If you harbor even the slightest thought that the characters in this story might belong to me, you have definitely better check the function of your oxygen delivery system. They don't.

There are some references to events on the program and a few of my other stories published on Andromeda Uncovered. If you haven't read them, perhaps this story will make you want to go back and do so.

Thanks to Uber-Dylan who helped with more than just commas on this one!

Captain Dylan Hunt slipped his hand into his uniform pocket and gently fingered its contents. Moving it softly across his palm, gently weaving it through his fingers, the thought of what he held brought a slight smile to his lips. People would not be concerned because he often wore that statement. Enigmatic they called it. He was not concerned with its revealing his secret. He had lived with it for over 300 years and felt it was very, very secure. Secure enough to take it outside his quarters confined to his pocket.

He was confident that no one had followed him, but slightly less assured that he hadn't been watched. You could never be sure with Rommie. She felt a need to keep him out of harms way. As if something could harm him down here. Here there were only memories, and the time when these memories could produce pain had long past. He had managed to dull the sensations so that they produced sadness, but no real pain. He only hoped that the muffling of sensation would not also affect his pleasure.

At one time the corridor had been lined with escape pods, like lifeboats on the Titanic, designed to remove the crew and take them to safety in the event of a cataclysm. Only these lifeboats had worked. Most of his crew had escaped using the pods before the encounter with the black hole. They did not leave half-empty either, but rather filled to over-capacity so that the occupants would survive or die together. Only a skeleton crew remained. They died together. Finally only he and the ship remained. Today, however, he did not come here to remember his crew. He came here, hand in pocket, to remember Sarah.

He opened the door to the pod and looked inside. Inside it was warm and comforting. The soft blue light still illuminated its contents after over 300 years. He crawled inside and closed the door, confident that none of the ship's sensors would detect what was going on inside. Closing the door also deactivated the artificial gravity allowing him to float freely in the pod, as he would in a warm bath, but without fear of drowning.

He removed his uniform jacket and pants, kicked off his boots and pulled off his socks. His clothes floated freely around the pod like parts of a headless specter. He laughed to himself. Why did he always wear so many clothes? The boots were especially foolish, and almost dangerous, floating around aimlessly. But wouldn't walking the halls in his stocking feet give him away? Basketball shoes would be softer, or bedroom slippers. Yes, he still wore bedroom slippers.

He stretched in the weightlessness and removed his turtleneck and boxer briefs. Sarah had always thought he looked sexy when he wore the extended leg underwear that helped avoid the chafe from his leather uniform without the bunching of looser boxers. They were not standard High Guard issue, but he was the captain. He could wear whatever underwear he chose. The same way he wore bedroom slippers.

Naked in the pod, all his body hair, from his head to his toes, stood on end. He remembered how Sarah used to laugh when that happened. He thought about the two of them, so many, many times in a pod like this and how they used to laugh at the sight of each other, not realizing that they each looked equally unusual. Zero gravity had the same effect on his penis. His hand reached down to his upright but still untumescent penis.

Damn. His uniform trousers moved past his head. He forgot! The act of reaching for them caused them to move further away. Those old Newtonian laws were so readily apparent here in the weightlessness of space. This was so fucking stupid. Nothing to spoil a mood like doing something stupid. Ah, got them. He reached in the pocket and extracted the small piece of blue cloth.

Once it had been an article of clothing. Once it had been a pair of Sarah's silk panties. He had found them tucked in a leather bench in the ship's dining hall. While he didn't remember the exact night it had happened, he had fond memories of many such nights. Sarah liked to sit properly eating a meal, chatting with other crewmembers or visiting dignitaries and quietly lean over and whisper in his ear that she had removed her panties. The act of removing them in the presence of others was a vital part of her foreplay. It would have been easier, but not as exciting, to have just not worn them. She would sit there and slightly spread her legs, lift her skirt and wait for him to drop his hand under the table. She liked to sit on his right side, forcing him to do all his natural left brain activities, eating, gesturing, even scratching his face, with his left hand, less others at the table would notice the scent and moisture now affixed to his right hand.

His penis was now hard. Just the thoughts of those nights had done that. The panties had done their job, as they had so many, many times before. He always carefully washed them in cold water, lay them flat on his lavatory bowl and allowed them to dry in the arid cabin air, but years of use had taken a toll. Little pulls became holes, elastic lost its stretch, one of the little pink flowers had fallen off, and the blue had faded. He would trim off the threads until only strong imagination could equate the scrap of cloth with women's underwear. Sarah's underwear.

He moved the scrap of cloth along the shaft of his cock. Knowing that oil would disburse in the zero gravity, he had once brought a greasy ointment with him. It had left a stain on the panties which was not removed by washing even with a strong soap. He brought his right hand to his lips and licked the fingertips. They didn't smell of Sarah, but they would have to do.

He missed her fingers on his body. He always knew where his fingers would go, the sensations they would produce. He was never sure with her. How could such a sweet, beautiful woman produce such evil sensations. A quick tickle. A snap on the testicles. That place, behind the right ball. Damn, Dylan!

He had no control when it came to Sarah. Never did, never would.

Even the blobs of cum floating in the pod brought back memories. The first time he had taken Sarah to the escape pod for sex the thought of fucking her without the restraints of gravity had been too much. He had cum immediately upon her lowering the waistband of his boxerbrief. She had laughed as his sperm formed small "cum bubbles" in the air. She moved quickly through the void and snapped at them with her open mouth.

"Catch one Dylan. They taste soooo good." Fortunately, the act of a naked woman, moving in zero gravity to catch floating orbs of sperm exposed . . .and he was hard again. Climbing behind her he entered her doggy style, holding tightly onto her magnificent ass. Sex in the pod with Sarah was beyond imagination.

He was upright, if not entirely hard again. Another real advantage of zero gravity, even without the anxiety to please a partner, you could have the assurance that you were always ready. He moved the cloth over the head of his cock, because it felt so good, and realized that some cum still clung to it. Another cum stain to remove. "Dylan, will you ever learn?"

Sarah was with him for the second orgasm. This time he pictured himself floating on his back. Sarah straddled him; flying them both in the weightlessness of the pod. He laughed at how he had made her the captain, having to watch for stray pieces of clothing, and of course his damn boots, while he closed his eyes and drifted peacefully. Even then total peace was not a common emotion for a High Guard Captain.

He thought about the first time he had seen Sarah dressed in this blue silk lingerie. She had the face of an angel, the material could have been spun by fairies, yet the design had to have been done by the devil himself. From the front it was almost demure. A peek at her full breasts, an accentuation of her long legs, it was only when she spun around and the flair of the skirt revealed the thong of her panties. No wonder there wasn't much silk left, there hadn't been that much to begin with. With aching memories of what once was, Dylan came again.

The memory of Sarah was gone. It happened sometimes, and he knew she would not return. He should leave, but the feelings he had come to dull had not left. He needed more. He knew it; he just couldn't face it. Despite the fact that he was close to 350 years old, he still had the body of a healthy man in his early forties. Why shouldn't he have sexual urges? Sarah had gone on with her life, had children, why shouldn't he? Because I am the fucking Captain! When do I ever get a chance to get laid? I land on planets and I either fight bad guys or suck up to dignitaries. "Hello, I'm Captain Dylan Hunt, and before I blow you to pieces with my High Guard Force Lance, let me stick my dick up your cunt and get my rocks off." Or "Hello, I'm Captain Dylan Hunt, and my two greatest goals in life are to restore the commonwealth and fondle your huge round tits." I don't think so. There were even worse scenarios involving other species in the universe that his mind would not even contemplate.

He thought about women from his past: the older woman on Tarn Vedra who had taken his boyhood in exchange for sexual secrets, three women from the High Guard Academy who when they learned they were going to be expelled had done their best to get him to join them, and other younger women, pre-Sarah, who he could now barely remember. He even thought of Elssbeth on the way to her wedding. Women had a nasty habit of passing through his life.

He sought the safety of nameless faceless women: body parts floating freely in zero gravity, old videos of rock performers, women running on ocean beaches, tits bouncing, graphic images on computers or yellowed pages of antique magazines and even women in movies about Czech prison wardens. Females he did not know, never would know, who probably never even existed. He came again.

He thought about that night with Beka, the time she borrowed his ATTP machine. That had been fun. Real fun. Beka was really a hot and exciting woman with her hair in her face, her nipples red and erect, and her cunt moist and throbbing. It was so easy to get her to let him fuck her. A little lie and she was too turned on to question him. He'd hoped it might be the start of something, but it wasn't. The problem with Beka was that they were too much alike. Both were unwilling or unable to let down the wall of reserve with each other unless outside forces intervened. The APPT line wasn't going to work again. Other men could do it, he knew that, but was afraid that another encounter with Beka would have to be preceded by vast amounts of alcohol or long periods of celibacy. Either they had to be very drunk or very horny.

But here, in the escape pod, it was safe to think of Beka as he stroked his cock. Think about her in silk and thongs. Think about her mouth on his body. Think about her taking control. His mind could take her places his body couldn't. It was safe to cum, thinking of Beka Valentine.

Then he thought of Rommie and that night when she had come to him in all innocence. Thought about sharing touches, light kisses, gentle caresses. Thought about her removing his clothing, stroking his penis until it was erect and his watching her eyes grow big and pleading. He stopped thinking there -- the rest of the story was too awful -- his hand rubbed his penis until he came again, almost out of guilt.

His body was beginning to feel weak from the multiple orgasms. He should leave, he knew where his fantasy would take him next, and was quite certain he did not want to go there. Yet he was also positive, that the orgasms yet to come would be stronger and more pleasurable at least on the physical level. The thoughts were so very new, yet so basic and primordial. He again relived the night of wordless sex with Evan Hopewell and his overpowering the mysterious small man, sharing something neither of them could understand, crying afterwards. Is this what sex had deteriorated into? He had hoped it would go away, blaming it on a bad nanobot in his daily regimen, like High Guard cadets sometimes attributed strange thoughts on training drug flashbacks. He knew Evan had remembered some parts of the experience, too. He was poised to leave his miserable life and come with him on the ship, but that would require Dylan to admit things he was not yet willing . . .

Time would have made those memories go away if it had not been for Tyr. There were nights when he and Tyr would play Go and he would perceive the Nietzschean with an intensity that was greater than even the complicated strategy game required. He would watch that perfectly genetically engineered male body and listen as harsh words would come from his full lips and then be softened by small amber flashes from his dark black eyes. The only comfort would come from the fact that he knew biology and philosophy kept him safe from any sexual activities with Tyr.

Then HE came along. Harry Wagner. A stupid made up pseudonym for another man from his past. No, not a man, a god, if one still believed in gods. He pictured the power that moved through the room as each phrase, each kiss, each stroke served to transfer the strength of both men. Fighting and fucking were a lot alike, as were it seemed, fucking and worship. It would take a god to make Tyr Anasazi get down on his knees and suck his dick. He imagined the Nietzschean's soft mouth and the worshipful look in his eyes, and he could see Ares, with his holy bravado, performing the same act on Tyr without regard for the effects of Nietzschean biochemistry . Would that he could join them, or even watch!

He came so hard his body bounced off the floor. His legs spasmed involuntary and a painful cramp formed in his buttocks. He was barely able to collect his pants and jacket and put them on without underwear. He grabbed his underwear, socks and boots, and carried them out of the pod, slamming the door and the memories inside. "Fucking Tyr and Ares."

His eyes were down as he walked the corridor. He was positive that no one would be about this time of the night. He pushed the elevator doors, noticing that they were still on that level, so no one had used it since he had come down. He expected it to be empty as he entered.

It wasn't. Rommie was standing there. Patiently waiting as only an AI could. She reached over and hit the off button on the elevator. Trapping the two of them together. It was only then that he noticed that she was wearing a blue silk outfit, exactly like the one he remembered Sarah wearing.

"You thought I would not be aware of your absence from the ship, Captain Hunt."

"I am the Captain, I go as I please."

"Not when it threatens the safety of myself and your crew."

"Safety."

"I know you were in the escape pod."

"In case you haven't noticed, we have a crew of seven, and six remaining escape pods, each with a designed capacity of over 50 people and an actual capacity of . . .

"And self contained air purification and oxygen regenerative systems which rely on nanofilters. Said nanofilters while designed to handle normal human functions, work best when in a pristine condition when separated from the ship. Thus activities which produce great amounts of liquid in their artificial atmosphere can deteriorate the integrity of the systems. Do you understand what I am saying, Captain?"

His normal response would be to look at his shoes. Instead he saw his bare feet.

"Even though the system's dehumidifying function would make short work of the liquid, research has not been done on the effect of free floating DNA in zero gravity situations. That is why condoms were always used in the early days of space flight, you remember that don't you Captain Hunt."

Toes make you laugh when you look at them, even when you were being reprimanded by your ship.

"Therefore I can inform you, Captain Hunt, that if you chose to engage in any more of such activities in the escape pods, either you talk to Mr. Harper about borrowing some condoms, purchase them at your next planetary stop, or perhaps you should take a partner with you."

What did she say?

"That option, however, I believe is open to further testing." She reached down and patted her hand on the cheek of his ass. Free inside his leather uniform, he felt his cock grow hard without the assistance of zero gravity.

"I suggest that you follow me to Pod 2, which will have a fresher atmosphere, where we can immediately begin testing on the effectiveness . . .

She had looked up and began kissing him. With one hand she punched the door open button and with the other she began to loosen the buttons on his uniform.

"After, you Captain Hunt," she said with another swat on the ass. "And leave the boots, socks, underwear, and other souvenirs of past lovers outside in the interest of safety. I think tonight you are going to develop a new appreciation for the ecological advantages of avatars."

Dylan smiled. It could only be described as enigmatic.

McJude

December 2001

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