(Author's note: The idea for this series grew out of a writing challenge I posted on the Author's Hangout, here on Lit. It began as a basic premise of being a government agent who travels back in time to fix changes made by an unknown group called the 'Rectifiers,' and blossomed from there.
The TMA – Temporal Management Agency – is a multi-national organization under the auspices of the United Nations, operating from a hidden base in Nebraska, USA. TMA agents are charged with stopping the Rectifiers whenever and wherever they strike. For unknown reasons, the Rectifiers have targeted moments in history, changing events to suit their own unguessable plans. Little is known about the Rectifiers other than the nature of their agents. They come from the future, that much is certain; beyond that, little else is known.
The agents of the TMA utilize a device called the Temporal Probability/Redundancy Field Generator – commonly referred to as the 'Tap' – to look into and travel to the past. The Tap has several limitations: there is a limit as to how long a person can remain in the past – thirteen days – as well as a limit as to how much mass – 220 kilograms –the Tap can sustain at any certain point in time.
This series uses the premise that time travel is only possible into the past, because finding a point in time to travel to also requires that we know where in space the Earth existed at that moment. It cannot be accurately predicted where the Earth will be in the future, so traveling forward along the timestream is not feasible.
Technical details aside, this series addresses the idea of time travel and what could and shouldn't be changed, if one was able to do so. There are several other authors who have their own series of stories based upon this common idea; I encourage you to look for them in the listing of Sci-Fi/Fantasy stories.)
From the Files of the Temporal Management Agency
Agent Dylan Moon, Case #1
"Director, there's a problem."
Radha Naveen sighed as she blinked open her eyes. Too much to think that I could get away with a fifteen-minute nap, she thought. She eased up from the curved leather couch in her office – a gift from her therapist – and swung her legs to the floor. Tired eyes regarded the young Swede in the blue jumpsuit uniform.
"This better be good," she said.
The young man, impressively tall and muscular, nodded quickly. "Dr. Jasper was, um, pretty animated about it." He spoke with only the slightest Scandinavian accent.
Despite her sense of annoyance, Radha could not help but chuckle at the sentry's words. "Jasper is always animated," she commented. She pushed herself to her feet, wincing at the tightness in her neck. Rubbing the base of her shoulders, she followed the sentry into the halls. The circular tunnels, dug deep below ground, had been painted in soft hues of amber and ochre, the floor green to remind the occupants of the base of grass. Radha had always considered the color scheme of the TMA headquarters a noble, but ultimately useless, gesture.
Respectful greetings met her ears as she followed the sentry. To each salutation of "Director" or "Colonel Naveen," Radha merely nodded, or muttered a non-commital return. She was well-known for her brevity and curtness; no one was insulted by her short responses.
It took only a few turns and a single level's descent before the sentry lead Radha to Looking Glass, where numerous large screens were arrayed about a central hub. Technicians in their grey uniforms were at work upon their terminals as they monitored the flashing images. More so than usual, the activity on the screens seemed very chaotic to the Director. She flinched at the erratic display.
Darting from one terminal to another, and snapping his head back and forth from one screen to another, was Dr. Phineas Jasper. The quintessential mad scientist, Jasper was a tall, lanky man with short-cropped hair the color of a blizzard – which was the best way to describe how the man acted and thought.
"What's going on, Phin?" she called.
He shot up a cautionary hand, not looking to Radha, but acknowledging her presence. "Just a moment," he said, and snapped a few words to the technicians. It was all a ramble of techno-babble to the Director. Mustering her patience – not an easy thing for Radha – she crossed her arms and waited.
Finally, Jasper looked to her, a flustered expression on his face. For Phin, that was normal, but in the five years Radha had known him, she had learned to notice the subtle differences in the doctor's expressions. "It's a major event, Radha," he said. Jasper was one of the few within the Temporal Management Agency who addressed her informally. "We're getting total cascade failure throughout the timestream."
Her surprise was not telling upon her face, save for the raising of a single, thin eyebrow. "'Total?'" she asked.
Jasper huffed. "It's incredible! Ridiculous! Dozens of events throughout time, simultaneously changed!"
Now, Radha did show some concern, stepping forward. "How is that possible?"
"Dr. Jasper," interrupted one of the technicians, a pudgy Argentinian named Cuellar. "We're getting time-locks on every event."
"WHAT!" cried Radha in alarm.
Jasper slapped his hand to his forehead in relief. "Oh, thank God," he sighed.
Radha's flabbergasted expression was clearly readable as she glared at the senior scientist. "What the hell do you mean, 'thank God!'" she snapped. "Time-locks prevent us from heading back to correct the anomalies!"
Jasper chuckled under his breath, planting his hands on his hips. "Think about it, Radha," he said. "What is the only thing that causes time locks?"
Radha frowned, thinking. Then realization spread across her features. "The presence of an agent."
"Exactly," said Jasper. "An agent of the TMA. One we haven't taken on board yet, otherwise we would have been able to figure out who it was through a simple head count."
Radha pursed her lips. "So the Rectifiers have killed a future agent," she mused. "That doesn't make any sense. By killing him, they've erased every mission he'll ever complete. No wonder there's a total cascade failure. So many events in history changed . . . no doubt some of them contradict other events."
Jasper nodded again, observing the scenes. "Well, the good news is that we have thirteen days to find and save him."
Radha gritted her teeth a moment. "And the bad news is, if we don't find him, reality as we know it is going to end."
"Actually, it will have never happened," corrected the scientist.
Radha frowned. "I hate it when you do that," she said.
Jasper snickered quietly. I know . . . .
***
Oh, damn, this is the best fucking blowjob I've ever gotten . . . .
Watching her soft pink lips as they slowly devoured his cock was an inspirational sight, especially considering how she kept her iridescent blue eyes on his while she did it. Not even when the head of his throbbing shaft eased into her throat did Corinna show any evidence of discomfort. In fact, her lips curled in a tiny smile as they wrapped around the root of his cock.
"Jesus," muttered Brandon, stroking the blonde's short, thick hair. The massaging motions of her tongue, combined with the caressing, swallowing action of her throat made for the most sensuous pleasure the young man had ever known.
Keeping her eyes on her lover's face and his cock firmly seated in her gullet, Corinna ran her hands up and down the man's well-defined torso and thighs, lighting up his nerves. She felt his fully-laden balls draw up against her chin, evidencing a premature eruption. Too soon, the woman thought, and slid her mouth back up his shaft, leaving it glistening with her saliva.
"Fuck!" groaned Brandon, writhing beneath her. He arched his back, trying to return his cock to the warm wet depths of Corinna's throat. But with a wicked grin on her slightly-lined face, she pushed him back down, kissing the tip of his cock as it slid free of her lips. Her eyes flashed with interest as his phallus remained standing straight.
"Damn, you're really hard," she commented, fluttering her tongue all around the bulging head. "You really wanna cum, don't you?"
The young man squirmed. "Hell, yeah, I do!" he exclaimed, giving Corinna a pleading look. "God damn, baby, where'd you learn to give such good head?"
Corinna sat up between Brandon's spread legs, a self-impressed smile on her face. Her small breasts still sat high and firm on her chest, thanks to a strict exercise regime. Uncommonly fit for a woman in her late thirties, Corinna Bellew's muscular tone was obvious in her strong arms, lean legs, and flat stomach. The college-aged man beneath her certainly admired her body as his eyes drank her in.
"Well," she said, lightly stroking his slick cock with both hands. "I have been giving blowjobs for about as long as you've been alive, sweetie."
Brandon laughed, but his mirth faded somewhat as he noted the skull-and-dagger tattoo on her left shoulder. "Were you really, like, a commando and all that?" he asked.
Corinna bit her lip, cocking her head as she stroked the young man's phallus in a progressively tighter hand-over-hand motion that had him sighing in pleasure. "Eleven years active duty," she said. "Eighteen Delta."
Brandon frowned. "Eighteen what?"
Corinna winked as she bent over him again. "Special forces, baby," she whispered, then engulfed his cock once more, suddenly sucking hard and fast, bobbing her head up and down. Her hair fluttered around her head like wings, hiding her face from view. But the insistent sucking sounds of her mouth, punctuated by a series of muffled moans, were just as erotic to Brandon as watching her.
"Uhn! Oh! Fuck!" he groaned through clenched teeth, feeling his cock tingle in the woman's mouth. Sorority girls certainly never gave head like this, he knew. He felt only the tight, hot, wet pulling sensations; no teeth at all. Just erotic, velvet smoothness.
Corinna slurped her mouth off his cock, sitting up once again. Her mouth was wet, her face flushed with arousal and the effort she was making. Her eyes blazed with lust as she pumped Brandon's cock rapidly.
"Do you wanna cum, baby?" she asked.
He moaned and managed to croak out a response: "Please!"
Corinna grinned mischievously. "Oh, yeah?" she purred. "And just where do you wanna cum, baby? Where do you wanna shoot your load?"
Brandon trembled at Corinna's dirty talk. He humped his hips up, watching the woman's wet fists pumping up and down. On each upstroke, her thumb rubbed the underside of his crown, making him flinch. "Oh, God," he mumbled, feeling the pressure build.
"Come on, sweetie," cooed Corinna, lowering her head slowly, keeping her eyes on his face. She licked her lips slowly. "Tell me where you wanna do it . . . ."
Brandon huffed, his body tensing, vibrating. "Y-y-yes, do it like that," he said hurriedly.
"Like what?" she whispered hotly, smacking her fists up and down. Her mouth hung open just over his cock.
"Oh, Jesus!" groaned Brandon, arching his back. "Suck it, baby! I'm gonna cum!"
Corinna grinned, loving the way this young man capitulated to her, the way he so desperately needed her to bring him pleasure. He was at her mercy, she knew, and there were times when she loved to draw out the torture, really make them beg. But at the moment, Corinna wanted Brandon's orgasm just as much as he did.
"Uhmm," she moaned, wrapping her mouth tightly around the straining head, stroking the shaft rapidly with one hand while gently kneading his taut testicles with the other. She lashed her tongue around the slit of his cock and kept up a steady stream of yearning moans, all of which heightened Brandon's release to the fullest.
There came an initial warm spurt of musky fluid, and Brandon slapped his hands to the mattress as he cried out in ecstasy. His back arched deeply, but Corinna stayed with him, keeping just the head of his cock in her mouth. She savored the bittersweet flavor of him, then moaned again as a near-torrential flood of thick sperm filled her mouth.
"Oh God oh fuck shit yeah yeah yeah!" babbled the young man, shaking in pleasure. His face held a pained expression as he watched Corinna devouring him, and with the way she sucked and tugged on his now incredibly sensitive cock, the sensations were made exquisitely intense. His cock began burning as Corinna stopped her stroking and massaged the head and first inch with her lips and tongue.
"Stop baby stop baby," he pleaded, reaching for her head with his hands.
Corinna laughed softly through her nose, glowing with pride at how she had reduced this gorgeous Adonis beneath her to a begging, squirming mass of complacent meat. She sat up once more, softly stroking Brandon's softening cock. A long trail of whitish fluid dangled from her pursed lips, then hung off her chin. She didn't wipe it away as she swished Brandon's cum in her mouth, letting it soak into her cheeks. Eventually, the strand snapped, falling onto her upper thigh.
Brandon panted for breath, watching his lover with dazed interest. He had been a little hesitant about letting an older woman pick him up earlier that evening, but now he was incredibly grateful for his good fortune. He doubted he could go back to giggling, inexperienced college girls after this night.
"Shit, you're a kinky babe," he muttered, then laughed drunkenly, letting his head fall back. His vision was blurry, his ears plugged with fluid. He heard little more than the relentless pounding of his own heart, slowly receding with the passing moments.
Corinna laughed through her closed mouth again, then tapped his abdomen to get Brandon's attention. Wearily, he lifted his head, giving the mature beauty a questioning look. Locking his eyes with hers, Corinna made a show of sucking in her cheeks and swallowing the young man's cum. It slithered warmly down her throat, and Corinna sighed, smacking her lips. She stuck out her tongue as further proof that not a drop remained, and grinned wickedly.
Brandon swooned. "Oh, fuck . . . ."
Corinna giggled, then crawled up over the young man, leaving small, soft kisses from his balls to his neck. She didn't try to kiss him on the lips; 21-year-old college kids, in her experience, were none to fond of the taste of their own semen, however slight it might be on her mouth.
"Mmm, that was nice, baby," she whispered in her young lover's ear, brushing his skin with her lips.
"That was . . . incredible . . . what it was," Brandon said with a euphoric laugh. "I'm spoiled for life." He brought up lazy hands and clumsily caressed Corinna's slender body.
She lifted her head and smiled on him, brushing her hair back behind her ear. "Well, I hope you're not done, yet, big boy," she said. "'Cause now you owe me."
Brandon grinned. "Gimme about five minutes, babe," he promised.
Corinna emitted a catlike purr as she stretched atop her young stud, straddling his thighs. She felt the sticky head of his cock against her protruding clit. "Would it help if I told you how I want to fuck you?" she asked.
Brandon shuddered in arousal. God damn, this bitch is hot! he thought. "Tell me."
"Well, first I wanna – fuck!" she exclaimed as she heard the muffled 'Mission Impossible' theme trilling from her jeans laying on the floor of the cluttered apartment. With a huff, she pushed herself up and scrambled off the bed, uncaring in her nudity.
Brandon sat up in alarm. "So do I, babe," he said, watching as the nude woman bent and took up her cell-phone from its pouch on the belt of her jeans. "Hey, come on, Cori. It can't be that imp—" he stopped abruptly, intimidated by the stern look of warning she gave him.
Corinna snapped open the phone and listened. She did not say a word as for about ten seconds, then flipped the tiny device closed. She sighed heavily, then took up her jeans, stepping into them.
"What!" cried Brandon, jumping to the floor. "You're leaving?"
Corinna gave the young man a sheepish look as she snapped her jeans closed around her waist. The aroma of her aroused pussy was still palpable around her. "Sorry, stud, but duty calls," she said simply, snatching up her pale blue blouse and leather jacket.
"Well . . . will you come back later?" he asked, a hopeful look in his eyes.
Corinna smiled patronizingly as she buttoned up her blouse. "Probably not, baby." She slipped her jacket around her shoulders, looked for her flats.
Brandon sputtered, genuinely hurt, blinking in astonishment as Corinna sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her shoes on. "Wh-what . . . what the fuck do you do that they gotta call at eleven-thirty at night and you just gotta go?"
Corinna arched an eyebrow. "I'm not gonna tell you, and you don't wanna know," she said.
Brandon scoffed, rolling his eyes. But the expression on the older woman's face told him she was not joking. He swallowed nervously.
Corinna smiled and stood, nearly as tall as her naked lover. She gave him a peck on the cheek, then impulsively fondled his dangling dick. With a quick squeeze upon his tumescent shaft, she grinned and stepped back. "Maybe we'll catch up some day," she said, opening Brandon's bedroom door. "You still owe me a fuck."
Leaving the young man gape-mouthed and wanting, Corinna headed through the apartment the college student shared with his room mate. There were a couple of other young men on the couch, playing a video game, yet all three abandoned the game and watched Corinna as she strode through the room. There was no doubt that they had heard Brandon through the thin walls as Corinna had pleasured him. Envy was unmistakable in their eyes.
"'Night, boys," she said with a wink, then opened the door and left.
Three pairs of eyes, and three slack-jawed faces stared at the door as it closed. No one noticed Brandon enter the room, sweat pants keeping him decent, until he spoke.
"Now that's a real woman, guys," he said, puffing his chest.
"Damn . . . ." the other three said in unison.
***
The drive from Omaha to the small town of Discovery took about an hour, long enough for Corinna to masturbate to a couple of small, yet essentially satisfying, orgasms to satisfy her insistent libido. Passing through the ghost town that Discovery (population 3,142) was at such a late hour, she finally arrived at a small building surrounded by cornfields, adjacent to a sealed-over missile silo that had been built in the sixties.
The parking lot of the 'Amalgamated Products' building held about two dozen other vehicles, the majority of them the same standard, unimpressive, commonly-seen cars such as Corinna's Celica. There was a reason for that: anonymity. The Temporal Management Agency existed because its members were so mundane on paper so as to escape the notice of anyone looking for them.
With a slightly frustrated grunt, Corinna stepped out of her car and headed to the entrance. While she understood that her life as a TMA agent meant she was entrusted with secrets and responsibility reserved for only a select few, it still irked her that her evening had been interrupted.
Couldn't they have called just half an hour later? Even fifteen minutes would have been enough! Jeez . . . .
She stepped through the revolving glass door at the entrance, knowing that hidden scanners were reading her body heat, mass, and basic molecular composition. Down a garishly-lit hallway she walked, past a security desk that was ever actually manned, to a small door at the far end.
She gripped the stainless steel doorknob, knowing that sensors within it were reading her palm print. It took a few seconds, but then the door unlocked and she found herself in a bare, ten-by-ten-foot room.
"Command," she said aloud. More hidden sensors read her voiceprint, further confirming her identity. By now, the base would know it was her, and the elevator would—
There came a gentle humming sound, and Corinna felt the room descend. The further down she went into the earth, the more her concerns for her night faded away. She was 'on the job,' now. Only thoughts concerning her role within the TMA, as a seasoned field agent, entered her mind.
When the wall separated at the other end from the door, and Corinna heard the conversational buzz of technicians, soldiers, and scientists echoing through the halls, she was a single-minded woman, making her way through the tubular tunnels that had been dug through rock more than two hundred feet below ground. Not one of the uniformed personnel she passed – and gave short nods or quick greetings to – gave a second look at her mode of dress; the field agents of the TMA were seen as casual, eccentric, and often irreverent. At least one was even known to stroll through the halls with a katana strapped to her back.
Finally, Corinna found herself at the arched entrance of the Command Room, where she passed between a pair of burly, stoic sentries in their blue coveralls and automatic rifles held at attention. The table within the room was large enough to seat a dozen people, yet only two figures occupied a pair of chairs at the far end: the Director, Col. Radha Naveen, formerly of the British Armed Forces, and the American scientist, Dr. Phineas Jasper. The dark-skinned colonel, with her long, thick hair braided behind her, gave Corinna an expectant look as she entered.
"Agent Bellew," she said by way of greeting.
Corinna's upper lip twitched slightly in irritation; The Director's decidedly European accent, combined with her penchant for brevity, made her pronounce Corinna's last name as 'blew.' At the moment, Corinna actually found that funny, considering what she had finished doing when she had been summoned.
Corinna nodded professionally, standing at attention. "Director."
The Director smiled thinly, gestured to the unoccupied chairs. "At ease, Captain," she said, referring to Corinna's previous rank with the US Army. "Have a seat."
Corinna gave another nod, then slid out a chair at the end of the table and sat. She waited for Colonel Naveen to begin.
"You have a very impressive record with the TMA," the Director continued, folding her hands over a closed file atop the table before her. "In four years, you have earned a near-perfect record."
"Thanks you, Ma'am," Corinna responded.
"There is a very serious situation at hand," Naveen said, her eyes steady as she watched the slightly-younger woman. "The Rectifiers have apparently targeted and terminated an agent of the TMA. He was killed nine hours ago. It has taken us that long to determine who it was they killed."
Corinna bristled slightly. She had come to see her fellow agents – few as they were – as brothers and sisters. The thought of one of them having been killed by a Rectifier agent sent her pulse pumping. "Who was it?"
The Director opened the file before her. "Dylan Moon," she said, glancing perfunctorily at the documents before her as she flipped through them slowly. "Seven-year veteran with the San Antonio police department, twenty-two-year vet with the FBI. He has a phenomenally impressive record."
Corinna frowned, searching through her memory. "Director," she said at last. "I know everyone in the TMA. I've never heard of Agent Moon."
Dr. Jasper grinned his usual irreverent smile as he lounged in his chair. "That's because he hasn't been recruited, yet," he said.
Corinna frowned in confusion, an unspoken question in her mind.
The Director continued: "Dylan Moon is not yet a member of the TMA, though he will be, and must be," she said, stressing that single word. "His future actions need to be insured, if the timestream is to be maintained. For that reason, we have selected you to contact him, bring him in, and convince him that his future lies with the TMA."
Corinna nodded cynically. It would not be the first time she had been assigned a mission based upon her skills at seduction. For a moment, she allowed herself to remember those scant few days as Jack Kennedy's nurse in 1943 . . . "Of course," she said.
Col. Naveen leaned forward on the table. "We will need you at the top of your game, as they say," she said. "Mr. Dylan Moon is an aged man. He is currently 73 years old. Despite what you may think, your . . . bedroom manner is not specifically required for this mission. Your skills as an agent, a combatant, are."
Corinna took a breath. Strangely enough, she felt immense pride that she had been chosen not because she was 'good in the sack,' but because she still possessed the skills honed through years as a special forces soldier. Corinna smiled genuinely. "Thank you, Director," she said. "I won't let the TMA down."
"I sure as hell hope not," Jasper chimed in with a typically flippant reply. "'Cause if you screw up, it's everyone's ass."
***
Six hours later, Corinna stepped into the Tap Chamber, clad in her assigned attire. She carried no weapons on her, as was typical for an agent being sent through time and space. In fact, once she arrived at her destination, twenty-seven hours in the past and more than a thousand miles distant, she would blend in well with the local population of Seguin, Texas, a small town just at the fringes of the San Antonio metropolis.
Corinna shifted a bit in the tight Wrangler jeans, frilly pink blouse, and brown leather cowboy boots into which her jeans were tucked. She looked dubiously to the edge of the brim of the straw cowgirl hat that sat perched on her head. "Are you sure about this?" she asked aloud, knowing that anything she said could be heard in the control booth just above and behind her.
Col. Naveen's voice echoed through the hidden speakers in the spartan room: "Your best bet is to contact him at his ranch," she said. "He had placed an ad in the local newspaper asking for a general assistant. Horse riding and breaking, basic ranch management—"
Corinna spun around and faced the broad window above her, through which she could see Col. Naveen. "I haven't ridden a horse in almost fifteen years," she said. "The only riding I'm good at is on a horizontal stallion, if you get my meaning."
Even through nearly opaque indestructible plexiglass and a distance of more than thirty feet, Corinna could see the smirk on the Director's face. "Well, that may come in handy, too," she said. "Look, all you need to do is get close to him – by whatever means necessary – and protect him from the Rectifiers. Dr. Turgenyev's speculations are that he will agree to join the TMA once the truth of the Rectifiers has been made known to him."
Corinna's shoulders slumped a bit as she sighed. "Is Dr. T sure about this?"
At her question, a stoop-shouldered man in a white lab coat appeared beside the Director. As always, Dr. Andrej Turgenyev looked like he was six seconds from death, with his pale face and sunken eyes. He leaned toward the microphone on its long, flexible stalk.
"Yes, I am," he said simply. "All of my permutations lead to the same result."
Corinna sighed. Had those words come from anyone else, she would have been skeptical. But Turgenyev was the reason the TMA existed. Jasper may have perfected some of the Tap's applications, but the theories and workings behind the Temporal Probability/Redundancy Field Generator – the device that allowed time travel into the past possible – were almost entirely due to the work of the Lithuanian scientist. Since Hawking, since Einstein, since Tesla and Newton, there was no greater scientist than Turgenyev. As far as scientific applications went, the frail-looking genius was God.
Corinna nodded and stood in the center of the room, at the point where the four ominous-looking nodes mounted on the dark-painted walls were directed. "Okay. I'm ready."
A moment later, the faint whir of powerful motors could be heard beyond the walls, building up in pitch and power. Corinna felt the tingling sensation of static electricity playing over her body.
"Godspeed, Agent Bellew," came the Director's voice.
Corinna grimaced. I gotta teach her how to say my name right, she thought, just before the brilliant arcs of electricity lanced forth from the nodes and lit up the room with their brilliant display. Corinna convulsed for a brief moment, until the blue-grey halo of light opened around her, consuming her. Corinna gritted her teeth, held out against the pain . . . .
And vanished.
***
With a gasp of pain mingled with relief, Corinna fell to her hands and knees on the ground. She felt the nausea, and the trickling, prickling sensation of electricity across her body, waited for it all to fade. After four years of enduring such jaunts through time, Agent Bellew no longer gave in to the need to vomit, and her equilibrium returned rather quickly. Following a few deep breaths – inhaling the aromas of pine, mesquite, and horse manure – Corinna righted herself, and stood, finally opening her eyes.
She found herself on a country road, flanked on either side by broad horse pastures. A look down one direction gave her nothing but a winding road that vanished with the horizon; but a glance the other way showed her a large ranch house, no more than a hundred meters distant. There was an old truck – from the seventies, she figured – and a slightly newer sedan sitting on the simple gravel driveway near the front porch.
"Okay, Cori, here we go," she said to herself, and touched the implant behind her right ear. "Testing, testing, testing," she repeated, until her voice carried the inflections of an East Texas accent. She smirked, then rolled her eyes. Jeez, now I'm a Texan, she thought, and strode forward.
***
Just before knocking on the frame beside the screen door, Corinna made sure the synthflesh mask she wore was smooth and uniform. The goal had been to look like some fresh-off-the-farm country girl, not a middle-aged thirtysomething with crow's feet and smoker's wrinkles. A young woman would rouse less suspicions than a woman of Corinna's true age. And while she had the body to perfect the ruse, age had still begun to show around Corinna's eyes and mouth. Thus, the synthflesh mask.
Satisfied that she looked the part, Corinna effected a girlish stance, pushing her chest out and her firm buttocks back, and knocked on the frame.
After another knock, the door opened, and Corinna was surprised – pleasantly so – to see a well-built man, in his late twenties or perhaps early thirties, muscular but not overly so, with short black hair and a somewhat oval face. He had shimmering dark brown eyes and a confident curl to his lips.
"Can I help you?" he asked. His voice held no territorial accent; he sounded to Corinna as if he had been raised in the Midwest, or perhaps even the East Coast.
"Er, yeah," Corinna said, the implant converting her responses into typical East Texan parlance. "I'm here 'bout the ad y'all placed in the paper. Wantin' reliable ranch hands an' all."
The young man looked Corinna over briefly, but not in a way that he seemed to be assessing her sexually. It was more of a clinical look. "Been around horses much?" he asked.
Corinna smiled broadly. "All my life," she declared. "Hell, last year's rodeo, I broke three broncs myself."
He chuckled softly, slowly smiling as he pushed open the door. "What's your name?" he asked.
Corinna stepped up, letting her outstretched hand lead the way. "Cori," she said. "Cori Bellew."
His smile grew. "Bellew," he repeated, pronouncing her name correctly. "That's a good Texas name. I'm Dylan."
Corinna's smile faltered slightly, but she hid it through a forced smile as she squeezed the young man's hand. Dylan, she thought. That's Agent Moon's first name. But if this guy is seventy-three years old, I'm a freaking nun . . . .
"Nice to meet'ya, Dylan," she said.
***
He lead her into the spacious kitchen, after a quick tour of the living room, study, and dining room. The house had all the expected clutterings of a man in his seventh decade: pictures, most in black and white, framed in ornate rectangles and ovals on the walls, showing men and women from a bygone era as they posed stoically. A venerable gramophone sat upon a claw-footed table near a glass-doored display case filled with porcelain figurines and old wooden hand carvings. The patterns of the furniture, rugs and even the carpet suggested an eye from decades past. Even the wallpaper looked like something only seen in movies from the mid-sixties.
"Iced tea?" Dylan asked as he turned his back to Corinna, opening an avocado-colored refrigerator.
For a moment, the TMA agent could not help but admire the trim, athletic form of the man before her, the way his jeans – obviously, he had worn them often for several years – conformed themselves to his taut buttocks. Quickly, however, Corinna returned her mind to business.
"Sure, thanks a bunch," she said, frowning at her own words. This damn implant's making me sound like an idiot, she thought.
Dylan turned back, holding a pitcher in his hand. His green eyes sparkled as he smiled, an almost patronizing look. "It's Lipton," he said. "Still want some?"
Corinna blushed despite herself. "Sure," she said.
Smirking, he poured two glasses, set one before Corinna. "So, Cori," he said. "Let's get to the point. I'm a pretty busy guy, and I need someone who can help maintain the ranch. I've got eleven horses, a few of them geldings, some pretty old. I—"
Corinna interrupted after a brief sip of the sweet tea. "Um, I hope y'all will pardon me," she said. She worked her mouth and eyebrows for a moment. "But I thought Mr. Moon was, um, kind'a up there, know what I mean? Not that I'm complainin' one bit, I just, you know, wanna make sure I'm talkin' to the right guy."
Dylan paused a moment, his face unreadable. "Are you from around here?" he asked.
Corinna shrugged. "Well, kind'a. I grew up in Texarkana, been livin' in Hondo," she said, calling upon the information the implant gave her.
Dylan's lips split in a smile, and he looked down, chuckling softly as he rolled the glass of tea in his hands. "Nice town," he said, then lifted his head, meeting Corinna's eyes. "Yeah, I guess you might have heard of my old man. He passed away about ten years ago, left me the ranch."
Corinna smiled with both sympathy and self-admonishment. "Aw, jeez, Mr. Moon, I didn't know. I'm really sorry."
Dylan shrugged. "Life goes on," he said. "Anyway, this is my place, now. No reason to change the name of the ranch, since we have the same initials. I am a junior, after all." He winked as he spoke the last few words.
Corinna smiled. "True enough," she said, even as thoughts began tumbling through her mind: Okay, so this is Dylan Moon's son. Is he the guy I'm supposed to save? And if so . . . damn, Old Man Moon must have been at least forty, maybe even fifty when he knocked up the wife . . . .
"Let me give you a tour of the place," Dylan said, setting his glass aside and offering his hand. "See if you feel up to what I need done around here. I'm not making any promises; I've got a few more interviews before I make my decision."
Corinna rose, taking Dylan's hand. The man had a firm grip; his fingers were visibly callused. No stranger to hard work, is Mr. Dylan Moon, Jr., she thought. She found his eyes mesmerizing, his presence powerful and commanding. Even after a lifetime of being around men used to being in command – few of whom had earned Capt. Corinna Bellew's respect – she realized she was impressed by this simple man. And perhaps even a little aroused.
***
He showed Corinna around the ranch, took her through the barn and introduced her to Hal, Emma, Wildfire, Rusty, Milky Way, Stardust, and the other horses. Most extended their muzzles in invitation, and Corinna giggled as they ate sugar cubes from her palm. She patted their neck and flanks, stepped into the stalls with some of them. She was glad for her own basic experience with horses and the technical information the implant provided. Between that and her gift for acting, she felt she was convincing Mr. Dylan Moon, Jr., that she knew a thing or two about horses.
And then came the question she had been dreading.
"Care to take a ride?" he asked as they both petted Stardust's neck. The roan mare snorted as if offering her own opinion.
Corinna blinked briefly, calling upon the information within her implant. "Sure," she said at last. "I'll take Stardust."
Dylan nooded. "And I'll take Rusty."
***
Corinna was surprised at how well she took to the saddle. Even though she had not ridden a horse since she had visited her uncle's farm after college, it felt comfortable to grace the stiff leather and gather the reigns in her hands. And, thanks to her memories and the implant, she was able to guide her mount in a way that seemed natural. After only a few miles, Corinna was truly enjoying herself, and rode the mare with relative ease.
Returning to the barn, Dylan rode up beside Corinna, an approving smile on his face. "It's been a while since I've seen someone handle a horse like you," he said.
Corinna blushed. "Been a while since I really enjoyed it," she said honestly, then checked herself. "I-I mean . . . you know . . . ."
Dylan laughed. "Riding broncos isn't the same as taking the saddle on a broken horse," he said. "I know. All my horses are bridle-wise. You won't have to do any breaking here."
Corinna laughed. "Thank God!" she exclaimed. "I've had all I want in them damn rodeos." She cast a sly look to Dylan, more than conscious of the burgeoning attraction that had been fomenting over the previous two hours. "So . . . you sayin' I got the job?"
Dylan chuckled softly, letting his eyes wander over the apparently young woman. "Just one more thing," he said.
Corinna bit her lip, anticipating what that 'one more thing' might be, wistfully hoping that it lay between Mr. Dylan Moon, Jr.'s legs.
***
He slapped a thick, sudsy sponge into her hand and smiled upon Corinna. "I need to know that you understand how to tend to the horses after a ride," he said, stepping back as they stood in the barn's causeway. "Come back to the house when you're done."
Corinna said nothing as she watched Dylan walk past her and out of the barn. The sponge splattered thick, soapy suds on her boots. Her fantasies of all-out sex in the hayloft were completely dashed, replaced with redirected frustration. She looked to Rusty in his pen, who snorted and pawed at the ground. Her eyes narrowed.
"Oh, shut up," she snapped, opening the gate and stepping close to the stud. "And don't get any ideas . . . ."
***
She was sure she reeked of horse-sweat as she made her way back to the ranch house, letting herself through the back door of the kitchen. However, whatever gamey aroma she may have absorbed from her new equestrian friends was completely overwhelmed by the aroma of pan-fired bacon, eggs, and sizzling onions.
"All done?" Dylan asked with a glance over his shoulder as he stood over the stove.
Corinna licked her lips for a moment, again admiring the man's firm cowboy ass in his snug jeans. "For now," she managed to say.
Dylan smiled, nudged his chin. "Take a seat," he said. "You've done enough work for today."
Corinna did not have to be told twice. She headed to the small table in the kitchen, covered with a laminated floral-print cloth, and sat down. Two place settings had been set, with a bottle of red wine in between. Quietly, Corinna watched as Dylan moved about the kitchen, getting this and that. She admired the movement of his muscles beneath thin layers of well-worn denim and the cotton shirt he wore. He had broad shoulders, a strong back, thick, muscular thighs. Everything about the man exuded an essence of power of one kind or another.
Eventually, he brought the sizzling pan over to the table and poured generous portions of scrambled eggs and dark, minced sausage onto both their plates. From the fifties-style oven, he took an earthenware pot, and opened it before Corinna to reveal steaming tortillas. He set Tabasco, red pepper flakes, butter, and a dish of shredded Monterey Jack cheese on the table between their place settings, then sat down.
"Dig in," he said with a glowing look upon his smiling face.
For several minutes, they ate in silence. Corinna was famished, she realized. She stuffed as much as she could into her first tortilla and devoured it almost desperately, in between gulps of bitter, yet fresh, iced tea. Dylan watched her with a smile as he tended more laboriously to his meal.
"Do you like it here?" he asked after Corinna had finished her first tortilla and was loading up the second.
She paused, made an effort to slow her movements. She felt her cheeks blushing, which she knew would be translated through the synthflesh. "I really do, Mr. Moon," she said. Her eyes flashed up and met his. "I'd really like to work under you . . . I mean, for you."
Dylan pushed the last of his tortilla into his mouth, chewed slowly as Corinna waited. He wiped his fingers on a napkin, then dabbed at his mouth. Finally, he gave Corinna a direct look.
"Riding and grooming the horses is only a part of the job," he said. "There's feeding them, and keeping the stalls clean. Letting them out and keeping an eye on them while they play. Not to mention that Hal's getting up there in years, and he sometimes needs a little help relieving his bowels."
Corinna held down her revulsion at the images that last statement brought to mind. "I been around, Mr. Moon," she said confidently. "There ain't been nothin' a horse could do – good or bad – that I ain't seen." She held Dylan's gaze, hoping her ruse – and her stomach – could convince the man.
Dylan's face became stoic and unreadable then as he leaned back, regarding the 'young woman' with a clinical eye. Corinna stayed silent, letting the man make up his mind. She understood that anything she said at that point would be seen as being either desperate or hyperbole.
Finally, he smiled, and relaxed. "There's something about you, Cori," he said. "Something I can't quite figure out. But at the same time, I trust you. So, here's the deal: two-fifty a week; you stay here, rent-free. I have a spare room upstairs. Up at five every morning, you take care of the horses, ride them, watch them, groom and feed them. You're done by three every day. You don't have to worry about the house; I'll take care of that. Deal?"
Corinna grinned and offered her hand. "Deal, Mr. Moon," she said.
He took her hand, and they shook. "Call me Dylan," he said, then winked. "'Mr. Moon' makes me feel old."
Corinna laughed softly. "You got it."
***
The room was pretty basic; a simple, queen-sized bed, an old dresser and matching vanity that had obviously been made at least a good three or four decades before. There was a musty smell of age in the room that was not unpleasant, but neither did it do anything for the sexual fantasies Corinna had been harboring all day for her 'employer.'
Just as well, she thought, taking up her phone once she returned from the shower down the hall. She let the clean white towel that she had wrapped around her body drop as soon as she closed the bedroom door, and paced back and forth in the nude, peripherally watching shafts of moonlight as they lit up her bare legs, hips and abdomen.
"Agent Bellew," she said, then gave her security code. There was silence on the other end for a few moments before a voice filled her ear.
"Have you made contact?" came the Director.
Corinna was momentarily surprised at the sound of Col. Naveen's voice. On every other mission, whenever she'd called Command, it had been a case worker or mission specialist she had spoken with. Never the Director herself.
"Eh . . . yes, ma'am," Corinna said, composing herself quickly and falling into 'debriefing' mode. She forgot about the phonetic implant as she continued: "But I think y'all got yer information a bit screwed up, y'know?"
"How's that?" asked the Director, not bothered in the least by her agent's speech patterns.
"Well, the guy I met sure ain't no old fart," Corinna prattled. "He can't be more'n thirty or so. He told me he's the junior to his daddy, and that papa kicked the bucket 'bout ten years back."
There was a pause on the other end. "We have no records of Dylan Moon's death," the Director finally said. "Can you verify that the man you met is Moon's son?"
Corinna sighed. "I suppose I could get a DNA sample somehow," she said. "Might be tricky, though. But there's no way in hay-ell that this dude's seventy-three years old. Plastic surgery can do wonders, sure, but Dylan's got a bod that no old man could have."
"Perhaps he was lying about his father's death? To protect him?"
"That's what I been thinking," said Corinna. "'Course, now I gotta get Junior to fess up 'bout the old man's whereabouts, and soon."
"You only have eighteen hours, Agent Bellew," the Director reminded.
"I'll find Dylan Moon," vowed Corinna. "Agent out." She ended the call, regarding the device in her hand. More than merely a cell-phone that could call the future (well, only TMA headquarters), it was also a temporal tracker, able to find people and objects that have traveled through the past . . . or people whose DNA profiles were on file with the TMA. The only problem, of course, was that Moon's DNA was not yet on file. Still . . . .
She activated the tracker, and the tiny screen transformed to a grid with a red line sweeping around a central point. The range of the tracker was only about thirty meters, and as Corinna had expected, it showed nothing. With a sigh, she snapped it closed, then regarded the bed dubiously. The sheets looked clean, but the blanket was obviously old and a little musty.
Corinna had long before gotten into the habit of sleeping in the nude, but eyeing the bed, images of spiders and roaches entered her mind. Retrieving her shirt and panties, she slipped them back on and tentatively pulled back the covers. Surprisingly, the bed was comfortable and snug, a good thing given the dropping temperature that was making its chilly way through the old house's walls.
Still, despite the comfort, it took a while before Corinna fell asleep.
***
Years as a soldier had made Corinna used to rising early in the morning. During basic training, she had gotten up at 4:30 every a.m., and that had become habit. Corinna's idea of 'sleeping in' was to slip from bed at seven.
Dylan was waiting in the kitchen, toast in the oven and bologna in a pan. Fried bologna was not Corinna's idea of a good breakfast, but she neither wanted to insult her host nor give away that she was not a local Texas girl. So she devoured the two sandwiches Dylan made for her, finding them surprisingly tasty, and washed the meal down with milk.
"Ready for work?" he asked once the plates were cleared away.
Corinna winked, admiring her employer in his rugged jeans and white T-shirt that hugged his muscular chest and arms. Nope, definitely not a seventy-three-year-old man, she thought.
"You bet'cha!" she exclaimed enthusiastically.
***
The vagaries of a day's work on a farm were frustrating and strenuous, but Corinna found it to be a challenge. Never one to back down from anything presented to her, Corinna jumped feet-first into her new job. She found the horses easy to work with, and sensed that they liked her. She had to admit that she started to become attached to them almost right away, especially Rusty and Stardust.
However, as the morning waned and the afternoon waxed, Corinna became anxious. A quick glance to her cell told her she had less than four hours before Dylan Moon, Sr., was to be killed. And she still did not know where the old man was. And 'Junior' was not making it easy for her to spend time with him, not even for just a minute or two. He was busy repairing the corral fence, then the well water pump, then he was chopping wood . . . all while Corinna had her hands full with the horses.
Just after one o'clock in the afternoon, Corinna was antsy. She was prepared to go for broke and tell Dylan the truth, just to get him to tell her where his father was. But before she could take such a desperate leap, Dylan approached her as she was grooming Milky Way in the barn.
"Care to take a ride?" he asked, startling her.
Corinna spun around, reflexes kicking in instantly. But she refrained from adopting her practiced defensive stance once she realized who it was that addressed her. "Dylan," she said, breathing in as her eyes wandered once more. Sweat had soaked through his T-shirt, molding the cotton to the contours of his body. His dark, curly hair was wet as well, and he exuded a sweet aroma composed of natural musk and the shower gel he had used that morning. The scent inflamed Corinna's senses, sending a static charge directly to her sex. She actually felt her nipples bulging, and knew that her own skimpy top, made almost transparent by sweat, did little to hide them.
He arched an eyebrow, his own gaze drifting as well. "Expecting someone else?" he asked casually. He stepped closer, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. The sweaty sheen on his face was outrageously sexy to Corinna. For a moment, all thoughts of her mission were cast aside, replaced by fantasies of two sweaty bodies rolling in the fields behind the barn . . . .
"Of course not, Dylan," she said. "Um . . . did'ya say 'ride?'"
He smiled and nodded. "I did, indeed," he answered, and indicated the horses in their stalls. "Pick one."
***
Despite the fact that she felt her backside bruising, Corinna was grateful for the ride that took them out into the fields. The wind felt delicious, cooling the sweat on her body, and the aromas of the countryside were rich and sweet. She was beginning to understand the allure of living such a simple life, without offices and cars and paved city streets. Just a simple dwelling, a strong horse, and the sounds and offerings of nature.
When I retire . . . . she mused with a smile.
"Cop, or government?" asked Dylan, shifting comfortably in Rusty's saddle.
Corinna's smile vanished instantly, as a spike of anxiety stabbed through her chest. She tightened her grip on Milky Way's reigns, casting her eyes down. "Am I that obvious?" she asked.
She heard a soft chuckle coming from him. "The accent and the clothes fooled me at first," he said. "You're pretty good. So . . . FBI? Come to check on me?"
Corinna frowned slightly at his words, thinking. Slowly, she looked in his direction, settling her eyes upon him. "Why would the FBI check on you? It was your father that was an agent, right?"
He pursed his lips, which were curled slightly in a smile that now seemed less cocky and more forced. "The sins of the father, and all that," he said.
Corinna turned in the saddle to face him. "Dylan, where is your father?"
His gaze bore into hers. "I told you; he's dead. I can even show you his grave, if you'd like."
She nodded. "I'd like."
***
The grave lay over a mile away, across acres of rolling hills, near the edge of a grove of dogwoods. A simple carved headstone sat before a slight mound of earth grown over with grass and weeds. Obviously, it had been there for quite some time.
Corinna stooped as she read the inscription on the tombstone. "'Dylan Gabriel Moon. 1934-1997. A patriot out of time.'" She straightened and gave the man beside her a quizzical look. "Interesting thing to inscribe on one's headstone."
Dylan worked his lips. "He always thought he'd been born in the wrong era," he said dismissively. "Fancied himself a cowboy."
"How did he die?"
Dylan shrugged casually. "He'd been wounded a few times in the line of duty. They finally caught up to him. Liver failure, dialysis. It all eventually took it's toll."
Corinna studied Dylan's face as she said, "I'm sorry."
He shrugged. "That's life," he said, then smiled thinly. "I think sixty-three years is enough for one life." Dylan took a breath, then faced Corinna fully. "You still haven't answered my question. Are you with the FBI, or someone else?"
Corinna smiled in admonishment, shaking her head a little. "It'd take a damn sight time to explain, Dylan," she said.
He chuckled at her words. "Look, you can drop the fake East Texas accent, doll," he remarked.
Corinna arched an eyebrow. "'Doll?'" she asked. "Funny thing for a young man like you to . . . say . . . ." her words trailed off as she noticed a glowing red dot make its way up Dylan's shoulder, to his neck, then to his temple. Instincts kicked in instantly, and she grabbed a fistful of his shirt. "Down!"
The younger man reacted more quickly than Corinna would have expected, flattening himself to the ground just as a deep, muffled report echoed across the Texas prairie. A good forty or fifty meters beyond the tombstone, a twisted dogwood tree exploded under the impact of a powerful shell. Shredded bark flew in all directions as the upper half of the tree tumbled to the ground.
"Shit!" exclaimed Corinna as she and Dylan scrambled against each other behind the tombstone. "They're early!"
Dylan shot the woman an alarmed look. "'Early?'" he echoed.
Her eyes bore into his. "Is your father really dead?" she asked hurriedly.
He frowned. "Aren't we laying on his grave right now?"
"Are we?"
There came a ringing sound as a chunk of stone was torn from the top of the headstone. A millisecond later, another explosive burst shattered high amongst the trees in the grove, raining down scorched leaves and powdered wood.
"This isn't the best cover," remarked Corinna, chancing a look around the edge of the tombstone. She spied a dark-clothed figure approaching over the rise of a hill, a good hundred or so meters distant. Its arms cradled an imposing rifle, looking more like a small piece of artillery than anything else. "Damn it! Come on!"
Dylan nodded quickly. "The horses!"
Quickly, the two of them darted from the safety of the tombstone, just as a third shot transformed it and some of the ground around it into an explosion of dirt, dust and pulverized stone. Corinna winced as she felt something bite into the back of her left leg, but she stumbled only slightly.
"Stay ahead of me, and head back to the barn!" Dylan shouted. "It'll make you a smaller target!"
"Me?!" shouted Corinna as she sprinted across the field. "It's you they're after!"
"What!"
But just as Corinna was about to respond, as they were mere paces from the two tethered – and now startled – horses, Milky Way was suddenly knocked aside, an explosion of blood erupting from its left flank. With a hideous cry, the horse tumbled to the ground, spilling entrails onto the grass. Screaming in pain, the horse's legs thrashed in the air. Its eyes were wide with fear and pain and lack of comprehension.
"Oh, Jesus!" exclaimed Corinna, faltering slightly at the gruesome sight.
"Run now, cry later!" barked Dylan, grabbing Corinna's arm and dragging her toward Rusty. Smoothly, he leapt over the stallion's rump and into the saddle, then reached for Corinna. Despite the horror she felt at seeing an animal slaughtered so callously, she kept her wits and focused on the moment.
With Corinna seated behind him in the saddle, her arms tight around his waist, Dylan slapped the reigns and dug his heels into Rusty's flanks, spurring the powerful steed into motion. Behind them, Milky Way thrashed through its last few moments of life, emitting painful cries that would be forevermore burned into Corinna's mind.
***
Rusty's charge carried them swiftly away from their attacker, despite a few more shots lobbed in their direction. The ground exploded in their wake as Dylan guided the horse home. They were miles from the house; it would take a lone man on foot an hour to reach them.
At the barn, Dylan barked orders, sounding like a combat sergeant or tactical officer. "Get Rusty inside, and lock the doors!" he shouted, slipping from the saddle and jogging toward the aged truck parked before the house.
Corinna did not hesitate; a lifetime of following orders compelled her to obey, and there was something about Dylan Moon, Jr., that exuded command and confidence. So she leapt to the ground, grabbing Rusty's reigns. The horse trotted readily into its stall, perhaps understanding that it would be safer within. She gave the steed a quick pat and a smile of thanks, then ran back outside.
"Come on!" yelled Dylan, snapping down the hood of the truck. He ushered Corinna on until she ran around the passenger side of the truck, then jerked open the driver-side door and got behind the wheel.
"I sure hope you feel like talking, doll," growled Dylan as he turned the key. The engine roared to life; tires spun, kicking up dirt and gravel. "'Cause I want to know what the hell's going on!"
Corinna slammed the door closed and hung on as the truck surged forward. "Okay, look; the whole 'doll' thing is so outdated, got it?" she hissed through her teeth.
Dylan grimaced as he drove. "Fine," he snapped. "I don't care what you want me to call you—"
"How 'bout Corinna?"
He shot her a fierce look. "How about 'bitch who won't tell me what's going on!'"
Corinna glared back, ready to unleash a verbal tirade, but both her and Dylan's attentions were abruptly focused behind them, as a large, black, late-model four-by-four burst through the fields and onto the road, engine howling like the roar of a predatory lion. Dirt and dust flew behind its spinning wheels as it fought to catch up. Only the silhouette of the driver could be discerned behind the wheel, yet neither Corinna nor Dylan doubted that the man within was the same one who had fired upon them.
"Floor it!" barked Corinna.
"Who is he!" shot Dylan, even as he pressed the accelerator all the way into the floor.
"Not 'he,'" spat Corinna, turning in her seat to look out the back window. "'It!'"
Dylan frowned. "What are you talking about?" he shouted.
But before Corinna could answer, there came rapid-fire reports from the vehicle behind them. The rear window shattered; bullets impacted against the strong steel frame of the truck. Dylan glanced to the rear-view window, seeing the figure within the SUV behind them with its hand extended out the driver-side window, clutching a pistol.
Dylan cursed under his breath and jerked the wheel slightly, making the truck veer back and forth. Bullets whizzed by, sometimes glancing off the body of the truck, but often missing their mark.
"It's called a Rectifier!" yelled Corinna. "It ain't human! It's a synthetic organism! There're five different grades, but I really don't think you want me to go into that right now!"
"'Synthetic?'" asked Dylan as he guided the truck in a zig-zag pattern upon the road. "You mean, a robot?"
"More'n that!" cried Corinna, watching over her shoulder. Her eyes widened suddenly. "Get down!"
Reacting to instinct, Dylan doubled over, just as his windshield exploded. Shards of glass rained all around, cutting into his scalp, his back, his right hand. Abruptly, he jerked up, shifted gears, and poured on the speed. A cloud of dirt was cast behind him, momentarily hiding their adversary.
"What the fuck was that!" he cried, oblivious to a trickle of blood running down the side of his face.
"Explosive round!" explained Corinna. "The last bullet in a fifteen-round mag—" she ducked down as more bullets shattered glass and ricocheted off steel. The mirror outside her door exploded dramatically, showering her with tiny shards. She brushed plastic dust off her arm as she continued. "Look, this thing means business, darlin', but I can get you outta here. We just gotta get away from that thing!"
Dylan ground his teeth, steering the truck down the road. Sharp eyes caught sight of a dirt road up on the left, and he took it, slamming the brakes and jerking the wheel so that the truck fishtailed onto the dirty driveway. A cloud soon formed behind them as the tires kicked up dirt. The gunfire ceased almost immediately.
Corinna grinned. "Nice move," she said approvingly. "But I reckon he'll compensate. Them Rectifiers—" she frowned, then tapped behind her ear. Abruptly, her voice changed, losing the East Texas inflections. "Some Rectifiers can see in infra-red. Makes them more efficient killing machines."
"What happened to your voice?" Dylan asked.
Corinna sighed. "I'll tell you later," she snapped. "After we get the hell—"
A new barrage of gunfire cut her off. Most of the bullets slammed into the back of the truck bed, but one found it's way through Corinna's seat back. She cursed in pain as the bullet tore through the flesh high up on her left arm. She slapped a hand over the wound, immediately applying pressure.
"You all right?" asked Dylan.
She seethed. "Not the first time I've taken a hit," she muttered, then slid down as more bullets whizzed through the air. Dylan zig-zagged the truck once more, making most of the shots miss. However, an explosion erupted on the tailgate, signaling the last round of the Rectifier's weapon.
"Can you drive?" he asked quickly, turning sharply as the road turned. They were heading back toward the house, he knew.
"What?" asked Corinna as she ripped her shirt, tearing off a long strip of fabric from just below her breasts.
"Drive! Can you drive!"
"Yeah! I can drive the damn truck! Just give me a sec!" Holding one end of the strip in her teeth, she quickly wrapped her wounded arm. The pink fabric quickly became stained with blood, but the flow stopped.
"Then slide over," commanded Dylan, waiting until Corinna's foot replaced his own on the accelerator before pushing himself into the tiny back seat of the cab. Corinna grunted as she slid behind the wheel.
"What are you doing?" she asked Dylan.
"Tackle box," he replied, crouching low in the seat. A fresh burst of gunfire resulted in impacts around the shattered window frame above his head. Corinna guided the truck with skill, keeping down in her seat. The radio in the dash erupted with a shower of sparks.
"I sure hope you have more than fishing lures in that box!" she cried.
Dylan chuckled darkly as he flipped the old red metal case open. "I think I may have something useful," he commented.
Corinna glanced over her shoulder as Dylan lay across the narrow back seat, clutching two blue steel revolvers in his hands. She grinned. "Go fishing with magnums often?" she quipped over the staccato sounds of yet more gunfire. She felt bullets whizzing past her head.
"I save these for the really big fish," he said with a cocky smile. "Now. There's going to be a dip in the road up ahead. With the rain we've been getting, I bet it's a small pond right now. Tell me right before we hit it."
Corinna trained her eyes forward, seeing where the road fell past a low rise. Beyond, water glistened in the afternoon sun, evidence of, as Dylan had said, a pond about twenty feet across. "Almost there!"
"Good. Floor it!" shouted Dylan, then dove without hesitation out the back window.
What the hell? wondered Corinna as she glanced to the rear-view window. Dylan flattened himself within the bed of the truck, staying below the edge of the tailgate. You crazy son of a bitch . . . I hope you know what you're doing. She shoved her foot to the floor, making the truck's engine roar in response. The truck bounced as it thundered up the rise.
"We're about to go airborne!" she yelled.
In the truck bed, Dylan grabbed a canvas strap, looping it quickly around his upper arm. He felt the truck climb the short rise and gritted his teeth in preparation. A moment later, gravity lurched through him as the truck left the ground. He bounced in the bed of the truck, momentarily weightless as ridged metal beneath him left his back. He watched the black 4X4 as it hurtled closer. The driver had both hands on the wheel.
But then the pursuing vehicle vanished as the truck came back down. Dylan felt the impact of the truck slamming back into the ground, right in the midst of the small pond. Water flew up on either side of him. Then the truck was through it, tires gouging out dirt and gravel once more.
Quickly, Dylan slid to the end of the bed and slammed both his booted feet into the tailgate. Intending only to knock it down, the tailgate instead flew away, dancing across the road in the truck's wake.
And there, some twenty meters or less behind, was the black 4X4, just clearing the rise before the pond. Lighter than Dylan's venerable truck, it soared higher and further in the air. That was what Dylan had been waiting for. Extending both arms, he aimed the revolvers toward their target and pulled the triggers as fast as his fingers could move.
The twin magnums bucked only slightly in his hands as Dylan kept his aim true. The front grill and one of the headlights on the black 4X4 shattered under the powerful impacts. The bumper dented, pock-marked with impacts. Both front tires exploded.
The 4X4 returned to earth, creating a terrific eruption of water as it slammed into the small pond. The ruined tires forced the truck down in the front, rims catching on mud and rock. The velocity of the vehicle caused the front to dig into the ground and the rear to lift up, carried by momentum. For a moment, the truck skidded out of the pool of water, perpendicular to the ground, before toppling forward onto the roof. Windows shattered and metal crumpled amid a cloud of dust and dirt.
Corinna slammed on the brakes, jerking the wheel so that the truck fishtailed and skidded to a halt. For a moment, she merely stared at the results of Dylan's actions. The 4X4 rocked back and forth on its crumpled roof, smoke trailing from within the engine compartment. She was impressed.
"Dylan?" she queried, looking to the back of the truck.
Dylan chuckled, sitting up in the truck bed. "Feel like I just rode the Rattler without the safety bar down," he commented. "But I'm fine." He gestured to the overturned 4X4. "Think that took care of your, uh, rectum-wiper?"
Corinna smirked. "Rectifier," she corrected. "Got any more bullets for those things?"
Dylan nodded and slid off the back of the truck. "Tackle box," he said.
Corinna reached into the back, opening the red chest, finding a box of .357 magnum shells. With the bullets in hand, she stepped from the truck and joined Dylan, setting the bullets on the frame of the truck bed.
"So, are you going to tell me what's going on?" he asked as he reloaded one of the revolvers. The other he had slipped into the front of his jeans.
Casually, Corinna took the pistol from Dylan's jeans and reloaded it as well with practiced moves. "I work for the Temporal Management Agency," she said. "About twenty-five hours ago, I was sent here to stop your father from being assassinated."
Dylan arched an eyebrow. "How did you know it was going to happen?"
Corinna gave him a look. "Because, where I come from, it already happened," she said, then headed down the road, holding the revolver beside her right leg as she approached the 4X4.
A quizzical frown on his face, Dylan followed, jogging to catch up. "Don't tell me you're from the future," he said dubiously, coming up beside Corinna.
She nodded. "Yup," she confirmed as they reached the ruined vehicle. She pointed with her weapon to the twisted, black-garbed body inside. "And so is that."
Dylan sighed ruefully. "Just when I thought I was going to get some ans—" he began, but cut himself off as the figure, half-hanging out of the 4X4, moved, lifting it's head and dragging a crooked arm across its chest. But before the pistol it held could be brought to bear, Corinna snapped up her revolver. The single report echoed across the prairie. The expressionless head jerked back, the back of the head exploding with a shower of sparks and scorched wires.
"You can only kill a Rectifier android by destroying the head, or removing it from the body," she said calmly. As the two of them watched, the air around the inert android wavered and shifted, then seemed to fold in upon itself. Another moment, and all evidence of the automaton's existence was gone.
Corinna sighed. "They always do that," she informed. Her eyes drifted up to Dylan's. "So, do you believe me now?"
Dylan stared at her, unsure of what to think. "That thing was from the future," he said. "And so are you?"
Corinna nodded. "I know, hard to believe." She faced him. "We have a lot to talk about, Mr. Dylan Moon."
He held her gaze for a long moment, then nodded. "I guess we do."
She smiled, looking him over. "You know, for an old geezer, you're looking pretty good," she remarked. "What's your secret?"
Dylan pursed his lips. "Yeah, we do have a lot to talk about."
***
Agent Bellew stood outside the observation window of the medical bay, looking at Dylan as he sat shirtless in a chair. A lab-coated medical tech was leaning over him, pulling adhesive pads attached to wires from his torso. Corinna found herself shifting on her feet. Damn, he's got a gorgeous chest . . . .
She felt someone step up beside her, glanced to the Director.
"Hard to believe he's seventy-three," Col. Naveen said. "But DNA is pretty convincing."
Corinna frowned in amazement. "But look at him. He sure as hell doesn't look seventy-three."
Radha nodded. "No, he does not," she agreed. "And every test likens his body to that of a man less than half his actual age. Very little cellular decline. He's a medical mystery, to be sure."
"Does he age at all?"
"According to Dr. Ziske, yes. But at a much slower rate than the rest of us. His life expectancy must be in the hundreds."
Corinna whistled low. "Wow. Imagine what he'll see in his lifetime."
Radha smiled and winked at her agent. "Thanks to you, he now has a second chance."
Corinna scoffed. "Thanks to me? I was just a spectator."
"Somehow I doubt that," the Director said. She touched Corinna's arm. "Good work, Agent Bellew. Debriefing in twenty minutes."
Corinna nodded with a smile. "Yes, Ma'am."
***
The three of them sat around the head of the table in the Command Room. Corinna and Dylan had both changed into more suitable attire. While far from formal, slacks and leather jackets, button-down shirts and silk blouses were improvements over sticky, sweaty T-shirts and jeans. Likewise, Corinna's wound had been cleaned and dressed.
"There are only a handful of people who know about the TMA," the Director explained to Dylan. "This is a multi-national facility, answerable only to the UN Security Council. We have members from almost every member of the United Nations."
Dylan nodded. "I noticed that. Good thing I speak a few languages."
Radha fixed Dylan with a piercing look. "I guess seven decades gives you plenty of time to learn."
Dylan stared back, unintimidated by the Director's strong dark eyes. "If you're going to ask me how I'm seventy-three with the body of a man half my age, I don't know," he said. "It took me a long time to figure out that I wasn't aging like everyone else does. When I hit forty and didn't have any wrinkles, I started wondering. By the time I was fifty, and people started making comments, I figured I had to do something. Started putting grey highlights in my hair, then dyed it white. But I still wasn't really showing my age."
"So you retired from the FBI," Corinna said. "Told people you died, added 'junior' to your name."
Dylan nodded. "I'd been away from Seguin for almost thirty years," he said. "So when I came back and told everyone I was Dylan Moon's son, no one blinked an eye. Opened a new account, had my retirement checks sent there . . . then politely informed the FBI that Dylan Moon passed away. No one ever noticed that I was using the same social security number."
Radha tapped her fingers on the tabletop. "And now you're here," she said pointedly.
Dylan took a breath, let it out slowly. He gave a crooked smile. "If I hadn't seen that . . . Rectifier robot," he said. "If I hadn't come here through a . . . 'time portal,' or whatever you call it, I might have thought you were all nuts. But now you tell me that if I don't join you, if I don't become an agent, then dozens of events in history will be changed for the worse. I don't really have much of a choice, do I?"
Radha and Corinna exchanged looks. The field agent said nothing, deferring to the Director.
"There is always free will," Radha said. "Now that your premature death has been averted, we were able to narrow down the events in history that you would have been involved with. We have over twenty agents. Any one of them could be sent on the missions to which you would have been assigned."
Dylan pursed his lips in thought. "Maybe," he said. "But would they succeed? We already know I would."
Radha smiled slowly. "That would appear true. Still, the future is never written in stone, even when the future is the past."
Dylan chuckled. "Now that's something I never figured I would hear."
The Director leaned back in her chair. "It's up to you, Mr. Moon," she said, feeling a need to address the man as her elder, despite his appearance. "You have no obligation to—"
"I'm in," he said abruptly.
Radha blinked. "Are you sure?" she asked, surprised by Dylan's quick acquiescence.
Dylan smiled. "According to your own doctors, a conservative estimate on my age expectancy is over two hundred years," he said. "Do you really think I could spend the next twenty decades on a farm? Besides . . ."
Dylan leaned forward on the table, rubbing his hands. "I became a cop, then joined the FBI, for a reason. Maybe it was the ideology of a young man in 1955, but I felt that I could help people. I wanted to. I'd never had a family; my mother died giving birth to me and I grew up as a bad kid in a post-Depression orphanage. When I finally gained some maturity, I made a decision: to have courage and integrity. For almost thirty years, I upheld those ideas . . . until I realized that I couldn't go on without raising questions."
He lifted his eyes and looked first to Radha, then to Corinna. "I've spent the last twenty-plus years pretending to be someone else, living under the radar for fear that I might become someone's lab rat. Now, you're giving me the chance to do what I was born to do. Again."
Corinna smiled, feeling impressed, inspired, and aroused. "You'd be a welcome addition, Dylan."
"Indeed," agreed Radha.
Dylan smiled, looking to the Director. "When's my first mission?" he asked.
***
His quarters were spartan, but Dylan had expected that. The walls were earthen in color, with two wall sconces that supplied soft, indirect amber lighting. There was a typical military-style bed, a desk, and a locker box for his possessions.
I'm gonna have to do some redecorating, Dylan thought, tossing his duffel on the bed. At the least, I'll need a bookshelf . . . .
"Agent Moon?"
Dylan turned to see Corinna standing in the doorway, one arm raised and propped seductively against the frame. A catlike smile graced her lips, showing her slight dimples and smoker's wrinkles. Her soft jade eyes were tickled by the faintest of crow's feet.
"Sounds good, doesn't it?" she asked, stepping into the room. "'Agent Moon.'"
He chuckled softly, then turned away, unpacking his singular bag. "You look better without the mask," he said. "What's that stuff called, again?"
"Synthflesh," Corinna responded, coming around him. She sat on the edge of his bed, looking up at Dylan. "This isn't going to be anything like you've experienced before, you know."
His eyes flashed to her as he smile slyly. "Are you talking about being a TMA agent, or . . . us?"
Corinna breathed in, trying to control her simmering libido. Her lips curled. "Am I that obvious?"
His smile grew. "A little."
Corinna looked down at her hands, aware of their shaking. She rubbed them together. "I guess a few decades of law enforcement lets you know how to read people."
Dylan nodded. "Maybe," he said. "How's your arm?"
Corinna touched the wound through her blouse. "Not bad. The bullet went right through. And with the new anti-inflammatory meds, healing is a lot quicker."
Dylan smiled. "Good to know." He laid out the few shirts, slacks and jeans he had packed, then straightened, digging his hands in his pockets. "So, is this a non-smoking joint?"
Corinna chuckled. "Officially, yes. But I've never been a PC kind of girl."
Dylan produced a silver cigarette case with a smile, snapped it open. He watched as Corinna took a cigarette, then flipped open the matching Zippo. For a moment, they both smoked in silence, letting the air grow hazy with smoke.
"You know, when I was younger," Dylan said. "There was smoking everywhere. Restaurants, department stores, theaters. The first time I went into a restaurant and the hostess asked me if I wanted smoking or non-smoking . . . oh, well. 'The times, they are a-changing.'"
Corinna laughed softly. "Try growing up in the early eighties," she said. "When everything was changing."
Dylan nodded, his smile unwavering. "I loved the eighties, even if I was supposed to be an old man," he said. "Reagan was a great president."
Corinna nodded, curling her fingers on the mattress, trying to contain her desire. "Yes, he was," she agreed. "Last of the great ones—"
"I want you."
Corinna breathed in, her cheeks and neck blushing. Her jaw worked for a moment as she struggled with the words in her head. "Wow," she said at last.
Dylan stepped before the younger woman, reached with a single hand and lightly cupped her chin. "Is fraternization allowed?" he asked.
Corinna breathed out. "Even if it wasn't, I'd still fuck you," she said in a heated tone, giving him a meaningful look.
***
They undressed each other slowly, standing beside the bed and watching each other as buttons were popped and zippers tugged. Corinna's cheeks reddened as she separated the fabric of Dylan's shirt and let her hands wander over his muscles. He did not have the chiseled look of an obsessive body builder; rather, he possessed the sort of naturally strong body gained through a combination of genetics and active living. The hair on his chest was soft and curly, a novelty for Corinna, who had gotten used to young pretty boys who shaved their body hair.
Neither made a noise other than soft sighs as their lips brushed, then pressed together. Their kissing became more passionate, with Corinna pressing herself to Dylan. His shirt fell to the floor behind him, and his hands came up to remove hers.
Corinna stepped back once her small breasts were revealed, unabashed in her nudity. She smiled cattily, teasing her engorged nipples with the tips of her fingers. Dylan smiled, his own arousal showing through his slacks. Corinna eyed the bulge, lowered herself to the bed.
"Come here," she whispered.
Dylan did so, stopping just before the topless woman as she sat on the bed's edge. She tugged gently on his unzipped slacks, grinning at the lack of underwear beneath. She licked her lips at the sight of Dylan's impressive cock, angling down over thick testicles. Her hands tested the weight, the feel of it. She felt the shaft grow against the palm of her hand.
"Let me know if I do something you don't like," Corinna said, looking up at Dylan as she leaned in, slipping her tongue past her lips.
"No worries so far," Dylan said, then sighed softly as Corinna licked up and down the length of his shaft. The warmth of her breath, the firm wetness of her tongue, quickly brought him to his full length.
"Mmm, that's good," she whispered, her lips fluttering against the tip of his cock. She licked sensuously just beneath the crown, then slowly sucked him in, pushing her mouth down. Her hands roamed over his thighs and pelvis, the tips of short nails scratching his firm buttocks. She sucked softly yet firmly upon his shaft, letting the smooth head nudge against her throat. Dylan caught his breath, touched her hair.
Corinna slipped her mouth back, leaving Dylan's cock shiny. She licked the head quickly with a playful smile. "You like that, huh?" she asked, watching his face as she tilted her head and sought for his balls with her mouth. She sucked them tenderly, pulling with her lips.
"Very much so," he sighed, pressing her head against his groin. Corinna murmured in approval, stroked his cock with one hand while she continued paying attention to his musky sacs. She loved the way they felt against her tongue, the taste of his pliable skin. Becoming more and more heated, Corinna pushed her chin between Dylan's thighs and tickled the patch of skin beneath his orbs with her tongue.
"Corinna," he said at last, gently pulling on her head. Reluctantly, she pulled back, her mouth wet, and looked up at him with glazed eyes. Dylan smiled. "Lay back."
Corinna eyed his cock, wanting more of what she had tasted. But she wanted to be naked, as well, and the expression on her lover's face – desirous, commanding, firm yet wanting – was irresistible.
Quickly, she lay back, jerking down her slacks as Dylan removed his boots and socks. He straightened just as Corinna, nude save for her skimpy lace panties, lifted her hips to remove the undergarment.
"Allow me," he said, and leaned over her, kissing Corinna once more upon the lips. This time, it was a driving, crushing kiss, with tongues slipping into mouths. Corinna moaned needily, gripping Dylan's back. She felt his cock against her inner thigh, then against her damp pussy through the panties. She was nearly ready to forget foreplay, just to have him inside her.
But then he was leaving a trail of kisses down her neck, nipping at the skin there, making Corinna hiss in pleasure. She ran her fingers through his short dark hair as he moved lower, hunting her nipples. Corinna panted and whimpered, more aroused than she had felt in years. A short, high-pitched cry escaped her throat when Dylan's mouth closed around one of her nipples, his teeth lightly scraping the dark pink nub.
"Oh, Jesus, Dylan, you've got me so hot," she breathed, grinding against him. "Can't remember when I've been so . . . turned on . . . ."
For a moment, he lifted his head and smiled up at her, gem-like brown eyes glittering. "And we're just getting started," he said.
Corinna let out an impassioned moan, then impulsively curled up, grabbing Dylan's head. She smothered his mouth with hers, panted as she pulled back. "Do whatever you want with me," she hissed.
He simply smiled, then slid down her body, planting kisses upon her firm stomach. His tongue traced the edge of her panties; the aroma of her sex was rich and ripe. Impatiently, Corinna lifted her hips, wanting the last barrier between them removed. With a soft laugh, Dylan bit gently into the fabric, nipping her clitoris through it in the process. Corinna whimpered at the sudden sensation, then sighed with relief as he pulled the panties down her thighs.
Wantonly, Corinna parted her thighs, revealing her treasure. Dylan eyed the moist lips of Corinna's pussy, licking his way up her taut thighs. Unlike the majority of women, Corinna kept her pubic mound shaved smooth, yet left soft, dark blonde fur upon her vulva. Dylan found the novelty erotic, and he moved in closer, inhaling her fragrance.
Corinna whimpered in anticipation as her lover's face neared her moist sex. But just when she was about to feel those delicious lips upon her own, Dylan lifted and climbed onto the bed, moving around so that he lay atop her, framing her head with his own muscular thighs. Corinna grinned, eagerly reaching for his cock, directing it down toward her mouth.
Mouths attached to genitals at the same time, and both Dylan and Corinna groaned as they began licking, sucking, lapping at each other. Muffled moans filled the room, mingling with the sweet, cloying aroma of the lovers' passion.
Corinna's hips began rolling, then bucking, after only a few moments. She pulled her mouth from Dylan's slick cock with a gasp as her orgasm began to wash through her. She grunted, gasped, and moaned as she came, shoving her cunt hard against Dylan's mouth, clutching his thighs desperately. With a final squeal of pleasure, Corinna grasped Dylan's cock by the base and took it deep in her mouth, all the way into her throat. She shook against him, relishing the feel of being so totally filled, the weight of his balls on her nose, while languishing in the thrills of Dylan's tongue and lips.
Abruptly, he pulled off her and turned about as Corinna lay dazed and heaving for breath. Orgasmic blush had turned her cheeks, neck and breasts ruddy. She gave Dylan a dreamy look as he knelt between her legs. "I want you," she said raggedly.
He lifted her legs, kissing her knee. "I know," he said, then pushed forward with his hips. His cock split her lips apart and slowly burrowed within her warm, slippery tunnel. Corinna shuddered deeply, arching her back and clawing at the sheets as she was so pleasantly invaded. She could feel every inch as his cock stretched her walls, could feel the throbbing of his shaft, and finally, the coarseness of his pubic hair and the press of his pelvic bone against her clitoris.
"Oh, God!" uttered Corinna, her voice strangled. Her arms flailed across the bed, pulling at the sheets and pillows. Dylan's hands gripped her thighs, lifting her off the bed as he pushed into her again and again. The tempo increased, and soon, he was slapping against her. He held her legs against his chest, licked and bit at her ankles.
Corinna came again, her body tensing, then spasming, then relaxing. She grabbed a pillow and covered her face as she screamed in release. Her pussy clenched hard around Dylan's driving cock, urging his orgasm to meld with hers. But the older man's stamina held out.
She tossed the pillow away and glared up at Dylan, her face sweaty and flushed. "Oh, Jesus Christ," she grunted. Her hands grazed his chest as he stayed buried within her, breathing deeply. Slowly, he pulled out, making her wince in momentary disappointment.
"Turn over?" he asked, although it seemed more of a command to Corinna, one she gleefully obeyed. Refueled by her orgasm, she rolled over quickly and propped herself on hands and knees, arching her back deeply. She gave a lusty look over her shoulder as Dylan's strong hands caressed her cheeks.
"Come and get it, tiger," she goaded him.
With a quick thrust, he shoved back inside her, then leaned over Corinna's body as she gasped at the sudden, blissful intrusion. His breath was hot against her ear. "Like this?" he asked, rolling his hips, driving into her over and over.
She trembled against him, then grabbed his arm and sucked, then bit, at the inside of his elbow. "Fuck yes," she huffed. "God, baby, fuck me . . . fuck me . . . oh, Jesus, fuck me all fucking night . . . ."
Dylan reared back, slipping his hand over her shoulder, to the nape of her neck. He gathered a handful of short, thick blonde hair and jerked her head back, making Corinna all but scream. "I planned on it," he growled, pumping faster and faster, making her cheeks quiver slightly with each impact of his hips.
"Oh, God, yes . . . ." whimpered Corinna as she felt another orgasm building. "Cum with me. Cum with me!"
Dylan grunted, pounding as hard and fast as he could, finally feeling his own release begin. With a last, deep thrust, his cock spasmed deep inside Corinna's womb. The feel of his thick rush of warm semen triggered Corinna's orgasm, and she howled her pleasure at the top of her lungs.
For a long moment, they were frozen, locked together, delirious and timeless with their shared passion. Both bodies twitched with aftershocks. Slowly, They relaxed together and fell onto the bed, Corinna's lithe, sweaty body pinned beneath Dylan's. But the weight of him was not unpleasant. She relished the feel of him, the aroma of him . . . of them. Together.
"D-Dylan?" she asked after an eon of shared, panting breaths.
"Yes," he breathed out.
"Don't . . . don't move," she said, smiling giddily. "I wanna feel you like this . . . for as long . . . as I can."
He kissed her damp neck affectionately, Making Corinna purr. "I'm not going anywhere, baby," he whispered.
Eyes closed, basking in the glow of their lovemaking, Corinna smiled.
Epilogue
In a dark room out of time, several figures sat in the shadows about a large, circular table. They surrounded a large, shimmering globe that hovered above a dais, across the surface of which flickered numerous images in an apparently chaotic manner.
"So Dylan Moon was saved, as predicted," came one voice.
"Yes. The pieces are beginning to fall into place," spoke another.
"There are still many variables to take into consideration," offered a third.
"There always were."
"This path is riddled with risk and uncertainty. Are we sure this is the wisest course of action?"
There was a long pause before the first voice spoke once more.
"Only time will tell."
. . . to be continued . . .