Chapter Eight
Brody Chooses A Hunter
That night the stars were stormy. Heavy atmospherics pressed down on Star Fighters HQ causing the already dead air to stop lifeless in its tracks. Nowhere to go. No one to blow. Deep inside the secret headquarters, its founder ordered the air conditioning turned up higher. Business was booming and so were his temples. An hour previously, he had partaken of a peculiar conversation with an annoying woman, Queen Uno, which would have triggered his migraine headache regardless of the weather pressure outside.
Hudson Brody sunk back in his soft, black leather swivel chair, half wishing it would swallow him up just for a couple of hours so he could rest. But he knew he would not rest. Not even deep inside a comfortable leather chair. He would still be thinking about the missions, the hunters, the artillery, the building, the advertising. Such a huge to do list where nothing was ever fully checked off.
Knocking on his door was Raniko, the hunter he had in mind for the Irellan job. A deliciously hot, melt in your mouth, caramel voiced, honey skinned, half- French, half- Japanese, experienced and deadly hunter whose sultry, ravishing looks belied her lethal expertise. Her hair tumbled about her face like a mane of glossy black serpents, untamed just like her, and within her heart-shaped face sat the deepest brown, tapering eyes, button nose and thick, full lips. Hudson buzzed her in and watched her, lithe and athletic, prowling to meet him like a fighting dragon, saluting uprightly in front of his desk. In her presence, Hudson always felt like somehow he should be the one saluting as Raniko glowed with the presence of a titan; confident, poised, exultant.
“At ease,” he half-spoke, half-choked upon his lust.
Raniko seemed excited, full of energy and pouted challengingly. “You have a new mission for me, sir?”
“I do, Raniko, I do, but I don’t think you’re going to thank me for this one.”
“Sounds intriguing. Fill me in.”
Hudson wished he could, but Raniko was the same size as him and he tended to steer away from women who made him feel small. This being the case, since beginning Star Fighters his sex life had virtually dried up as all his female hunters put him in this unfavourable position. If only he had known that Raniko had hero worshipped him for the entire first year of their meeting, both their lives could have been very different.
“Step up to the screen,” Hudson grumbled as his erection deflated along with his ego.
Hudson stood before a large screen which covered the wall behind his desk and pulled in with a strong finger the information which Raniko would need; the planet, its longitude and latitude, its pitfalls and promises. She stood next to him, naturally falling into the pose of a catwalk model which had been her previous career. Hudson gave her a whirlwind tour of Irella.
Next, sitting back at his desk, he replayed the conversation he had partaken earlier with Queen Uno so that Raniko would hear the directive straight from the mouth of the bounty provider. Hudson steepled his fingers together and smiled almost sadistically as he watched Raniko’s face contort into horror and loathing as she listened to the spiky tones of the bossy queen. Hudson smiled, almost unnoticeably, for he knew that Queen Uno had better not upset Raniko as she herself was Star Fighters royalty.
“Any chance I can say no?” she asked
“I suppose you could. If you wanted to. I’ve never had to force a hunter yet.”
“No, I’ll take it. Sounds interesting. So, do we have any visuals on this Devon character?”
“Sure.” Hudson brought up the file on his computer that Uno had sent and swivelled his screen around.
“He’s pretty.” Raniko nodded, “A bit of time on the old ship with him ain’t going to be a problem to me. He’s really upset this Queen Uno and she sounds like a real bitch. He may be pretty but I’d say he’s probably a bit dim. That’s usually the case.”
“Why would you say he’s probably dim? For deciding not to spend his life in virtual captivity? Personally, I think he’s pretty brave.”
“Point taken, I suppose. We’ll see”
* * * *
Raniko begrudgingly admitted that maybe Hudson had a point. She was always quick to recognise that her own sense of judgement was not always the best. Such was the reason for her downfall. Once upon a time, Raniko had been totally trusting.
As a young girl back in Tokyo, she had a weekend job in a film rental store, behind the counter, nothing too strenuous, while she was studying for a degree in fine art. One visitor, on one not too- ominous day, changed the course of her whole life, which had hitherto been perfect. One visitor, popping in to rent a simple film, saw her and became entranced with her gazelle- like beauty. Barely out of retainers, Raniko thought the small, moustached agent from a modelling agency was having a joke or gushing out an awful line, but she went to the studio and never looked back. Not for a while, at least.
Soon, she was jetting the globes, Earth, Venus, Pluto, as a supermodel in great demand from the universe’s top designers, all clamouring for her long, slender limbs and hourglass waist to be drenched in their expensive wares. Between her and the moustached man, Shuji, they had made a fortune from her looks, her elegance and her style, all coated in the style of others. Then.
Unbeknown to Raniko, her manager was a gambling addict. He had lost his own , then her fortune. He had insulted her sponsors and formed such a terrible reputation that no-one would work with him. In spite, he spread some terrible rumours about Raniko to the press which sullied her own reputation beyond repair on the basis that there’s no smoke without fire. He said she was a prostitute when he discovered her with a drug problem and a racist attitude to non-Earthlings. Overnight, she found her house sprayed with terrible graffiti, bricks were thrown into her garden and a great crowd was suddenly baying for her blood. Of course, her sponsors did not care whether the rumours were true or not. Raniko had become bad for business.
That was the morning Raniko changed her business. Calmly, she sat at her breakfast table and poured cream from a Wedgwood jug into the coffee her maid had left before leaving in fear of a riot. Raniko had begun life without much money. To do it again was no big deal. In fact, currency had not bought her any happiness she could not find without money. Outside her patio window, she could hear the low seething of an insurrection. She would simply find her way secretly outside their murderous clamourings and the galaxy’s most famous model would simply disappear. Her plan worked perfectly.
On a cruiser with a ticket to anywhere, disguised in a large brimmed hat, raincoat and sunglasses, Raniko happened to open the newspaper to a medium sized advert placed by Star Fighters Mercenaries for their services. At first, she was glued to it by a wave of revenge. That feeling soon vanished. Ambition replaced it and Raniko decided she would catch the next ship to their headquarters. A holiday with a bunch of hairy mercenaries was not her original idea but she was mighty glad that her fate eventually guided her there.
Chapter Nine
Road To A New Career
At the outer edge of the high mountain range, which fringed the beautiful paradise resort of Kirslan, Dylan Thorn stood with his tanned, strong hand upon Devon’s shoulder. Sunshine rained upon them and the watery remains of a rinsed out rainbow arched overhead. Thorn had given Devon the skimpy national dress of Kirslan; a small thong loincloth fashioned from antelope hide called a bandela. His taut buttocks gleamed in the sunlight, strong as the mountain rocks.
“I’m kind of sorry to see you go so soon,” Thorn truthfully said, “but I think you deserve to get yourself settled somewhere, not carry on living in hiding in these caves. Keep in touch, yeah? I’ll send people to check on you now and again and if, god willing, our rebellion goes well, I’ll be able to come and see you again soon in person.”
“I would like that.” Devon smiled.
“Follow the stream, it’s an inlet to the Gowan sea and will take you right into the resort of Kirslan. Baystar is the biggest resort but, like I said, if I were you I’d steer clear of that place. Botanica, that’s the one I’d recommend. I’ve heard good things. You’ll have a bit of a walk, but I think it’s worth it.”
“I’ll try it.” Devon smiled and shook Thorn’s hand which he used to pull them together into a robust hug.
Thorn looked around nervously and backed into the dark mouth of the cave. “Take care, Devon. We’ll be in touch.”
* * * *
Just as Thorn had suggested, Devon followed the clear, pebbly, winding path alongside the tributary where the mountainous landscape melted into green fields full of meadow flowers, then all dissolved into soft white sand and the beginning of a bleached white road.
“This must be Paradise Road.” Devon thought back to Thorn’s directions and took a moment to look around and find his bearings.
Above, were clear skies so blue they seemed fathomless. Mountains slipped away behind stalks of poppies and pink campion to the left. To his right, powdery white sands flecked with silver sparkles which were softly lapped by the clear waves of a pure turquoise sea. Devon felt he was on the edge of the world. He seemed to be the only person there and wondered if Thorn was watching him from afar.
Inhaling the brine-fingered air, Devon took the only dry path left to him and began to pad along Paradise Road, his way paved with wavering fronds of palm which increased both in size and quality the further he walked. Sometimes, he would spot a simple shack with a corrugated iron roof and no curtains, with a single goat tethered in the overgrown roadside garden. However, soon these gave way to apartment blocks, either whitewashed or brightly coloured, with terracotta roofing and large verandas. Then hotels began to sneak in, rising majestically from the ground, all with white walls and the glossy, grey shine of self-cleaning windows. As before, the further he went, the higher the hotels became, with grounds spanning wider acreage, with longer and bluer swimming pools.
Halfway along Paradise Road, Devon had begun to feel less self- conscious of his clothing, as most of the passing males wore the same and the women, nothing more than a sheer gown, their proud nipples and dark patches of hair only slightly muted, a truly hedonistic lifestyle already evident in the resorts.
Towards the end of this fine road, now wide and in good order, Devon saw a large black marble sign with large lettering cut into the block showing him he had found Botanica. Opposite this fine establishment, the Halo Sea whispered her relaxing melody. Devon turned into the hotel complex, in awe of its inspiring beauty. It was obvious that only the very richest could afford a vacation here in such a tranquil and luxurious setting surrounded by unique sculptures and perfectly groomed grounds.
He followed the arching, white gravel path lined by box hedging cut into the shape of waves, up to the imposing entrance; a grassed roundabout with the largest palm tree he had ever seen, providing a one-way system for the shining sports cars. Two conch shells sculpted from finest white marble were situated either side of the tall glass sliding doors, behind which parted a virtual waterfall. Reception was lined with sparkling white marble. Ornate scallop shells and engraved conch were gilded into the front desk, which rested at the top of a long, elegant carp pond, given a classical touch by Corinthian columns and arches covered in twisting ivy.
“Hello,” Devon said to the receptionist. “I was wondering if there were any vacancies here?”
“What type of vacancy, sir?” the bright yellow haired girl replied.
“Anything. I can cut grass, wash dishes, make beds, give massages. I really need a job, that’s the long and short of it. Can you help me?”
Another woman passed by dressed in the sky blue uniform of Botanica and almost skidded to a halt. Her brown hair was scraped back into an immaculate bun. She had a snow-white complexion, thin lips and black eyes with white pupils. She peered at Devon, noticing his firm buttocks, well conditioned hair and high cheekbones.
“Sir, did you say you could massage?” she enquired.
“Yes, I’m very good. Do you have a vacancy?”
Now he faced her, the woman saw his bulge and smiled. “Maybe. I would have to interview you first. Are you free now?”
“Yes, of course,” Devon answered, thrilled at the opportunity.
She turned on her flat heels. “Follow me.”
Devon followed her to the elevator, which was stylishly porticoed in a Greek style with white convoluted Ionic columns topped with a frieze of classical robed figures at leisurely play. Clear doors twinkled with embedded amber lights and the lift inside was pure white, padded leather, with golden rose-shaped buttons and a white marble floor. Pressing the gold rose buttons for the beauty suite, the doors zipped shut. Devon noticed her identity badge; she was called Margo, and he guessed she was in her early thirties.
Shortly, they arrived at the beauty suite to the sound of tropical birds iridescent in free flight and the scent of fresh warm orange blossom. Light brown stone, hewn roughly, formed the reception desk here, and Devon spotted a bright green gecko which raced across its surface. A girl with a short, red bob wrote appointments upon a parchment pad, her back cooled by splashes from the gently cascading waterfall behind her. The water fell into a splash pool surrounded by more rough rock, which was full of large leaved lily pads and, sitting atop them, deep red lilies around which flickered tiny fireflies.
“Is there a cubicle free for an interview?” Margo asked with her spiky nose thrust into the air.
The girl checked her parchment. “Number four, Margo. Would you like it prepared?”
“Of course.” Margo clicked her fingers, sending the girl scarpering away nervously. “What do you think of our little salon so far?”
“It’s majestic,” replied Devon looking up to the golden ceiling, which twinkled with small lights and was painted with blue stars.
“Yes, it is rather.” Margo sighed superciliously and pulled her pencil- thin stomach in even tighter.
“Are you in charge here?”
“Yes, I am the leading manageress. Everyone here answers to me, one way or another.”
The red haired girl came scurrying back, breathless, “Its ready now, Margo. Call me if you need anything.”
Without thanking her staff, Margo led Devon to cubicle four. Devon would never have found it for it had a hidden door which looked identical to the surrounding stone walls, covered with exotic hibiscus in shades of sultry red, which worked on palm recognition. Stepping in, the air was less humid, a perfect temperature which just begged any entrant to take off their clothes. Inside the cubicle, the Perspex walls were a misted green, backlit for a soft ambiance, with under floor-heated tiles which looked just like grass. Relaxing melodies of rain forest sounds played unobtrusively in the background.
“This is where our clients disrobe,” Margo explained and began to undress clinically and quickly, hanging her uniform on the driftwood pegs before straightening it.
Her body was extremely thin, so much so that Devon could see all her muscles, not his type at all, and her skin was pale as moonlight. Her breasts were almost completely flat, her nipples small and hard. Her pubic hair was shaved into diagonal stripes, the current Kirslarn trend.
“Go through.” Margo indicated a driftwood door, pale grey, bleached by the sun.
Inside the treatment room was similar to the dressing area, only the overhead lights were further dimmed and the backlighting turned higher. A cream leather bed was spread with warm towels in a shade of mink. Margo lay face down.
“All the oils are over there. I’m feeling very stressed. What would you use on me?”
Devon consulted the driftwood rack. “Any allergies?” he asked as he deftly covered Margo’s nudity with another fluffy, hot towel.
“Good,” Margo said, approving of his knowledge. “None. Carry on.”
“I’ll use a sweet almond base with lavender and bergamot essential oils, perhaps a drop or two of eucalyptus to penetrate the muscles more deeply.”
“Hmm, alright. Now let me feel your hands on me. I’m interested in your technique. By the way, what is your name?” Margo buried her face in the recess.
“Devon. My name is Devon,” he replied in a warm, soothing tone.
“Oh!” Margo involuntarily exclaimed. “Your hands feel very warm.”
“My people are blessed with strong electrical impulses in our bodies which, with training, we learn to pool into our hands, or any other body part, to create the tingling heat which you can feel now.”
At first, he gently touched her over her neck and at the base of her spine to connect with her life force; something cold and bristly which he struggled at first to warm. Then he began to run his hands up and down in sweeping motions, easily passing over her spine, ribs and shoulders, gliding in a coating of oil.
Devon had been trained to find knots of tension and Margo had plenty, like peppercorns under her skin. Upon each one, he lavished small motions which penetrated them deeply, breaking them up, leaving Margo relaxing, falling to pieces, like shards of spiky toffee melting under a gas flame.
* * * *
After half an hour of sheer bliss, Margo managed to lift her head from the recess and Devon noticed that her black eyes were covered in a watery sheen, as she was also damp between her legs, not dry and dull as they had been previously. If she had been any less uptight, she would have rolled over, pulled back her towel and begged him to enter her. But she was naturally terribly uptight and the very thought that Devon was professionally inferior to her, dried her up in an instant.
“If I hadn’t a meeting to attend, I would demand another session from you. You are an excellent masseur, Devon. The job is yours.”