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  This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

  All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design:Alissa Deise

  Decontamination © 2008 E.D. Beale

  eXcessica publishing

  All rights reserved

  Decontamination

  By E.D. Beale

  It's funny how a good battle is a lot like a great fuck. In both, you work your body into a frenzy, pumping out internal heat until liquid pours through your glands, forming a mist on the skin. Your heart beats wildly in your breast, throbbing to the point where you could see it bouncing underneath the skin. You gasp. Your breath is caught on itself as you thrust into your victim or have him thrust into you. And in the end, if you did it right, you'd have aches and pains, but in a good way. A wonderful way, in fact.

  I looked down into the O'okara's large, pitch-black eyes as it wiggled between my hips. I had the bastard trapped by its tentacles. It lashed out at me with massive, gray fingers with nails sharper than anything we humans could make. Luckily, I had resistance. My trusty shielded armor would protect me as it had so many times in the past. The fingers scraped against the material with a metallic sound creating sparks in their wake. I didn't feel a damn thing. Even knowing that I was safe, my body tensed in fear making my skin tingle and nipples tighten beneath the coolant mesh top of my armor.

  The creature howled at me in a high-pitched alien tongue that the translators still didn’t understand. Maybe that was why we were at war. That, and the fact the shits had nerve to invade Earth. What did they expect? That we'd sit by and do nothing? Fat chance. We fought back, and we would continue fighting till the end of time if we had to.

  My plasma dagger sprang to life along my arm with a press of a button. The violet, glowing energy crackled as the moisture in the air touched it. The creature averted its eyes. Oak eyes were too big and too sensitive to the blazing light. Beneath my helmet, I smiled as it cowered.

  Without sympathy or pity, I drove the dagger into its flesh diagonally, from its shoulder to just below its thirtieth rib. The blade sizzled the skin and clotted the mercury-appearing blood of the O'okara. The scent of cooked flesh drifted into the vents of my mask. Sort of smelled like cooked tuna, a smell I'd become accustomed to over my six years in the Fleet.

  The body convulsed below me as it began to separate. The eyes widened in shock and the barely-there lips split slightly as though shocked. What was there to be shocked about? It knew what I was about to do. Claws scrambled down my armored back, scraping. Hell, it sounded like death.

  A few shakes later and it was dead; the section I sliced fell to the ground with a wet sounding thud. Gross, but it was part of the work. If I let it bother me, I couldn't be out in the field. If I let myself be humane, I'd be no good to anyone. Especially for my partner.

  The area was now secure. The transport we were protecting from Little York to New Baltimore could make its way through the wreckage of broken streets from generations ago. Good. Medicines and food could be delivered to those in the High-Rises. Supplies had been running low.

  I could hear the buzz of the approaching bullet train on the tunnel tracks above me. I pulled off my mask and looked up at the sky, just in time to see the blur of red and yellow lights pass by. They continued into the night at a frightening speed towards New Baltimore's dome. It was such a clear night that I probably could have watched it fly into the town from where I was standing.

  Footsteps approached from behind. Familiar footsteps I knew almost as well as my own. I clicked off my plasma dagger and turned slightly with a grin, giving an enthusiastic thumb up.

  I couldn't tell his emotion, of course. He was a firm believer of wearing the mask until we returned to base and he hated the fact that I never followed that rule. It wasn't often you could be out in honest-to-goodness air. Domed air was recycled, never fresh like this. How could I not take the opportunity?

  "Mags," he said with a metallic voice thanks to the armor, "Put the damn helmet back on before you're contaminated."

  I smirked at him. Six years in the field and it never happened once to me. It hardly ever happened to anyone anymore. Of course, that could be because most people wore their helmets. Meh, what could I say?

  "Pryce, have I ever told you that you worry too much?" I asked him as I stood, running my fingers through my hair, which no doubt looked like sleek sunshine now that it was soaking wet. "Let's celebrate our victory, okay?" It was more of an order than a suggestion. "It's not everyday we kick the shit out of a group of twenty Oaks with just one rifle and a pair of plasma daggers."

  I could hear his annoyed sigh through the armor. He didn't do that often, just when it came to me. I'm always a bit of thorn in his side. Pryce was the serious one. I was-well-not. Every partnership needed a straight man and a screw up. At least, that's what I was told, since I was about twenty-five years too late to know about television sitcoms first hand. Mom told me about them, but they seemed more like fancy dreams to me.

  "Fine. Enjoy yourself," he responded dully. "There. Done? Good! Let's head back."

  He moved passed me, and I was momentarily blinded by the halogen light attached to his armor.

  "Trust me, Mags, you don't want to do d-com. I do it every time. You don't want to go through it."

  I rolled my eyes, still blinded from the gleam. Pryce was a human who was born infused with O'okara DNA as part of a big government experiment. It increased the recipient’s speed, stamina, and strength, but kept them looking human enough to pass as one of us. Well, mostly. There were differences in the constitution of the person and in the eyes, plus some variation of internal organs. Many of the hybrids died. The few that lived were scorned, without a place in society. They all wound up in the United Military Fleet of New Earth, and even then, they were treated like shit.

  See, the thing about the hybrids was the O'okara could “sing” to their blood. Meaning they could call their kin to them with a high-frequency sound wave. Since hybrids are close enough to kin, the song could sway them and make them confused about who they are. A few of them now worked for the other side, thanks to Oak song, so now the hybrids were forced into d-com after every outing to keep them from turning to their "blood."

  Regular humans went through it when splashed with Oak blood since it could seep in and fuck with people. Rumor was it behaved like a psychotropic and controlling drug in the human system. Personally, I haven’t seen it happen, but better safe than sorry. I could hear Pryce's footsteps moving further away. I started rushing toward the echoing sounds. As I moved, I lifted my helmet so I could put it on once more.

  And then, by some cruel twist of fate, I stepped on the Oak… and it squished, squirting blood everywhere. I felt the cool droplets hit my face, and

  I stood frozen for what felt like this side of forever. With a groan, I turned my face to the heavens, closing my eyes tightly.

  "Shit!"

  * * * *

  So… we were in d-com. It wasn't surprisin
g that it was entirely sterile. The place was set up like a small, octangular hospital room built for no more than two. It made me just a little uneasy-I'm not a fan of the hospital. As far as I'm concerned you should only be born there and die there. Anything else can be worked out by the field medics.

  Our squad's medic was nowhere in sight, but we knew he was watching over us, thanks to the cameras in the room. From what my partner told me, there were two spots that the cameras couldn't see. One of the corners of the room was pretty hidden, and the bathroom. Great.

  I stepped through the initial d-com shower first. The floor was freezing cold beneath my bare feet, and I yelped as I first stepped on the tile.

  "You guys could have at least warmed up the room for us, Casper," I complained as I moved into the main room.

  A soft chuckle filled the room from the intercom system. I crossed my arms and rolled my eyes, a smile nearly on my lips. Casper had one hell of an infectious laugh.

  "Sorry, Mags," the disembodied voice said in good humor. "The Oak blood thrives on heat once it makes contact. We have to keep the room cool in order to protect you. Besides, your nipples are showing through your tank top and that's pretty arousing, wouldn't you think?"

  I covered my saluting nips from Casper ’s view. Not good when the Doc hits on you. Even worse when he's part machine.

  "Doc, you're a cyborg. You're not interested in shit like that."

  "Oh, really? Could have fooled me," he told me while chuckling. "I may have cybernetic parts, Maggie, but I'm far from dead."

  I shook my head, smiling. I couldn't help myself, though it was mildly annoying since I knew it would only egg him on.

  The sound of pressurization caught my attention. I turned my head and watched Pryce stepped from the portal, which closed promptly after his appearance. I'd been with the man for six years and I'd never seen him so unclothed. I mean, we just killed baddies together, and occasionally hit a bar at the base, but that was as far as it ever went. Now here he was, wearing tight, black shorts and nothing else. Then again, I wasn't much better off in the white tank and skimpy panties I wore.

  Pryce was a thin man, thanks to the injected genes. Thin, but muscular and well defined. His skin was a pale white, which made him stand out amongst the society of mostly brown people. It made him seem somehow smooth except at the chest. He had a line of oh-so-soft looking black hairs on his chest, with silver nipples poking out from the dark. His long legs were toned and perfect for running. His arms were long as well with tattoos adorning them. In fact, we had a matching set of cockroach tatts above the saying, “We always come back, mutha fuckah!” It took twelve beers and a shot of tequila to talk him into that one-I thought of it as one of my finer moments, though I doubt he felt the same.

  I smiled a little, which caused him to cock his head to the side in an unspoken question.

  "It's weird seeing you mostly naked," I confessed.

  He laughed. It was a brief burst-an ever-so-rare moment that warmed me up whenever I heard it.

  "The same can be said about you. What you’re wearing leaves little to the imagination," he told me as his eyes followed the lines of my body with an amused grin.

  I was not a small woman in any sense. I was as tall as Pryce-just under two meters, and I weighed a little over six kilos more than my recommended weight. I'd like to say it was all muscle, but it wasn't. A little of it was just my natural fat-not enough to slow me down or anything of the sort. Women of the day were nothing if they didn't have a little body mass, and they weren't seen as suitable mates otherwise. They were too unhealthy-not that I was wanting to shack up or anything.

  "Ahem." Casper 's voice echoed in the room. "If you two lovebirds are finished, we can start the d-com process." I smirked at a camera as I took a seat on one of the beds. With arms crossed, Pryce moved to the other one.

  "Confirm Lt. Margaret Riley." Casper 's voice suddenly went mechanical. His cyborg implants must have taken over.

  "That’s me. Lt. Margaret Riley. Number 3224 dash 21RM," I answered.

  "Confirmed. Identity correct. Height: 1.792 meters Weight: 88.64 kilograms. Blood pressure: 110/66. Temperature: 22.2 degrees Celsius. Respiration: 16. Pulse: 78.

  “Confirm Lt. Pryce Fuller."

  Pryce seemed to take on a blank appearance as he spoke. I wasn't surprised, since he'd been through this countless time. It had to be second nature to him by now.

  "Identity confirmed. Lt. Pryce Fuller. Number 3223 dash 34FP. Special Class: Hybrid," he said hybrid as though it were a painful thing.

  "Confirmed. Identity correct. Height: 1.814 meters. Weight: 55 kilograms. Blood Pressure: 78/32. Temperature: 19.4 degrees Celsius. Respiration: 10. Pulse: 52." The cold, sterile voice was gone and replaced by normal Casper: "Alright guys, you're going to be in d-com for at least forty-eight hours. The colonel is sending out Jackson and Rock in your place, so you can rest assured, okay?" We could hear him yawn. "I'm gonna go get some sleep. Night, guys."

  The intercom bleeped off and a soft, pulsing, patterned hum filled the room. Suddenly, Pryce and I were completely alone. I got an awkward feeling in my stomach, but for the life of me, I couldn't figure out why. I decided to focus my attention on the hum since it somehow drove away the Oak song. Maybe I was worried about our turf; Jackson and Rock were really incompetent.

  I looked over to my partner, who'd already begun settling for the night. Yeah, he was a little too used to this. I felt a little guilty about never having to do this, while he always had to. Of course, at the moment, I had no idea why it was so bad for him. D-com felt like a hospital, but it didn't seem much worse than that.

  He rested his head on the pillow. His dark, thin hair framed part of his face. It probably would have covered his whole face if the upper half hadn't been tied back. Pryce kept his hair in an almost girlish style, but it looked good on him. He had a way of keeping that style masculine even though he was a bit of a pretty boy.

  It's bad when your partner looks more like a woman than most women… Or at least, I thought he did. Pryce's face was all smooth angles, coming to this delicate point at the chin. His pale skin looked perfect, without a single blemish. His eyes were as pale as his skin, like frozen herbal tea. Long, dark lashes surrounded those over-large orbs. The only thing that might be considered off about his face were his thin pink lips. Other than that, Pryce was just… pretty.

  I, on the other hand, was not as pretty. Oh, I guess some would say I was fair of face, but nothing like Pryce. First off, my face was soft and round. Freckles speckled my cheeks-little dark spots in the expanse of permanently tan skin. My eyes aren't encompassing like my partners, just an ordinary hazel. My light brown, nearly blonde hair was only slightly longer than Pryce's, with a little wave to it.

  "Okay, you've been staring at me for a while; what's the problem?" Pryce asked using his dull voice

  I started. Hell, I'd been lost in thought and was staring. I could feel my capillaries bursting beneath my skin, allowing a blush to creep on my face. I laughed nervously, hoping to diffuse the situation a little. I mean, I couldn't explain that I was thinking about how pretty he was! How would that sound?

  "Sorry," I smiled, twitching, "I guess I was just wondering why you hate d-com so much."

  He blinked at me with his classic slowness, then turned his face toward the ceiling. I think he was thinking of the best way to answer.

  "That playful bantering you received, I never have that sort of treatment," Pryce explained as he turned to me again. "I come in, they get my identification, and that's it. For the next two days, I'm completely alone and forgotten.” His voice trailed off at the very end and his eyes glistened sadly. "Another reminder that I am just not human enough."

  That made my heart hurt. Pryce was just as human as the next guy. He wasn't an Oak. Damnit, he was just a guy. I was pretty pissed off.

  He frowned. "Don’t be angry, Maggie. It’s simply the way of the world.” "Doesn't mean I have to like it," I scoffed at him, shaking my hea
d. He shrugged at me then settled himself into his bed more. When he'd made himself comfortable, he raised a brow at me.

  "Is that because of loyalty to me, or the truth of your own humanity?" he questioned me coldly. "You have no love for the O'okara, as most humans don't. I am infused with their blood. I’m swayed by their song. If you weren't my partner out on the field, would you have treated me the same as so many others?"

  I gaped at him, insulted. I am not prejudice to hybrids. I'm not.

  "What kind of fucked up shit is that, Pryce?" I scowled at him. "Is that what you think of me? As a hybrid hater?" I stood up, leaning over him, angrily pointing a finger at him. "Fuck you! I chose your ass, remember? I had my pick of any other partner and I chose you-the fucking, scary hybrid!"

  He took a deep breath beneath me, taking in my scent. He took a moment to look at my breasts that hung in front of his face. When his eyes returned to me, his large pupils dilated more than usual.

  "Out of charity, I'm sure," was his response.

  It took everything in me- everything-not to slap him. My hand was there and ready, but I held off. I couldn't believe what he was saying. He'd never said anything like this before, and he never even hinted at any problems he might have been having. Where was it coming from? He'd always been odd, but this was definitely far more than usual. It was like he was trying to hurt me for hurting him in some way.

  I stood up, shaking my head. Odd emotions rushed through me, making my chest tighten. I felt tremors move through my body, making it hard for me to focus on what I wanted to say.

  "Six years… for six years we've been in the field together, having each other's backs. I don't get how you can question our partnership like that. I guess you must have been doubting me all this time, huh? Serious bullshit, Pryce. Serious."

  I curled my face into a look of disgust before I could stop myself. I was really hurting. I mean, Pryce was the person I trusted with my life. If he felt that way, the feeling was obviously not mutual. Did that mean I couldn't really trust him? Wow, that hurt. It stung me.