(eng) Michael Armstrong by The Hidden War # (v5.0)

Author:The Hidden War # (v5.0) [#, The Hidden War]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Krim found Nurel in the ship’s mess, playing Go with Zeba. He handed her a vial of the lime-green fluid Brana had made him drink after he’d been spaced. Hide nutrient, she had told him, to replace expended organics. “Here.” Krim pushed the fluid toward her. “Drink up.”

She took the glass, looked at it. “Uh, why?”

He remembered the rush he’d felt when the fluid coursed through him. The hide absorbed nutrients so fast that it made you giddy, even blew off endorphins, if he understood the process correctly. No one really refused it. “Uh, we need you to grow some hair.” Krim explained the situation.

“Sure.” Nurel shrugged. “Got to get that old stuff out of me anyway. And we go back in uniform soon, I guess.”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Okay.” She took the glass and drained it, shivering as the soup went through her. “But, uh, let’s do this in my quarters, huh?”

Krim blushed, then smiled. “Anything for steel.”

In the privacy of her cubicle, Nurel sat down on a backless stool by her bed. She handed him a wooden-handled brush, with stiff boar’s hairs for bristles. “From Earth,” she said. “My grandmother’s.” She whirled around on the stool, her back to him. “Brush.”

He took the brush, ran it through the frizzy blue curls. She’d grown out her hair for shore duty, just a foot or so for the effect. As Krim pulled the brush through her hair, the blue mass seemed to untangle, becoming smoother and less curly. As he stroked, the hair grew, flowing out in inches from her scalp, each stroke lengthening it, so that if he kept brushing at one section, that section would grow faster. He pulled the brush through from scalp to tip, then kept moving around her head, from crown to nape and side to side.

“Ahh,” she said, letting her head fall back. “That feels nice. More, Krim.”

He remembered the feeling then, the way Corso had groaned when he ran his fingers through her hair, how she would smile and arch her back as he slipped under her . . . Krim stopped, felt himself go warm.

“Hey, keep going—that feels good.” Nurel turned to him. “Somethin’ wrong?” Her hide, the silver covering, had rolled back, exposing her breasts and her crotch, so that the silver only covered her shoulders and arms and legs. “What’s this?”

Krim looked down at his own body, at the way its silver covering had flowed back, too, like an ocean receding from the shore as the tide shifted. His chest lay exposed, his belly and crotch lay exposed.

“Nice,” she said, running a bare finger down the center of his chest, to his navel, and lower. “You didn’t have to get all dressed up for me.” Nurel flicked her hair over her shoulders. It had grown to thigh length in thick waves. She pushed him down onto her bunk, slipped off the stool, and straddled him, her hair falling down on his face and covering him like a shroud.

“I . . .” He thought

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