25. Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Five
But back to someone who thought I was properly beautiful, no caveats or explanations necessary.
Ursa and I were very lucky to have both drawn straws to be part of that last group. Those who hadn’t drawn the time slot they wanted were rather salty, and I had no doubt they would take any opportunity to steal our slots if we were even a few minutes late.
It took some doing to convince Ursa that it was in his best interest to get dressed and eat breakfast, despite the seemingly overwhelming temptation I presented in the blue dress.
Though I huffed and tsked at him to get us out the door on time, I was secretly pleased that “I still had it,” so to speak.
My novelty to Ursa hadn’t worn off; he desired me just as fiercely now as he had on Earth.
It was all worth it to see Ursa’s face when the ramp lowered and we stepped off the Trojan Horse and onto a terraformed settlement for the first time.
There was really no explaining why terraforming had been more successful on some planets and moons than others.
Unlike Newearth and even the Havens, Amazonia had adapted more naturally to the process, with the atmosphere and climate regulated so the air was breathable and the temperatures sustainable for human life, even without a dome.
On Haven 3, we’d developed a rather supercilious attitude about our dome, that it somehow made us more civilized and advanced.
Taking my first steps onto Amazonia, I realized that was utter nonsense.
Breathing in fresh, unfiltered air, feeling the warmth of the sunlight directly on your skin .
. . There was no conceivable way that dome life could compete.
Glancing over at Ursa, I couldn’t catch my smile at the sight of him. He’d stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes closed almost reverently, his face turned up longingly toward the sun.
It was such a pure, unguarded moment of bliss, my heart went out to him.
I knew what a struggle it had been for him to adapt to life onboard the ship.
He never complained, didn’t sulk, but still, I knew.
He wasn’t made for the confines of a cold, metallic vessel, deep in the bowels of space.
He needed warmth, fresh air, land to roam. Soil between his toes.
Amazonia was more of a desert climate than what he’d been accustomed to in the Colorado Rockies.
Red dirt and boulders and cliffs stretched out around us.
There was no lush wave of trees, no sparkling blue pools; the plant life here was sparse, and the water even rarer.
Still, it was much closer to home than anything Ursa had experienced over the last several weeks.
Reaching out, I took his hand in mine. Ursa’s eyes drifted back open. He smiled at me with such a look of perfect contentment that it filled my heart to bursting.
“Come on,” I encouraged him. “Let’s go explore.”
By most standards, the town was nothing too impressive—one main street, with a few smaller streets branching off in different directions, lined with small booths and shops and bars and brothels, all designed to provide an easy respite for travelers making a quick stop.
That’s all Amazonia was, really: a quick and easy port between Newearth and more civilized settlements where vessels could refuel and the crew could stretch their legs.
It was nothing compared to Haven 3, I’ll tell you that.
So far, the most advanced technology I could spot was some holovid advertisements and notices that were standard in most port towns, even one as remote as Amazonia.
The architecture was far less impressive than anything found in more advanced settlements, the road dusty, the people rustic.
But for Ursa, who’d only ever seen abandoned cities overgrown with vegetation, a brief visit to a factory on Newearth, and our small research compound back in Colorado, this was a strange new world indeed.
I smiled at the wonder in his expression.
His eyes darted from one thing to the next, as if he didn’t quite know where they should land. What he should focus on first.
It excited him, this newness, but I could see him growing instinctively agitated, too—his shoulders raising, his jaw clenching. I reached out and took his hand. He jumped, but when he realized it was me, his eyes locked on mine, and he squeezed my fingers gratefully.
Then all at once, that no longer seemed to satisfy him, and he tugged me forward so I was walking just in front of him, one of his hands guiding me with a firm hold on the back of my neck.
It was a ridiculous way to walk, honestly, but I allowed it, since I knew Ursa was feeling so out of his element and this was his way of protecting me. As if he thought someone was going to try to snatch me away at any moment.
. . . Actually, considering where we were, he might not have been too far off the mark.
Many of the tourists wandering the dusty roads looked to be long-haul crew members, blinking their way into sunlight for the first time in ages.
Most were bored and pent-up and horny enough that even a humble mycologist might look like an appealing offering, especially in this dress.
I was grateful to have Ursa at my back, growling at anyone who looked for too long.
With my fierce protector watching over me, I could ignore the other tourists bumping around us and instead focused on the various wares for sale. Still feeling some tension radiating off Ursa, I used my calmest tone to explain what we were seeing.
“Look there, Ursa. This is a shop. You give them credits, and they give you items in exchange. They have some lovely fruit there, don’t they?
The strawberries look so fresh . . . and here’s some jewelry.
Some games and souvenirs and things. Ooh, some chili.
Yes, go ahead and try that little cup he’s offering you, but remember, it’s going to be spicy . . .”
As we proceeded down the road, we were called to from every side.
People who wanted to offer Ursa a shave, or me a new hat to keep off the sun.
Some only shouted, but others were more aggressive.
When one man grabbed my hands to force me to take a free sample of lotion, Ursa shoved him so hard he fell backward over a table, scattering a display of fidgets all over the ground.
I had to drag Ursa away after that so he wouldn’t become aggravated by the stand’s owner coming out to berate him.
It was all a bit much, but I was used to the hubbub of port towns. I knew to smile blandly and to not make too much eye contact with anyone and to drown out nearly all of everything that was shouted at me.
Ursa didn’t have any experience with this, though, and I could see his hackles rising with each shop we passed. I suppose it makes sense; he was used to relying on his senses to survive. Trying to selectively turn them off was probably virtually impossible.
Sensing how anxious he was, I reached for the hand still gripping my neck, squeezing it. “It’s all right. We’re fine, aren’t we, Ursa . . . ?”
And so on and so forth until we reached the brothel at the end of the street. This was evidently the location that most of the traffic was surging toward, as evidenced by the steady stream of people pushing toward the door.
Despite myself, I took a moment to study the building.
It was bigger than I’d expected and much more modern, too.
It was by far the most polished, contemporary structure in the entire settlement, which I suppose made sense, since it appeared to generate by far the most revenue.
Four-stories high and shaped like an old shotgun-style hotel, the building had a wraparound porch on the ground floor and balconies on each other story.
On the lowest level, some men and women were seated outdoors, drinking, gambling, and receiving some .
. . attentions from some of the workers, right out there in the open.
On the higher floors were men and women in various states of undress, leaning over the balcony railings and calling out enticingly to people on the street below.
. . . Calling out enticingly to us, I realized, as one particularly buxom woman waved a bright red silk handkerchief at us. “Yoo-hoo! Hello there, handsome, with the sweet little morsel in blue. My, aren’t you a pretty pair. Would you like to see my pretty pair?”
And before I’d had a chance to piece together the double entendre, she’d pulled down the top of her blouse so her two large, full breasts were fully visible.
Several people on the street around us wolf-whistled; a handful more surged toward the door.
I could only stare in astonishment—not just because she’d revealed herself in such a public way, but also because I’d assumed, due to the abundant size of her breasts, she must have been artificially modified, whether through genetics pre-birth or surgery post-birth.
But the sag and shape of her bare breasts suggested otherwise, which was, frankly, staggering.
She must have terrible back pain, although I suppose the corset she was wearing likely helped provide some support . . .
It took me longer than it should have to realize that Ursa was no longer standing behind me. The warmth of his body had disappeared, as had the weight of his hand on my neck.
Bewildered, I turned in a full circle, searching for him. He wasn’t—thankfully—among the groups of people surging toward the brothel. Nor could I see him at any of the nearby stalls.
As I turned in another circle, some real panic began to set in—until, through the gap between two stores and into the desert beyond, I spotted a lone figure sprinting at full speed toward a wall of red rock cliffs about a mile in the distance.
1. Face smashed into mashed potatoes, etc.
2. On some settlements, it wouldn’t be necessary to take such security measures, since docking bays would have guards and clearance passes and whatnot. But Amazonia’s docking bay was basically an open field with a chain-link fence around it, so leaving your ship unattended was asking for trouble.