Terminal Run

“Strap yourself into the couch,” Alameda said. Pacino reached down to his waist and found a seat belt, but it seemed unusual. “It’s a five-point harness,” Alameda said. “Pull the straps over your shoulders. And don’t forget this.” She pulled a seat belt up from between his legs, her hand lingering there as she clicked the seat-belt buckle. Pacino blushed deeper, feeling her touch there, feeling his body responding to her. Finally she withdrew her hand, and he coughed to hide that he’d almost gasped.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice trembling. Alameda laughed, her voice joyful and relaxed.

“We can use the vehicle as an escape pod in the worst case,” Alameda said. “The hull of the DSV is good to twenty thousand feet, but the hull of the Piranha would collapse around us after two thousand feet, so if we are ever in trouble, we can’t just ride the DSV to the bottom and expect to get out. Ready to get out? Climb out and follow me aft.”

Pacino pulled himself to his feet and followed Alameda through the tight passageway aft to the hatch they had come in from, then back to the original airlock and into the next compartment aft.

“The four compartments of the DSV are spherical, although it doesn’t appear that way because we use every cubic inch for piping and valves and cables and air bottles. This compart merit”—Alameda turned the operating mechanism on the next hatch and opened it—“is mostly empty and used for equipment stowage. That hatch in the deck leads to the lower compartment, which is floodable. It’s sort of a large airlock. Some of the equipment to be locked out is loaded in there and leaves the DSV. Communications interception pods and the like. Remember, this is top secret — you can’t impress your girlfriend back home with lurid stories of the DSV and the National Security Agency.”

“I know,” Pacino said. “I don’t have a girlfriend anyway.” Alameda smiled, leading him further aft to another set of hatches and another large unused compartment. Pacino turned to look at her by the dim light of the DSV. She had shaken her long hair out of her habitual ponytail and the zipper of her coveralls was lowered to the bottom, her front opening bra disconnected. He stared at her as she pulled her arms out of the coveralls and let them drop to the deck. Her arms wrapped around him and her lips met his, her silky tongue snaking into his mouth. As he felt his eyes close, as he kissed her back, he knew that every moment of his training told him this was wrong, but his desire for this older, beautiful, unattainable, forbidden woman took possession of him, and he felt his longing for her deep in his chest. He pulled her in tight and kissed her harder, his hands exploring the softness of her breasts, his tongue exploring her lovely mouth until she pulled away and looked at him with that look he’d only seen once in the eyes of a woman.

He reached down and grabbed her panties and tore them off her while he moved her toward the bulkhead. She unzipped his coveralls, then grabbed the collar of his T-shirt and ripped it until it hung from his shoulders. She quickly pulled it off him, her fingers moving down to his boxers and dropping them. When they were gone she touched him, and her fingers were so cool they sent shivers up his spine. Nothing had ever felt so good. He kissed her again, glimpsing her eyelids closed in passion, her hair spread out over her smooth shoulders, her hand behind his naked back urging him on. He touched her tight abdomen and moved his hand lower, where she was feverishly warm and wet. He entered her hard and she arched her back and moaned. The tension of being with her, of seeing her in his dreams, roared up in him, and he thrust into her faster, kissing her deeply. She kissed back, biting his lower lip until he bled, her moaning even louder. She lifted her legs and put her feet behind his back and her arms held his neck tightly. He was holding her up, driving her so hard into the bulkhead that a battle lantern came loose and fell crashing to the deck and he heard her voice as if from miles away gasping, “Oh, God, please don’t stop, baby,” and it was as if he’d taken a drug that was only now hitting his brain. At first he moved fast, then slowed down, teasing her, torturing them both, until her hot breath was in his ear saying, “Anthony Michael, finish me, baby,” and he slammed his body into hers until the pain mixed with the incredible warmth of her grabbing him and he couldn’t hold on any longer.