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“Kee-bored?” R’jaal moves behind me to see, his big body pressing up against mine. As if touching is automatic, he caresses my arm. His purring takes on a loud, unhinged urgency, and mine starts going so strong that my boobs feel as if they’re jiggling.
I clutch my breasts even as Noj’me giggles nearby. Yeah, I guess she’s allowed to laugh at us. We’re kind of messy at the moment, what with this purring stuff. It’s distracting, too. It makes me think I should give up on trying to figure out this whole “oracle” situation and just grab R’jaal and break in that bed inside the pod.
But that’s Fanfic Rosalind talking. She sees “just one bed” and gets all kinds of slutty ideas.
I lean in—possibly deliberately rubbing my backside against R’jaal’s dick, because Fanfic Rosalind is a wild thing—and run my finger over another screen. Something chirps, and I yelp in surprise.
“I did not understand your query,” the spaceship intones in a tinny voice. “Please try again.”
R’jaal and I exchange looks. “It’s speaking your language,” I tell him. “Maybe you should lie down so it can whisper at you?”
He nods and climbs into the cockpit of the thing, his big body brushing over mine. I hum even louder, my boobs jiggling like they’re made of Jell-O. I can’t resist brushing a hand over his leg as he climbs in, his cock stiff. We should probably be embarrassed, as naked (or near-naked) and horny as we constantly are, but I’m getting used to it. Or maybe I just don’t care.
Fanfic Rosalind is an absolute wild card.
He eases his form down onto the bed, and I can’t help but notice that it seems made for him. It’s a few inches short, and his prominent horns are dangerously close to stabbing the controls, but the bed fits someone his size far better than it’d fit someone like me. He lies back and glances over at me, his hand stroking over his cock once as if to reassure it that I’m nearby, and my breath catches.
“What do you want me to ask it?” R’jaal looks at me, waiting.
Me? I genuinely have no idea. I stare at the cockpit-pod-thing and try to think of a question. We could ask it where we are, but no answer is going to be the right one. If it tells us that we’re on Planet Beep Boop of Solar System Jazz Nine, that still means nothing to me, so asking is pointless. I wish I’d read more science fiction back when I was at the library, so I’d know what sorts of things to ask a spaceship computer, but I’ve got nothing. I was too busy re-reading Twilight to fuel my fanfic fantasies. But R’jaal is looking at me expectantly so I’ve got to come up with something. “There was a book at the library that had a story like this,” I muse, eyeing R’jaal’s surroundings. “We couldn’t keep it on the shelves and the wait list was huge. I can’t remember its name, though. Or what it was about. I might not be much help.” I eye him. “Is it saying anything to you?”
He shakes his head.
“Try addressing it as ‘Oracle’ and ask if it can hear you.”
R’jaal cups a hand to his mouth, as if to call out. “Oracle, are you here?”
It takes everything I have not to burst into giggles, because of course he doesn’t know how to address a computer. He’s a guy that wears a fur kilt. My purring chest thrums with pleasure at that thought and I eye his naked body again. Man, he has a gorgeous form. All that pettable blue skin and his tight butt and washboard abs and…I squeeze my thighs together tightly.
“Affirmative. Your speech is clear to me,” the pod says. It has a different accent than R’jaal does, as if it’s the same language but a choppier, harsher-sounding dialect of it. “What is your query?”
“Do you know who I am?” he asks immediately, fascinated.
“You are a modified sakh hybrid with male chromosomes. I have personnel records of Noj’me, a native, who is nearby. I have no personnel records of you or three others. Do I need to record additional users?”
He frowns and looks over at me. When I nod, he says “Yes?”
“Query: what name shall I record for the human duplicate?”
Human…duplicate? What does that mean? I search my mind, trying to understand. Are there other planets with humans out there—like in Battlestar Galactica—and so I come across as a human but not the ones it is familiar with?
“Her name is R’slind,” R’jaal says. “The other males are Tal’nef and Set’nef.”
“Recorded.”
“What are you?” R’jaal asks.
“I am the guidance system for escape pod three for the pleasure cruiser Se Kilahi.”
When R’jaal looks over at me again, I shrug. “Never heard of it.”
