Clang!
The hit almost knocked Tiptree over.
Clang!
The protective gear weighed her down, forcing her breath out in bursts, but she continued sparring. Her knee was swelling up, but she swallowed the pain and shifted her weight to the other leg. With the next move, she flourished and pushed her opponent to the far wall.
"Halt!" a clarion voice rang out.
She disengaged from her partner, sword withdrawn to the side. Feeling stifled, she removed the helmet and chest plate.
Panting, Tiptree informed the bot, "Ya almost had me."
"There's always tomorrow" it said, its cerulean lucite form retracting into the interface wall.
The interactive screens lit up, each panel displaying the points won for the past few days, with Tiptree's name consistently ranking number one. She was the only one to access the room for sword-play, just as Russ and Jason were the only ones to access it for pistol training. Pistols had never made sense to Tiptree, but swords spoke to her.
Though fencing was a sport she would never use in the real world, she took pride in her mastery of it. She also suspected the bot sometimes let her win.
It was the last day before the crew was to enter the dura-chambers, and Tiptree intended to make the best of it.
Spring in her step, she headed to the mess hall, intent on drinking Jason and Russ under the table. The three of them had established a friendship of sorts, dependent on casual exchanges, boasts, and Jason's endless repository of jokes.
Passing by the meeting rooms, Tiptree overheard whispers and heavy breathing. With Russ and Jason on the brain, she was sure it was them, about to sneak up and scare her. At thirty-three, Tiptree was still down to mess about, but Russ and Jason were in their twenties (or so she assumed) and prone to juvenile antics.
Creeping quietly, Tiptree followed the source of the noise. Yet, when she rounded the darkened alcove, she found a pair she didn't expect.
Long legs were locked around a man's back. The owner of the muscled back tilted his head, revealing Captain Forster. The owner of the legs was Guin, who moaned with every thrust from Forster.
Tiptree whirled around without a word. Embarrassingly, laughter trailed her down the corridor, then more moaning.
What's wrong with doing that in their room? Tiptree asked herself, shaking her head.
Then again, she thought she knew why. It must've been thrilling to be intimate out in the open. She had tried it a couple times. They obviously wanted to take advantage of their last day, just like her.
Forster and Guin. They had barely spoken to each other. One was a ship Captain, and the other a scientific liaison. There was little reason for them to interact. Guin mostly answered to Kathar.
Tiptree couldn't believe what she'd seen, but in a weird way, it made sense. They were the closest in age, fifty-two and forty-three. Both were attractive. She could even admit Forster was handsome, though she hadn't been with a man since she was seventeen.
Guin's sharp features and raven hair were striking. Even so, how she'd gotten the job over several other theorists was beyond Tiptree. Plenty had been better qualified, and she knew because she was in love with one.
Six months earlier...
"I know exactly how Guin won the recommendation, and the damn snake's sittin' in her pants!" Kass stuffed clothes into the luggage, a few brightly colored scarves fluttering to the floor.
Soft winds from the patio blew in, the garments rising and falling. The Atlanta skyline was too beautiful not to admire, and so the french doors sat open many a night. This night, nothing seemed to soothe Kass Heathrow.
Her research department had denied any backing, forcing her Institute Recommendation to cave. Suddenly, Tiptree and Kass's joint-plan to save the planet had transformed into a journey for one, and Kass was taking it hard.
Tiptree scooped up the scarves, offering the flimsy garments back to her girlfriend. "Snake in her pants. You mean Guin's got a...?"
Kass snatched at the scarves. "Big wallet? Hell yeah! Bitch bought a ticket, I know it." She noticed Tiptree's small grin. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be bitter right before our last vacation together."
Whenever she was angry, Kass's brown curls flew wildly about her face. Tiptree lovingly tucked a few of them behind her ears, gathering the slight woman in her arms.
"I get it. In a week, I leave for ten years, and you won't be there. It's okay. Be bitter."
Kass pressed herself harder into Tiptree's embrace. "I love you."
"Love you too."
They shared a brief kiss.
"Just promise me," Kass leaned her forehead on Tiptree's arm, "you'll be careful with that asshole."
She kissed the top of Kass's head. "I'm not gonna fall for Guin, don't worry."
"Ugh! Don't even joke like that. I meant, watch out. It's dangerous to be confined so long with a person like Guin."
Now...
The idea that Guin had bought her way aboard was far-fetched. Money wouldn't sway the donors attached to the Institute. They were already rich. Given what Tiptree had just witnessed, Guin must've found another way on the ship. As Kass had theorized, it had something to do with what was in her pants, only it wasn't her wallet.
To date, Guin's actions thus far had yet to display the ruthlessness Kass spoke of. She flashed back to the sexy scene from moments before. In between moans, a small smile had twisted Guin's lips. It was like she wanted someone to catch her and the Captain. Had been counting on it.
Tiptree wasn't worried about Guin, per say, but she wouldn't underestimate her, either. She seemed like a woman who knew how to get what she wanted.
At the mess hall, Russ and Jason clinked two glasses together. Tiptree didn't mind that they'd started without her. She grabbed a glass and poured a hefty amount of bourbon from the tumbler. Rations be damned.
Plopping at the table beside them, she leaned close and said, "You're not gonna believe what I just saw."