Statesman (26 page)

“Yes and no, Hope,” she said. “I thought it was time for something you liked.”

“Oh—Forta!” I exclaimed, realizing. I shook my head ruefully, no pun. “You had me fooled!”

She touched the side of her face where the mask merged seamlessly with her natural flesh, concealed by the flowing tresses of the wig. “I always had you fooled, Hope,” she said.

I gazed at her, fascinated. Of course Forta had perceived my half-buried passion for Rue, and studied her well, so as to make this emulation perfect. Had I realized the obvious, I would not have been fooled.

The truth was, she had overdone it a trifle. The hair was too bright, the eyes too gray, the bosom too full; this was more like Rue ten years younger than like her present aspect. I liked it, of course; I suppose I would have liked an emulation of Rue at age eighteen even better. But not immediately after encountering the reality; that would have destroyed the illusion. So she had taken some off the present age, adding to the appeal without voiding my suspension of disbelief. A nice compromise; she still was amazingly realistic.

“So now I can have you, in my fashion,” I said.

“You could always have had me in your fashion,” she said. Which was just about what the real Rue would have said.

“No. You're married.” I was falling willingly into acceptance of the role, treating her as I would have treated the original.

“Gerald died three years ago,” she said. “I am free now.”

I had really been out of touch! “Your husband died? He was a good man!”

“He was the best man,” she agreed. “I didn't love him, but I respected him, and I was true to him while he lived.” Three years ago—yet it struck me like a fresh event. “I'm not sure I want to—to—”

“To score with his wife? You know he always felt guilty for taking me, knowing that I loved you.”

How much talking had Forta done with Rue? This was getting uncomfortable! “It was the Navy way,” I said. “He had to take you, to preserve the unit. He did it as duty.”

“So did I,” she reminded me.

Indeed she had. I had won her fiery love, then turned her over to another man. We all had understood, but it had not been easy. “The Navy way,” I repeated softly.

“Now we are unattached,” she said. “We return to the Navy way.”

Which, again, was what the real Rue would have said. The Navy did not acknowledge such gentle emotions as married love; it acknowledged the biologic need for sex.

I did not require any great amount of persuasion. “The Navy way,” I said once more. I reached for her.

She moved away, giving me the slip. “My way, Tyrant,” she said.

I stared at her. One other thing had distinguished Roulette from other women: her penchant for violence.

She had been a pirate lass, and among the pirates violence and rape had been the rule. She had been incapable of passion without violence: that of her lover against her. That had been the hardest thing for me to accept. I had been required, literally, to attack her and rape her on our wedding night. I had done it, but it was an experience I had had no desire to repeat.

Yet, even as I had slowly educated her to the ways of gentle love, she had educated me to her style. I had found myself brutalizing her, at her demand, and at our last encounter in space I had struck her on the chin so that she bit her tongue and blood had flowed: a vicious act, but an act of love. I had never done that to any other woman, and had never thought the occasion for such a thing would arise again.

Now Rue, in emulation, was assuming the role so completely that she wanted violence. I understood, but could not accept it. “I can't do that,” I said, and turned away.

“You can do it,” she said tersely.

I turned back, embarrassed. “Even if I wanted to, if I were that type of man, I couldn't. I'm old now, and weak. You could overpower me. It would be a damned charade.”

“When you conquered me, Hope,” she said huskily, “I forsook all defense against you. I became yours to ravish at will. Now I have returned to you. Ravish me.”

Had this been the real Rue, this would have rung true. But Forta was not a masochist, and I could not see myself mistreating her just because she had assumed the likeness of that kind of woman. But neither could I say that now; it would prejudice the emulation. This left me in an awkward position. “Sex, yes,” I said. “Violence, no.”

“You're not playing the game, Hope,” she said.

“There are limits to my game-playing abilities.”

“You sniveler!” she snapped, so exactly like the original that I jumped. “When in the Belt, do as the pirates do!”

And damn it, she was tempting me! I have never been a man to practice violence on women, but Rue had never been an ordinary woman, and this was indeed her way. She would settle for a token, I knew; if I struck her only hard enough to sting, she would turn on to me as if I had savaged her. But I also knew that those tokens would inevitably escalate as she bent me to her perverse will, and I would find myself hitting her harder, drawing blood. I had been that route when I married her; I could not go it again at this late date.

I turned away again. “Change,” I said. “I need to complete the briefing.”

“Change, hell!” she flared. “You don't just turn me off, Worry!” She came up behind me and put her arms around me, and her breasts pressed into my back with a firmness that electrified me, and her thighs touched mine. “I have waited decades for this chance, and I shall not let it pass.” She put her mouth to my neck and nipped me lightly.

I could hardly believe the accuracy of this emulation! The original had to have cooperated, telling and showing Forta every nuance of her way with a man. My member hardened, striving to break free of my clothing. And then the bitch reached down and stroked me there.

Angered at the facility with which she pushed my buttons, I turned abruptly, rotating within her embrace.

“I will not be toyed with!” I exclaimed.

But as I completed my half-turn her lips came up to intercept mine, and she kissed me and tongued me, holding me close. The years peeled away like so many layers of paper, and it was as though I were twenty-nine and she eighteen. My hunger for her overwhelmed me, and I kissed her fiercely.

And she broke again. “Hit me, Tyrant,” she breathed. I shoved her away. “No!”

“Yes!” She bent toward me, and of course her blouse fell open, as it was crafted to do, showing the formidable curve of a breast or two.

“You whore!” I exclaimed. “I don't want it that way!”

“Yes, revile me!” she whispered.

She was making me brutalize her verbally! That was part of it. I stalked to my room, frustrated. I had forgotten how maddening Rue could be; it was part of her phenomenal appeal.

She followed me. “I'll behave, Hope,” she said. “We have to get through the briefing.”

I sat on the bed. Smilo was snoozing under it, of course; he hardly paid attention to what went on above, having long since written off human relations as too perplexing for feline comprehension.

She joined me there. “Emerald's husband is dead, too,” she said. “They forced her to retire; she's your age, Hope, and they rigged the regs. But we know exactly who supports the Tyrant, and we control every task force, every key unit. Spirit and I worked it out methodically.”

“Spirit and you,” I repeated.

She punched me lightly on the shoulder. “You know what I mean, Hope. Just accept me as I seem to be; I'm into this role and I mean to do it right.”

Why indeed was I balking? I had always enjoyed Forta's emulations, and I could not condemn her for excelling in her art. If she wanted to handle everything as Roulette, it behooved me to go along. “Sorry,” I muttered, my gaze straying to her cleavage.

She twitched a shoulder, causing that cleavage to flex, exactly as was her way. Rue always knew when she had captured the gaze of a man, and could never resist teasing him. She had at times driven me half crazy with desire during my time as the Tyrant of Jupiter, and she had reveled in it.

But Forta, though possessed of all the necessary attributes, lacked the sheer mass of bosomic flesh that Rue sported. The signals of emulation could do a lot, but they could not make mountains of mounds. My gaze lingered, compelled by this additional intrigue. She must have used some kind of foundation, some support, some added substance, to achieve this grandeur. Yet I could see no seam, no attachment. That breast looked real, even as I peered down inside her hefty halter. How had she done it?

She touched her blouse, and it parted down the front, falling entirely away from her breasts. “If something grabs you...” she invited.

“You promised to behave,” I muttered, sorely tempted to grab back at what grabbed me.

“ I'm behaving; your eyes aren't. You act as if you've never seen mammaries before. Here, let me get this halter off” She reached behind her.

Perhaps she was expecting me to tell her no. But my resentment of her taunting had faded, because it really was an accurate emulation, and my curiosity about the mechanism of the added flesh had increased. I let her proceed.

The strap parted in back, and the halter came loose. She drew it off, and those twin marvels were entirely exposed to my view. They still looked real.

I simply could not resist. I touched. The right breast was soft and warm, and it hefted exactly like the real thing. She was if anything more solidly endowed than she had been in youth; the truth was that without the halter she sagged somewhat, whereas in youth she could have taken a breath and held her breasts erect. Age did that to a woman.

I touched the nipple, and it responded properly. If flesh had been added, it wasn't at that site. I passed my fingers around and down—and felt a tiny seam. It really didn't show to my gaze, but my sensitive fingers could trace it. Apparently she had been able to apply pseudoflesh along the natural contours, filling out the breast, and the heat of her body had suffused it, making the whole seem genuine. This must have taken her some time to prepare; no wonder she wasn't eager to change back. Whatever adhesive kept the added flesh in place without support had to be strong, not readily nullified. Forta had gone to a lot of trouble to set up this emulation, physically as well as in character.

So I was stuck with this for an extended period. I could live with it. Naturally I did not make any fuss about the seam. She knew I had found it; her body indicated a kind of relief. She had known that the emulation could not withstand this close an inspection, and since I evidently had not been turned off by the discovery, there was no further concern. Well, that was not entirely true; some tension remained in her.

If I turned away from her now, it would seem to be because of this discovery. I did not care to do that; she had done a truly superlative job of this emulation. In fact, the discovery of the seam reassured me; a genuine bosom of this magnitude simply could not belong to Forta, and that had bothered me. Now I knew the mechanism, and could play the game. To a limited extent.

I bent to bring my mouth to her nipple. I kissed it, then took it in, sucking. Then I bit it, not hard, but firmly enough to bring some token pain to her.

Rue reacted as I had known she would. She clasped my head with her hands and pressed it in to her breast, for the moment smothering me. She fell back on the bed, bringing me with her, my face mashing her breast, or vice versa. “Oh, Hope, you hurt me!” she breathed.

I hoisted myself up and ripped at her remaining clothing. “I've got to have you, you bitch!” I said.

“Rape!” she squealed, moving to facilitate my attack.

I slapped her across the face. “Shut up!”

She turned on further. “Brute!”

Suddenly we were together, her naked, me clothed, but my trousers were open; she had somehow done it while I worked on her. I rammed into her, spurting almost immediately as her hips bucked against me.

She nipped at my ear, and her nails pressed sharply into my back, and the pain intensified my climax.

Whether she was truly climaxing with me I was uncertain, but she chose to make it seem so, and I chose not to debate it. It was just like old times.

I collapsed on her, panting, her bosom providing me a soft landing. I had, indeed, done it her way. I suppose that had been inevitable. The odd thing was that instead of letting me relax, as she normally did once I had expended my energy, she got hold of my head once more and kissed me savagely, again and again, as if our lovemaking were just commencing.

“I can't do it again,” I reminded her regretfully. “Once was enough,” she replied, but continued to kiss me and hug me, belying her words.

Which meant that she had not climaxed with me, but had gotten far enough to desire the completion. I felt guilty; I should have taken more time. I simply could not repeat; my member was diminishing. “I'm sorry,” I said, abashed.

“Hit me!” she whispered fiercely. Oh. I lifted myself, formed a fist with my right hand, and cracked her on the chin. I was not strong, and the angle was wrong, but it caused her to bite her lip so that blood welled out. Déjà vu!

She hauled me in again, for a bloody kiss, and her body convulsed. Now she was climaxing, and it was a formidable thing. I held as firmly as I could, realizing that my cooperation was as important for her pleasure as hers had been for mine. How I wished I had a fully hard member for her!

But it was not the member but the violence that activated her. Her blood smeared our faces as she throbbed against me and around me and came to her conclusion.

Then at last we could relax. “Oh, Worry, it's been so long!” she whispered in my ear, kissing it.

I marveled; this emulation was complete indeed. Except for one thing: There was now a coating of whitish powder on my fingers, and perhaps also on my face. That would be the makeup employed to convert olive-skinned Forta to thoroughly Saxon Rue. But I was now quite tired, and I slept.

I expected her to be back as Forta when I woke again, for it could not be comfortable for her to carry all that pseudoflesh around on bosom, hips, and posterior. But I have to confess that that I was not disappointed to find Rue still with me, though I would not have been disappointed with Forta either.