Contort me against your body and mind - Chapter 23 (Early Access) (Patreon)

Slate

"We cannot complete our work to a satisfactory degree in these conditions, Commander."

"I understand, officer."

"And I don't need to tell you what happens when the maintenance crew can't maintain a ship."

"Of course, officer." Slate ensured that his tone held the necessary finality. The man had overstayed his welcome in Slate's office.

"Thank you for taking the time to listen to my concerns, Commander."

"Thank you for keeping me informed. You will hear from me in regard to a solution once I have consulted Major Ellie."

"Thank you, Commander."

The maintenance manager for the Ailu't delegate bobbed his head and strode from the office with a puffed chest, appearing pleased enough with Slate's reaction to his team's complaints. It was certainly a serious issue, but not one that Slate had an answer to as yet.

He was aware of the effects that the human's music were having on his people. The increased soul stretching sessions all over the ship were a physical manifestation of the distress the meaningless noise was causing them. He didn’t need to be a psychiatrist to understand that much. And he wasn’t immune to the senseless noise either. Unfortunately, what had once been an occasional event for the humans to 'let off steam' as some called it, had become more of a daily ritual.

He typed a short message to Ellie, requesting a visit when she was next able to gain permission for an excursion about the ship. The doctors had her strapped to a chair with wheels now, as though to punish her for not needing all of the coddling they wished to offer her.

She was strong and resilient and healing well. That was what Ellie stated, and Slate would believe his second in command over anyone. Especially when it came to her own body.

When the entrance request sounded from his desk, Slate considered ignoring it. It was not Ellie's unique pattern, and he did not have the time to listen to any more complaints or grumbles. They had direct superiors they could speak to. Slate was aware of the issue, and he was dealing with it. No more of his time need be wasted.

The tone rang out again and he huffed to himself. Now he wanted to know who believed themselves so deserving of his time that they should ring his office door twice in five minutes. He granted entrance, drawing his stony face into a deeper frown than usual.

Bonnie stepped into the room and a smile snatched his mouth up before a single thought could find his brain. A foolish feeling spread over him.

He remained seated. She said nothing, but she locked the door and met him at his desk. Then she made her way to his side of the desk. He grinned and spun his chair to follow her.

She hesitated.

Slate reached for her hands, small and warm and easy to entwine with his own. Bonnie allowed him to sway her closer, coaxing her to his lap. She gave him a coy look and he gave her hip a nudge with his hand, still curled around hers. She dropped onto his thighs, releasing her weight onto him in careful increments. Her cheeks had darkened, and she refused to look him in the eyes.

Slate tilted the chair back and she yelped, scrabbling her hands at his uniform. He steadied her with arms wrapped around her waist and a chuckle. A quiet grumble preceded her relaxing against his chest.

He kissed the top of her head. Allowed his fingers to trace lightly from her waist to her hip, outlining the curves of her with his most gentle touch. Her thighs shuffled against themselves.

“Why-”

“No,” he said.

“What-”

“No more questions from you.”

“But-”

“You are always asking me questions about the Ailu’t,” he griped light-heartedly. As much as he meant his words, he would gladly listen to Bonnie’s questions for days on end if he had the time and the lack of responsibility to dedicate to her interviewing. “I think it is my turn.”

Bonnie let her weight sink back against one of his shoulders. “I’d be happy to answer any human questions, at least as best I can,” she replied with seasoned modesty.

Slate had many useless questions that he would not normally waste the air to put forth. If it kept Bonnie in his lap, he could pluck a few out.

“Your heart is very fast,” he announced. “Is this human or you?”

“Human,” she answered without hesitation. As though nervous. Her explanation came at a lower speed. “Ailu’t have a slower resting and standing heart rate. It’s actually a good thing; we say you have an athlete’s heart if your heart rate is lower.”

“What is an athlete?”

“A person whose profession is competitive sport.”

“Sports like games?”

“Yes, they play publicly for people to watch.”

Slate frowned. “I can’t think of anything more boring than watching someone play a game that I enjoy,” he mused aloud.

“I’m not a fan myself,” Bonnie admitted. She had begun to swing her feet beneath his knees, like a child in a chair much too large for them. It was worryingly endearing; Slate almost gave her a full-body squeeze. Bonnie did not notice his dilemma. “But it is a huge part of our culture. Do you not have public sporting events?”

“It is my turn for questions,” he reminded her.

“Ask away,” she said with a laugh.

“What are the sphere lights in human quarters actually for? Something about mental resilience was in the paperwork but I don’t understand.”

“They are artificial sunlight lamps.”

“All lights are artificial sunlight.”

Bonnie’s lips pressed into a straight line for a moment before she responded. “The other lights around the ship solely provide light. Humans need more than just the ability to see, and the warmth that comes from our sun.” She took his hand from where it rested against her thigh and lined it up with her own on the desk. His wide and blue-grey with thick veins distending from the skin. Hers delicate, dainty and dark brown with perfectly smooth texture and tiny fine hairs dotted all over. “Our skin takes in the sun’s rays and uses it to generate vitamins.” She sighed and added, “Until we get too much and then it can make us sick.” She flipped both of their arms over, displaying the more vulnerable flesh on the underside. Hers was much paler, but Slate’s colouring was identical. She traced a finger from his elbow to his palm and he snatched her hand playfully. “Our bodies also rely on its pattern to trigger sleep rhythms. The lamps prevent circadian misalignment and seasonal depression.”

Slate nodded in faux understanding, although Bonnie was still looking at their hands. He summarised, “Humans have to bring their sun with them on trips or they get sad?”

“Slate,” she said warningly.

“Is that not what you said?” he teased lightly.

“You have your answer. Ask your next question.”

“You are unjustly impatient for someone who is usually the interrogator.”

“I apologise.” There was a hint of humour in her eyes as she cut them at him.

“Why do some humans not have hair on their heads, but it remains on the rest of their body?”

Bonnie took longer to consider her answer this time. “I’m not at expert on balding. There are many things that can cause it, but I believe it can often be a hereditary condition.”

“What does that mean?”

“If your father lost his hair, then you may be more likely to lose yours as you age, too.”

“How do you lose your hair? Where does it go?”

“Well, it falls out.”

“All at once?”

Bonnie covered the laugh that burst out of her with a dainty hand.

“No, that would be quite shocking,” she said. Slate agreed, although any loss of hair would be shocking to him. “I believe it falls out in tufts faster than it can grow back, and then the growth slows and thins until you don’t have enough hair to cover your head. At that point, a lot of people shave what’s left.”

Slate sat with this information for a few moments, trying to imagine his hair not growing back. Picturing his head round and shiny like some of the humans on-board.

“Do the Ailu’t not shed hairs?” Bonnie asked.

“To make room for new ones, yes, but not permanently.” The only person he knew of that had patches where his hair didn’t grow was Sergeant Silent-Waters, who had burned the skin of his scalp so severely in places that it had melted smooth.

“What about your elders? Does their hair not thin?”

“No, we take very good care of hair.” It had been an area of bonding with the humans upon initial contact, and a continued shared piece of culture. “Once you start getting old, it is common to stop cutting your hair at all as a…” He pinched his lips as he searched for the correct word. “Symbol? A show that you have made it to a great age. Like wrinkled skin, but intentional.” Picturing an elderly person with short hair felt disrespectful somehow. “I hope to die with very long hair,” he added quietly.

“Our elders cut their hair short to make it more manageable,” Bonnie said. She sounded sad. He stroked her lower back in a smooth circle over her shirt.

A tinkling entrance request that differed from the standard sprung Bonnie from his knees. The spot instantly felt too cold.

It was Major Ellie’s unique tone.

Bonnie would be very unimpressed to find the Marine major at his door; she would assume he was disobeying doctor’s orders. It wasn’t that Ellie was working. She wasn’t allowed to work. He was simply keeping her informed. It was necessary.

“I will act as though I’m on my way out,” he whispered, knowing undoubtedly that no one would be able to hear him through the sealed metal door. “Find a place to hide so that whoever is out there does not see you when I pass through the door.” He stood and began walking there at a pace lacking gravity. “I won’t lock it manually, so you will have a few minutes after I leave before the automatic lock is triggered.”

Bonnie nodded with wide eyes and ducked under the desk. They had agreed it was best to keep their relationship private for the time being, but she may not have been as eager to hide if she knew it was Major Ellie in the hallway outside.

Slate waved his hand over the door sensor and immediately pressed his finger to his lips when Ellie appeared in front of him, about to roll straight into his knees. Predictably, she obeyed his sign without question. She said nothing but watched him with a newly alert energy. He took the armrest of her chair with wheels and pushed her out of the doorway, allowing the door to close behind him. He nodded down the hallway and Ellie followed the silent order, rolling away with Slate at her back.

There were plenty of private places they could discuss ship strategy. And Slate needed his Marine major’s advice more than ever.