**Chapter 50**

I recognized about half the combats from the housekeeping mission. I nevertheless stayed stealthed and silent for the whole trip back to Pasiphae’s ring, even though they knew that the conspicuously empty seat wasn’t empty at all. I got to experience a shielded patrol craft fight against the laws of physics to escape a full-sized planet’s gravity well. It was a bit bumpy, but not too bad. Humanity has figured out how to pay the debt down with energy rather than have to eat it directly; I can only imagine the bill, though. There’s a reason for space elevators and orbital rings and all the rest.

In the ancient sci-fi holovids, spaceships go up and down from planets all the time on their own juice. I suppose that Auntie Ems could make it work. The question is why anybody would voluntarily shoot themselves in the dick like that. The more immediate question was why the Wolves of Símoné were even being given the option. I was a part of that answer — not the whole story, but a solid chapter. That felt good. I’d helped secure my own exfil.

I didn’t get to see anything on the way; ancient sci-fi also has a lot more windows than reality does. The funniest thing happened, though: discipline completely broke down amongst the other combats aboard the transport craft. They started jabbering out loud about everything and nothing, like they were back in the barracks and getting ready to shower-fuck each other for half an int. I closed my eyes, centered myself, and adapted. I relearned how to do some shipside spycraft on easy mode. I soaked in gossip that was probably close to zero bullshit. I heard people joke and laugh with each other. I caught the cadences of at-ease combat units that I hadn’t heard since I’d fake died. I put together a puzzle and immediately noted some missing pieces.

Ringside, there was an anti-stealth curtain that I couldn’t slip past, and that was that. I was put into quarantine, and then it was lights fucking out.

***

When I come to, it only takes me about ten ticks to realize that I’m back in quarantine, not still in quarantine.

“The suicide protocols have been disabled and removed, Specialist Sharp,” Goldie says over the speakers. She’s still on the other side of some very thick plastiglass. “The phenotypical modifications have all been reverted. I will stick my neck out so that I can be the first to tell you that I am delighted you are home.”

“So who gets first crack at me?” I ask. “Well, second.”

“Officer Horn,” she answers with all the sympathy and apology she can muster.

“Jessie Nova really isn’t here?” I whine. “Is she within ten jumps? I’ll wait.”

“Ah,” she replies. “On a technicality, I suppose you are not currently required to refer to her as ‘Officer Nova’ or ‘Chief Nova,’ but you may wish to make a mental note. It may not be long before you are draped in those particular titanium chains once more.”

“Do me the favor, doc,” I say with a grin. “She’s got to have one by now.”

“I will deny it and denounce and disavow you, Specialist Sharp.”

“Deal.”

“… ‘Fisty.'”

My grin widens. It feels good. “Couldn’t have come up with a better one myself.”

“She goes back and forth. Even after you have shored up my deniability, I would exercise caution. Further, make sure to never, ever say ‘Fistula’ instead.”

“Thanks, doc. I mean that. I missed you, and it’s good to be home.”

“My time is up, I’m afraid. Best of luck, Specialist Sharp.”

I think I’ve noted before that there’s some overlap between spies and doctors. Goldie just put on a very good show for me, but it wasn’t perfect. She had a better excuse to avoid those missing puzzle pieces than the combats did, but it’s yet more evidence that there’s shit coming my way that they don’t think I’m going to like — and no, not just being drugged up and interrogated by Gutsy.

That’s what happens next. The drugs make me think it’s all fine and dandy. I spill my guts, which is a mildly amusing thought that nevertheless does not derail my cooperation — again, thanks to the drugs. There are certain questions Gutsy pointedly does not ask — things above even her rank and paygrade, which brings to the forefront of my drugged-up mind the feeling of being special. I’m sure that’s one of those emotions that gets people blabbering even more freely.

There’s a lot of psychtech bullshit. The drugs neutralize my distaste for Gutsy, but I do more spycraft and clock her various tics and tendencies, just because I can. Gutsy is still Gutsy, and whatever else that is, it’s more stability — one more thing that hasn’t changed out from under me. With a perfunctory declaration that I’ve at least delayed my own true death, I’m released to what is, in effect, an extremely comfortable detainment cell.

Clean and clear, I’m not waiting for the next thing, which is almost certainly going to involve a probe up my ass — another one, since I’m sure I got the full treatment when I was unconscious. My next thing is going to be fucking.

“Hey,” I say to nobody, but probably somebody, “I need to fuck. Any takers? I like shipgirls, and I like to be the one doing the fucking. Pretty flexible otherwise right now.”

I wait half a stack, then shrug for effect and move in on my partner. She’s long, thin, comfy, and has a decent hole that comes pre-lubed. Ironically, I like her type thicker and wider. I close my eyes and fantasize about all the genuine dickgirls I’d rather be fucking instead of a bedhole. Brigid and Breeze come to mind first. Next up is Rina-kat, and then Clara. Kit-Nine, Riley-Nine, Jenny Star, and even Isabelle Kwon make appearances. Brit slips in, which makes me think of Riley-Nine again, and that’s a fun imaginary threesome for a few ticks. Then things get a little weird when Dorothy McKay, Anastasia Drake, and Tales pop into my head. I bedfuck my way through it; what finally gets me over the hump is the thought of fucking Jessie Nova in the ass for the very first time. The fact that she’s a chief biomed officer adds a little something extra.

I cum, and it’s fine. It’s a release. I’ll call it something fun like “getting back on the horse.” That was a saying once. I don’t think horses made it out to the rim for real — maybe just as custom-engineered pets for some fatcats. Still, I think the real reason we stopped using the phrase was because we just couldn’t resist the obvious, sexual joke.

I get about ten stacks to recover from my perfectly fine orgasm, and then it’s time for a two-heavy escort to either Kiss or Mag. I don’t give them any shit, but I do try to start up some banter. They’re definitely from the Starkiss school, whose graduates include Rack-Six and Lightfeather. With conversation off the table, I take what chances I can to look around. The Wolves of Símoné have definitely been recruiting. They’ve also added more primitive bots. There are some parts of our ring section that are lively — bustling, even.

As we walk and don’t talk, I sense the conflicted vibe. Some dickgirls are off duty and just trying to live their lives; not many are naked or nearly naked, but a few are. Others are working, and they’re either in duty suits, pressure suits, or combat gear. Everyone is under the same pall to one extent or another; I can see and hear it even when they’re trying hard to deny it with their focused faces or friendly chatter. We’re at war, and it hasn’t just been a bunch of ships fucking around, playing at raider.

***

Kiss raises an eyebrow when I ask for an internal massage. “Special occasion, Governor,” I say. “I’m still me, but I haven’t fucked anyone in over half a cycle.”

“Anyone?” she asks, completely deadpan.

A grin spreads across my face. “You sure you’re still you, Governor?”

“‘Kiss’ is fine when it’s just the old guard,” she replies. “One of my idle fantasies is an organization that can function without so much formality.”

“Well then, Kiss, I’ll give you a friendly warning not to disparage any of my ‘deer, deer’ friends back in the you-know-what-and-where.”

“You’re still you,” she says. “I’m glad you’re back with us.”

The probe in my ass starts vibrating, and I don’t try to avoid it. I lean into it, figuratively and literally. I idly toy with my flaccid cock — actually, more so my sack — and release a little grunt. “No formalities, huh? I had a big, long taste of that recently. I liked it. I’d back it.”

“I know you would,” Kiss replies, betraying neither amusement, disappointment, nor disgust at my behavior. “Once upon a time, the mayor-captain and I had many discussions under the loose assumption that I’d be taking over her big chair on the Romulus someday. I’ve been privy to her impressions and evaluations of you, Specialist Sharp. If you tell me you’re okay, I’ll believe you, even considering what you just endured. Incidentally, that loop is small and tight, and always will be: five, including you. I’m sure you know who, and that you understand.”

It’s me, her, Maggie, the cap, and Rack-Six. The two docs didn’t get details; I wonder if ZoZo somehow got frozen out for real. I look my old XO squarely in the eye. “I stand to lose a lot if it frays, Kiss, and not just as a Wolf.”

She nods. She knows: Brigid — and maybe a few others, too. Anyone who’s too soft, too shiny, or both would not react well.

I wait a tick or two, then loll my head. “I’m mostly okay, Kiss. There’s shit I’m not being told, and I have an inkling what it is. There are smart people who will strongly suspect, and every single one of them is a unique serving of shit on my plate. I have a port bitch to check in on stickytack. It’s a lot. I’m feeling a bit tired in advance — and at the risk of sounding very much unlike me, I think I need one rote before I ask the big questions. I want to know, but I just did a big job. I need one rote where I kicked ass, came home, and got to fuck some bitches, end of.”

She nods. “That’s more words than I expected to hear from you — and you did kick ass, Specialist. You were beyond platinum.”

“Stole my line, Kiss.”

For the sake of the banter, she pointedly doesn’t respond. I appreciate it, and she knows I do.

“So,” I say, “can I get a favor for old time’s sake? Can you just tell me if all that stupid-ass fake-death megacorp bullshit fucked me over without going into too much detail?”

“As of your return from a mission accomplished beyond-platinum,” she says, “you’re rich as. Unfortunately, you’re also a Wolf. War is expensive. Your expenditures will be restricted and vetted, just like everyone else’s. The Auntie Ems and synthesizers have more priorities than matter and time. There are, however, certain allowances we are prepared to make.”

“Sextech for Brit, if she wants it?”

She nods. “That is the big one. The other is the continuation of your ringside lifestyle, so to speak, within reason. Impressive as always, Specialist. You won’t even have to do a favor for Officer Dupont.”

“Wow,” I say. “Who did it for me?”

“First Class Swift,” she says. “She was told it was unnecessary. She didn’t seem to care.”

“At the risk of dinging my rep, Kiss, I was joking.”

“I was not. You are loved, Specialist Sharp. Ms. Brittany is, too. It happened very quickly. I am not at all surprised.”

I take a good stretch and gyrate a bit. I just bedfucked, so I know I’m only in for a tease, not true release. Still, there’s a chance it’ll be a warmup for something better down the line. I smile and nod at Starkiss. “Sounds like mostly good news, Kiss. I won’t harp on the shit no one’s telling me.”

“It is,” she says. “Mostly. I may have even saved the best for last. We have enough trusted professionals ringside to do our own vetting now — some of whom even specialize in it. That is a reasonable chunk of a particular type of work off your old-and-new plate — unless of course you’re thinking of a bump and transfer. I would make you the equivalent of a zero class sub-governor in a split tick — just below myself and Maggie, and no strict ceiling, either.”

“‘Fuck yes’ and ‘fuck no,’ respectively.”

“Maybe not quite that informal, Specialist.”

I grin at her. “Thank you so much for looping me in on that unequivocally positive development, Kiss, and you have both my gratitude and my regrets on the offer.”

“Getting closer to the sweet spot.” Kiss leans back in her expensive-as governor’s chair, behind a ready-room desk that contains real, treated wood from Cassandra. “Even if you keep refusing promotions, in another ten cycles you might be too rich to avoid working with us.”

I shake my head. “I’ll hire as many employees and sextech as many bitches as it takes to make sure that doesn’t happen. Isn’t there an old joke about spending all your chunks to buy a vac-vault to keep the chunks in? I’ll do that, but with bitches.”

“I’m doing my best not to take offense, Specialist,” she replies dryly. Then she sighs heavily, which is more than she usually gives away. “I think we’re almost done, Syd. Dickgirl to dickgirl, take that rote completely. Taste the fruit. Live deliciously. Take a long, hot, energy-wasting shower. See to Ms. Brittany, and any other ringsiders you’ve missed. Living before the dead.”

“Thanks, Kiss. It’s good advice, and at least more forthcoming than anyone else. R-E-S.”

She nods somberly. Then she straightens herself up in her chair and says what she needs to say — the stuff she idly fantasizes about not having to. “As the official second in command of the Wolves of Pasiphae, I formally declare you retroactively never deceased nor dismissed; rank: zero class; role: infiltrator; new assignment: to be determined. All property, privileges, and obligations attach. You are cleared for all duty, but also on mandatory paid leave until further notice.” She silently signals that she’ll add context for my benefit, even though I’ve already connected the dots. “There’s spycraft remaining that you can’t do, Specialist, to ensure the narrative doesn’t take a sharp turn to port. You need to have been somewhere else, doing something else. In time, we’ll pass along nuggets for you to let slip. We know you’ll do it right.”

“Understood, Governor,” I reply.

“You should update your death benefit assignment while you’re here,” she says.

I groan theatrically, then shut the fuck up and eat my shit. I have to make sure Brit is taken care of again, and decide if I want to dole out any pieces of my estate directly, for real, because I’ll actually be dead. Everything else is going to wait. I’ve got some shitty backup plans already in place when it comes to the sappy stuff, and for now, they’re more than good enough because I am more than fucking done.

Half an int later, the probe stops vibrating, then withdraws. I stand up and offer my hand across the table. “You were a great XO, Kiss. You’re a great governor, notwithstanding that I don’t know shit about fuck. It’s not you. It’s the nature of the work. I was in my element you-know-where. I wouldn’t be in here.”

She stands and takes my hand. Even with biotech serving as an equalizer, I can feel her extra dose of heavy strength. We grip hard and shake hard, out of respect. “I understand, Specialist Sharp,” she says. “The company will need people like you for a very long time, and maybe always. The entire chain of command understands and appreciates that. By the way, you may have wasted your best lines on your first death. I hope you have a very long time to think of better ones.”

“Well, maybe next time I’ll have help.”

“I hope for that, too.”

We separate and share one final nod. Then I leave. The heavies are posted outside. They nod to me as well as fully kitted heavies can — a little bit of R-E-S, combat to combat. I don’t know who they are. They must be very new, very old, or very adaptable. They let me go on my way without an escort. I’m fully plugged in to the ringside network and using my HUD more robustly than I have in over half a cycle. I’d never been to Kiss’ office before. I was a Romulus girl, even with all the time I spent ringside.

Kiss gave me unnecessary advice, but it was still good. My next stop is home, and my port bitch. I decide to walk, even though it’s a very long trip. The maglevs are probably even more locked down than they were when I left. Actually, maybe I’ll run. I’ll send out some pings to assure everyone I’m just enjoying life. It’s a hassle, but it’s polite. I’m always considerate. It’s an investment, and it pays off.

I was pretty happy with my marker; to be honest, I called it a coin flip as to whether something flippant or something serious would be the bigger clue that I wasn’t actually dead.

“Thanks for making cum before I had to go. If I fucked you, I loved you. If you loved me, don’t let it fuck you.”

Once everyone’s forgiven me, I think Brigid, Xyp, Brit, and Rina-kat will be a good team to put on the assignment. So far, I know for sure that one of them is still alive. It’s a start. Before I make it home, I see and hear some vids playing on holoscreens both big and small. Some of them feature the blue-fire demigoddess herself. I wish that made it two out of four, but war is war, and spycraft is spycraft. Death isn’t the only thing that can be faked for a while.

***

“I’m sorry I have to be on drugs, Syd,” Brit says.

She’s level thanks to them; they’re not the fun kind. I’ve been letting her take the lead. She hasn’t talked about anyone else being dead, and I’m not going to ask. By my quick math, she only had a rote of advance notice that I was coming home, and probably no details besides a reminder that war is war and secret missions are a thing. Let’s see if we can get through all that together. It’s a lot, and far more for her than it is for me.

She was already in her “other work” uniform when I arrived — a black color scheme, paired with a white wig that’s a tribute to a fallen friend. It was a telling and encouraging choice on her part. I got naked quickly, and brought my bar and water bottle into the bedroom. She set up all the pillows for us. I nibbled and sipped, then climbed aboard. She snuggled in next to me, then started apologizing.

“Shhhh,” I reply, shifting into the gentlest and most loving of big sister modes. “Never apologize for something like that, babygirl. You do what you need to do to stay healthy. If you need a doctor or psychtech, you go, and you listen to what they have to say. I want you happy, healthy, and here with me for a very long time.”

She takes a deep breath, lets it out as a sigh, then nods into my chest. “Yes, please,” she says. “Like that today. I want to be your good little sissy girl that you love very much today, Syd. I need that a lot.”

I run my hands over her body in a loose, ever-shifting embrace of caresses. I find her forehead beneath artfully messy white hair and kiss it. Her tiny body touching mine is soothing an ache I’d taught myself to ignore. The hint of her cage is starting to spur a different one, but that’s okay. If she can’t help me, I’ll help myself later. The bed beneath us is downright decadent. I may need to firm it up before I actually go to sleep. I spent a lot of time on the hard ground. I’m back up in the clouds. It’s a good change for now, though. Six ints is forever. It’s not on my HUD.

“I went to see Kiss earlier,” I say after another forehead kiss. “She told me you’ve been the best sissy girl in the whole ‘verse for me. She’s so proud of you, little Itty-Britty, and so am I. Good girl.”

Brit’s eyes are mostly closed. She’s nuzzling into me, brushing my titty with her lips. She’s trying to drink up the drug I’m giving her; she’s not used to it, at least not coming from me. I’ve been gone. She wants it, though. She craves it. She wishes it could be pure.

“You were right about them,” she says softly. “They love you. They made sure I wasn’t a bad girl.”

“And you made sure they treated my estate fairly.” I avoid putting stank on the corpo-sounding word. “Good girl. Smart girl. Beautiful little sissy girl.”