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“I don’t know,” I said, shaking my head in astonishment. “Accentuate everything. Can we do that?”
“When you accentuate everything,” it said, voice getting scornful, “you accentuatenothing.”
Since I knew I was just talking to a ship computer, it being sassy and dismissive didn’t really offend me. It felt like the ship was matching itself to my mood and temperament, because I was starting to like it.
I nodded and stroked my chin. “Yeah. That makes sense. What do Khetar like the most? As far as which, um, body part to accentuate?”
“Ha ha,” the ship said again. It didn’t laugh. It actually said “ha” like it was just a word. “The better question, Weapons, is whatdon’tKhetar like?”
I bit my lip and looked down at myself. I threw the blanket down. I got off the bed and stood up naked, straightening my back and getting my shoulders back. “Tell me what to accentuate.”
“Give me a mood. An idea,” it said. “Give me something to work with. Then I’ll show you some options.”
“Okay,” I said. “I want something that shows that I’m still Weapons. I saw the way Airlock was looking at Thuliak like some kind of drugged little animal. Maybe I want to feel that sometimes, but I want to catch the eye of a Khetar who likes that I’m strong. I want one who likes me the way I am. Does any of that make sense?”
“Yes. One moment, Weapons, allow me to present some options.”
A mirror image of myself appeared across from me, and it was naked just like I was. Then it was wearing something. OrIwas wearing something. My real body was still naked, but the mirror image had the outfit on. The outfit was smart-camo soldier fatigues, but the top jacket was halfway undone, and my boobs were spilling out of it.
“Uh,” I said. “Next?”
Now my mirror image was wearing a tight black leather suit. The suit was so glossy that it reflected light like a mirror. Even though my entire body was covered up to the neck, you could see every curve of my body, and you barely had to use your imagination to know how I looked naked. I also had a sword for some reason.
I squinted at how good my butt looked, but it felt too much like a costume. I needed something sexy like this, but it needed to look real and practical.
“Don’t you have historical records? None of this looks like something a woman would really wear in combat. Fine me an actual woman warrior from Earth’s history. What did she wear?”
The image flickered, and my jaw draped. This was it. This was what I was born to wear.
I did still have a sword, but this time it made sense. As far as I could tell, I was an armored warrior, likely from the mid-to-late bronze age. My top was metal armor, but it didn’t quite go all the way up. My breasts were spilling out of it—this must have been a running theme in Earth’s history—but the armor on the lower part of my breasts was still metal and functional. Maybe the exposed cleavage was meant to keep me cool in the heat? Many of those bronze age civilizations had fought in the desert, right?
I had armor on my shoulders too. All of the armor was dark. It wasn’t quite black, but it was closer to black than anything else. To give the armor a bit of a contrast, it had golden metal highlights on it, which formed ornate swirling patterns over my breasts. I had armor on my arms too, but just on my upper biceps and wrists. Perhaps with training, women in these outfits could use the wrist armor—the bracers—to parry attacks without even needing a shield?
The bottom of the armor was a thick, heavy-looking leather skirt that covered most—but not all—of my thighs. The skirt was made of little leather scale-shaped patterns with metal bolts on them. The skirt was split, likely for riding on horseback, but when I spun around it also sometimes showed nearly my whole thigh. I smiled at that.
My mirror image was wearing these amazing metal boots too. They went up nearly to my knees, leaving just a thin strip of naked thigh between boot and skirt.
I even had a cool metal ring hooked to my hips. It looked like it was possibly a throwing weapon.
Then I looked down to grab the ring, and realized I was still naked. Only my mirror image was wearing this amazing outfit.
“That one,” I said, pointing up to my amazing mirror image. “How do I get it? Put that outfit on me!”
Mist rose from the floor. It surrounded and enveloped my body. I felt nothing even as the mist condensed around me, forming into the now-recognizable outline of the warrior woman’s armor.
I started to feel it then. At first I got tiny little tingles that felt like I was wearing something really silky and light, but as the mist condensed more into actual matter, the armor got harder, until the boob armor was cold against my breasts. My nipples were getting hard, but the armor was totally covering them now. A few more seconds of solidifying, and I was her, I was…
“Is this a specific historical figure?” I asked.
“Yes,” the computer said. “She was a warrior princess.”
“Really? I feel like if there was a warrior princess like this in Earth’s history, it would be a super popular name on Eden. Maybe even more popular than ‘Eve.’”
“Her name was Xena.”
“It doesn’t ring a bell.” Maybe one of the thousands of patriarchal leaders had buried the records of Xena, and they’d only been recovered after the first settlers left Earth for Eden?
“What did she do?”
“The records are quite unclear,” the ship said. “We recovered fragmented images from a television program based on her, but human television programs of the era seemed to strive for historical accuracy. We can thus conclude—with over 95.3% accuracy—that the outfit is likely period-accurate.”
“Good enough for me,” I said, relieved I could wear the outfit knowing it was almost certainly something a real warrior princess had worn.
“Weapons,” the ship said, “we’re ready to send you to breakfast. Are you ready?”
“Can you do my hair too?”
It did my hair with another blast of mist. I tried not to think too hard about how it managed that. Had it destroyed my hair and rebuilt—then reconnected it to my body—from the ground up? Atom by atom? I decided just toreallynot think about that, because my hair looked amazing. It was something no woman on Eden would ever wear in public, glossy, bouncy, and a little bit curly. It looked fussy. It looked…it looked like hair that would make a Khetar man want to fuck me, simply put. Especially combined with the Xena armor, I felt like this look was going to give me the best shot I could ever get when it came to landing a good Khetar scion.
“I’m ready,” I said. “Let’s go. Wait a second though. Did you say you had a video of Xena in action?”
