The Sex Life of the Gods
nude. She was even more beautiful than he had remembered and he felt
shaken, to the very roots of his being.
The smooth curve of her shoulders glowed in the light and her face was
kissed by shadows. The arching lift of her breasts and the impassioned
nipples threw a wash of dark shadow downward over the flat of her
stomach and the lithe curve of her thighs. With the light covering the
beauty of her face, Jela lost her identity.
She was woman. Period.
Any and all, from time immemorial, or immoral, perhaps. She was somehow,
standing there, a composite of every woman who had ever drawn a breath.
She was the best of woman, the choicest parts of all women since the
dawn of time, suddenly thrown together in a high breasted, slim waisted
creation that was being offered to him, only to him.
And Lors?
It moved in him, churned through his guts like a forest fire. He was
man! All men, glaring with the red eyes of passion at all women. He too,
in the wash of lust that had swept over him, lost his identity and he
didn't give a damn. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered except that she
was waiting...
His fingers ripped away his clothing and he was at her side in no time
at all, his arms sliding about the pliant warmth of her flesh to clasp
her to him. To take her. To love her with a fever that was equal to the
challenge she presented.
She made a small sound and he hushed it with his mouth, planting his
lips roughly against hers while he lowered her to the bed. He hurt her,
but she didn't try to get away.
It was the kind of hurt she had waited for, that they both had yearned
for all the long months that had kept them apart. His hands closed over
her. Smoothing the tender flesh and feeling of life beneath his palm.
She moaned, tearing the sound from the very depths of her as his hands
smoothed the satiny texture of her thighs, his fingers working against
her flesh. He felt the nails of her hands digging into his shoulders,
but he paid no attention to it.
Nothing mattered now. Nothing except the warmth of their love and the
expenditure of the raging passions that threatened to engulf them both.
* * * * *
They laid there for a long time, basking in the heat of their love, and
he knew. Finally he knew that it all would not work. There could be
nothing between him and the Terran woman. It was impossible. She could
not live in his worlds, nor could he live in hers. Jela was his world
and the past was merely an emotional thing. A moth and the flame.
Yet ... somehow, he _did_ love Beth. Somehow her and her life was
important to him. Her happiness was something that he had to assure. Had
to guarantee for her.
He had to work out a plan that would solve everything and return the
whole business to a state of normalcy. It would be difficult, if not
impossible, and he knew that Zark would never listen to him, never allow
him to carry it out.
But he had to do it.
There would be all kinds of risks and, if he failed in the thing, he
might have to pay with his life. If he managed to accomplish it, he
would get nothing as a reward, except perhaps the hand of the
Commander's daughter. That wasn't such a bad reward, though.
He kissed her and the fires began to burn again.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Lors finished dressing himself, buckling the black belt about his waist;
then he looked down at the still form of Zark's daughter, Jela, golden
in the light of the overhead bulb. She slept like a baby. He blew a kiss
to her and let his breath out in a rush.
"If everything goes right," he whispered, "I'll be back before you know
I'm gone. If not..." He let it hang there and checked the loads in the
auto-pistol.
Then he went out into the bright light of the corridor.
* * * * *
The guard merely accepted his auto-pistol when he stopped at the door to
Danson's prison. Lors gave it to him and the spacer opened the door.
Nick Danson rubbed the beard on his face and grinned at him.
"Forget something, Firstspacer?" He asked.
When the door closed, Lors said: "Shut up."
Danson blinked.
"Sit down."
Danson sat.
"How badly do you want to get off this ship, Danson?"
"How badly do you want to make Commander?" Danson countered and lit a
cigarette.
"You willing to risk your life?"
"Why not? It isn't worth a hell of a lot anyhow."
Lors reached into Danson's shirt pocket, found the pack of cigarettes
and filched one. Nick touched a match to it and Lors dragged the smoke
into his lungs. He could see the Terran regarding him suspiciously.
"What's the play, Firstspacer?" Danson asked.
"You're dead, Nick," Lors said softly, "if you stay on this ship. That
can be either literally, or figuratively speaking, I don't know. It all
depends on Zark's plans for you."
Nick snorted, "Hell, Lors, it can't be any worse than whatever Imry had
cooked up for me."
"It'll be better. That I can assure you. Zark is a just man, but he
hasn't much feeling for Terrans..."
"Yeah, I know. The "god" theory."
Lors nodded.
"Well, look, Firstspacer," Danson said, snubbing out his cigarette.
"Your concern for my welfare touches me deeply, but I don't get it. How
come?"
Lors grinned. "I've been asking myself that same question, and while I
can get answers that make sense to me, I sincerely doubt if they'd make
sense to you.
"Why don't we just say I like you."
"That's rich, but I'll buy it. All I've got to lose is my chains..."
"And your memory."
"Come again?"
Lors sucked on the cigarette. "You can't talk about this thing to anyone
except your wife."
"Who'd believe me anyhow?"
"It's bigger than that, Danson. If you talk to anyone, I'll kill you."
"You don't make sense. Why not kill me now?"
Lors sighed. "Look, Commander Imry made a booboo, to use one of your
terms, and I got caught in the middle. This whole operation is fouled up
because of what he did. If we don't try to put things back, it's going
to be in a real tough light.
"For the first time in history, Terra is in possession of a scout ship
even though it is wrecked. Not only that, but they know it. They're hot
on the trail of us. And if enough Terrans get wise to us, we'll be in
trouble. You've read my diaries and journals. You know what it's like up
here. My planet needs Earth as a trade base, and if you people ever wake
up as a race, we'll be able to help each other a hell of a lot. Maybe
that's why I want to take you back to your wife. Is that good enough for
you?"
Danson nodded. "I guess so. I know enough about this situation to tell
that you're either on the level, or you're a damned convincing liar.
What's the plot?"
"The plot, as you put it, is to get you and Brice back to earth..."
"Brice? Nolan Brice? He's here?"
Lors nodded. "Brice found your watch where my scout ship cracked up and
guessed who I was before I did. I was hiding up at your cabin, trying to
figure things out when he decided to put a bullet into me. Both Beth and
I thought I was you and she was trying to help me figure out what I'd
been doing for thirteen months. Brice came in shooting and my people
kidnapped him."
"Great."
"In any event, I think I can get Brice to the scout ship. I'm going to
rely upon you to spring yourself out of here and get down to the hangar.
You'll pass for me easily. Okay?"
"How do I get past the guard?"
"I'll fix it. If I can't, I'll be back."
"Okay, Buck Rogers. It's your show."
Lors grinned at him. "Keep your fingers crossed," he said and went out.
* * * * *
"I won't do it," Narvi said flatly. He lifted his glass and took a large
swallow of the drink to punctuate the sentence. "You've got to," Lors
insisted. "You know as well as I do, it's the only way to straighten
things out."
"You talk to Zark?"
"How can I tell him about it? What am I supposed to do? Tell him that I
love a Terran and want her to be happy?"
"Thunder and lightning! What's so important about Brice and Danson?
They're only Terrans. This woman you're so silly about will find someone
else. Lors, by the gods, if you take those two back they'll talk to
everyone they can get their hands on..."
"No they won't, not Danson. Narvi, that's the beauty of this whole plot.
Danson understands that our people simply want to begin trade
negotiations with Terra; he's learned to speak and read our language and
he knows how badly we want to trade with his people. He'll help us..."
"What about Brice," Narvi snorted.
"Brice can be handled by Danson. If that doesn't work, we can threaten
to do all sorts of things to him."
"And you want me to take the guard's place, outside Danson's quarters,
and give you time to steal a scout ship?"
"Yes."
Narvi cast his blue eyes toward the ceiling and groaned aloud. "If I
keep doing all these goofy things for you, I'll never make commander. I
won't even make Vice-commander."
Lors smiled. "Don't worry about it. If things work out, you'll have had
a hand in opening up a new planet for our trade rockets."
Narvi sighed. "All right. I'll do it, although I should have my head
examined by the ship's doctors."
Lors grinned at him and finished the last of his drink. "It'll work out,
Narvi, and you'll probably get a medal."
"A prison cell, likely," Narvi snorted, "on Thista."
Lors slapped him lightly on the arm and left the ship's wardroom. He had
a lot to do, and damned little time to do it in.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Lors left the wardroom and walked along the hollow, brightly lighted
corridors toward the hospital where Detective Nolan Brice was being kept
a prisoner. He would be the tough one of the two, because his mental
roots were still very close to the witchcraft believing parents who had
given him birth.
Brice was a Pennsylvanian; he was fairly intelligent, but like all
Pennsylvanians he had an unconscious closeness with tradition. He was of
the type who would stoutly deny he was superstitious, yet would refuse
to walk under a ladder. How would he react to Lors' proposal? Would he,
with typical Dutch stubbornness, tell him to go to hell, or would he
co-operate? It was a difficult thing to predict.
Lors shoved the door to the hospital open and grinned at the spacer
behind the desk. "You've a Terran here?" He asked.
The spacer nodded and laid down the sheets of paper he had been ruffling
as Lors came in. "Yes sir, we have one. He's in the care of Doctor
Zuloe."
"What are they doing to him?"
"I'm not sure, sir. I understand he was in a great state of shock when
he arrived. I would imagine they're giving him rehabilitative
treatment."
Lors grinned again. Apparently the method by which they had snatched the
detective had completely unnerved him. "I'd like to see him," he told
the spacer. "Where can I find Doctor Zuloe?"
"I'm sorry, sir. Only authorized personnel will be allowed to
interrogate him."
"I'm authorized, I believe. I captured him. I'm Lors."
The young spacer flushed. "I'm sorry, sir, I didn't know who you were."
He pointed to the door behind him. "You may go through there. Straight
down the corridor until you reach the fourth ward."
"Doctor Zuloe will be there?"
"I think so."
"Thank you."
Lors shoved the door open and walked down the long hall toward the
fourth ward, not quite sure in his mind how he could spring the Terran
from the hospital and get him down to where the scout ships were
hangared. But it had to be done. If he failed, and they all ended up
dead, or thrown into the penal colonies on Thista, the trade program
with Terra would be set back at least fifty years. All the ground they
had gained, all the knowledge and plans they had formulated, would be
useless. They would have to start from scratch.