Princess of the Void-3.8. Listening Post

Grant follows his wife—now in a form-fitting tank top and her promised teeny-tiny shorts, both in scarlet—out of the lift, and along the curving ring of the hab level to the rec center. Every Taiikari they pass stops their chatter or their tasks to acknowledge her somehow. Navy marines set aside their hand carts and snap salutes. Civilians and specialists pause their gossip and consultations to issue waist-deep bows and calls of “Majesty.”

He’s already unnerved by the “sire”s and the bows that get thrown his way. When he becomes actual Taiikari royalty, and they become compulsory, he might lose it.

The deference continues into the gymnasium, where Sykora returns the hails as the two of them step past the two-tiered main floor into a smaller, private room off the side of the central chamber.

“I am so proud of us. Look at this.” Sykora steps into the room. “I was half convinced we were about to spend the whole evening in bed and we’re actually working out.”

Grant looks around the mirror-lined room. Beyond the elegant banners and hexagonal panels of dark glass, it almost reminds him of a Maekyon free-weight room—the only nod to the science-fiction future that his life has become is the stationary bike, whose front wheel is a glowing, compact gravity generator. “This is nice,” he says. “Is this your private workout room?”

“Mine and the rest of the command group’s. Hyax’s heavy bag is over there in the corner.” Sykora gestures to a threadbare leather-lined cylinder hanging from a chain. “There’s some gear in here you can use, I’m sure. Our deadlift bars might be your preacher curl bars, but we’ll make it work.”

Grant ruffles her hair as he steps onto the scale by the entrance. Its dial spins to a figure in kilograms, and he does some quick mental math.

His brow furrows.

He’s been eating, but he hasn’t been eating this much. And he and the Princess have been engaging in sweatily enthusiastic cardio.

“Grantyde? What’s the matter?” Sykora’s in a deep couch stretch against the burgundy-painted wall, watching him with concern. His perturbation must be showing on his face.

“Those longevity pill things I’ve been taking,” he says. “Do they have side effects? On, like, weight?”

She switches legs and sinks into her lunge again. “They shouldn’t.”

“I just—I’ve gained a lot more weight than I was expecting. Maybe it’s a dietary thing.”

“Well, yes, dove.” She grins. “You came in a bit skinny, you know. Now you’re eating right. Like a Navy nobleman, not a working stiff. I don’t think I sampled the best of Maekyon cuisine when I was on your world. It was mostly some kind of meat-and-oat slurry.” She pulls a face at the memory. “Here on the Pike, we optimize for health and strength.”

“Huh.” He pinches his stomach.

Sykora stands up and drops into a forward fold. “And of course you’ve gained about 20% more weight just by being on the Pike.”

“What? Oh, shit.” He gazes at the dial between his feet. “The gravity’s different here, isn’t it?.”

“Clever Maekyonite.” She straightens out and extends her arms up toward the chamber’s vaulted ceiling. “The Pike’s gravity generators are calibrated to Taiikar. And—I looked this up, because I was curious—Maekyon’s gravity is 84 percent of Taiikar’s. Haven’t you wondered why you’re filling out here and there, without stepping into the gym?”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

“I have.” Her eyebrows wiggle. “You don’t squeeze your ass as often as I do.”

“My muscles have been a little sore, I guess. But I thought that was just all the sex we’ve been having.”

“Not just sex,” Sykora says. “Sex with a weighted vest on.”

“Is the gravity difference going to cause any issues?” Grant joins in on the sit-and-reach his wife is doing. “Like are my knees going to fall apart?”

“Not as long as you stay consistent with your medical check-ups. I imagine the techs are preparing joint and tendon-strengthening enhancements for you. Can you tug on these?” She extends her arms.

He takes them and pulls his wife into a deep forward stretch. The resulting smoky groan would stir something in him, if the woman making it hadn’t just milked him dry before their workout. He releases Sykora’s wrists and she sits back. “Gods of the Firmament. I needed that. Okay.” She hops to her feet. “It’s deadlift time. Grab that bar for me, handsome?”

Grant pulls the indicated barbell down from the rack and sets it on the bar jack atop the lifting platform. “I was picturing a more futuristic setup,” he says.

“Oh, there’re all kinds of clever toys and gadgets, if you’re into that. You can take a tour of the bigger room out there and see everything.” Sykora tugs a heavy plate from its peg. The muscles in her arms shift and stand out. “But I say why mess with perfection, right? Two things that our bodies got right on their own: fucking and lifting.”

She crouches to load the bar, and gives her thighs a light slap as she rises. “If anyone should stress about their body, it’s me. Fifteen cycles out of the weight room, with lightened gravity. I tried to keep myself in shape with calisthenics but I’ve gotten flabby. This’ll be a rough first set.”

Grant looks with alarm from the other side of the bar, where he’s helping her load. “You’re not trying to lose weight, are you?”

“Oh?” She smirks and sways over to bump him with her hip. “Is my husband worried about the wagon?”

“I mean… you can look however you want, of course you can, but—”

She chuckles and slides a collar along the bar’s sleeve to cinch the plates in place. “Don’t fret, dove. I’m hoping to put a couple of kilos on, not take them off. We’re going for a big round caboose, big round thighs, and a nice trim tummy.”

She stands on her tiptoes and tugs his shirt. He leans down.

“Nice and trim and ready,” she murmurs, “for the day you make it big and round, too.”

He gets a little lightheaded.

She snickers and nudges him away from the platform. “You’re so obsessed with me, Grantyde.” fгeewebnovёl.com

“You’re obsessed with me,” he says.

“I’d never deny it.” Her tail wags as she lowers herself to the bar. The hems of her shorts hug her hamstrings.

Grant beholds the symphony along the Princess’s back, the interplay of locking strength and smushing curve as she sets up. Tomorrow, they arrive in the dark above Eqtora, and this little blue woman will dismantle a democracy in the name of her distant Empress. Will he stand by and watch it happen? Will he abet it?

Yes, he realizes, as Sykora hisses air out and her muscles fire and her blue butt flexes beneath her little shorts.

Yes, he’ll do what he can to bend Eqtora’s knee to the Empire. He’s told himself it’s because he wants to reduce the harm where he can, to ensure that the billions of aliens on the other side of the sweep are ushered into their new lives—their lives as subjects of the Empress—as painlessly as possible.

But that’s not the main reason. He can’t lie to himself about that.

The main reason is it’ll make his wife happy.

***

Sergeant Ajax’s combat-trained eyes are the first to spot the Eqtoran System listening post. The shuttle that carries the command group and its complement of marines is a few kilometers away; Sykora’s pilot, a stuffy veteran named Arnak, magnifies it onscreen. It’s the same chilly slate color as the nebula in which it floats. From the outside, it appears like a slowly turning wagon wheel, its spoke jagged with a thicket of antennae, satellite dishes, and generators.

They coast into its membraned hangar and dock at the end of a telescoping landing pad, its suspension-bridge span like the legs of a silver harvestman spider.

Deep chill rushes through the opening shuttle door, and Grant is newly grateful for the thermal poncho Sykora insisted he bring. A staff of white-jacketed researchers, engineers, and soldiers gather at the walkway’s end to bow and applaud as the Princess and her servants disembark. She bows back. “Citizens. The culmination of your efforts is nearly upon us. Everything that follows is thanks to your dilligent work, which has gone heretofore unrecognized. You’ve honored me.” She stands tall. “Is Administrator Oorta here?”

A brick-colored Taiikari woman hurries forward. “That’s me, your Majesty. Such, such a privilege to welcome you.”

“The privilege is mine, Administrator.” Sykora smiles patiently as Oorta lays another bow onto the stack. “I look forward to meeting the community you’ve gathered. If you’d care to lead on?”

“Of course, Majesty. Of course.” Oorta scurries ahead of the party. The white-clad science team parts like ocean surf to let Sykora’s scarlet-and-black party through.

Grant feels their fascinated gazes clinging to him. Perhaps word came to them of the Princess’s giant, but none of them have seen him in the flesh before. He thought he was used to it by now, this attention, but the sterile, clinical walls and the hushed observers send chills along his skin.

The whole place reminds him of Archer West. Reminds him of his last days on Maekyon.

“Before we bring you to Yuvik, as its inhabitants have named it, I’d like to introduce you to someone.” Oorta makes a cutting turn into a large conference room and takes point position at a horseshoe-shaped table, its chrome surface ringed with coffee and tea stains. The command group takes their seats across its compass—their marine guards stay standing. There’s a sheaf of papers on the Administrator’s chair, which she surreptitiously slips to the floor as she sits. It’s clear this room has been rapidly cleaned to the best of its harried occupants’ ability. “It took a few rounds of steadily increasing incentives, but one of our guests has volunteered to be fitted with a language recomposition implant.”

“That’s the thing I have?” Grant whispers to Sykora. She nods.

“She’s offered her services as your guide into the community,” Oorta says. “If you wish, Majesty.”

“That’s quite considerate of her, Administrator,” Sykora says. “We’d be honored to meet her.”

“Reckon that’d be my cue,” rumbles a sonorous voice behind them.

Grant turns around and beholds his first Eqtoran.