In Body and Blade -- Ch. 33

Chapter 33 -- The Drums Begin

That intimacy with Shae seemed to last an age, but every second of it did me the world of good.

Her stillness calmed me. Her gentle breathing slowed my own until they matched. The example she set was like a template for me. She'd been through this herself, with far less preparation and reassurance, and if she could come out of it this well, there was hope for me, too. Her strength filled me, like warm honey flowing through my veins.

I found the will to properly clear my itching throat, and it quickly reminded me with a sharp, blinding pain I hadn't fully recovered just yet. Without thinking, I let out a groan, and my throat punished me for that, as well. I tensed up, wincing.

Shae pulled me in close again, to soothe me with the touch of skin on skin. The pain faded, and I took a deep, slow, careful breath to settle myself. As I inhaled, my nipple brushed against Shae's sternum, just enough to tickle. It drew my eyes down between our bodies, to the swell of her bare breast nestling between my own.

The sight threw me.

It made no sense, but somehow my nudity had slipped my mind. Just briefly. Now it filled my mind again. Not in panic, though, like last time. Just the fact of it, sitting in my mind with nowhere to go. Pushing out all other thoughts.

Naked.

There was no getting around it. I was naked. Completely. No clothes, no underwear... Nothing. Every inch of me was on display.

Naked.

I turned the thought over and over, almost clinically, as if repetition might make it less insane. It didn't. I was naked. Very naked. It was real. All over.

Naked.

It shocked me that I'd managed to forget. Even for a moment. I mean... how?

Naked.

The word played in my head like a... like what? A sonar pulse, maybe, interrupting every few seconds, to ever so gently remind me of what I'd done.

Naked.

Not enough to cause distress, or even worry. It just refused to let me forget it again.

Naked.

I'd given up my clothes. Not just the ones I was wearing, but the option to wear any clothes, ever again. No matter where I went, or in what company. No matter who looked at m---

I froze.

My detachment vanished so quickly it felt almost physical.

Oh shit.

Everyone can see me.

It was a subtle distinction, perhaps, but it made all the difference. Being naked was fine. But this was... exposed. Far worse.

Everyone could see me.

No. No, they saw us...

Shae and me, sitting so close. So intimate. Woman to woman, breast to breast. A lewd, lurid display for anyone who looked in our direction, and let's face it -- everyone was looking in our direction.

Naked.

The word came in harder that time, with all the extra baggage. No longer a soft sonar pulse, but a drumbeat. A rhythm.

Naked... naked... we-are-fucking-naked...

This-is-nuts-we're-naked-and-our-fucking-tits-are-touching...

"Uh..." I started awkwardly. "Do you mind if we---? Sorry."

"Sure."

Shae pulled back to give me space, and when she saw my uneasy expression she got to her feet and backed off further. In my current state, the sight of her full body only highlighted how naked she was, and how close she had been to me just now.

Naked.

Naked.

I don't know if she knew the root of my discomfort, or how petty I felt for feeling it after she'd been so helpful to me. But I couldn't stop it. I had literally decades of learned associations telling me that physical contact while naked was automatically sexual.

And wasn't it? Really?

Maybe it didn't have to be, in every case, for every person, but I can tell you one time when it definitely is, and that's right after you think about it. Through that lens even the slightest touch gains new significance, and whether it's real or imagined, once planted that idea will not shift for anything. Only morph, and twist, and solidify into ever-greater certainty.

Naked-naked-sex-sex, naked-naked-sex-sex.

My head filled with it -- an unending litany of sexual thoughts, clouding and colouring every other.

I tried to focus on something else, but everywhere I looked I saw something that dragged me back to that rhythm. The people around me were all either clothed or naked, and the distinction between the two was a stark reminder of which group I was in.

Naked. Sex. Naked. Sex.

The alcove's mouth seemed to gape obscenely. It wasn't even shaped suggestively at all, but my mind made it so.

Sex.

The incubator's stone framework at the alcove's centre suddenly looked less like ribs and more... phallic. The translucent white spheres within might as well have had nipples on them, and the viscous amniotic fluid still oozing out of the broken one looked decidedly sexual all on its own.

Sex.

Shit, was this how men felt all the time?

Stop. Be calm. Think.

Clearly, I was overreac---

Naked.

Fuck. I was letting it get to me.

It shouldn't have mattered at all. So what if it was sexual? There was nothing wrong with sex. I'd always been very much in favour of it, in fact. The more open society became, the better it was for everyone. It was just that I---

Hell, there's no way to tiptoe around this confession. I'd like to leave it out entirely, truth be told, but I can't deny that it matters. See, even in my mid-thirties, I had a lot of residual adolescent angst around my sexuality, in a shameful, never-admit-it kind of way.

All through school I was the rough, short-haired, rugby-playing tomboy, but I was straight, goddammit. I pretended that getting labelled a dyke and a lezzer gave me a thick skin, and in some contexts it did, but privately it also did the opposite.

My unearned reputation killed my chances with some of the guys I liked, and turning down the ones I didn't hardly helped matters. After two years of snide comments and romantic failures, I'm sorry to say my claims of heterosexuality began to sound desperate. Even as I write this, I'm fighting the urge to remind you again that I was str---

Ah, see that? I nearly said it after all, but I stopped myself. Are you proud of me?

Thing is... I was, though.

Really.

But the girls at school could be mean, and very persistent in their needling, and sadly, I allowed my insecurities to become ingrained.

And sure, I got over it in time -- or enough to get laid, at least, and go from there. To be honest, I overcorrected. I slept around a lot -- too much -- just to make sure everyone knew the truth without me having to say it. I learned to brush off people's comments about my butch appearance with an easy-going eye-roll and a lofty pretence at the moral high ground, and, eventually, people stopped commenting.

A prolonged, naked embrace with another woman went rather further than a butch appearance, though. No amount of eye-rolling could brush that off.

The memory of Shae's soft young breasts pressing against me lodged like an unwelcome guest in my mind, adding fresh overtones by the bucket-load with every passing second. Like a bad penny, all my old insecurities came flooding back.

Naked-naked-sex-sex...

Naked-girls-touching-boobs, naked-gay-touching-nipples...

I felt a prude for thinking it, but the longer I thought, the more uncomfortable it made me. Even now that she'd left me alone I could feel her presence on me, like a friend's lingering perfume. As I looked around at the half-dozen watching faces, the way they stared back at me carried a thousand silent judgements.

It's paranoia, I told myself. They're staring because I'm sitting awkwardly on bare rock.

I was shifting and fidgeting in unexplained discomfort. I was very naked, very visible, and the first volunteer for an entirely unproven technology. All of that made me the centre of attention -- not some stupid schoolyard homophobia.

Naked-naked--- I clenched my jaw. Fuck that. Stop caring. Embrace it!

I had to stand up, I decided. It was time.

My thigh was still sore, and it flared into fire when I moved it, but less than I was used to, and it faded quicker too.

With a pull from Shae and Lis I got to my feet, and they stood on either side of me, taking most of my weight while I gingerly tested my leg. This time I was able to tolerate Shae's bare body against me, but only by focussing intently on what I was doing.

Naked.

"Steady," Lis warned. "Don't get ambitious."

"I'll do as I please," I answered, a little curtly. "I'm going to walk on this damn leg, even if it kills me. I did not do this for nothing."

The first step was painful, but the second was already easier. After the fourth I felt confident enough to try without support, and within twenty I wasn't even limping. With that, my smile turned to laughter, all my worries forgotten again. It might be a while yet before I could sprint, but that was okay. I'd get there. In the meantime, I was just happy to stand and walk again without fear of buckling.

"Ha!" Shae clapped and cheered for me, but no one else joined in. None of them had her ease with all this, but fuck it, I was coming close.

Grinning like an idiot, I looked around at the rest of my audience. Everyone in sight was watching me. Some focussed on my face, and others not so much. Andreyev least of all, and he drew my attention first for that reason. His eyes roamed all over me, but as ever his expression remained passive, as if he were sleepy and permanently bored of everything he saw. That was on the outside, anyway. Fuck knows what he was thinking. I felt a renewed urge to cover myself, and fought it down.

Naked.

Let him look; it's only a body.

Nearer to me, Shae and Lis stood ready to help me again in any way I needed, and a little further away I saw Ben and Mosi, just as ready but keeping their distance out of respect. Further still, Becker, Khurasani and Alvarez were watching intently -- in apprehension, I think. Anticipating their own turn at all this, as if it were already inevitable.

It was all too easy for me to picture them naked. I shouldn't, I knew, but I couldn't help it. I didn't even want to, and I think I've made it pretty clear I had no sexual interest there, but still... I would have preferred it. If it were universal -- if all women were nude -- then my own lack of clothes would feel less out of place.

Naked.

Shuddup.

Izzy still stood a little shyly, I noticed, but less so than before. She'd clearly come to terms with her situation now, but she hadn't yet reached Shae's level. Even with my persistent "naked" drumbeat, I was already overtaking her on the road to accepting it. Tellingly, since she wasn't needed any more, she had returned to the edge of the group. To stay out of people's way, I guessed, and, more generously, to keep Marita company.

Speaking of...

Marita, for her part, looked just as distraught and miserable as she had all along, but it struck me as I looked her over that her body had changed in the last hour. She was less bulky. Less chubby. It was hard to tell because of the way she hid herself -- and I didn't want to pry -- but I was convinced of it.

She had a little more colour in her, too. Hardly a tan; just a healthy glow instead of the ghostly white and blotchy red blush of embarrassment she'd had before. The change in her gave me hope that she would see it herself eventually -- and hope, too, that whatever blemishes yet remained on my own body would soon be gone as well. My freshly healed skin was still too red for my liking, even as the last of the pain ebbed away.

Lastly I let myself notice Faulkner, still on camera duty, and the knowledge that I was being recorded was enough to finally knock some sense into me. I had to project strength, even if I didn't fully feel it yet. I breathed deep and slow, and forced my arms to my sides. Shoulders back, chest out. As weird as it felt to do it naked, I made an effort to return to my role as sergeant. As a soldier.

"Can someone get me a piece of my clothing, please?" I asked out loud. "Any'll do."

"Wh---" Shae began, then stepped closer, quickly. "Why? You shouldn't. Trust me, you really don't want to wear clothes. It's torture. It's like putting on a---"

I gently caught her gesturing arm by the wrist and shushed her. "I believe you," I said softly. "Really. But I have to feel it for myself, or I'll never stop wondering."

She looked unconvinced, but relented. "You'll hate it," she warned. "I'd rather have that razor-wolf biting me again than put on clothes."

Ben came to me, holding out my discarded charcoal-coloured fleece, but I hesitated as I reached for it. Was it really that bad?

I don't know what part of me had thought I could overcome this weird phobia when three women before me had failed, but Shae's warning stripped me of that slight hope now. Still though, I had to know for myself how it felt. My curiosity was just too great.

I took the fleece, already wary of it just in my hand, and as I did so I met Ben's overwhelmed expression with nerves of my own. Seeing my uncertainty, however, he swallowed his own entirely and gave me the gentlest, most supportive look imaginable. In an instant my flutter of worry receded, replaced with an intense feeling of connection to this young man. Like me, he was the sort to bury his misgivings for a greater good, but while I reserved that for saving lives or winning a battle, Ben did it just to make a friend feel better about herself.

I managed a smile. "Thank you, Ben," I said, and gestured with the fleece as if to pretend I was thanking him for only that. Admitting to the other part was too much right now.

I slipped my arm slowly into the jacket's soft sleeve, expecting any second to feel... something. Whatever it was that would put me off ever trying again. Instead it just felt normal, all the way up to the elbow. But then, just as I began to wonder whether I'd stripped off for nothing, something did change. A prickly feeling. Just like the static shock you might get from any synthetic cloth, except it didn't stop. It rolled across my skin in waves, zapping me constantly at every point of contact with the material. My muscles twitched in response, entirely of their own accord, making my hand and arm jerk around as if I was having a very localised seizure. As disconcerting as that was, it didn't deter me. I had to know the full extent.

I pulled the fleece on further, grimacing as the prickling grew worse, and yet, as it reached my shoulder I began to think I could cope with it by clenching my muscles tight. If I had cause to go out in public, I could just about stomach this feeling, for a while. I would hate it, and certainly I would strip off again as soon as I could, but... yeah... I could cope.

Maybe.

I reached behind my back for the other sleeve, and I had just got my hand inside it when it hit me in full. As the material pulled tighter on my shoulder, it transformed itself. Instead of soft polyester, it became barbed wire dragging against my flesh. It was maggots writhing under my skin. It was nails, and teeth, and broken glass. It was fire and acid. I felt all these things, and more, all at once.

"Eeeurgh!" I yelled in horror, and thrashed my caged arm to shake this nightmare off me.

But it clung on.

It sank its teeth into me.

It crept further over my body, consuming me far beyond the physical edge of the garment. My whole torso was engulfed by it. I'd never felt such panic in my life, even from razors. I whimpered and squirmed, and I fought in a blind rage against everything that touched me, including the people trying to help me as they closed in around me. Another cage. They only made it worse...

Watching it back on video, I learned later that it lasted just a few seconds, but at the time it felt like an eternity in hell. In the end, several hands grabbed at me and held me still, while others yanked the monstrous thing off me once and for all.

Even free of it, the effects lingered, fading far too slowly. I scratched at my still-twitching arm like a woman possessed, hard enough to break the skin if that had still been possible, and when that failed to help, I dashed for the first place of safety I saw.

It was only when my mind calmed a little that I noticed the arms around me. The firm touch of a man, thickly dressed, against my naked body. The feel of his chest on my cheek. The comfort of his heartbeat, soothing my own, and his welcome, reassuring musk.

Dreading who it might be, I pulled away and glanced up.

Oh thank fuck, I thought. For one terrible moment I'd imagined Andreyev. Oh the shame I'd have felt... Blessed relief washed through me.

It was Ben.

Sweet, gentle Ben, tall but slight. A little weedy, yes, and too unsure of himself, but to me, in that moment, he was my hero. I needed to be held, just for a while, until the cave stopped spinning, and contrary to what I'd seen previously, he felt strong, firm, and stable.

"Are you okay?" he asked nervously.

I nodded, grateful, and rested my forehead against his chin while I recovered further.

In truth, this whole experience, from my first moment naked right through till now, had left me feeling like a weak and fearful child. Surely my reputation for cool-headed leadership was now wrecked for good, and I wasn't doing myself any favours on that score by continuing to seek comfort in the arms of a gangly young man like Ben.

Hell, I needed it though.

I'd never been so frightened in my life, and Shae was entirely right: I'd rather face a razor-wolf -- or ten of them, or a hundred -- than ever try on a jacket, ever again. Or any clothes at all, for that matter. I'd had one taste of it, and now the very idea terrified me to my core. That slithery, scratchy tightness, burning the skin beneath, biting at me like a million tiny mouths... For a brief second I imagined the horror of wearing a bra. Or knickers! Jesus!

Fuck no.

Fuck that.

Never again.

I'd rather hug Andreyev.

I shuddered in fresh disgust, and Ben rubbed my back to soothe me. I gave a gentle murmur to let him know it worked, but I wondered then why it did.

We'd been through this already with Shae, I knew. But truly, it made no sense.

How was this kind of contact any different? Why wasn't the touch of Ben's jacket against me just as abhorrent as my own? His covered arms pressed against me far more firmly than my own sleeve had done, and yet far from scaring me, I could have happily stayed there for hours.

It was psychological, I decided. It had to be. That damn alien gunk did more than heal and toughen my skin. It fucked with my head.

I noticed Ben was taking care to keep his hands to parts of me he considered safe -- from my shoulders down to the small of my back. I wouldn't have complained if he'd gone a little lower, and a part of me even wanted him to, but really I was glad he didn't. Not without invitation.

There are times when I enjoy a man taking liberties, but it's always a one-time thing. If you want my respect you show me yours, and if you don't... well... you might get me for a night but in the morning you'll lose me forever. There's been a few men in my past who took that option gladly, but not Ben. He was too nice for that. Too kind. And I was very grateful for that. I couldn't bear to cut him out of my life for getting handsy.

Of course, none of that was to say it didn't feel intimate. For a start, I was back to noticing my nudity afresh every few seconds, and more so than before. Naked-naked. Whenever his hand brushed my shoulder blade without the ridge of a bra strap. Naked-naked. Whenever he touched me where a hemline should be. Naked-naked...

Strange, that.

I noticed it again, just as with Shae before. I'd always thought of clothes as the entire garment, but really it's the edges you feel most. The hems, the cuffs, the collars, the seams... Those relatively few places where the smooth line of your body is disrupted. I had none, now. Just skin, from head to toe.

Naked.

It was even more obvious now because of the contrast: I was naked and Ben was not. And with him, though I wouldn't admit it, I didn't mind it feeling a little bit sexual.

Naked. Sex. Please...

After a minute or so like that, my breathing finally returned to normal and I felt strong enough to stand alone. I stretched up to kiss Ben's cheek in thanks, then stepped back and half-turned to face the group. His hand stayed on my back for perhaps a moment longer than it needed to. To be sure I was steady, I guessed, with just a dash of reluctance to let me go.

When he did, I immediately missed it a little.

"Have you got that out of your system now?" Shae asked, a little testily. She had her hands on her hips, impatient with me.

"Definitely," I said. "I'm never trying that again. I can't imagine how bad you three had it, fully dressed."

She gave a half-hearted shrug. "Well, like I said: torture."

Clearly I'd pissed her off by not taking her word for it, but there was more to her mood than that. Sexual frustration, maybe, following her earlier unsatisfying masturbation. I tried to catch her eye to apologise, but it only annoyed her more. When I tried again, she brushed me off and walked away, slowing only to glare at Andreyev as she passed him.

She was heading for the small alcove, I noticed, and I nodded hopefully. Maybe her second attempt would be more successful. It bugged me though. During our long, intimate hug she'd been calm and gentle with me. Even serene. One moment of upset later, she was back to this.

It's still worth it, I told myself. It has to be.

When I looked back I found Lis waiting for me, tape measure in hand.

"Oh Lis, not now," I pleaded. "Please. I need time to get used to all this."

She frowned at me. "You've had time. You spent it hugging people."

"You--- Seriously? Why don't you try it? See how fast you adjust to it."

A new voice cut in from the side. "You can do me," it said, in a heavy Spanish accent. "It is my turn."

We turned. Private Alvarez had stepped forward, and she looked from me to Lis and back, as if daring us to refuse her. When we said nothing, both of us at a loss for words, she set down her rifle and reached for her collar.

"Now hold on, young lady," Lis said quickly. "We need methodical testing here. There's nothing to be gained from rushing."

Alvarez shook her head. "I can save lives," she said stubbornly. "Kill the razors. All of them."

Lis faltered and looked at me for help. I shrugged. "She has a point," I said.

"We still know next to nothing about all this," Lis protested. "It was premature to let you do it, let alone another. There could be any number of secondary effects we haven't seen yet, or critical flaws of some kind. For all we know, it might only work within a limited range of the incubator, or for a limited time, maybe. What happens when you go outside? If it wears off at the wrong moment, you could freeze to death."

I mulled this over. "Fair point," I conceded, and stepped close to Alvarez to look her in the eye. I expected to ask her whether she was sure, but I had my answer already when she stared right back at me. Never in my life had I seen anyone more certain of something.

I looked back at Lis while I thought, and then decided. "Private, strip off," I said firmly. "And professor, take her measurements. Just do it, will you? Measurements only. Nothing else just yet. I'm going outside for a bit, and when I get back we'll know if there's a range on this thing."

"Ach!" Lis scoffed at me. "That was just one question; we have hundreds to answer!"

"And we'll get to them all, in time. But she's right: we can save lives, and I'm not turning down a volunteer just to play it safe."

"Play it safe?" Lis looked perplexed. "Isn't safety the point of all this? A little caution isn't going to hurt---"

My anger flared. I dashed towards her and pulled her close to hiss in her ear. "Is that what you'll say when the next razor comes? What if it kills you, and Alvarez could have stopped it? What if it kills her? Eh? The last one killed five people! Five! It could have been zero if we'd done this sooner."

She forced open my grip on her jacket and straightened her stance, but she made no further argument. Not that she didn't have one -- I'm sure she did -- but I'd made my point.

"We are soldiers, professor," I added, just to make sure. "We don't always get the luxury of waiting for test results. We learn by doing."

I turned back to see that Alvarez was already down to her last layer, and as I watched she slipped out of it with greater ease than I had done. I guessed that came from growing up on the beaches of Spain. Public nudity was second nature to her.

Naked.

She had a classic beach figure, too, albeit toughened by military life. She was 23 years old, I believe, and very nearly a fresh recruit, coming to us from Spain's naval infantry. She'd served only a few weeks on-ship, during which time she saw no combat at all because her temper kept landing her in lock-up.

By the time she came to us she'd been branded a liability and dishonoured for life in her own country. The shock of that made her vow to be better, and she had been, for the most part. She still lashed out at times, but she was quicker to realise it and she'd learned the value of saying sorry.

She never lost that fire though, and she stood without the slightest shame, far too stubborn to let mere nudity bother her. Seeing her there -- yet another woman's body exposed -- hammered home my own situation. Again.

Naked.

I felt it acutely. No matter how recent the last reminder was, each fresh one felt as powerful as the first. Both of us, naked. Soldiers. Naked soldiers. Nothing but cold air between her body and mine. Two volunteers for this crazy, fucked-up, naked warrior shit.

I was damn glad to have her though. It meant I wasn't the only one nuts enough to choose this. Even if no one else did after her, we'd have each other to lean on. Shae and the others were different. They didn't choose it, and they weren't soldiers. Alvarez was like me, and I felt a sudden, fierce kinship with her, not to mention enormous pride.

She was an inch or so taller than me, with a short black ponytail and a face not given to smiling much, or chatting. Even naked she maintained a steely, determined expression. Her breasts were large and firm, not to mention tanned to exactly the same deep bronze as the rest of her. I might have known they would be, too; our unit's base in Italy had a secluded roof I'd long suspected got used for sunbathing, and Alvarez was just the sort to do so nude.

Naked.

Here in the cold, she looked even more exotic. Still, despite her best efforts she was starting to shiver with a chill that I no longer felt myself.

Okay, best to leave her to it.

I looked around. "Izzy?" I called. "Care to join me in a stroll outside?"

Izzy stared at me, dumbfounded, then shook her head desperately.

Pity, I thought. She seems so ready.

Shae would, I guessed. If she weren't busy, anyway. Then again, she was our star. She was needed here, in case another razor-wolf came.

"Fine," I said. "I'll go alone."

"Ohh no you don't," Lis insisted. "Private Faulkner, you go with her. Take the camera and document everything she does. We may as well learn something from all this recklessness."

Faulk looked at me for confirmation, lost for words himself. He meant no harm, I knew, but his eyes on me set me off again.

Naked.

"Don't you need him here?" I asked Lis, and gestured at the newly naked Private Alvarez waiting unabashed for her own invasive set of close-ups.

Lis sighed and looked around. "You," she said, choosing Lieutenant Becker. "There's another camera in the crate over there."

I stood and watched for a moment, while Becker set to work. No protest. No authority. She just did as she was told.

It occurred to me that she hadn't weighed in on whether Alvarez should be allowed to volunteer, either. As the senior officer on site it had to be at least partly her decision, but she'd let me handle it without even a word.

Too uncertain, I decided. Too afraid of fucking up. A proper leader would stop me doing this, I thought. Can't she see I've lost my mind?

"Well go on then, if you're going," Lis snapped at me. She threw out a frustrated gesture at the top tunnel, as if I didn't know the way, and then turned her back, muttering to herself.

I caught the words "stubborn naked lunatic" in there.

Yeah... that sounded about right.

Naked.