"Pheromone Pharmacopia"
by Brandy Dewinter
(c 2001, All rights reserved)
Chapter 19 - "Misogynist"
The time until launch seemed to evaporate like ice cream in the hot
Florida sun, leaving a blurry residue of memories of last-minute tests and
training that made the actual launch seem like just another drill.
Until they started heading up. And up.
It didn't take a very large portion of the ten minutes at high thrust
to make it clear this was no drill. The first staging was also their
first zero-g period - and for the first time they were grateful for the
prior experience in the Vomit Comet. The next stage engines kicked in
quickly, followed by yet another staging and more zero-g. By then they
were in 'outer space', well above the 50-mile limit to qualify for
astronaut status. It also meant that the remaining engines could nudge
them into higher orbit more gradually, with less thrust though for a
relatively longer period.
After a time that seemed very long to those in the mid-bay and very
short to the busy pilots, Jacqui leaned back and smiled at Vanna.
Vanna smiled back, pointed at her nav display, and confirmed what
Jacqui's own instruments had told her. "Yep. From here, we just keep on
falling. Welcome to space."
"You okay back there?" Jacqui asked of the remaining crew.
"Just fine," Marilyn promised, hoping as she looked at Carol that it
was true. Carol seemed okay though, showing enough interest in the view
through a port to make any motion sickness seem unlikely.
"Okay," Jacqui said. "You can unstrap and move around. Next mid-
orbit burn in 45 minutes."
"Roger that," Jaymi said jauntily, grinning at Sandy. Then she
pulled off her elliptical helmet, put her hand over the mike near her lip
and whispered, "Did you ever think you'd make it into space when you were
growing up?"
"Absolutely," Sandy replied as she pulled of her own oversized hard
hat. Then she carefully covered her own mike and whispered, "Doesn't
every little boy dream of being an astronaut?"
Jaymi's nod was interrupted by Jacqui's curious voice. "What did you
say, Sandy?"
The purple-clad pilot had drifted into the mid-bay with a
soundlessness that wasn't possible when fettered by gravity.
"Oh, I, um, was just talking with Jaymi. She asked if I had ever
talked about being an astronaut when I was growing up."
Jacqui laughed and grinned at the innocent-looking girl. "Oh, and
your friends were boys even when you were a little girl? Didn't you play
house with other little girls?"
Carol came to her rescue. Laughing good-naturedly, she poked at
Jacqui and said, "Look, shorty, some of us learned that playing with boys
was fun at a very *early* age."
"I guess I did, too," Jacqui admitted, no real apology in her tone.
By then the whole team had found a port to look through. Jaymi, as
the mission specialist responsible, opened the bay doors to get the
radiators on line and that gave them additional windows on their suddenly
expanded universe. Despite the tightness of their team, the girls
immediately divided into two groups; those who just wanted to look out the
ports, and those for whom it wouldn't be real if it weren't recorded on
film.
Then there was a third group, created by Marilyn as she tugged at
Jacqui's arm. "You got a minute?"
"I've got, um, 8 minutes, actually," Jacqui said, grinning. "Before
I have to start working on the next burn."
Marilyn smiled back and said, "Let's find a place to talk."
On the cramped shuttle there weren't many places that could be
considered private, but the rest of the team knew what was going on so
they stayed behind while Marilyn and Jacqui returned to the flight deck.
Marilyn was clearly uneasy about what she had to say, and Jacqui noticed.
That was not particularly noteworthy - neither that Marilyn was a little
uneasy with their newest team member, nor that Jacqui was sensitive enough
to notice - but what Jacqui said was a surprise.
"No, I don't blame you for sending Oz to Australia," Jacqui
announced.
"I, uh, what?"
"Oh, Marilyn, you don't need to den mother me," Jacqui laughed, then
her own expression changed as her humor became more self-directed. "Or
maybe you did. I have to admit, if the zipper on this silly skinsuit had
been a little easier to reach . . . "
"But, it wasn't," Jacqui continued. "I have to admit, Oz got my
afterburner heated up a couple of times. But now that I've been, that
my hormones haven't been doing my thinking for me, I'm glad to have had
a little room to breathe."
"So, you're happy with the way things turned out?" asked a very
relieved Marilyn.
"Oh, hell yes!" Jacqui laughed. "God, I still get aroused just
looking at myself in a mirror. It's like I've got a lifetime of
sensuality bottled up inside of me that I've never noticed before. Of
course, part of that is just keeping up with the other girls - and you.
Lordy, I was really the odd duck before. But you can't hang around
Sandy, or Carol for very long without appreciating what God gave all
women to work with."
"Um, yes," Marilyn murmured, though Jacqui didn't notice her
distraction.
"But," Jacqui continued, "I'm still learning to use these new
weapons you've, um, armed for me, and Oz was way out of my league."
"Only in experience," Marilyn corrected her.
Jacqui nodded. "Yes, and that's part of what I've realized since
he's been away. I started out replaying all my memories of him like a
lovesick school girl. And that included the memories from before he
showed any interest in me. He can be a real macho bum, but he can be
charming, too. Sorting that out will take a while."
"Damn, Jacqui, maybe I should be asking YOU for advice."
"Not hardly," Jacqui snorted. "God knows what I would have
done if Oz hadn't been sent away. But now . . . well, I think I'm
ready for round two."
"Good for you. And my money is on you, for sure."
Jacqui laughed again, ostentatiously patting her hair and arching
her back to display her . . assets to best advantage. The effect wasn't
quite what she expected - since in their weightless condition her assets
had a very unusual motion. Highly interesting - one might even say
'breathtaking' - but not exactly what that trained pose would have
accomplished on earth. They both broke into laughter at the sight,
giggling with a shared though unspoken image of what poor ol' Oz's eyes
would have looked like if he tried to analyze that particular orbit.
"Oh, God, we have GOT to get some movies of that," Marilyn gasped.
"Not on a bet!" Jacqui countered. "At least, not unless we get
all the girls in the film."
"Don't tempt me," Marilyn countered. "It would make one hellacious
recruiting film, don't you think?"
"For what, horny goats like Oz and Waylon?"
"It's a start," Marilyn observed judiciously, prompting another
round of shared snickers.
"You two sniffing at the laughing gas again?" Sandy asked, calling
from the mid-deck. "It's not polite not to share you know."
"Oh, Sandy," Jacqui promised. "You would *definitely* need to share
in it."
"Oh?" Sandy said, but her curiosity was not to be satisfied.
Jacqui raised an eyebrow at Marilyn, then turned to her displays.
Marilyn just shook her head, smiling at Sandy but holding the reason for
their mirth as a private moment between the pilot and herself.
The demands of orbital mechanics made the old Army complaint about
'hurry up and wait' seem mild by comparison. Despite a speed of over
18,000 miles per hour, their approach to Seward's Folly seemed glacially
slow. Every thrust took a counter thrust, and the total of all their
speed changes ('delta-V') was strictly limited. As a result, they'd
thrust just enough to gain a little speed on their target, then wait
patiently while they drifted closer.
Once their orbit matched that of the space station closely enough
that they were on a constant bearing angle, Jacqui aimed an antenna and
called to the man they knew only through news reports and old photos.
"Seward's Station, Shuttle Echo, ready for approach."
"Right. Activate your onboard cameras."
"Roger," Vanna replied, flipping the switches that sent images from
all parts of their shuttle to the waiting recluse.
"Very nice," the voice purred - not a soft sound at all, more like
the rasp of a rattlesnake's rattle. "You're cleared for the approach."
Seward's Folly showed the typical sprawled out look of 'real' space
stations, so different from the classic rotating wheel. Huge solar arrays
dominated the design, with the actual living spaces only a small portion
of the whole and not nearly enough to justify a ring of any meaningful
size. In this particular case, there were additional reasons not to
introduce a centrifugal pseudo-gravity. Arms with laboratories or
processing chambers for the zero-g pharmaceuticals which were the
station's nominal reason for existence stretched off as spindly branches
in several directions. In addition, there was one arm of particular
interest that had *not* been on the pirated plans.
"Those must be the Brilliant Pebbles," Vanna pointed as they drifted
closer.
She routed a camera view to the screens in front of each team member
- though not visible to Seward's watching cameras. What they saw was a
grid of oddly shaped rods, illuminated by the bright Earth in a way that
glinted off reflecting surfaces without really revealing the nature of the
objects. Jaymi worked her own camera controls to zoom in on a portion of
the arm holding the devices.
"Looks like a single major harness running back toward that round
module."
Sandy compared the view to what she had studied on the station. "If
the plans we have are right, that module should be - let me think -
Computing Module 3. It also controls power for that whole side of the
station."
"Right, that's what I remember, too," confirmed Jaymi.
They neared the docking port, short blasts of maneuvering thrusters
roaring on and off as their path became constrained ever more tightly.
Jacqui's piloting skills were up to the task and with a minimum of wasted
fuel she nudged them to mate with the docking tube.
"Seward, Shuttle Echo, docked," Jacqui reported.
The next command from the raspy speakers was expected, though it had
not been included in the official instructions. "Very well, all of you
move to the mid-deck and ventilate your cabin with station air."
Though expected, it should have been a surprise so of course they
were 'surprised', at least that's how they acted. Vanna, as co-pilot,
took her cue.
"Say again, Seward? We need to be careful about contamination."
"So do I," the voice said. "I have some . . . sanitizing agents in
my station air to make sure you don't introduce any germs up here."
"Can't we, um, just do a sample or something?" Jacqui asked. "After
all, some of what we're bringing you is fresh oxygen. Your station air
must be, um, well-used by now."
"This is non-negotiable," Seward said. "If I don't see all six of
you on the mid-deck in the next 30 seconds, with air ventilated 30 seconds
after that, I'll block access to the station and, well, you don't want to
know the rest."
"Chill," Carol said, interjecting herself into the conversation in a
way that seemed to chastise her crewmates. "We're going to board the
station in a little while anyway. Sharing air is no big deal. Let's do
what the man says."
"A good plan," the dry voice sneered.
The girls assembled in the largest compartment on the shuttle, then
Vanna worked the controls to share air with the station. The results of
that action were unprofessional, but undeniable.
"Oh, God! . . . Damn that's good . . . Ooooohhh yessssss."
The girls' voices squeaked out in uncontrolled reaction to the effect
of Seward's invisible security interrogation - all but one of the girls,
that was. Jacqui blushed a very fiery red that clashed desperately with
her purple skinsuit - not that she noticed - but her only verbal response
was a stifled grunt. More . . . direct responses showed as well in the
form of hard buttons that popped into sharp relief in deliberately thin
portions of her skin-tight flight suit. All of the suits. It wasn't
enough for the lurking 'host'.
"You, in the purple, approach the camera," Seward's voice ordered.
"You would be . . . Jacqui Cleaver, right?"
"That's right," Jacqui said through gritted teeth, panting in her
effort not to surrender to the sensations singing in her most intimate
nerves.
"That's close enough," Seward said, when she had turned to face the
camera and moved to within a few feet. Complying with his next order was
less easy for Jacqui.
"Take off your suit," he said bluntly.
"What?"
"You heard me. My 'sanitizing' agent is really female human
pheromones. It assures me that you are truly women, or at least it
should. Your response to my pheromones was not . . . convincing. I
want to see you naked, or I'll . . . "
"You can take a flying leap out an airlock, for all I care," Jacqui
snarled, starting to turn away.
"What's your home town?" Seward asked in an apparent non sequitur.
"Me?" Jacqui asked in surprise.
"Never mind," they heard his voice say. "According to my records,
you're from Sioux Falls, South Dakota, is that right?"
Jacqui just nodded.
The disembodied voice took on a reasonable tone, but there was no
mistaking the gloating threat within it - even aside from the words
themselves. "Then Ms. Cleaver, let me put it to you this way. Either you
strip so that I can see you are really a woman, or I'll drop the
equivalent of ten thousand pounds of high explosive on your hometown. Oh,
and that of all the others on your shuttle, too. Which will it be?"
Jacqui sent a look at the camera that should have fractured the lens,
but all that earned her was the raspy rattle of a self-satisfied chuckle.
Seward was so sure of his position that he didn't bother to give her a
deadline. He just started a low, 'dum, dum, de-dum' warble that was too
tuneless to be called a hum.
The curvy pilot looked at Vanna, who just shrugged. It was
confirmation enough that there really wasn't any choice so Jacqui reached
for the zipper at her collar. In a moment, she had her skinsuit open to
display quite unambiguous proof of the effectiveness of Seward's airborne
potion.
"Now, Jacqui," Seward's voice took on a patronizing tone. "A thorough
astronaut like yourself, surely you don't believe in doing things
halfway."
Jacqui sighed in resignation. "I'll need some help with the corset
laces."
"I'm sure that beautiful blonde in that so-interesting black suit
will be glad to help you," Seward said without remorse. Then, though the
speakers were transmitting his voice with equal clarity to all portions of
the shuttle, he raised his voice and said, "Just because one of you was so
. . . uncooperative, I think we need to conduct a few further checks.
Let's see . . . "
"You, the other blonde in the shapely blue outfit, you open your
suit, too." His voice took on a tone that implied she should be grateful
for his generosity when he added, "All you have to do is how me that your
little pleasure buds are really your own. Don't bother with your own
corset."
"However, Miss Cleaver, *you* have pissed me off, and for that, you
go all the way to skin."
"Oh, Mr. Seward," Marilyn called languidly - smiling sensuously at
the pleasure she was receiving. "I, um, we'll be glad to do what you
want." She giggled and continued, "Especially if you keep sending us
those, um, whatchamones things, but would it be okay if the other girls
start moving the, um, cargo? We were told that we had to get it on the
station right away."
"Huh? Oh, okay. Just, uh, I have cameras inside the station, too,
so don't try anything."
Nodding at the others, Marilyn floated over to where she could block
most of the camera's field of view and began a slow, sinuous strip tease
as she drew the zipper down on her own skin-tight suit. Behind her, the
rest of the team worked frantically to complete tasks of their own while
Seward's attention was so captivated. Out of line of sight from the
camera, Sandy's eyes sent a desperate message to Jacqui, begging her to go
along for the sake of the mission.
Though her fury showed in hot spots in her cheeks, Jacqui nodded.
When it was her turn to present herself to the camera again, she couldn't
bring herself to continue Marilyn's deliberately enticing distraction.
That might not have been a good idea anyway, to change so completely from
her previous disdain, but she did proceed slowly, granting Jaymi and Sandy
time to get some items through the airlock that were definitely NOT on the
manifest.
"Very nice," Seward said in a lascivious tone that brought fresh
spots of fire to Jacqui's cheeks. "Too bad you're not nice as well. Get
suited up again, but you're staying on the shuttle. I don't want to see
you even looking into the airlock, do you understand?"
Jacqui just nodded, turning to Vanna for help getting back in her
suit. She was interrupted by another order from Seward.
"No, get that big redhead to help you. She's the one who's supposed
to do the antenna module replacement, right? She can stay there and get
ready after you're suited up again. I want, which one are you, Vanna? I
want Vanna and, um, Marilyn to report to my control room right away."
Marilyn's foresight, for this is exactly the way she had planned
their disposition, was hardly a surprise to the team. Seward's next
order, while not expected, didn't seem like a problem either.
"You two blondes, and the two brunettes who are hauling cargo, bring
your helmets with you. Don't put them on. I just want to know where they
are. Rack your helmets on *my* side of the airlock, in plain view of the
camera."
The four team members who would enter the station gathered up their
matching elliptical helmets. When they cycled through the lock, the rack
Seward had mentioned was obvious, comprised of mannequin heads fitted with
bungee straps to hold the helmets securely.
As the team moved further into the station, then went into 'whisper
mode', a tactic they had worked out to defeat Seward's surveillance
devices. Carefully noting the cameras in each compartment they entered,
they made sure they were looking away, and spoke only in the faintest of
whispers into their tactical microphones if they had any team business to
conduct. If they were discussing the things Seward knew about, they spoke
in normal tones, and they made sure that there was enough ordinary
conversation to make their occasional silences unremarkable.
The first of those ordinary conversation topics was actually
reconnaissance by voice. Marilyn spoke to Seward. "We're through the
lock, but, um, where did you want us to go?"
"Report to my control room," Seward repeated.
"We'll be glad to," Marilyn said, then pouted. "But we don't know
where it is. We were just told to move cargo from the airlock down, um
. . . ?"
"Passage 3," Seward snapped. "It's to your right. But have the
brunettes do that. I want you to come down the passageway right in front
of you."
"Lordy, I DO like the way you welcome a girl," Marilyn cooed. Vanna
nodded happily, drifting in a weightless ballet that was graceful and lazy
at the same time.
"Damn," they heard Seward's voice mutter. "I might have been better
off with that snotty brunette. You two are just too responsive."
"Responsive is my middle name," Marilyn chirped happily, wiggling in
mid-air in a way that demonstrated a lot of motions not possible in
gravity.
Sandy and Jaymi were disappearing down the noted passage with
packaged supplies when Vanna's lazy spiral caused her to drift against one
of Seward's surveillance cameras and dislodge it.
"Ooops," she said, giggling. "Clumsy me."
"I would not call you clumsy," Seward's voice said, a husky note
showing more than dispassionate interest. "But you are slow. Proceed
down that passage immediately. Why do blondes have to be so damn dumb?"
"I'm not dumb," Vanna protested. "Just feeling *really* fine."
"I'm, well, okay, maybe I'm not as smart at Sandy. Or Jaymi. Or
Jacqui," Marilyn said, calling the roll. Then her voice took on a teasing
tone, "But I'll bet I know things that they don't know. *Fun* things
those stupid dark-haired girls don't even know are fun."
"Come down the passage," Seward's voice called, coaxing like he was
summoning a reluctant kitten. "You'll like what you find here. We'll
have fun."
"I'm all for fun," Marilyn cooed, drifting that way.
"Me, too," Vanna said, twirling as she resumed her dance, but at
least she was now headed in his direction.
**************
Jaymi and Sandy headed for the power control room, carrying
appropriately labeled boxes of supplies. The labels were the only part of
the boxes that were appropriate - from Seward's perspective - but the
carefully graceless lurches with which they transported the weightless
cargo made that pair of women and their activities less than interesting
to Seward. Once they were in the key control compartment, they busied
themselves stowing the supplies they had brought with them.
"I hope Marilyn and Vanna were faking the, um, effects of this air,"
Jaymi whispered. "If they're really that hot and bothered, they're likely
to get us *all* in trouble."
"I think they're okay," Sandy replied. "Based on my own reactions,
it's, ah, distracting but not incapacitating. How about you?"
"I suppose that's as good a way to describe it as any," Jaymi
concurred. "And now that I think about, it, Jacqui wasn't affected all
that much. I guess Marilyn and Vanna must be doing that deliberately."
Sandy nodded, "Yeah, as long as it doesn't get any worse, I think
we're okay. If anything, it seems to be diminishing, either because we're
getting used to it, or because the chemicals are deliberately concentrated
in Seward's part of the station."
"This has to be the right place to get control of the Pebbles," Jaymi
whispered to Sandy, returning to their own task. "See, the marking on
that harness matches the one I saw coming from the Pebbles."
"Are you sure?" Sandy asked.
"Pretty sure," Jaymi confirmed. "We're in the right module, and it's
obvious that particular harness was added later. See? It's the only one
on that side that's wrapped in blue instead of green."
"How do we bypass his launch codes, if he's in the control room?"
Sandy whispered to her red-clad teammate. "The plan was that Marilyn or
Vanna would lure him away from there."
"Well, the things have gotta get power from somewhere, and a signal
through an antenna. That takes different kinds of wire. If we can find
the circuits, we can put an interrupt in them," Jaymi explained.
"But . . ," Sandy began, then stopped when the futility of what she
was going to say registered. There were any number of 'buts', none of
which had obvious answers.
"Um, right. Now what?"
"Why don't you bring the other took kit, the one with the electronics?
I'm going to see if I can tap this line," Jaymi suggested, anchoring her
heels in a pair of the clamps that were the justification for the spindly
footwear in the first place.
Sandy nodded and started floating back down the passage. "Okay. Be
careful."
"You, too."
********************
"I better get into my helmet and start pre-breathing," Carol said as
she finished tying off the re-tightened laces to Jacqui's suit. The
still-blushing raven-haired pilot didn't notice that the taller redhead's
breathing was as labored as her own.
"Thanks for your help," Jacqui said.
"Um, any time," Carol replied, turning away.
Jacqui grimaced as she finished pulling the zipper on her skinsuit
up. "Damn, what's he call 'em? Pheromones make it hard to think
straight. And my body feels like, well, it's a good thing we're both
girls, or I'd be . . . awful naughty right now."
"Uh, yeah. I know what you mean," Carol said, blushing. *Lordy do I
KNOW what you mean!* she thought to herself.
"Hell, even ol' Oz Anderson might have a chance, with a supply of
this stuff," Jacqui went on dreamily, not realizing the effect her musings
were having on her panting teammate. Nor the distracting effect the
residual pheromones were having on her own thoughts, especially now that
the countering effect of her initial anger was subsiding.
Carol donned her helmet out of sequence, but she wanted to be
breathing filtered air as soon as possible. After she was protected from
her invisible assailant, she reached for the extra parts of the EVA rig.
Jacqui shook her head as though to clear it, then grinned ruefully at
the redhead. "Well, it's not by the book, but I understand what you're
trying to do. Now let *me* help you."
The thin - actually thinnest - portions of their skinsuits were
strategically located to provide unambiguous evidence of response to the
chemicals pervading the station air supply. When actually going outside
the pressurized compartments, it was necessary to add what were
essentially 'pasties' to the costume, plus of course a backpack with
independent air supply. The latter was no problem, but when the time came
to apply the pasties . . .
"Damn," Carol muttered, her words picked up by the helmet mikes and
retransmitted over speakers in the compartment. Jacqui wore a boom mike
of her own so that they could talk.
"What's wrong?"
"I can't see to put these damn things in place while I'm wearing this
stupid helmet," grumped the taller woman.
"Calm down," Jacqui said. "I'll get them for you."
Whatever Carol's intentions might have been, the feel of Jacqui's
hands on her already-turgid nipples was anything but calming.
"Don't hyperventilate," cautioned Jacqui.
"What, oh, yeah, well, I'm working on it," gasped Carol.
As she breathed the independent air, pure oxygen that would support
her breathing at a pressure low enough to avoid the need for a hard
spacesuit, Carol began to recover from the forced effects of the airborne
pheromones.
Or maybe it hadn't all been because of the pheromones.
