0 comments/ 6370 views/ 2 favorites MGF(014): the Paul Cezanne Ch. 01 By: Kyoketsu_Shoge Synne had often wondered what it would be like to meet one of the charming (if simple) people from the last century. The only remnants of that old group were in hospices, hooked up to virtual reality where they could their final days however they chose. Seemed almost preferable to her, contemplating the dreary landscape of Heath Colony outside her window. The rain pelted against the windowpane, and ran down the glass in separate beads. Synne traced one's path with her delicate finger before it came to rest at the bottom. She sighed. "Why can't the rain ever stop," she asked herself. She had heard the stories of what the earth was like before the constant rain, but those were just that: stories; the ravings of an old man whom she barely knew. Never mind he was her grandfather. Ever since joining the military, Synne had not had much time to spend with her family. Which, in one case, she reasoned, was a good thing. Yumer, the Heath Colony's controlling power, began constructing a fighting force after a rival power, Zia'aq hinted at annexing the North France Colony. The front lines of this army were made of the same stuff which the armies of centuries past had been. Men. Men with guns and facial stubble, swearing and spitting their dip spit in a communal old Gatorade bottle. But that wasn't for her. In fact, it wasn't for women at all. Despite the historic advances of the 21st century (African American president, the curing of AIDS, even the Robotic Discrimination Clause of the legislature), the 22nd century still would not let women fill infantry roles. So Synne took a different path. A path called LA. Lebensarmierung. Suddenly a shrill siren broke the silence of Synne's room. Once...twice...three times it cut through the room. Then, a voice stiffly announced: "All attention all, all attention all, this is not a drill. Defensive operations code three to commence in Five Minutes. Repeat, be ready and waiting at your deployment stations in five minutes. LA unit, your uniform is SCPS. Repeat: Sierra Charlie Papa Sierra..." Synne wasted no time letting the message repeat. By the end of the first sentence she had ripped open her wall locker. She pushed aside her standard camouflage and dress uniforms to the very back. Out of the locker she took her SCPS, or Service Coverall Plug System. Synne removed her undershirt quickly, followed by her trousers. She unhooked her conservative bra, letting her full bust spill out. She didn't hate having to get naked to put on the SCPS, she just wondered if it was really necessary. She hooked her thumbs into the sides of her cotton panties, sliding them down her soft thighs before kicking them off. Synne stepped into her SCPS one leg at a time, glad that the built-in boots still fit well, then putting her arms into their respective sleeves, adjusting the built-in gloves to assure a snug fit. She zipped the crotch-to-neck zipper, careful not to pinch her generous breasts in the zipper (again). She took hold of her hair, making sure none got caught in the back, and began the 'plug'. She pressed a small button on each hand, causing her arms to become vacuumed, as the suit formed to fit her arms. She did the same for her legs, and then prepared herself for the last button. Located on her sternum, it was always her...favorite...part of putting on the suit. She pressed it, and braced herself as the material sucked inwards, squeezing her breasts ever so lightly, like the hands of a gentle lover might. At the same time, the suit sucked in to clutch at her mound, as though a palm was cupping it, a tiny bit of material managing to slip in between her labia. Try as she might, Synne could not remove the camel toe which had formed; the suction was far too strong. "How come it feels so gentle, but I can't get it out," she asked no one in particular. Admittedly, she did enjoy the feel of the thin bit of material rubbing in between her lips as she walked. The alarm once again cut through the room and her revelry, announcing that two and a half minutes remained until commencing of operations. Synne grabbed her cover off the chair, her coveted white beret, and headed out of her room. In the hall, many soldiers milled about, but none seemed to notice the vision of skintight beauty who had joined them. Normally, she would be annoyed by the fact that no one noticed her, an young lady of eighteen years, soft curves, wearing something looking painted-on, but today, she was annoyed for a different reason. Though her voice was normally that of your typical girl her age, she could be serious and commanding when she needed to be. "So not one of you bastards calls hall attention when an officer comes on deck!?" The soldiers all froze where they were, and assumed a group attention, but none spoke. "Waiting," Synne said. One soldier, a corporal she saw, took a step forward, and called rather loudly: "Hall! Attent-Hun!" Synne smirked at the recruit's reaction. Sure, he was probably two years or so older than she was, but he seemed to have trouble keeping his eyes ahead and not on her. She liked this attention, but decided to maintain the professional atmosphere. "All of you look at this sonnovabitch. 'A' for effort... 'F' for delayed reaction." The soldiers just stood and looked on. "Well, what are you guys doing? Two minutes! Move your asses!" And move they did. Lucky thing that Corporal, Corporal Patterson it was, decided to speak up. He saved them from a shitstorm, she thought. Synne followed the rest of the soldiers, grabbing her overcoat off the wall, and stepped into the crowded elevator. With a minute to spare, Synne rendezvoused with her maintenance team, who assured her everything was in working order. She turned and looked at that device which, despite how hard she tried, she always found herself inside. It stood twenty or so feet tall at the shoulder, gleaming in the light streaming through the open hangar door. The large 'feet' led up to the heavy armor surrounding the 'hip' juncture, while the main chasse supported two jointed arms on it's armored shoulders. A head unit for radar sat between the plated shoulders. Synne looked up to it and could see her reflection in the shiny visor where eyes would have gone. Across the left shoulder was embossed it's designation: MGU-MG1-BS2-01J "CEZANNE" The Cezanne, named after the post-impressionist artist, was one of a kind. Lighter than most LA units... One of her maintenance team, Lance Corporal Gorbachev, addressed her with a quick salute, and asked, "which plates would you like to deploy with today, ma'am," in his heavy accent. It was the same accent which most from the Balkan Colony carried. "Wait for the briefing, we need to know what the objective is," she responded. A man took his place in front of the many gathered troops, to whom he began to explain the situation. A good fifty feet behind the main group, Synne could barely hear the man's gruff voice: "The enemy has been advancing slowly for the past three hours. Intel picked up heat signatures around twenty kilometers outside the colony barrier. Orders are to form three lines of defense in front of the main entrance. Traffic has been cut off on road accessing the Colony entrance, so no fear of civilian endangerment." "That must be why brass OK'd the use of the LA today," Synne reasoned. "After all, Captain," Gorbachev added, "the LA's like artillery." "Refresh my memory, Gorbie?" "Don't use it unless you want to kill. Everything." The man finished giving his orders, and the main infantry moved out. He moved towards Synne and her team. "So," he mused as he approached, "this is the infamous Ironblood Angel, Heath Colony's Ace." "I didn't come up with it, sir. It's just something they came up with," she responded, pointing to her team. "I suppose when you have something like this under your control, it's hard to lose, eh?" Synne turned to the Cezanne. True it was an amazing piece of engineering and programming, but it also took the skill of a pilot to make it work. "Yeah, the Cezanne's one hell of a machine, sir." "And it's got one hell of a pilot," the Major said under his breath, circling behind Synne and running his hand over her thigh. The material of her SCPS stretched taught, leaving nothing to imagination. The major moved behind her closer, rubbing against her rear. "All that skill, and yet still so feminine, so soft." "Major Luco, this is highly unprofessional," Synne said after she could stand no more. "Remove yourself from me before I file a complaint." "You're threatening your superior, Captain," the Major said, spitting out the last word. "No, I'm threatening a dirty old man who wormed his way up the ladder." She shook off his grip and walked away towards the Cezanne and her team, and Major Luco left to take command of the infantry. "Sorry you had to see that," she said to her team, who had clearly noticed the display of unwanted attention. "Don't feel bad," Private Coral, a young woman not a year older than Synne said, "he pulls the same crap around me, but what can I do? He's got rank." "Yeah," Synne retorted, "but he doesn't have rank in his pants. Now let's fit the Cezanne with the light gunfire rejection. We don't expect any enemy LA, so we can keep it simple." At once the team got started with fitting the light steel plates onto the form of the Cezanne, as retainers might fit their king with armor. The cockpit hatch in the back opened, and Synne crawled headfirst into the dark, cramped space. Her hands took hold of the grips, and she slid her feet into the holes. A light whir began as the restraints locked around her wrists and feet. "Whoever was the first to pilot one of these was either very brave or very stupid," Synne said to herself. Cushioned pads rose and descended, holding her torso with a similar gentleness to the SCPS. She knew what was coming, but for some reason, she could never overcome the creepy feeling of the midbrain probes. "I know, ma'am, just try to relax," Coral's voice chimed in over the intercom. Through the view screen, she had seen the Captain trembling in the cockpit, her eyes locked shut. This happened nearly every time, and Coral couldn't blame the Captain for being put off by the process. The thin metal tubes extended down and rested on either side of Synne's head. A jet of compressed air fired, and the tiny wires painlessly penetrated her skull. "Remind me again why I have to endure that shit every time, Coral?" "Certainly, Captain Altaria. The probes are inserted upon entry into the LA in order to more effectively link the desired actions of the pilot to the taken actions of the LA. In effect, if one thinks about walking, the Cezanne will walk." "Very good, Private. But as usual, it doesn't set me at ease." "One day you'll get over it, ma'am. And on that day we'll all pop the bubbly." "Yeah," Synne laughed. "One of these days." She steeled her nerves as the startup procedures happened around her. She opened her eyes, relived that the midbrain probes had finally hacked her eyes. She could see the hangar around her, even turn her head to see everything from the Cezanne's point of view. "Visuals are nominal. I'm heading out. Captain Synne Altaria, launching in the Cezanne." A voice came over the intercom system, a familiar voice. "You're cleared to sortie to the Colony entrance. Follow main road and stay behind the infantry. End at phase line Charlie." "Roger." ****************** It was quiet on the backmost phase line. This was Synne's least favorite part of her job: the waiting...the clam before the storm. But then, taking lives was hard for her, so the battle itself was also pretty bad. Then again, all of the paperwork for collateral damage caused by the Cezanne was shitty as well. Come to think of it, most aspects of her job sucked, she thought. "But somehow I always find myself behind the controls of this thing," she said. "Captain Altaria," the voice on the intercom said, "The enemy will be in range for the first phase line to attack in two minutes. Are you worried?" "You sound familiar," Synne remarked, ignoring the question. "What's your name?" "Corporal Patterson," he responded. "I'm the sonnovabitch who called the hall to attention, as you put it. I'll be monitoring your combat today. I must say it'll be a pleasure to analyze your combat data later." "Who the hell would want to do that," Synne wondered. "I heard all the stories about the Ironblood Angel, about how you're the ace pilot of this whole division. About how you once took on a whole battalion of enemy infantry by yourself. About how..." "About what, Corporal?" "It's nothing..." Suddenly, a distant explosion rocked the land. Pressure waves momentarily disrupted the rainfall. "Patterson, did we open fire on the enemy?" "Hang on...No! Command log shows no offensive maneuvers have been executed." "So it's the enemy," Synne said with a grin. "Finally some action. Ready, Cezanne?" The Cezanne's visor gleamed in the light of a signal flare, signaling the call to attack. "Hold it, Captain! You can't move up to the front without orders! You could endanger the lives of our infantry already on the scene," Patterson said urgently through the intercom. "Well then I'll get orders," Synne said calmly. "Open a channel to Major Luco for me, Patterson. "Major Luco?" "Ah, if it isn't the Angel. What do you want, we're under attack." "Permission to engage the enemy offensive?" The major responded angrily, "Absolutely not!" "Come on now, Major. Remember this morning?" The Major sighed heavily. 'If you really want to, be careful. I'm withdrawing our primary force. Position's on radar...now. You'd better be going somewhere with this." Synne smiled. "I'll be adding to my score today," she said. "Try to keep up with the figures, Patterson," she remarked after closing the channel with the Major. "I'm going to engage the enemy from medium range with the MG, then move in close to mop up with the Sabers." "Confirmed, cleared to move up." Synne looked to her right, and picked up the heavy machine gun on the ground. With 80 caliber rounds, and a fifteen foot barrel, it was just the right size for the Cezanne. She moved up past the second phase line, seeing the withdrawing troops. A row of enemies was slowly advancing towards the first line. Synne aimed the sights at the enemies, and burst-fired across the line, mowing them down in a single pass. "Good kill," Patterson commented, "lots of little pieces." "Heads up," Major Luco barked over the intercom, "Enemy Lebensarmierung confirmed. Five in number. They're using old models, but don't let your guard down." Synne scanned the horizon, and saw the form of five enemy LA's. "I...I can see the enemy. It looks like they're Renaissance-type units. I see four Raphael units, and one unknown type," she reported. "Our UAV has confirmed the unknown LA as the Van Eyck, in all probability it's an enemy ace. Exercise extreme caution." Synne fired a burst from her machine gun into one of the Raphael, and seconds later it exploded in a cacophony of orange flame. "That's the old Renn-armor all right. No match for 80 cal." She dispatched another of the Raphael, and dodged a volley of fire from the third. Recovering from the dodge, she brought the machine gun to bear and fired on the third. It fell to the ground to explode seconds later. As Synne took a breather during the lull in crossfire, she checked the gauges to discover she was nearly out of ammunition. "Shit, I'm low on ammo. Going to move in and deploy beam sabers for close combat." Major Luco didn't like the sound of that. "We still don't know what the Van Eyck is capable of. Be very careful." "Will do." Synne boosted towards the last Raphael unit as energy surged to form the blade of her beam saber. The discharge sparked and the beam formed, just in time to sever the Raphael at the waistline pivot point. A second strike to the main body left the unit inoperable. Suddenly tremors shook the Cezanne, and Synne felt a stinging pain in her back as the midbrain nodes told he she'd been hit. "Van Eyck has opened fire, Captain. You've been hit in the chasse's rear plate," Patterson reported. "Think I don't know that," Synne said gritting her teeth in the pain. The Cezanne may have deflected most of the hits, but it still felt as though someone had held a lighter to her lower back. "The Cezanne isn't like other Lebensarmierung, Patterson. It probes my mind in the floor of the midbrain. Scientists tell us that's where love is processed, or the feelings of a parent and child. I know and understand Cezanne, and it passes it's experiences on to me!" Synne stood and faced the Van Eyck, whose Gatling gun still steamed and spun slowly. "I know that my LA trusts me; it lets me become one with it to fight for our common goal. And that goal is to eliminate those who would hurt the people who are precious to me!" The Van Eyck began spinning up its weapon for another volley. Synne continued, "I communicate with it through these plugs in my head. I give the orders, and Cezanne executes them. But..." Van Eyck's weapon reached a blur, and let out a salvo, which Synne instinctively avoided. "Cezanne also speaks to me. He improves my orders, helps me do what I cannot. He suggests strategy, and reassures me in times of trouble." Another volley from Van Eyck grazed across Cezanne's shoulder as Synne began walking forward towards the enemy LA. "And now he's speaking to me again. The fire in his voice burns me like enemy crossfire. His fiery embrace tells me to defeat my enemies!" Patterson looked on in awe as Synne dropped the machine gun and charged a second beam saber from her hand. As she continued walking, she pointed the second saber at the Van Eyck, and yelled as she began to run, "And today, my enemy is you, pilot of the Van Eyck!" "Wait, Captain, we don't know what the Van Eyck's close combat capabilities are," Patterson reasoned. But it was too late. Synne sliced cleanly through the Gatling gun with the left saber, and stabbed the right blade through the head of the Van Eyck. She stabbed the munitions box for the Gatling gun and quickly retreated, as the incendiary rounds went off, engulfing the Van Eyck in a cloak of yellow phosphorous-flame. "Captain, that was highly irresponsible," Major Luco commented on the intercom. "But, it was also a damn good feat of piloting. How did you know the munitions were incendiary?" She could have told them that Cezanne mentioned it in her brain just before she struck. She could have told them that it was printed on the box itself. "Never distrust a woman's intuition." Major Luco and Patterson shared a good laugh. "Sometimes, Captain," Patterson snickered, "when I see you pilot the Cezanne, I forget you're a girl." Synne frowned for a moment. "Oh, is that right," she muttered. "Sometimes I even forget myself I guess," she said, feigning a giggle. Disgusting old Major Luco couldn't get past the fact that she was a girl. But Patterson didn't even notice. "Who fucked up this life of mine," she wondered, as she shut down the Cezanne, slid out the midbrain probes, and jumped out of the cockpit, onto the tarmac. In the middle of the pouring rain. "Just who fucked up my life?" ****************** She could hear his voice permeating the thick, swirling darkness of her uneasy sleep. She felt crowded and claustrophobic even though no walls surrounded her. His voice became clearer. "My angel, my little Synne." His voice was warm; flowing with fatherly affection. All at once the fear surrounding her became warm and soft as she felt a kind embrace. "You're so beautiful, Synne. Just like your mother." The warmth grew, and the grip tightened. Synne felt secure; he was holding her, protecting her. "We've lost too much. If I ever lost you, I don't know how I could go on." His voice sounded saddened, but still the embrace remained the same. "You remind me so much of her." The full embrace of warmth seemed to become physical, and moved to grasp her waist. Something changed in the mood as well, something not quite right. "I love you so much, Synne. Let me show you how adults say it to each other." The grasp tightened, squeezing her uncomfortably. "It's not supposed to feel good at first, honey." Synne felt a presence in front of her, rather, on top of her. It was heavy, pushing her down. "Now you and I have a secret we can keep together okay?" The weight increased, and Synne found herself struggling to breathe. MGF(014): the Paul Cezanne Ch. 01 She struggled under the weight, trying to find some leverage with which to heave the form off of her, but she could find none. Unable to see, and now unable to breathe, Synne's vision whitened as she slowly crossed into unconsciousness. With a gasp she woke, sitting upright in her bed. The thin, standard issue pillow was damp with sweat, and her sheets were rustled and torn from the sides of the mattress. "Why did you have to leave me with these memories?" Father. ****************** Patterson, Gorbachev and Coral waited at the feet of the Cezanne, sitting at a folding table, playing cards. Gorbachev dealt the cards for blackjack, much to Patterson's chagrin. "Blackjack again? Don't you know any other games?" Gorbachev smiled. "In Balkan Colony, game knows you!" Coral laughed. "Jeez, Gorbachev, that joke's older than beam sabers. What, was that back in the old CCCP days? You know, 20th century, when it was all communist?" "What makes you think Balkan Colony is any less communist, Coral," Patterson asked, signaling a hit, which Gorbachev dealt him. "Stay." "It's under Yumer's control for one." "I didn't know that." Synne walked towards the group, happy to see that they were getting along. When she had formed the group three weeks ago, they had been cold and businesslike. Good thing they can work as a team and as friends, she thought. "Good morning, team," she said, approaching the table. The team greeted her likewise, and as Synne pulled up a chair to join them, the game resumed. Coral thought for a moment. "Stay," she said hesitantly, looking uneasily at the 16 she already had. Gorbachev flipped his other card over, and revealed the total of 19. "Patterson's got 20, so you win, and Coral, you lose." "You should have hit that last hand, Coral," Synne said. "You would have won." "But it's a 16, Captain. They're tough to call." Synne smiled. "Corporal, show her what the next card was." Gorbachev flipped over the top card of the deck. A five. Coral looked at it astonished. "How did you know, Captain," she asked. "Blackjack's all about mathematics. Probabilities and odds. Unfortunately, the house usually has the better odds. At least if you play a real game anyway." Patterson smirked. "Wait, just how do you know so much about gambling, Ms. Eighteen Years Old?" "It's not a gamble, it's a calculated risk." With that, the team packed up the cards, folded the table, and got to work with the after-action maintenance for the Cezanne. The rear torso armor plate needed replacement, and the 80 cal MG needed a fresh supply of ammunition. "Is your current tracer round ratio alright, Captain, or would you like to go for a 3:1 instead," Coral asked as she worked a crank to uncoil the remaining rounds within the magazine. "I didn't have any accuracy problems yesterday, so let's stay with the 5:1 ratio. Also, let's see about getting a cleaner dissolving belt. The one here's left some residue in the chamber." Synne called to Patterson, "Patterson, can you get me the requisition forms for that?" "Yes, Captain," he replied, leaving Gorbachev to heft the new armor plate into position. Even with the pulley system, it was tough work. "After the armor's secured," Patterson continued as he walked past the Captain, "let's get you in the cockpit, and we can get the sync tests out of the way." "Oh, great," Synne sighed. Sync tests were so boring. "Gorbachev, I'm going to prepare for the sync test. Make sure everything's ready when I get back." "Yes ma'am." Coral watched as her captain walked out of the hangar. She turned to Gorbachev. "Why doesn't the Captain like sync tests?" "Have you seen what it entails?" "No, remember, this is my first time working on an LA team like this." Gorbachev secured the last of the bolts holding the armor plate, and jumped down. He joined Coral in sliding the 80 cal rounds into the bandolier as he explained the tests. "Well, sync tests measure compatibility between pilots and their Lebensarmierung. But, in order to do that, the pilot has to remove all external stimuli which might affect the test results." "How do we get rid of the stimuli?" "Five decontamination showers get rid of all loose particles, and we use a blindfold and earplugs to remove sensory stimuli. On top of that, the captain will have to disrobe so there's no interference from the clothing." Coral gave a quizzical look. "That doesn't make sense. I get the blindfold, earplugs and showers, but if she's connected to Cezanne by the midbrain probes, why get naked?" Gorbachev laughed. "You forget that our chain of command is made up of dirty old men. Dirty old men with...hobbies." "But...aren't most LA pilots men?" "Probably, but like I said. Chain of command's pretty fucked up. Look at Major Luco." Coral knew all too well how lecherous Major Luco was. Several occasions sat in Coral's memory, which she was not allowed to speak of, lest she be discharged or worse. "I wonder how Captain Altaria handles it all. Being a female LA pilot, I mean..." "For her," Gorbachev said, "I think piloting the Cezanne is the ONLY thing that helps her handle it all." ****************** Sync tests. Can't live with them, can't pilot without them. Synne stepped out of her fourth shower and into the hot jets of sterile air dryers. "One more to go," she thought. Everything was fine for her. Even lying inside the Cezanne for three hours was fine. Early in her life, her grandfather, a prolific hypnotist back in the late 21st century, had taught her how to put herself into a trance. He called it self-hypnosis; she called it a life-saver on the two hour bus ride to her high-school in the colony outskirts. Synne entered the final shower, and let the jets of water do their magic. The deluge, while neither cold nor warm, felt relaxing. It smelled slightly of bleach, and made Synne feel a little light-headed. "Need to focus," she told herself, shaking her head free of the heady grip. "Please refrain from excess movement while in the decontamination cycle," a voice said through the intercom. Synne looked up to the corner of the room, where a lonely security camera's lens spun and adjusted. "That red light had better mean it's NOT turned on, Major," Synne said, remaining still. In the monitor room, Major Luco rested his hand on the chair-back of his subordinate, looking intently at Synne. Her body seemed to shine with the decontaminant, as though she had showered with baby oil. Damn, he thought, how had she known he was watching? The man working the controls looked to Major Luco, whose grip had tightened on the chair when the Captain had spoken. "Didn't see you there, Major. We're all done with the decontamination," he said, flipping a switch. The monitor showed the spray of liquid shut off, and the Captain stepping out of the camera's view. "Very well, continue the sync tests as usual," Major Luco said gruffly, turning and leaving the small dark room. "Oh, and Sergeant," he said, poking his head back through the doorway. "Make sure I receive a copy of her sync test results. I'd like to see whether our Ace has improved or not." "I'll make it so, sir," the man said with a salute. Major Luco stormed down the hallway, trying to figure out whether or not Synne's comment was a lucky guess. Could she have known somehow? "No," he reasoned to himself, "she's good with her LA, but she's not psychic." ****************** Synne opened the door to the hangar and walked the distance to the Cezanne. Drafty in here, she thought. With a uniform, it wasn't too noticeable, but naked, wet, it was cold as hell. She could feel her nipples starting to harden against her will. "Just what I wanted the team to see," she sighed as she neared Cezanne. Gorbachev looked up from the belt of ammunition, and nudged Coral. "This is my favorite part of this job," he snickered. Coral looked up from the ammunition. There, about fifty feet away was Captain Altaria, walking toward them, nude and glistening with...water? No, it was different. Must be the decontaminant, she thought. "C-Captain, hello," she managed to say, tearing her eyes away from her body to look her in the face. Synne greeted the team, and stepped on the lift to enter the Cezanne. Why was Coral looking at her like that? The look reminded her of the way Major Luco eyed her. No, this was different. Her eyes were wider, darker. It wasn't a look like that pervert gave her. Synne entered the Cezanne, reminded how easy it was after the showers. The decontaminant made her skin slippery, and she was able to get situated in about half the time. She prepared herself for the midbrain probes, which slid in with a jet of air. A mechanism came towards her face, a strip of sterile smelling cloth between its two mechanical arms. It was stretched over her eyes, an adhesive securing it to her brow and cheeks. From the sides, soft foam plugs were inserted into her ears. It tickled, and Synne squirmed about until the plugs were fully secured. A low hum came from the ear plugs, but was quickly lost as the effect of noise rejection began. Unable to even hear herself talk, Synne closed her eyes (not that it made a difference) and let her index finger drop like on a light switch, dropping herself into a hypnotic relaxation as the tests began. "Her readout is smooth," Gorbachev remarked, letting the paper feed from the printer flow through his hands. "Which is good, her last test looked like Michael J. Fox trying to draw a straight line." Coral looked to Gorbachev. "Another one of your 20th century celebrities?" "Yeah, but it's mostly a Parkinson's joke. Regardless, I think she must be getting better acquainted with Cezanne. Hopefully being in there's becoming fun for her." ****************** This sucks, Synne thought as she lay still and relaxed in the cockpit. She figured thoughts like that would probably negatively affect the scores, but these tests didn't matter to her. It's a Lebensarmierung, ain't it? If it works, I can pilot it, she thought. "These tests are so pointless," she said, the silence so thick she could only tell she was speaking by the vibrations in her sternum. "You should take them seriously," a voice said. It resonated through her whole body, and a strong pressure overwhelmed her. "What the...who are you? Why...I can't move!" "This is by design. If you were allowed to move, there's a chance you might fail the test." She listened to the voice. It sounded familiar, like the voice of a long-lost friend, or a lover returned from a journey of many years. "Cezanne?" "Yes, it's me. I knew it wouldn't take you long. You were always such a clever girl." "What do you want with me," Synne asked, still unable to move. The voice laughed. "I want you and I to grow closer. Come with me, won't you?" Synne felt the controls at her hands change shape. They took the form of hands, which she took in her own. Suddenly she felt as though her body was being dragged behind a jet aircraft, the wind whipping mercilessly into her face. Unable to move, she could not shield her eyes and ears from the fierce wind, the loud roar, the...gentle breeze and the warm sun? Something changed, Synne thought. The wind was gone, and the loud roar replaced by the pleasant chirping of birds. Birds? "How do I know what birds are," Synne asked herself. "I've never heard them before, but I know what they are, and what they're called. Birds." "I think you'll find there are many things which you've tricked yourself into not knowing," the familiar voice said again. Synne opened her eyes, finding that she could see. Almost at once, she had to shield her eyes from the bright sunlight. "Wait, sunlight? The sun?" Delighted to finally see it, Synne unblocked her eyes, only to shield them again from the intense brightness. "Take it easy, girl," Cezanne said. "You shouldn't look into the sun; even those of us who've seen it before don't." Synne felt a pair of strong arms take her in, and hold her close. She opened her eyes, and looked into the face of Cezanne. His long, unkempt brown hair was kept in motion by the breeze, and his tanned complexion told the tale of many a day spent outside working in the sun. He wore black pants, a whit shirt, and a black frock coat which caught the wind. His brown eyes were darkened with what Synne could have easily mistaken for love. All at once, Synne was hit with a consuming sense of fondness for the man who held her. "Why do I feel this way," Synne asked, squeezing her thighs together, attempting to quell the warm tingle between them. "This emotion, which you call arousal, is the way we connect. Even on the battlefield. Think hard, every battle's given you this same feeling, hasn't it?" She thought back. Sure enough, she couldn't recall a combat situation which wasn't followed by a hasty retreat to her quarters and a half-hour alone. "You're right," she admitted. "Go on, then. Tell me what it is you do to sate this feeling," Cezanne goaded, running his hand on her side. "Connect us by this feeling." "Yesterday, after I...we...took down the Van Eyck, I felt so good and didn't know why," Synne began. "As I walked towards the barracks though, it got stronger, and I started getting wet. I kept walking, and it got worse. It was like this fire down there--" "You don't need to be modest. Say what you mean, use the words you want," Cezanne said. "I can't, it's embarrassing," Synne pleaded, squirming in vain against the feelings growing within her. "You're naked in my arms, but you have qualms about your language," Cezanne laughed. Synne looked down, and realized she was still naked. "After all, you're still in the cockpit." "Like this fire in my...in my pussy...that I couldn't put out. So when I got to my room, I took my clothes off and jumped into bed. I tried rubbing it, but it wasn't doing any good, so I stuck my fingers inside. But it was like the more I tried, the more it grew. I stood up and tried rubbing myself on the corner of my mattress." "And did that work," Cezanne asked, oddly calm, considering the steamy tale Synne was telling. "Yeah, but it seemed like it took forever," Synne answered shyly. "See, that wasn't so hard," Cezanne remarked. "I can feel you getting closer to me already." "Will this really help me pilot better," Synne asked, fighting the strong desire to finger herself. "You and I both know it will, just look. You're struggling not to masturbate now." Cezanne leaned close to her, and whispered in her ear. "Just imagine how bad you'll want it once the test's over with. You'll jump the first thing that moves!" "Is all this really necessary," Synne asked defensively. Cezanne got serious fast. "It is, if you want what you say you do. What is it that you want from me, Synne Altaria?" Synne considered his question. She saw what was left of her family, shrouded in doubt, loneliness, poverty; she saw her friends, Patterson, Gorbachev, Coral. "I want...I want to make the world a place where the people I love are safe." "That's an honorable goal," Cezanne said, running his hand through his hair in thought. "But also a difficult one. Are you prepared for everything that goes along with it?" "I am," she affirmed. "As long as I've got you, I can do anything." "And you do have me," Cezanne said with a warm smile. "Never think that you're alone in this world. Remember that you've got me. Here, take this for me," he said, digging into his coat pocket. He held Synne's chin, and pressed his palm against her chest, above her breasts. Synne felt a warmth and calm accompany his gentle pressure. "Use this when you have no options left, when you can't do it alone. Just speak the words, and I'll be there," he whispered in her ear. "You can do it now," he added. Synne felt her arms freed from his control, and at once they dove between her legs, frantically clawing at her channel. Her animalistic moans betrayed the throes of wet, slippery pleasure she dug from her pussy. Each drag of a nail and push of a finger brought whines and whimpers of purest ecstasy. In her mind, Synne pondered an unrelated question as the dreamscape began to shimmer in the pleasure. "Cezanne, am I your first...your first pilot, I mean," she thought. She heard his answer reverberate through her head as the shimmering view faded to black. "I think, Synne Altaria, that you have been my pilot for far longer than either of us can remember." ****************** "Captain, can you hear me," Coral asked again, tears still staining her face. "If you can hear me, say something!" "How did I get here," Synne asked, looking up at the bright lights of the hangar ceiling. She tried to lift herself up, but found that her arms would not move. "I can't move them," she said. "Is he still controlling me?" "I think the sedatives are making her hallucinate," Coral told the masked medic standing on the other side of the gurney. "Captain, don't try to move your arms, okay?" Synne looked down to her arms, and was disgusted: her arms were bandaged, bent at odd angles, and put in splints and casts. "What the hell happened to me," Synne asked groggily. "Did I fall out of the cockpit?" Coral reached over to a table and grabbed a clipboard, holding it so Synne could read it. It appeared to be a report, filed by Coral herself only two hours ago. It read: Reporter:Pvt. Leina Coral Time of Report:1304; 12 Dec. U.C. 2205 Reason for Report:Injury At 1200 today, Captain Synne Altaria began synchronization tests with her Lebensarmierung unit, "the Cezanne". Tests proceeded nominally until 1237, at which point a slight tremor was seen in her output graph. This was followed by consecutively greater tremors every 2 or 3 seconds, until 1242 when the graph could no longer read the magnitude of the tremors. Internal cockpit cameras showed a pleasant expression on the face of the pilot, quite contrary to the obvious pain which should have accompanied the tremors on the graph. At 1244 we inserted (at great risk to clean test results) a fiber optic camera through a ventilation slit in the cockpit. Once inserted, we were able to attribute the tremors to repeated and increasingly violent strains of the pilot's arms. It appeared that the pilot was attempting to force her arms free of the restraints, though the face showed no indication of the accompanying strain or pain. At 1246, we cut power to the Cezanne in hopes of releasing the restraints, freeing the pilot. The cockpit did not respond to the power cut; kept the pilot restrained, did not eject the midbrain probes. 1250: Repeated attempts to rouse the still oblivious Captain Altaria prove ineffective, and her attempts at moving her arms have grown stronger. Face still bears a pleased expression. Eyelids are fluttering, suggesting a dreamlike state on the pilot's part. At 1252, the pilot succeeded in freeing her arms of the restraints. Pilot Altaria dislocated and broke her arms in three places before managing to bypass the restraints. No signs of pain. Fiber optic camera shows pilot's arms traveled to groin. 1258: Arms have stopped moving, have not moved from pilot's groin. Midbrain probes have been ejected from pilot's skull. Request has been made to forcibly extract the pilot, and has been accepted. 1300: crew cuts through rear of Cezanne and extracts pilot. Medic has reported the following injuries: Left arm has been dislocated at the shoulder, inverted at the elbow. Right arm has similar shoulder dislocation as well as two clean breaks along both upper and lower arm. Medic also wishes to report significant abrasions and bruising to the pilot's genitalia due to activities of the pilot's hands. Report Verified by:Maj. Gihrel Luco Time of Verification:1327; 12 Dec. U.C. 2205 MGF(014): the Paul Cezanne Ch. 01 "Is all this true," Synne asked, confused by the report. "I don't remember any of this." "It's just as this report says," Coral said, waving the clipboard before setting it down. "Captain, you broke your own arms to..." "I know what it sounds like," Synne said, embarrassed. "Was I really..." "Yes," Coral answered. "You didn't even stop when the engineering crew pulled you out. You were a mess. Sweat, blood, and you could smell the...you know." "Yeah, I know." Synne considered her situation. If what Cezanne had told her was true, then this was only the beginning. "I saw him, Coral. I saw Cezanne's real face." "Sure you did, Captain," Coral said, fearing now not only for her Captain's safety, but now for her sanity as well. "From the looks of things, he was one amazing guy." Coral started to walk away, but turned back as she remembered something. "Captain, there's one more thing. Something I didn't state in the report. It's your chest. Here, have a look." She took a small compact mirror from her pocket, and held it so Synne could see her chest. Coral pulled back the bed sheet, and Synne tried in vain to move her arms to cover herself. "I didn't see it there when you got in for the test today," Coral remarked. Synne looked in the mirror and saw an odd mark on her chest. It appeared as an odd symbol burned across her chest. "What do you think it means, Captain?" Synne had no idea what it said, but she heard a voice ring out in her head; a deep, warm and familiar voice. And Synne spoke along with it as it read aloud the words now etched into her; now a part of her: "To make of this world something which is stable and lasting. This is my mission, and this is my name: Cezanne." Chapter One Ends So just how does a girl and her walking, talking, living armor Cezanne intend to make a stable world? What's her team to do with this new, dangerous connection the two have? And what of the pervy Major Luco? I suppose it'll have to wait for the next chapter, dearest readers. Please vote and, more importantly, comment. It's the first of my sci-fi stories I've decided to post here, so let me know if you'd like to see more. Suggestions are welcome, but there's already a set road-map for this one. Action! Romance! And...yeah, probably some hot robot-human hallucination sex. All coming up, so keep reading ^^ MGF(014): the Paul Cezanne Ch. 02 Major Luco stormed through the halls of the base back towards the hangar. He followed the yellow line on the floor as it turned corners and led him to the heavy double doors. Now that Synne's awake, he thought, she'll answer for her actions. Breaking her own arms? Pleasuring herself on duty and in public? These were unforgivable in his eyes, no matter how much the thought of it turned him on. He burst through the doors, ignoring the many salutes from his subordinates. "Where is she," he demanded of the medic, who was washing his hands at a portable hygiene station. The medic pointed to the gurney some twenty feet from Cezanne's feet. As he approached Synne and Coral, he saw a compact mirror held to her chest, and Synne's lips speaking. Synne read the words aloud: "To make of this world something which is stable and lasting. This is my mission, and this is my name: Cezanne." A rumble shook the hangar as the Cezanne powered on. It's core booster fired, moving it into position with its back facing away from Synne, and the cockpit hatch opened with a hiss. The technicians working around the Cezanne all turned to look. "The Cezanne, it activated itself!" "That's impossible," Major Luco muttered in amazement. "There's no pilot inside. Unless..." he looked to Synne, who was still lying on the gurney. Luco closed the distance between them, and took hold of her by the shoulders. He shook her as he spoke in a seething whisper. "You...are going to tell me...what the hell is going on...with my machine. And you're going to tell me now." Synne looked back at the Major, confused. "Your machine?" Synne explained the happenings inside the cockpit (the details which the report did not recount) with Cezanne. Major Luco stared dumbfounded at the revelation. "You can activate the thing externally?" "It seems that way, sir," Synne answered, looking up to the Cezanne, which turned to meet her gaze. "I guess all that talking with it you claimed wasn't bullshit after all," Major Luco said after some thought. He walked a way, and with a dismissive wave of his hand, "you're not to pilot OR activate it again until your injuries have fully healed. Coral, take her back to her quarters. She's not fit for combat." "But Major," Synne pleaded, trying for a third time to raise herself on her arms, "Who's going to pilot the Cezanne while I'm recovering?" "It's a Lebensarmierung, isn't it? If it functions the same as the simulators, I should do just fine," he answered with an almost audible sneer. Finally, he thought, a chance to get some live combat time in the real thing. I bet the cockpit still smells like her, too. "That should keep me entertained while I kill." "Major?" "It's nothing. Get the Captain back to her quarters, Coral. You're to stay with her until her recovery is done, understood?" "Yes sir." ****************** Synne watched the ceiling, counting the fluorescent lights as Coral wheeled her back to the barracks. The lights were bright, and hurt her eyes like the sun had. Had the sun been real, or was the whole thing an illusion? It must have been real, Synne reasoned, because she was able to activate Cezanne. There was no external power. There was no pilot in the cockpit. And yet, it had been able to initialize and move by itself. Truly, she thought, this was the power Cezanne had given her. "Here we are," Coral chirped, opening the door to Synne's quarters before wheeling the gurney in. "Let me just help you in to bed, ma'am." Coral put one arm around her shoulders and hoisted the injured Captain off the gurney, helping her across the cold linoleum floor to her bed. The cold tiles made Synne's feet cringe and curl up until she felt the soft embrace of her mattress. "It's never felt this comfortable before," Synne laughed as she stretched her legs. Coral watched the Captain stretch and flex her legs and feet, amazed that she could keep them so smooth and clean despite her grueling schedule. "Did you need help getting undressed," she asked after a nearly audible gulp. "Well, seeing as I can't move my arms, sure." Coral lifted Synne's torso off the bed and untied the thin strings holding her medical gown closed. She pulled the strings forward, the gown trailing behind it, flowing away from the Captain's flesh. As more and more of her was uncovered, Synne began to wonder why Coral was taking so long; being so tender. The gown fell to the floor, and Coral looked down past Synne's breasts to the (disappointingly boring, she thought) white cotton panties that Synne wore. Coral reached her hands towards them, and hooked her fingers under the fabric. "What are you doing, Coral," Synne asked quietly. Coral quickly withdrew her hands, apologizing profusely. "It's no problem, Private," Synne giggled. "Don't worry about it. Between you and me, I usually sleep in the nude." "Ma'am?" "But," Synne continued, "since you're going to be here, I guess I'll sleep like this." She crossed her legs and closed her eyes. Her arms down by her sides; still immobile, preventing her from covering her breasts, which swelled and receded with each breath. Synne opened one eye, looking at the glassy-eyed Private. "That wasn't your first time undressing a woman, was it, Coral?" Coral blushed and looked down at her lap; at her hands wrenching tightly together. "I...don't know what you're talking about." "You have forty-eight hours to self-report that lie, Private." "But, ma'am, I really haven't done...anything like that before. Not with a woman, or with anyone," Coral continued, still unable to meet her superior's eyes. "Well," Synne reasoned, "isn't it time you tried?" Coral looked at Coral, seeing her grinning face, flushed with lust. "Ma'am, are you suggesting that we--" "Yes, Coral. I am, now shut up and come over here. I can't move my arms, and you're assigned to watch over my recovery. So either get to work on me, or I'll get so horny that I'd probably off myself from frustration." Coral tentatively moved to the foot of Synne's bed, and lay her hands on the Captain's smooth legs. She ran her hands up and down the calves and thighs before coaxing them apart from the ankles. Synne wiggled her toes, and Coral took this as a sign. She held Synne's foot in her hands, and brought it close to her face. The decontamination room had left her smelling great all over, and this was no exception. Coral ran her index finger all over the bottom of Synne's foot, finding creases, ridges and details which caused Synne to giggle and cringe. "That tickles, come on," Synne pleaded. Coral came to the toes, and sucked the big toe into her mouth, running her tongue over the rough bottom and the softer first joint. After a thorough treatment, Coral repeated this with the other toes, and the other foot as well. "Jesus, let's go already," Synne whined. "I'm in agony here, look what you've done to me!" She squirmed her hips back and forth and off the bed, and Coral moved up, half lying on the bed on her stomach now. She reached up to Synne's panties, now darkened with an obscene amount of moisture, and poked her finger into the cleft of her lips. "You're so wet, ma'am," Coral commented, pushing the length of her finger on the lips, teasing them back and forth. "Looks like you weren't kidding after all." "Shut up and get started already," Synne said as Coral slid the panties down her legs. Coral looked at the Captain's cute pussy, still smooth and slick from the decontaminant. "Where do you find the time to keep it so neat," Coral marveled, cupping the utterly bald mound with her hand, feeling the amazing heat radiating from it. "It really is completely bare." "Never mind that now," Synne said, still impatient, "just get to work." "Can do, ma'am," Coral answered. She pushed her finger into the wet slit, finding the passage to be easy to slip into, but hard to pull out of. "It's like you're sucking me in," she commented, listening to the soft sucking sounds which accompanied the Captain's moans; finally sated. Coral sped up her fingering, going deeper until she was up to the knuckle. She added a second finger, and turned her hand, curling her fingers up to run across the top of Synne's channel, as if beckoning her. It struck a deep chord within Synne, and she began pushing and pulling her hips, fucking the fingers back. The wetness seemed to just leak from Synne's pussy, coating Coral's fingers. Coral pulled out her fingers and licked them, relishing in the uncanny flavors. She put her fingers back to work, but lapped at her knuckles, getting all the juice from them that she could. Her tongue brushed across Synne's clit, making her jump. "Oh God, Coral, that was amazing," Synne groaned. "Do it again!" Coral took a slow pass at the erect little nub with the breadth of her tongue. "Oh yes, that's fantastic! Do that now, keep going!" Coral kept her fingers pushing faster and faster into the tight wet, warm hole as her tongue began flicking back and forth across Synne's clit, sending jolts of pleasure directly into her brain. As she pressed her tongue against the throbbing clit, she sucked it into her mouth, curling her tongue around it and sucking in hard. Synne stifled a scream as she came hard, her clit throbbing furiously in the loop of Coral's tongue, her pussy grinding on Coral's chin (now sloppy wet from the gush of wetness). Coral lapped happily at Synne's pussy until she pushed her away, breathing out a complaint of being too sensitive right now. After Synne had caught her breath, she looked into the happy eyes of her subordinate, and smiled in kind. Her smile quickly changed to an expression of worry, though. "We can't tell anyone about this, Coral." "I know, ma'am. I'm...I guess I'm just glad to be able to help. I hope your wounds will heal quickly," Coral said as she rose from her seat and began to leave. "Where do you think you're going, Private," Synne asked, resuming her formal and authoritative tone. "Like the Major said, you're to watch over me until I'm recovered. Now sit down and tell me where you learned to do that shit so well." ****************** Hours later, Coral sat at Synne's bedside, the two musing and discussing anything that came to their minds; trying to fill the time. Coral asked the question which had been on her mind since the earlier incident. "So, ma'am, how does it work, the way you made Cezanne turn on without a power source?" Synne thought for a moment, and answered as best she could: "To be honest, I'm not really sure myself. All I know is that I say the words on my chest," she said, motioning to the marks on her chest, "and it listens to me." "It's amazing technology," Coral mused. "When Cezanne talked to me, he told me...that it wasn't any technology like man's ever invented. It's something...different." "So...someone else invented the Lebensarmierung?" "He told me that the LA's are divine. The power of God, wielded by man. We must tread carefully." Silence permeated the room, and Synne rolled her head toward the window. The rain still fell, just like every other day, and the clouds still covered what sky there may have been. Wet and dark, just like every other day. In the hazy gray, Major Luco's test piloting run on the Cezanne was already underway. ****************** "How do the controls feel, Major Luco," asked Staff Sergeant Beagle from the observation deck. "They feel good," the Major responded. "A guy could get used to this sort of thing." He ran his fingers over the controls where just hours before, Synne had broken her arms to pleasure herself. The smells of her arousal still hung heavily in the cockpit air. Luco could almost swear he felt some moisture on the seat which he straddled. This smell, it's overwhelming, he thought to himself. Maybe there is something special about this LA unit, he mused. He could feel the vibrations coming from the hum of machinery all around him, and it went straight to his core, causing quite a rise. "Alright, sir," Beagle said. "There's a target at your rear. Execute a 180 degree turn at...half speed and destroy the target." Luco took hold of the controls firmly, and pushed the speed up till he was rolling down the disused landing strip (now used for exercises like this) at around 60 mph. He pulled on the left handle and pushed the right foot control down. The Cezanne lifted its right foot and fired a short thrust which propelled it to the rear. Luco scanned the range until a large red and white balloon target inflated; he fired a short burst which popped it. "Too easy, my friend," Luco chuckled over the radio. "Didn't I tell you I've done this before? Let's try something harder." While it was true that Luco had piloted before, it had been an older model before the use of Midbrain Probes; these tests were quite necessary. "With the midbrain probes as well as your...sufficient piloting experience, you should have no trouble executing the 180 degree turn at full speed. Turn and engage the target at your rear," Staff Sergeant Beagle said, quickly growing weary of Luco's special blend of pomposity and overconfidence. "Heh, you got it. Write this one down in your little notebook, boy," Luco sneered as he brought the Cezanne up to a full 120 mph. Roaring down the tarmac at top speed, Luco pulled the left hand control back as far as it would go, and slammed down both the foot controls. Looking more like an accomplished "break-dancer" than a military machine, the Cezanne boosted into the air, tumbled left only to catch itself on its left hand and slam its feet down facing the rear. Luco fired before the machine touched down, eliminating the target balloon. "Well done, Major," said Beagle, actually impressed. "Basic combat training is admissible, and you've been cleared to return to the hangar." "It's gonna be one hell of a highlight reel," Luco laughed as he began his return to the oversized hangar. "How about we check it out over a few beers, eh?" "I'd like that, sir. Recommend we hit Rosethorne's; it's at 23rd and Cross in West Ruukon." ****************** Staff Sergeant Beagle waited outside Rosethorne's Café at 1840 in the evening rain. Evening rain was colder than midday rain, but not as depressing as the morning rain. Early is on-time, and on-time is late, he thought to himself, that's always been the policy regarding the Major. He watched two young ladies walk by and giggle as they stole glances at him. The uniform was always a good way to meet women; that was Beagle's initial reason for joining up. But then he discovered that some of the cutest girls were already in the ranks...Like that Captain Altaria. Synne Altaria, the Ironblood Angel. What a woman. "There you are, Beagle," Major Luco called as he approached. His cover was slightly askew, and his long officer's overcoat hung open, trailing him in the wet buffets of wind. "Ready to head in? This rain chills a guy to the bone." "Yes sir," Beagle responded, holding the door open for his esteemed Major Luco. As the Major entered, his booming voice sounded throughout the warm, well-lit café which he frequented: "All attention all, it's officially a party! And being as it's Friday, let's carry out the plan of the day, and IMPLEMENT THE WEEKEND!" Beagle followed along, trying to be less obnoxious. ****************** Synne woke from a pleasant dream, a reliving of the earlier tongue fuck she'd received from Coral. It was Coral's voice and hand that woke her, incidentally. Coral shook her shoulder and called her name softly. "Captain Altaria, we have to go." "Go? Go where," Synne asked groggily, trying to rub her eyes with the cast-flippers which were her upper arms. "I can't go anywhere like this; even if I can move my arms now, I can't drive worth shit." "That's why I'm driving, ma'am," Coral smiled. The drive was a short one, out to West Ruukon. During the drive, Coral briefed her Captain on the reason for the trip. "The employees called at 2015 to report a disturbance. Apparently, one of your fellow soldiers has been causing a big disturbance there. We're here to apply disciplinary action." "You mean I'm here to apply disciplinary action, and you're here to hold the door." "Well, the door, and possibly the soldier depending on how drunk and unruly he is." Synne grinned, motioning with her unusable hands, "what makes you think I can't handle him myself?" Coral gave her a sideways glance. "Ever been to this place before, ma'am?" "Can't say as I have. Why, is it a shady place?" Coral laughed. "In fact, just the opposite. It's a real high-class place. It's something that we adapted from the Japanese back in the 21st century. It's called a maid café; it's basically an ordinary café, but the waitresses are dressed in skimpy maid outfits. They serve you drinks and play board games with you, and some even offer massages." "You seem to know a lot," Synne smirked. "You ever been to a place like this before?" "You trained to be a mind reader, Captain Altaria?" They arrived at Rosethorne's Café and entered, already noticing some distress on the face off the hostess. "Good evening, are you here about the soldier," she asked nervously. "Yes, ma'am," Synne responded. "I'm Captain Synne Altaria, and this is PVT Jessika Coral." "Please come this way," the woman said with a bow which Synne was sure must have exposed her ass to anyone behind her. "He's locked himself in one of the private rooms. There's another man in there with him, and I think just one of our staff." "Coral," Synne said, "Put on your sexy voice. Let's get this door unlocked." "Yes ma'am," Coral said with a girlish giggle, already getting in to character. "Oh soldier," she called through the door, "I'd just love to join you in there! I've got another drink here for you, and if you play nice, I could give you a massage while you enjoy it." She paused, and heard the door unlock. Synne kicked it open to view the chaotic scene inside. Major Luco hobbled back to the couch and plopped down leering at the waitress on the table. She lay hogtied with what looked to be the remains of her lacy skirt. Her mouth was gagged with her tattered shirt, and her stockings showed signs of struggle. "Jesus Christ, Luco," Coral said, shocked at the stage set before her. "How much did you drink?" Luco smiled, "only about...uh...oh man, what's that number I'm thinking of, uh, twelve!" "You're a monster," the waitress shrieked as Coral removed her gag. She covered her lack of shirt with her arms as she seethed with anger. Synne turned to Coral who was reviving the passed out Staff Sergeant Beagle, who wore the waitress's garter around his head; a trophy of the two men's debauchery. "Coral, once you're done with the ...Staff Sergeant over there, escort Major Luco to the car. We'll deal with him when we get back to base." "Yes, ma'am." Luco jumped up from the couch, and in his drunken stupor, "no, no, you can't take me back there now, do you have any idea...just let me stay somewhere for the night, let's..." He paused, and a smile grew across his face. He walked slowly towards Synne. "Let's...let's you and me get a place! A hotel or some shit, I dunno." "Sir, it sounds lovely, but--" "No, YOU...sound lovely! I mean...shit. You LOOK lovely. Sorry, I can't talk all that good, I'm kind of drunk." "Sir," Synne tried to reason with the drunken officer, "I think the alcohol's impairing your judgment. You're confused." "Shut up you," Luco said through his teeth, switching his demeanor into 'mean'. "Always strutting around the hangar in your slutty SCPS uniform...always with the shameless flirting...getting mad when I take the bait." "Major Luco, let's go out to the car," Coral said, taking his left arm. Luco roared as he swung his free arm, catching Coral in the side of the head. She crumpled to the floor, and Luco turned on Synne again. His lips stretched tight in a devilish grin. "Things are really getting interesting now, eh Synne?" He lifted her by her throat as she struggled to wrench his hands from her. Luco threw her to the ground next to Coral, who was beginning to recover from the powerful blow. MGF(014): the Paul Cezanne Ch. 02 "Because it's ME with the power now," Luco continued. He dropped his knees on either side of Synne's hips, straddling her. "It's ME looking down at you. You see, there's a reason why I let you get promoted so easily, and it will all make perfect sense. Starting with this." He lifted his knees up, and slammed them down on top of Synne's bandaged arms, crushing them and pinning them to the floor. Synne cried out in pain, the healing process restarted. Luco sighed at her pathetic state and her whines of pain. "That's okay, Synne. You see, it's not supposed to feel good at first. But I promise you'll get used to it. Starting now." He lifted his hips and went for the zipper on his trousers. "Just hold still, it'll all be over soon." Those words! They burned in her head, they'd been there before. "You bastard, why can't you just stay dead...father," Synne muttered through her whimpers. Luco dismounted her to release the catch on her pants and wrest them from her legs, which she crossed in vain. Her panties were plain and white, stretched taught over her hairless mound. "You pretend to be so innocent. Even these panties support the lie. I know what you really are...what you really want." He ripped the panties down her legs, exposing her fully. Luco grabbed one of her breasts through her shirt, and Synne felt the rough uniform fabric teasing her nipple. Like it or not, I'm getting turned on by this, Synne thought to herself. Despite the pain, she felt herself getting moist down there. "Maybe it's true that all women secretly like this sort of thing," Luco said with a smile. "Makes me sad it had to happen like this, you're so beautiful." As he drew his trousers down to his ankles, Synne finally saw that instrument of lechery; Luco had nothing special to be proud of. No wonder, Synne thought, he had trouble with women. Luco slid his fingers into Synne's pussy, feeling the gathering moisture. Synne closed her eyes and readied herself for his assault, fearing the worst. However, after a moment, his fingers stopped, and slowly slid back out. She opened her eyes, and saw Luco slumped over on the floor, and Coral standing above him breathing heavily, a look of rage on her face and a broken lamp in her hand. Coral dropped the lamp on the ground and slumped to her knees, exhausted from her own exertion. "I...have wanted...to do that for so long." She helped Synne up off the floor, being careful of her broken-again arms. "Can you walk, ma'am?" "I'm fine," Synne said, steadying herself as Coral pulled her panties and pants back up her legs. "Just wish I could dress myself. Get Major Luco and the other one into the car. We're leaving." ****************** Three days passed. Then, this: Coral sat by her Captain's bedside once again, watching the morning rain. So depressing, she thought. Things were more fun when the Captain was awake. When command had heard her report about Major Luco's actions at the café, Coral was sure he would be court-martialed, but now Luco had gone missing. Had he fled from the consequences? Coral couldn't blame him for that. If it had been her, she wouldn't have been able to face the examiners, let alone Captain Altaria. "Shame has a way of getting to people, doesn't it, ma'am," Coral mused while sitting at Synne's bedside. "I wonder if he's gone for good..." "Who the hell cares," Synne spat. "I don't give a rat's ass about that bastard." At the south harbor entrance to Heath Colony, a rusted fishing vessel was tied into port, bobbing balefully in the sickly green water. Mist obscured the better part of the docks, save for two coated figures, standing still by the old ship. Only the mist moved, swirling around the two men; obscuring their true identities. "If we're discovered here..." Beagle began nervously, shifting his gaze to three salty old fishermen about twenty yards off who looked more like statues than people, "we'll both be in a world of shit. This place is off-limits to start with, but...desertion?" "Yeah," Major Luco laughed, "and who's gonna come challenge us, some MP private on guard duty? I may be leaving this forsaken rusted old place, but I've still got authority so long as I wear these ranks." Luco ran his untrimmed fingernails along the ridged gold leaf clusters on his collar. "Where exactly are we going," Beagle asked with a sigh. "Far away from this depressing colony. To a place where people can respect my talents as a Lebensarmierung pilot. Together we'll make quite the team. Things will be different, to the people of Zia'aq, we pilots are not unlike holy men, prophets, even deities." "We're fleeing to Zia'aq, then," Beagle remarked. "Addamus Luco, the Fossil Scream, does not flee. He merely follows the tide of battle, riding it to ultimate victory." "But if we're changing sides, doesn't that mean that the victory we're fighting for now is different?" "Doesn't matter. It's always the same old game. Only the names and faces change," Luco said, spitting on the ground as the captain of the fishing vessel motioned them onboard. "I'm fighting to change the world! For men like us, Beagle, world changes will always follow. Like the wake behind a ship." Shortly thereafter, the vessel departed through the fog of Heath Colony's foggy southern border. No ceremony else, save the sputtering of the outdated motor, accompanied Luco's valiant retreat.