

  “I never want to see it again, thank you.”

  “Well, I’ll recycle it. She opened a small metal door in the wall of cupboards and inserted the false arm and the shredded bandages. She closed the door. A faint whine was produced for a few seconds.

  Vlama had the kind of gruff voice he associated with regimental sergeant-majors and Bromarsh found he was treating her in that light. He swung his legs out of bed, but found as he put his feet to the ground and tried to stand, the room began to swim. She steadied him as the blood rushed from his head, but the faintness soon dissipated. Vlama assisted him on the brief walk to the b
athroom.

  “I feel as weak as a child, a bit dizzy” he apologized.

  “A night in Marina’s bed makes strong men weak,” Vlama joked in return.

  “It’ll pass soon, it’s just getting the blood used to circulating through your new arm. Your body has had to create a couple of pints of blood over night to operate that new arm. You’ll feel much better when you’ve had breakfast.”

  “What time is it now?”

  “About eleven o’clock, Qu time. Everybody else is up and has breakfasted.”

  He bathed with some difficulty, whilst Vlama looked on. The arm was painful as he tried to move it about. Though he was used to doing things one-handed, he now felt unbalanced. He reached out with his new arm to steady himself, only to find there was little strength in it. Vlama sat on a stool by the edge of the bath and chatted to him on a variety of subjects. He put a battery of questions to her, mostly about Marina, to which she responded good humouredly.

  “Have you known Princess Marina for long…” got the response, “I’ve known Princess Marina since she was four or five. I instructed her in sword play and have never had a more gifted pupil. Or one less interested. Not really got enough of the killer instinct in her, but it can come with necessity.”

  “Does she keep slaves?” he asked.

  “Usually only one, Charles has been with her for some years and is quite a character.”

  He paused before asking about his own future.

  “Do you know what Marina’s plans are for me?”

  “I don’t know if she’s made any. Show you a good time in Hemithea till she tires of you, I’d guess. She breaks men’s hearts like candy bars. Best if you don’t expect too much.”

  “Will I be free to leave, she won’t enslave me?”

  “It’d be the first time if she did. Marina doesn’t hold with slavery and has never kept any slave against his will. But as to free to go, I can’t say. The authorities might want to talk to you about the leprosy epidemic or piracy or something. No free man is safe from the risk of enslavement in Hemithea. If Marina offers you her protection whilst you’re in Zenina, I’d advise you not to be too proud to accept it.”