Sisterhood of the Iron Mind

The metal doors slid open with a pneumatic hiss. In contrast to the rest of the station, the lights inside the security checkpoint were harsh and bright. My pale blue eyes blinked against the sudden transition. There was an open area between a row of lockers and a desk laden with a body scanner. My laser pistol wasn't exactly concealed in the clip holster inside my leggings, but to make sure the guard didn't think I was trying to pull a fast one on him, I raised my forest green hoodie to reveal the weapon.

He was wearing ratty cargo pants with a stained t-shirt under his dull purple jacket. He kept his heavily-bagged eyes fixed on the videoscreen displaying the scanner's output. "You can put that in locker E22. The code will flash on the pad," he said, nodding to the wall behind me.

I turned to identify my locker: floor-level and positioned right in front of the bodyscanner. Realizing the show he wanted me to put on for him, I gritted my teeth and crouched down rather than bending over. I brushed back a lock of chestnut hair that had fallen out of place, then took the holster, pistol still inside, out of my leggings, and placed it in the small opening. As promised, a four-digit code flashed on the number pad once I'd closed the door. I stood back up and turned around, awaiting further instruction.

"Put your hands up behind your head with your elbows out." He grinned at the screen as I complied, commenting, "You've got tits like a Psion."

I was familiar with the vague outlines these bodyscanners produced, but at his comment, a spark of realization ignited a hot flash of embarrassment. Corporate Authorities had strict privacy blockers on their scanners, but they were capable of creating high-resolution images through thin materials like fabric. This station, Extra-Corporate as it was, would have had no qualms about removing the privacy blocker from theirs. His viewscreen was rendering live video of my complete nudity.

His earlier comment was dead-on, of course. I was a Level 3 Warper, a shining example of the correlation between psionic power and asset size. Mine were big enough on their own, but propped up by my underwire shelf bra, they were prominent even under my hoodie, let alone seemingly suspended in front of me for his viewing pleasure.

I felt nothing but burning humiliation at his gaze, knowing the accuracy of his catcalling was purely coincidental. I seethed as he told me to turn around while keeping my hands on my head, presenting my plump ass to him to keep up my facade. I consoled myself with the knowledge that the scanner wasn't showing him my g-string. Once I'd turned back around, he gave a satisfied nod. "Thank you for your cooperation. Please enjoy the facilities."

I let out an indignant huff and pushed through the door on the other side of the room. There were a number of reasons I targeted Extra-Corporate operations like this. Their security was lacking, they had no reach outside of their territory, and they were easy to manipulate. But mostly it was because these fuckers deserved to lose every credit I milked from them. I'd rob this station blind and laugh my way to the next one.

The gambling hall was a vast space at least a hundred meters square with a twenty meter ceiling. The stark metal walls marked the room as a converted storage facility, though a plush red carpet had been rolled across the floor. The place had the same dim lighting as the rest of the station, a power-saving measure which I appreciated; gravity was kept at standard, and even my thin hoodie was easily able to keep me at a comfortable temperature in the slight chill.

I ignored the nearby bar and moved around the card tables, ignoring the cries of euphoria and despair from the players. They were all rough and uncouth, a rogue's gallery of pirates and mercenaries who, for one reason or another, were patronizing an establishment outside the reach of corporate jurisdiction.

Beyond the card tables were the slot machines. Here I would make my fortune. I had been steadily working to repay the loan I'd taken from the Sisterhood to pay for my equipment. Psions were given a standard-issue psysuit, a skintight outfit which would not block psionic output, unlike mundane materials. I had not wanted to advertise my abilities, however, and so I had asked for an even more exotic outfit which looked like normal clothing. But despite using the thinnest fabric possible for my hoodie and leggings and minimizing the quantity of material used for my undergarments, I was still at least five years out from being debt-free.

But today I would be chipping away at it. I picked a slot machine in the middle of the hall, pulling a currency card out of my pocket and placing it in. Then, I bent the fabric of spacetime to create two effects. The first was the simpler; I would interfere with the station's construct's ability to perceive my machine's results as being unusual. It would still see me winning many times my earnings, but it would believe that was acceptable and normal. The second was the far more complicated one: I would make myself supernaturally lucky.

I didn't go for jackpot after jackpot, lest I draw the attention of nearby patrons or the human security patrolling the floor. But slowly but surely, the money on my card grew and grew. I bit back a grin as I remembered the guard at the entrance. He wouldn't be held responsible, of course. But this station might just go under if they didn't have enough cash to cover the losses they were about to incur. Maybe he'd have to take up the brutal life of a pirate once his current employers went out of business.

My starting capital had been meager thanks to a recent payment to the Sisterhood. Not only did I need to send them money to cover the loan, but since I was a freelance Psion, I also needed to cover my yearly contract fee. Or else they'd find me an employer who would. Level 3 Warpers were not in especially high demand compared to other disciplines, so it was manageable. But things were still tight. After about an hour, however, I'd already increased my currency fifty-fold. My probability manipulation kept me from winning more than I could handle the repercussions of, so this operation either had a lot of money to lose, garbage security, or both.

I was interrupted by a man approaching me. At first I thought he was just walking by, but he stopped beside me. I could see that he was big and toned in my peripheral vision, though not overly burly. It was hard to tell who was and wasn't station security thanks to the lack of uniforms, but he gave off a sharper impression than the clowns at this circus. When I didn't turn to him, he spoke in a firm voice over the din of the gambling hall, "Talia, is that you?"

I froze with my hand on the lever, halfway through a pull. I turned to get a better look at him. Gray hair, well-groomed beard the same shade. A scar across the bridge of his nose. He had on a flak vest over a raid jacket and cargo pants, all patterned to interfere with the perception of constructs. His formidable build was evident even under the loose clothing, especially where his corded neck emerged from his collar. But most striking were his hazel eyes. They were oddly familiar.

He broke out into a grin once I'd turned to him, the expression oddly disarming despite his intense features. "Wow, it really is you." Noticing my reaction, his grin deepened and his eyes twinkled with an amusement I recognized as he introduced himself. "It's me, Idris."

I finished my pull, barely registering the jackpot I hit. Almost nothing about him was recognizable from the scrawny teenager I remembered. I used to make fun of him for the streaks of gray he'd already been showing then, but to think he'd gone full silver this fast? Then the beard; stark contrast to the stubble he'd refused to shave out of fruitless hope. The only spot of familiarity was those eyes, still so full of warmth. "Sorry Idris, I didn't recognize you," I replied, taking my card out of the machine and stowing it in my pocket. "What's it been, eight years?"

"Just about." The way this musclebound hunk rubbed the back of his head the same way my waifish Idris used to was uncanny, as was the nervous hesitation in his deepened voice as he continued, "You've, uh, grown a lot." He punctuated the statement with a glance at my figure, though his eyes immediately snapped back up to mine with a flash of worry.

He wasn't the only one who'd changed, of course. I hadn't been much to look at back then, and now I was a full-bodied woman with as many curves as he had muscles. I wondered how many disbelieving looks across the gambling hall he'd taken at me before working up the nerve to confirm his suspicions.

At the idea of Idris stealing glances at me, my charming memories of our shared youth went to the memories of longing. I'd crushed hard on my childhood friend, and now seeing him so grizzled and seasoned, I was filled with the same apprehensive yearning that had overshadowed the last half-year of our friendship. I felt like I was sixteen again, overthinking everything I could say to him.

The silence between us began to strain his warm smile just the way I remembered. I was saved from the unbearable awkwardness by the sounds of explosions and screaming.

Idris shifted gears immediately, turning on a dime to the direction of the noise and reaching into his jacket. He pulled out a weapon he'd somehow slipped past the bodyscanner, reminiscent of a laser pistol but less compact. He kept it pointed up at the ceiling with his finger hovering near but not over the trigger. As I reeled from the surprise at the situation and the sight of the battle-hardened veteran time had turned my Idris into, he stepped toward me and placed an arm around my shoulder, growling, "Let's get to security."

I valiantly kept from swooning in his firm grip, my legs moving in time with him. The tell-tale snaps of laser rifles filled the hall, followed quickly by the smell of lightning. The attackers seemed to be coming from an old cargo bay door on the right wall which had been sealed. Panicked patrons fleeing the violence moved laterally to us, though one look at Idris and they kept out of his way.

Once he was confident I was keeping it together, Idris took his arm off me and put a second hand on his weapon. We reached a lane between the slot machines, and he peeked out around it. He took a deep breath, then barked, "Go!" before leaping out into the space with his weapon ready.

I modulated my probability field to include Idris, then darted across the lane. Ear-splitting booms resounded over my shoulder--was he using a firearm? Personal-use explosion-powered projectile weapons were banned in most Corporate Authorities since they had no power source to detect. And of course, one made out of the right materials wouldn't even show up on a body scanner.

Still, even as my ears rang from the shots, I was grateful for Idris's apparent disdain for the station's security. He quickly joined me on the other side of the lane, putting a hand on the small of my back and urging me forward. I was happy to follow his lead, though I scanned for danger along with him.

We'd almost reached the end of the slots by the time the attackers had crossed enough of the room to reach us. Idris had two firefights on the way. At each one, he interposed himself between me and the attacker, then took his opponent out with a single shot to the head. I was torn between a warm fuzzy feeling at his protectiveness and shock at the methodical lethality he was capable of.

He ejected his weapon's magazine after the second encounter, reaching for a fresh one from inside his jacket. As he did, I noticed another attacker coming out from behind a slot machine. I reached to a nearby drink tray which had been discarded, hefting a shot glass and hurling it as the man aimed his laser rifle at Idris.

It bounced off his forehead with a dull thump, staggering him and giving Idris enough time to finish the job once the fresh magazine was slammed home. Idris turned back to me with surprise, giving an approving nod. "Thanks."

As we continued our advance, I replied with a smug smile, "Can't let you have all the fun." He wasn't the only one who'd gone through combat training, although part of why I'd taken up this line of work was to avoid using it. But fighting side-by-side with Idris was already making me reevaluate that.

We'd reached the end of the slot machines, which left the card tables. Station security was conspicuously absent, though the sound of laser fire from the opposite end of the hall indicated that they'd come in from the far side of the room. Still, that had left the attackers free rein here. We moved from table to table, crouching low to avoid presenting easy targets. Idris occasionally covered our advance with his loud-ass gun; I was definitely going to need to get checked for hearing damage after this.

As I rued my lack of medical insurance thanks to my freelance lifestyle, I stepped on something round and smooth. I noticed it out of the corner of my eye as I fell: a wine bottle. My stomach dropped as I lurched forward. But before I hit the floor, Idris dove into me, pushing us out of the way of a laser shot. We both ended up behind the card table we'd been going for, me on top of him.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his arms still wrapped around me. His cool affect had cracked, and when I looked up I could see horror in his eyes as he considered what would have happened if he'd been a moment late. Before I could feel any guilt at how utterly unconcerned I was thanks to the safety of my probability field, however, I noticed his eyes move up past my head and widen with shock as he stammered, "S-sorry."

I'd landed awkwardly on my knees, Idris pulling my chest to his while he laid on his back. This had left my ass in the air, and though it was still safely under the card table, I felt an odd chill. I reached back and felt bare skin. My apprehension mirrored his as I found a thin strip of fabric. My leggings had managed to ride down my legs in the fall, giving Idris a view of my sapphire blue g-string being devoured by my cheeks.

I managed to reply, "It's fine, I'm fine," as I cringed. I had a perfectly good reason for wearing it, of course, but he didn't know that. He was just seeing his shy childhood friend showing off her fat ass in a g-string. My face was glowing red as I pulled my leggings back up and got off of him.

He apologized again before turning over and getting back into a crouch. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, no-doubt needing to recover from his precious memories of cute little Tally being shattered. Then we continued our trek from table to table.

Wanting to avoid another incident, I watched my footing and tried not to let my mind wander too much. This was somewhat difficult thanks to all of the disappointment I couldn't help but imagine Idris feeling, but the increasingly-frequent report of lasers were a big help. Soon enough, we were facing down the lane between the card tables and the security room.

Idris gritted his teeth, briefly peeking around the table before swiftly returning behind cover. "As you can imagine, they're not keen on people getting to security," he explained. He stroked his beard, his veteran features making the gesture come across as more stately than trite. I had no ideas, nor did I feel any pressure to come up with any since my field would make things work out somehow. So I admired the way his brow furrowed, and the slight purse of his lips as he thought.

There was a loud clang as something impacted off the wall above the security office. A metal cylinder bounced into the middle of the open space. Idris seemed to know what it was, and he was affronted by it, his eyes narrowing as he leaned back with a look of confused surprise. "Where the fuck did that come from?" he demanded.

Smoke began to billow from the cylinder, rapidly obscuring everything from the door to the table we were hiding behind. I held back a chuckle; my powers had summoned a smoke grenade for us. I scooted towards Idris to get ready to move, smiling through the smoke.

The carpet creaked under his shifting weight as he said, "Let's hold hands so we don't get separated." But though my heart skipped a beat at the prospect, his hand missed the mark and swung past mine. Right up my hoodie. The thin fabric readily bunched up, allowing his arm to blindly grope all the way to my breasts. And thanks to how low the cups were, an errant swipe pulled one of them down just before he grabbed a big handful. I gave a small squeak at the feeling of his rough palm on my nipple, now even more affected by his firm grip than when it was on my shoulders.

He paused in confusion at what he'd grabbed at first, then went rigid. "I am so sorry," he gasped, his voice stricken with embarrassment as he jerked his hand away. But the sudden movement only served to pull my hoodie forward, bringing me with it. My breath caught in my throat as the momentum carried my tit right back into him when he stopped to try to free himself. "Fuck. Sorry." He kept his hand open to avoid manhandling me even more.

I shivered at the intimate contact, part of me not wanting it to end. But we needed to get to the door as quickly as we could, so I reached under my hoodie and put my hand around his. I gently guided him back down out of my clothes, letting out the breath I'd been holding once he was free. I laced my fingers into his, whispering, "It's okay." After taking a moment to use my other hand to fix the cup, I said, "Let's move."

He counted down, and we sprung up from our crouch and sped through the smoke. The sounds of battle still echoed around us, but he found the door handle much more easily than my hand. After a soft click, we emerged into the security room, smoke trailing after us. Idris shut the door and locked it, his shoulders drooping in relief. Then he turned to me, asking, "You leave anything here? They took my laser rifle."

"I had a pistol," I replied. Idris moved to the other side of the desk as I turned to the lockers. I still remembered the number (E22), and the code. I replaced the holster in my leggings, then stood up and turned.

Idris was just slinging his rifle over his shoulder. But once it was secure, he regarded the desk's viewscreen with the same disquiet as when he'd seen my g-string. His eyes darted up toward mine, filled with unease, before he swiftly turned on his heel to face the far wall. He didn't even look over his shoulder as he called out, "Sorry."

"Is that thing still on?" I asked in disbelief. I experienced the sensation of falling for the second time today as he gave a mechanical nod, accompanied by another apology. This went beyond my risqué underwear; I'd ambushed him with full frontal nudity. Nevertheless, as I moved up around the desk, there was a tender warmth burning brighter than my embarrassment as I recognized the Idris I remembered. He hadn't even tried to pull a fast one on me and leer at my bare curves. But as I told him it was safe to look and he turned back around--now his face the one burning crimson--I could not help but wonder if he liked what he saw.

"Any idea what's going on?" I asked. I had a few theories, but something told me he had more experience with this sort of thing than me.

He began rifling through the guard's desk in search of something. He did not look up as he replied, "They're too organized and well-equipped to be pirates, and a Corporate Authority wouldn't be attacking the gambling hall. Most likely a competing group is trying to scare away customers, hence all of the collateral damage."

He pulled out a map of the station, which he unfolded on the desk and began poring over. I hovered over his shoulder, scanning it as well. The station was a converted asteroid mine, and there was a long corridor running up from the storage areas bypassing the maze of offices and quarters. He pointed at the other end of it, "My jumpship is at the old personnel docks. If we can make it to there, we'll be home free. I'd rather not wait around and see who wins the fight."