Horizon

Chapter 7: Bronwyn

Bronwyn finds herself on her bare ass on the cold deck planking. Her head is still buzzing, veins full of artificial fire that has yet to wear off. She lets out a cry of protest and grabs at her companion's legs, but he is already jerking on his uniform and running from the room.

Fury surges through her at being abandoned by some nobody. How dare he treat her in such a rude fashion! She manages to pull herself to her knees with her elbows propped on his bunk, almost vomiting onto his bed when the whole world heaves and shudders. Astonishing. She hasn't been sick from drinking in years. It takes her a few moments to realize the extra momentum making her nauseated isn't from alcohol.

The ship itself shakes underneath her. She doesn't have the sense to be afraid. Instead, the drug the spacer gave her increases her indignation. How dare this stupid ship cause her grief and take away her s*x partner! Disrupting her perfectly decent unconscious state for what?

Bronwyn finds the few clothes she wore when she came to the room and manages to pull herself into some sort of order just as the ship heaves again, sending her tumbling into a wall. The lights go out. She stumbles back to her feet in the flashing red strobe of the emergency lighting.

The siren is the last straw. As it shrieks its way into her very bones, Bronwyn turns to the speaker and gives it the finger.

"Shut up!" She snaps. It ignores her.

She makes it to the door, runs into the metal panel when it fails to swish open at her presence. Rubbing her aching nose, tears rising from the pain, she curses at it, a string of words so vile she catches herself smiling at the thought her father might hear. Bronwyn fumbles beside the door for the override, snapping off a long, manicured nail when she jerks the pressure valve. Sucking her bleeding finger, swaying in her high heels, she presses her hip against the narrow gap the override created and shoves backward with her full weight. Cursing again, sweating from the exertion, she grunts through the slim exit she made and falls into the hall on the other side.

This time when she rises she uses the wall for support. She is on her feet before she recognizes the smell of smoke and notices her world is distorted not by drugs and alcohol, but by a thick haze. She knows she needs to get back to her own room before her father finds out she is gone, but disorientation confuses her. She has no idea which way to go.

Bronwyn chooses a random direction, the one she happens to be facing, and slides along the side with her shoulder pressed to the wall, her heels dragging over thin carpet.

She makes it to a corner and hugs the turn, running face-first into a thick, black shadow. The impact with the hot, raspy surface brings her up short. She tips her head back and is able to comprehend only brightly glowing green eyes before she hears herself start to scream.

***

Two Hours to Contact

Bronwyn pressed her ear to her door, listening for snoring. She scowled at the silence and went back to her bunk, tossing herself on the nasty thing, arms crossed over her chest in frustration.

Why wouldn't he just go to sleep already? She had plans and the last thing she needed was to have him awake and interfering. She stuffed him with enough food and wine at that pathetic excuse for a dinner earlier. It was usually enough to knock her father out for the night. What was taking him so long?

Life was horribly unfair to her lately. Not only was her father taking up some useless governing post on an equally useless colony in the back end of nowhere, he insisted on dragging

her along with him. Imagine! She was the darling of Earth's elite society. All her friends said so, even that insufferable bore Petunia Cloen, the President's daughter. Like Bronwyn gave one shake what that elevated peasant thought. Still, it was true and at least the girl knew superiority when she came face to face with it.

She tried everything to get him to change his mind. Begging fell on deaf ears. Her tantrum was done to a closing door. Shocking, really. Usually if begging failed, the throwing an epic tantrum tactic won him over to her side. Even her demands to be left behind did nothing.

Her father met her with absolute conviction as she presented her list of demands.

"You are coming with me, Bronwyn," he said in a voice she never heard him use before. "And that is that."

Floored by his denial, she was unable to rebound quickly enough to put any plans in motion. And so she found herself in the spaceport frantically trying to reach one of her friends to come rescue her. Just her terrible luck, she hadn't been able to track anyone down. Her father must have made sure their parents prevented it.

She was sure that was it. Her friends wouldn't abandon her in her time of need.

Bronwyn tapped her high-heeled shoe against the side of the bunk as her foot bobbed in fury.

She hated the thought of the stupid colony. She missed her friends already. And the chances of making new ones in such a backward place, let alone having access to the items of station she was accustomed to, were terrible. If that simpering girl who tried to talk to her in the port was any indication of the quality of colonists she, Bronwyn Lamont, was about to be subjected to, she was in for a very long and very miserable three years.

At least then she'd be eighteen and her father couldn't keep her on that dumb planet any longer. She just had to figure out a way to keep in touch with her old friends so she could stay up to date on the latest in Earth trends. It would never do for her to return viewed as any less than before she left.

Her first problem at present was carving out her harem. Bronwyn felt certain there would be any number of colony boys she could wrap around her fingers and convince to bow to her every whim. The party scene was another issue. She had no idea what to expect. Did they even have parties? She sighed at the memory of the last one she attended. Well, at least at the beginning of it. She barely remembered getting home two days later, but she had been wearing her friend's shoes and another friend's bra so she was pretty sure it was a wonderful time.

With a saucy wink and a toss of her hair, she secured herself some amusement for that evening when a handsome young spacer eagerly accepted her flirting as an invitation. She just needed her father to pass out already. She checked the door again and smiled as the sweet sound of snoring greeted her.

Humming happily to herself, Bronwyn stripped out of the demure attire her father insisted on for dinner. As she donned her skimpy party clothing, her thoughts drifted to Archer O'Malley and she licked her lips in anticipation. So yummy. She watched him all through dinner in his shining suit with his luscious blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. She was determined to sample his sweetness several times before being abandoned on the god-forsaken planet of banishment.

Bronwyn quickly inspected the gorgeous vision of herself in the tiny sliver of a mirror granted her. Custom tailored to brush the tops of her thighs, the tiny skirt allowed the matching underwear in lace to peek out from beneath. The shirt was two strips wound around her waist, barely covering her decently, just the way she liked it. She admired the tattoo she had gotten on her right hip before leaving, two tiny stick figures engaged in a rude act, and laughed. If her father knew... he'd what? Not like he could do much worse to her now.

Bronwyn slipped from her room and out the main door into the corridor. She wobbled her way on spiked heels to the next corner, following the faint map the handsome spacer sketched onto her palm during dinner. It didn't take much to find his door, nor for him to let her in when she knocked.

Before long, Bronwyn's lace panties were in her hand, the other gripping a full glass of whiskey. Her nose burned from the cocaine, head swimming already as the spacer slid his naked body over hers and proceeded to make her aware of his, even through the chemicals.

As she fell deeper into her favorite vices, she realized she may have been too harsh in her first assessment. Perhaps this move would be a good thing for her after all.

***