stopped. You could go to Mexico and stand by the Rio Grande, could go stand in the Canadian woods, and marvel at those walls of solid air. Could marvel at fairy castles visible in the distance, like something, yes, very much like something out of some American fantasy movie of the 1930s.
Could go stand on Vancouver Island and watch the magic planes go back and forth between the mainland and Hawaii, or on up to Alaska. Seventy years. Now this.
Ming Tian no longer had room for a crew of six, because the government had decided that, in place of three men, in place of her principal scientific instruments, she would carry a collimated particle beam weapon and storage battery of some advanced design, the same sort of weapon Chinese warships carried to knock down incoming missiles.
What do they think? The Arabs are going to shoot antishipping missiles at us from the Moon? Maybe so. Who knows what governments think? If anything.
So he sighed and sat down on the edge of his acceleration couch, began going over his own checklists, making his own preparations. Soon it would be time to suit up. Suit up and fly away to the Moon.
o0o
Sergeant-Major Astrid Kincaid, late of the Third Division, USMC Lunar Expeditionary Force, slid the middle and ring fingers of her right hand into the gyndroid’s vagina, began palpating the pretty machine’s clitoris with the ball of her thumb, slowly, gently, a small circling motion, clockwise little ohs. Tissues were swelling inside, moistening, ridges of pubococcygeus muscle tightening on cue, gripping her fingers with delicate strength, rippling back upward to a cervical os that she knew would slowly descend.
Ought to, anyway, if I’ve done this right...
She rubbed her left hand slowly back and forth across the gyndroid’s abdomen, just above the thing’s patch of sparse black pubic hair, feeling muscles there tighten, looked over at the holodisplay floating above the progtool’s input pad.
Hmh. Not quite right.
She reached out and tapped the spinal ganglion feedback loop icon, numeric spinner adjusting appropriately, and listened to the gyndroid’s soft sigh.
Looked up at its face.
Pretty, almost-black eyes, classic almond-shaped eyes, slitted with deepening passion, mouth open just a little bit, delicate sheen of sweat on its brow, neutral North-Asian complexion just beginning to flush as its faux hormones surged.
Hmh. She tapped on the plateau icon, and the gyndroid’s back arched a little, pressing harder against her hand, pelvis cupping forward, straightening its vaginal path so the fingers could go a little deeper.
And Astrid Kincaid found herself looking into those loving black eyes, eyes she’d painted with such care, watching them sparkle with pleasure, flood with faux happiness, with faux life, with...
The gyndroid’s head went back, thrashing against the pillow, mouth opening, “ Oh ...” hips pushing forward, vaginal muscles clenching, massaging as no real woman’s unmodified vagina ever would, cervical os coming down, right to where... She looked over at the display, where Amaterasu’s response graph was compared to a feedback normative derived from Roddie’s MedDep records. Well. If he doesn’t like this for his birthday, the ungrateful little bastard...
She could feel the gyndroid’s muscles relaxing, gripping her fingers ever so gently. Just the way Roddie would like it. Amaterasu opened her eyes, looking down at Astrid, eyes filled with sleepy, loving softness, and whispered, “Thank you, Mother. It was wonderful.”
She nodded slowly. Tell it, You’re welcome, Daughter? A small twinge there. Old mammalian conscience speaking. From the days when the Goddess had us care for one another. She slid her fingers out, wiping her hand on the front of her lab smock, still looking into the gyndroid’s haunting eyes.
I remember. I remember when I was so bored with men. What? Twenty, thirty years ago now. When I had MedDep adjust my hormones so I’d love women
Could go stand on Vancouver Island and watch the magic planes go back and forth between the mainland and Hawaii, or on up to Alaska. Seventy years. Now this.
Ming Tian no longer had room for a crew of six, because the government had decided that, in place of three men, in place of her principal scientific instruments, she would carry a collimated particle beam weapon and storage battery of some advanced design, the same sort of weapon Chinese warships carried to knock down incoming missiles.
What do they think? The Arabs are going to shoot antishipping missiles at us from the Moon? Maybe so. Who knows what governments think? If anything.
So he sighed and sat down on the edge of his acceleration couch, began going over his own checklists, making his own preparations. Soon it would be time to suit up. Suit up and fly away to the Moon.
o0o
Sergeant-Major Astrid Kincaid, late of the Third Division, USMC Lunar Expeditionary Force, slid the middle and ring fingers of her right hand into the gyndroid’s vagina, began palpating the pretty machine’s clitoris with the ball of her thumb, slowly, gently, a small circling motion, clockwise little ohs. Tissues were swelling inside, moistening, ridges of pubococcygeus muscle tightening on cue, gripping her fingers with delicate strength, rippling back upward to a cervical os that she knew would slowly descend.
Ought to, anyway, if I’ve done this right...
She rubbed her left hand slowly back and forth across the gyndroid’s abdomen, just above the thing’s patch of sparse black pubic hair, feeling muscles there tighten, looked over at the holodisplay floating above the progtool’s input pad.
Hmh. Not quite right.
She reached out and tapped the spinal ganglion feedback loop icon, numeric spinner adjusting appropriately, and listened to the gyndroid’s soft sigh.
Looked up at its face.
Pretty, almost-black eyes, classic almond-shaped eyes, slitted with deepening passion, mouth open just a little bit, delicate sheen of sweat on its brow, neutral North-Asian complexion just beginning to flush as its faux hormones surged.
Hmh. She tapped on the plateau icon, and the gyndroid’s back arched a little, pressing harder against her hand, pelvis cupping forward, straightening its vaginal path so the fingers could go a little deeper.
And Astrid Kincaid found herself looking into those loving black eyes, eyes she’d painted with such care, watching them sparkle with pleasure, flood with faux happiness, with faux life, with...
The gyndroid’s head went back, thrashing against the pillow, mouth opening, “ Oh ...” hips pushing forward, vaginal muscles clenching, massaging as no real woman’s unmodified vagina ever would, cervical os coming down, right to where... She looked over at the display, where Amaterasu’s response graph was compared to a feedback normative derived from Roddie’s MedDep records. Well. If he doesn’t like this for his birthday, the ungrateful little bastard...
She could feel the gyndroid’s muscles relaxing, gripping her fingers ever so gently. Just the way Roddie would like it. Amaterasu opened her eyes, looking down at Astrid, eyes filled with sleepy, loving softness, and whispered, “Thank you, Mother. It was wonderful.”
She nodded slowly. Tell it, You’re welcome, Daughter? A small twinge there. Old mammalian conscience speaking. From the days when the Goddess had us care for one another. She slid her fingers out, wiping her hand on the front of her lab smock, still looking into the gyndroid’s haunting eyes.
I remember. I remember when I was so bored with men. What? Twenty, thirty years ago now. When I had MedDep adjust my hormones so I’d love women
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