Specimen 231

Chapter 4

Her season has persisted for two long weeks, and after today's third session Nalatine is tired. She's aroused, still. That never abates. But her flesh is exhausted well enough to keep more inappropriate urges at bay. Another shower is taken, cleaning off the glistening remnants of her private tryst as well as the scent of it, though even as she towels off, the pheromones that waft from the little pale speckles on her arms, cheeks, and now hips and thighs spice the air pleasantly, half-lidding her eyes all over again.

Just before she braces her hand on the wall to begin a fourth session, she growls and stops herself. Her body ripples with frustration, but if she begins all over again, she'll never leave her quarters. She tugs on her pants and shirt, then quickly exits her room. Jogging down the corridors helps at first, her body exerting in a rhythm that is close enough to sex to be satisfying. Yet after half an hour, the very action of running reminds her of hunting. Flashes of her early life, when she was made to hunt for her food, flare back into her mind's eye. Her muscles quiver and tense, and finally she gives in, leaping up to grasp the grating on the ceiling with her fingers, tail, and dewclaws before she slips a panel aside and slithers up into the crawl space.

On all fours up, within the ceiling's space, the light from the walkway checkers over her black skin from beneath, sliding over her as she crouches on all fours. She quickly stalks down the various walkways, scenting the air now and again. Janus's smell is all over the ship, but it's fresher in this direction. There is no conscious decision to hunt him, she simply does so, abandoning all thought towards the consequences of her actions.

As quietly and quickly as she can, she tracks the aroma of his skin, growling with pleasure as she knows that she's growing close. The sound of his footsteps ahead, turning a corner, draw her attention sharply, and she follows him quietly throughout the ship. He turns down this corridor and that one, until he unlocks a portal and proceeds down a long, dark, glistening subcorridor. The drip of water and the scent of musty air permeates the place, the environment humid and warm. It isn't the sewage system, it's the ship's reservoir systems. Huge tanks are filled with water, slowly cycling through hundreds of filters to clean it again for use, either as coolant in the engines or as water to bathe in, drink, or clean with.

She's so distracted by this new place and the groaning, echoing shifts of hundreds of tons of water in tanks, that when she turns back to her task she realizes that she's lost her quarry. Nalatine pants with stress, frowning as she swallows. Losing her reason won't help. "What have I told you about obeying?" Janus's synthetically filtered voice echoes down the tunnel.

Nalatine gasps, her orange eyes wide, claws gripping at the gridwork of the ceiling panels she rests on. She can't make out where he is, but he clearly knows that she's following him. She creeps along the grating above, until that comes to an end abruptly, forcing her to descend to the tunnel itself. Her feet land in a puddle with a warm splash, and her tail sways behind her. There is little insulation against the vibration of the ship's hull here, and she can feel the occasional rattle and buzz in her bare feet as they press to the metal. "You have given me no order not to follow you" she counters, scenting the air.

"Then I am commanding you to follow me, and to find me."

She snarls with excitement, descending to all fours as she tracks him at a run. The wetness of the environment traps his scent far better than the dry, filtered air on the main deck. Her speed is so great that to corner she must spend a few strides along the walls of the cylindrical tunnels. Minutes more of the chase pass, his swift pace echoing down the dark, wet tunnels, his boots splashing in the puddles as he sprints, exciting her further.

There is a moment at a T intersection when she cannot quite place just where he's gone, and she snorts and lifts up onto her feet, resting a hand on the wall as she looks around. Suddenly there's a small explosion, as if a compressed gas charge has gone off, and the tense, coated metal weave of a net wraps around her tightly. Nalatine cries out and falls heavily onto her side on the wet flooring, the fibers hugging at her body and cocooning her. The net fixes upon itself and keeps her arms trapped against her sides, and her legs and tail are all pressed firmly together.