The Mammoth Book of Apocalyptic SF - Mike Ashley [200]
The hovercraft was a dark, domed shape in the darkness. Samara's crew were partying again. They had lit a fire on the far side of the vehicle, and its flickering crimson illumination danced above the uneven crenellation of the solar-arrays.
I made a decision. I turned to where my friends were still seated. "I'm going over there. I want to talk to Samara, find out why they took Skull."
Kat looked shocked. "I can't let you go-"
"I— Samara won't harm me," I said. "I'll try to get a promise from her, that her men won't attack us."
Kat made to protest further, but Danny lay a quick hand on hers, and nodded at me silently. Something in his gaze told me he was aware of what had passed between me and Samara the night before.
Edvard said, "If you're going, then for God's sake take this." He moved to the weapon's locker and withdrew a small pistol.
I hesitated, then nodded and tucked it into the band of my shorts.
I nodded farewell and slipped from the truck. I stopped and stared across the dark expanse of sand to the hovercraft, my heart pounding. I was about to set off towards the vehicle when a door hinged open in its flank and a figure stepped out. I smiled, relieved.
She stopped when she saw me, a hand still on the door.
I crossed the cooling sea-bed towards her.
I came within range of her heady scent and my senses reeled. She stroked my cheek. "I hoped you'd be out, Pierre. I was going to invite you over ... It'll be more comfortable here, yes?"
"What about ...?" I gestured to the far side of the vehicle.
She smiled. "They're having their fun, Pierre. We won't be disturbed, okay?"
I could only nod, all thoughts of asking what had become of Skull forgotten.
She took me by the hand and led me into the hovercraft. We moved down a warren of tight corridors, past tiny stinking cubicles where her crew slept, and a rack containing the canisters of water we had traded with her. We ducked through a hatch into a larger chamber - evidently the engine room where the dangling leads of the solar arrays were coupled to banked generators.
Samara's room was beyond this.
I stopped on the threshold and stared.
The room was twice the size of the lounge back at the truck, and sumptuous. A vast bed occupied the centre of the room. To the left was a small window, looking out onto the sea-bed. Through thin curtains I made out the flare of the fire and the sound of voices, loud and drunk.
Then I saw, in the far corner of the chamber, a clear perspex kiosk. I crossed to it, then turned to Samara with a question.
"A shower," she said.
I repeated the word.
She smiled. "It's a water shower," she said.
I looked at her. "But how can you...?"
"I make sure we're well supplied, Pierre. And of course it's recycled after I've used it."
I could hardly conceive of the luxury of having sufficient water to use for bathing.
She took my hand and pulled me towards the bed. We kissed. She reached behind her, unbuttoned her dress and let it fall. I stared like a fool as she rolled onto the bed and smiled up at me.
I pulled off my shirt and dropped my shorts. Samara laughed.
I reddened. "What?"
"I see that you have more than one weapon in there, Pierre."
I struggled to explain the presence of the pistol. "Ed, he said I might need it."
"A wise move in these times." She reached out and pulled me onto the bed.
We made love, Samara urging me to slow down, take my time, as she opened herself to me.
Time was obliterated. I had no idea how long might have passed. I lost, too, all sense of self. It was as if I were an animal, indulging in primal appetites, oblivious of anything else but the pleasures of the flesh. Samara was ferocious, biting me, scratching. I felt a heady sense of accomplishment, almost of power, that I could instil in her such a display of passion.
Later we lay in each other's arms, slick