Storm Moon Press - Situation Normal Untitled Page

Situation Normal

Morgan Harcourt

Out of Print

Sebastian Reed tries to live his life under the radar. Way under the radar. His job is ferrying cargo across the solar system, and not all of the cargo he moves is, strictly speaking, legal. So when he's boarded by an alien Peace Officer named 'His Most Just Tenacity' (or 'Ten' for short), he's pleasantly surprised that all the officer wants is to commandeer his ship in pursuit of a completely different fugitive. Even more pleasant is the fact that Ten is a particularly attractive member of his species, and that he finds Sebastian to be just as good-looking. Soon, Ten is comandeering more than just Sebastian's ship, but his body as well. Not that Sebastian minds in the slightest.

I was on a drop from Ganymede to Callisto, because, go figure, all the technology you could want—send the specs from the source to the 3-D printer at the destination and bam, you had anything that wasn't alive—and rich idiots had to go and develop a fetish for 'the real thing'. They paid stupid amounts of money for scrubs like me to ferry their authentic, their antique, their limited edition, and all the other priceless garbage they accumulated between planets. Those were runs for logistics megacorps and foolhardy idiots, and I sure as hell wasn't an agent of the Stellar Parcel Service.

My haul that day was what some new money kid from a newly-gentrified part of Callisto had bought from a crumbling estate auction on Ganymede. The bill of lading and insurance paperwork claimed it was all authentic Earth-origin prefab that had come to the original Titan colony a century ago, and then got repurposed to the early Jupiter colonies. That had to be bullshit, because it would have been cheaper to have a drone prefab everything right on Europa when it set up the alpha colony site. I hadn't flunked Jovian history in high school, but I was getting the impression that my employer had.

And okay, I'll admit this: I was completely and totally breaking the law just then. It wasn't that the job was illegal; my part of it, at least, was totally above-board. But I had put on an alter beat as I pulled out into the ring run, because hell if hitting escape velocity didn't make me sick every single time if I did it without some kind of sensory assistance. The law hadn't quite caught up to those of us inspired enough to scratch out an alter sequence that wasn't intended to fuck anyone up, so they were flat-out illegal while driving anything more dangerous than a tricycle. Which is why the second a police hail hit my line and flagged me for a stop, I knew I was completely and totally fucked.

I had that same moment of wanting to gun it and make a getaway that I'm pretty sure everyone who's ever been pulled over has had, regardless of how impossible it was. And in case it wasn't clear, me getting away in my pile of scrap metal that defied statistics, physics, and probably twelve other discrete sciences just by remaining spaceworthy? Beyond the pale.

Until I saw the ship that had hailed me, anyway. If I had a boat, the cops had a jet ski that had been beaten with a sledgehammer and then lit on fire with extreme prejudice. Possibly literally, because it was definitely giving off a glow that would have been combustion with more oxygen around. Our public funding at work, gentle people of the Local Bubble.

I scrubbed my hands through my hair and waited for some overworked traffic cop to enter the airlock. He would be in a bad mood, too, because clearly some suicidal idiot had decided to ram a police speeder and jet off through the rings; if you were good enough to dodge through them without taking the cleared run, you could lose almost anyone.

The airlock did its automatic thing; sure, my piece of slag was old, but not so old a police hail didn't override the manual airlock control right alongside all my other systems. Couldn't have hardened criminals using illegal nausea-suppressing subliminal signals to totally not get high, slamming open the airlock, and killing the police, could we? Not that I would ever—holy fucking god the cop was a lizard.

4.5 - Thommie at MM Good Book Reviews
"Fast, tense, enticing and griping as hellhound’s jaws this story keeps you on your toes, thrashing you around between action and erotica like a damned tennis ball. There are kinks and fetishes and boundaries pushed to barely legal and tentacles instead of a normal penis and there is fear and excitement and finally back to hot almost-sex-scenes that drive you nuts when you realize that our players are into yet another kink known as denial. Which I’m all in favor of as long as I’m not treated that way too. But thank to this author’s writing style you get so lost in sensation and the reading is so enthralling that you forget your place and it hits you full force when at the very freaking end you’re left in freaking denial along with Sebastian, and damn it will I ever stop ranting about it. Bottom end, it was good, it was great, and it was absolutely the read to make the highlight of my week. Definitely recommended to those who love sci-fi, alien/human relationship, and suspense/action."

Series

All Wrapped Up

Length

17,000 words
36 pages

Release Date

Book Type

Short Story

Categories

Gay

ISBN

978-1-62757-043-5

Cover Art

ThinkSentient Ltd

Keywords

M/M, science fiction, tentacles