"Pheromone Pharmacopia"

by Brandy Dewinter

(c 2001, All rights reserved)

 

Chapter 8 - "Mishap"

Vanna’s voice trailed off with that whispered memory, her eyes perhaps seeing where the sound had gone since they were clearly not focused on anything in Sandy’s room. After a moment, she shivered slightly as though shaking off an enclosing shroud, lowered eyes telling more of the tale despite her silence. The blush did not speak clearly enough for Carol.

"What do you mean, ‘Jaymi is right’?" the tall redhead demanded.

The incongruity of a demure blush on Vanna’s elegant face was surprisingly charming - a sign of a new aspect of her personality developed in the course of her experience. She didn’t answer though, at least not in words. Instead, she looked at Jaymi, smiling at the recognition in the slender brunette’s eyes that she had understood.

Carol saw the interplay, but rather than push at Vanna she decided to go straight to the source, Jaymi, later. She still felt the tale was incomplete, though. "So what happened next?"

"Oh," Vanna replied with a grin that teased even as her easy words proclaimed full openness. "The next day we went on his yacht to visit the Statue of Liberty."

Then her voice got serious again, earnest as she tried to share something from her heart despite her previous reticence. "That is so . . . powerful. Have you ever seen it? I mean really seen it, from the water as you approach? As we rode over on the yacht I could really feel, for the first time I think, what America means. Can you imagine all the immigrants who passed that statue, what it represented to them? We are the hope of the whole world, and that hope is summed up by that great lady; tall, lighting the way for the rest of us, proclaiming liberty built on an unshakeable foundation of honor."

"I got all silly and sentimental," Vanna admitted, remembered majesty again putting a glisten in her eyes. She realized it, she probably had no choice but to realize it as her throat tightened and she whispered, "I still am, I guess."

Despite her earlier demand for juicier news, it was Carol who reached over to embrace her shorter teammate. At least, she was the first.

Marilyn’s soft voice eventually intruded in a way that was more completion than interruption of the moment. "I think we need to be getting to sleep, now. It’s late."

It was proof - as though any were needed - of Marilyn’s timing that none of the team members twitched at her voice, yet all started moving even as she spoke. By the time they had sorted themselves out smiles had become light-hearted again, with Carol laughing as she threatened, "I’m going to get the rest of that story out of you."

Vanna chuckled that oh-so-elegant laugh she had been taught, but her smile showed no concern. It was unclear whether that was because she really wouldn’t mind telling, or whether it was because she had no intention of *ever* sharing what had happened between her and her unexpected beau - which was part of the fun, of course.

Marilyn was the last to leave Sandy’s room, deliberately so as she ushered Jaymi out. "You go to your own room, no hovering over Sandy all night," she ordered the slender girl. Then Marilyn turned back to Sandy, an incipient hover in her own attitude as she asked, "Are you going to be all right?"

"Of course," Sandy said easily. "I’m fine, really." Then her voice got quiet with memories that were beyond words yet colored the ones she did say. "I’ve been through much worse."

The next morning, no one outside the team would have seen any hint of a problem in Sandy’s bright smile. Even Carol gave her a funny look, as though trying to decide how much of her enthusiasm was real and how much was cover. The tall redhead’s question remained unspoken though, as the hovering tech prepared her for what was now going to be her assignment.

"I wish I were going with you," the tech, a too-thin, dark-blonde girl named Chrissy, said as she fussed with the taller woman’s forest-green skinsuit.

Carol’s bright smile didn’t really reach her eyes, but she nodded. "It should be fun. How many guys did you say would be diving with me today?"

"Oh, ah, that’s not really what I meant," Chrissy said, blushing.

"What? All those men and you’re NOT thinking about them? Just what *were* you thinking about?" Carol said, smirking, then her lids drooped into a sultry invitation and her voice got husky. "Or . . just *where* did you want to go with me?"

This sparked even more of a blush in the over-matched tech’s cheeks, but the real message was in the way she wouldn’t meet Carol’s eyes. After a pause much too long to support the denial, Chrissy whispered, "That’s not what I meant either."

"Too bad," Carol whispered in return, reaching out with her gloved hand to caress the smaller woman’s cheek.

Chrissy didn’t flinch from the touch, but neither did she follow up on the opening. That was not a further message though, since they were interrupted by yet another suit tech bringing the helmet to Carol’s suit.

"I thought this sort of thing went out about the time Lloyd Bridges learned to swim," she complained as the man lowered over her head a huge elliptical helmet with an absurdly small clear port.

The new tech, a man she hadn’t really met whose nametag read simply, ‘Jake’, laughed and said, "Why, this is newer than new. Amazing Space Adventures says that this is what all the space babes will be wearing in 2007." He paused for effect, then explained, "Of course, that issue was published in 1957."

"What?" Carol asked. Or at least, her mouth formed that word. It was another second before Jake completed connecting the umbilical so that her mike and helmet speakers worked.

Even through the small window in her head bubble, Carol could see the others laughing, and she assumed it was at her expense. Her attitude was not improved when she noticed that Sandy had started performing on her assignment too, as the team camera operator, and so had recorded whatever joke had eluded the redhead. Carol’s eyes flashed with a reminder that even with her hair hidden by the helmet her temper was still very real. Before she could say anything though, the speakers inside her helmet crackled with official business.

"Can you hear now?" Jake asked through his own mike.

"Yes," Carol replied, the sound repeated with an artificial echo from speakers throughout the area.

"I think we’ll wait until we get to the tank to add your weights," Jake decided, offering a polite hand to help Carol stand on her stilt heels.

Chrissy looked as though she might move forward to help Carol as well, but Vanna was already there. None of the other team members wore their helmets for this exercise, though Sandy’s face was even more obscured by the camera she carried. Dancing lightly despite her towering heels, Sandy circled the gaggle of beauties plus one proudly preening male technician, as they moved from the dressing room to the training facility.

At the entrance to the exercise chamber they were stopped by the artificially avuncular tones of Waylon Jennings. "Whoa, there, litt . ., ah, ladies. The pool area can be mighty slick and I wouldn’t want you to slip."

"Thank you for your concern, but I think we can handle it," Marilyn said with more apparent patience than the rest of the team was feeling.

"That’s okay," Jennings insisted. "We’re experts at this."

He waved his technicians in to take the place of Carol’s teammates, blandly ignoring any potential that the SMITE team could be as competent as a ‘real’ astronaut team, even in walking across a tiled floor.

In fact, the floor was relatively slick, especially so for the dagger heels incorporated in the team’s specialized skinsuits. However, the only woman having any trouble was the one in imperial purple, Jacqui Cleaver. The multi-level irony of that was not lost on the team, but of course it was missed completely by Jennings.

The training facility was a huge swimming pool, a tank over 40 feet deep, where astronauts who were preparing for extra-vehicular activities would rehearse the specifics of the tasks in a simulated weightless environment. For each actual astronaut, there were always at least two safety divers wearing conventional SCUBA gear, along with a bustling beehive of personnel who were nominally supposed to stay dry.

Carol’s situation was unique in that her skinsuit was much more akin to the wetsuits of the divers than the typical bulky NASA spacesuit. Her first task was simply to get dunked so that it could be determined what weights would be required to offset her inherent buoyancy, much less than that of typical trainees. In the end, a few dive weights at her trim waist, wrists, and ankles, along with some careful additions to the backpack that housed her air and power supplies, and she was ready for her first try at replacing a solar panel.

Sandy filmed it all, first moving close to get shots that proved it was still really Carol inside the bubble helmet, then back to show the scope of support an astronaut receives. The rest of the team remained with the other strap-hangers who had no apparent duties. Or at least, almost with them. As always, there was an immediate segregation as the ‘real’ astronauts moved a few steps away for private conversations.

Perhaps to show that their own shoes were so much better on the wet deck around the tank, Jennings and ‘Oz’ Anderson stood close to the edge of the pool. Sandy was the only team member who happened to move close enough to ‘accidentally’ eavesdrop on their conversation.

"I think we’re gonna have to get suits like that for ALL the astronauts, now," Anderson said, leering at the girls in a way he probably thought was subtle.

"Shit, Oz, you’d look like the Pillbury doughboy in one of them suits," Jennings said, laughing.

"In one of *those suits*," Anderson countered, "even I would look good. I mean, look at Beaver. Would you have ever guessed she was that . . . shapely?"

"Mighty fine, that’s for sure," Jennings agreed. "Mighty fine. But . . ."

"I know what you mean," Anderson said. "So, which one would you like to be marooned in space with?"

"Damnit, Oz, we’re professionals. These women are our, ah, clients and we need to behave."

"Yeah, right," Anderson snorted. "Hell, Waylon, I’ll ‘behave’ just fine. But even *your* training program can’t keep me from thinkin’ what I want."

Jennings didn’t respond, at least not with words, but his eyes told a story that he probably considered no impediment to his own ‘professionalism’.

"Not a bad choice," Anderson observed with a conspiratory snicker. "If you like curvy blondes and don’t have much need for intelligent conversation."

"Talking was not the . . . communication I had in mind," Jennings admitted quietly, glancing around to see who might have heard. Unfortunately for him, and even more so for Anderson, he didn’t turn quite far enough to see Sandy drifting closer.

"For an old fart, you’ve got good taste," Anderson continued. "Not *great* taste, mind you, but, like I said, not bad."

"Oh, and just what’s wrong with my, ahem, taste?" demanded Jennings.

"It’s not what I would call, ah, subtle," Anderson declared. "That Marilyn is almost as pretty as her namesake, but choosing to copy Marilyn Monroe is just what I mean. How obvious can you get?"

"Hell, Oz, I told you I wasn’t thinkin’ about her *mind*," Jennings snorted.

"Even so, I think there are, um, depths I’d like to, ah, explore in that dark-haired girl," Anderson said.

"The young one? I thought you were more grown up than that," laughed Jennings.

"No, though she’s obviously the prettiest," Anderson countered. "I was talking about the one called Jaymi. There’s just something about her. I think she needs to be shown what being a woman is all about."

"Yeah, right, like you know," Jennings said. "Hell, Oz, there’s only one part of a woman you know anything about, and not much about that."

"I’m hurt," Anderson said, theatrically holding his hand over his heart. Then he laughed and said, "Besides, there’s at least a couple more places of interest. Though, once you add those in you do have about all that matters."

"Say that to the Beaver and you’ll lose your interest in women . . . permanently," Jennings warned.

"I’m not as dumb as you look," Anderson said with a laugh. "But the others, well, I’ll probably rent the movie when it comes out, but I think I’ll just leave the sound off."

"Good plan," Jennings said, laughing in agreement. "I’ll bring the beer."

"Oops!" A woman’s voice interrupted their mutual satisfaction.

Sandy’s high-heeled foot suddenly appeared beside them, thrown up waist high in an obvious attempt to recover lost balance. It was not enough. A heartbeat later her shoulder caught Anderson in the waist. Like dominos, her impulse was translated through him into Jennings.

Curiously, only Anderson and Jennings actually fell down.

And down. Into the pool they had been standing near so casually.

When they surfaced, Sandy was standing near the edge, having recovered her balance thanks to their ‘help’.

"Oh, Mr. Jennings," she cried. "I’m so sorry. You told us to be careful, but I just slipped."

"S’oll roight," Anderson answered for the sputtering Jennings.

"Oi’m sure i’couldn’ be helped."

"Uh, yeah," Jennings agreed, hauling himself from the water. He ignored Sandy’s offered hand in favor of those from the other bystanders who had gathered at the edge of the pool. The ones who were not wearing steepled heels.

"You should go get dried off," Marilyn observed with ostentatious concern too perfect for Jennings to recognize as a parody of his own attitude toward the women.

"I, ah, can’t do that yet," he replied. "As Test Director, I have to be here until the astronaut trainee is out of the tank."

"Oh, that’s too bad," Sandy said in tones dripping with remorse. Somehow her tones weren’t reflected in her eyes, though. Perhaps it was because she was not ‘dripping’ as badly as some others.

A warning buzzer soon indicated the end of the training exercise anyway. The waiting support team helped Carol back to the dressing room and had her out of her own wet skinsuit and into a dry one with practiced efficiency. The SMITE team, now including Jacqui as at least an honorary member, were waiting in the debrief conference room before Jennings and Anderson arrived.

"Okay, Sandy," Marilyn asked. "What really went on out there?"

"I slipped," she said simply.

"Yeah, right," Jaymi laughed. "I’ve seen you do cartwheel in heels higher than that, and on surfaces at least as slick. Tell us what really happened."

Sandy glanced at Jacqui, asking a question and receiving an answer in the flicker of an eyelash. She nodded acceptance of the message, gratifying the newest team member with that simple acknowledgment.

"They were . . . discussing us. In terms they no doubt thought were flattering, but weren’t really. You know? Anyway, I decided those pigs needed a bath."

"Hell, girl," Jacqui said, "I’ve heard that sort of thing ever since I came here. You’ll have to get used to it."

"Hell, girl," Carol said to Jacqui in conscious repetition, "I’ve *said* worse than whatever they could have said. That’s not the point."

"Right," Marilyn agreed. "If we’re going to be properly prepared for this mission, we need their honest respect and fair assessments. Condescension could kill us, if it results in poor training."

"Ah," Jacqui said softly. "Good point. I, um, chose a different route to gain my own acceptance."

"You mean you earned it," Marilyn said directly. "And you’re right. By the standards of typical astronaut candidates, you did. Our needs and those of our mission are unique - and not just in the obvious ways. But don’t make the mistake, as Jennings did, of assuming we’re not competent. It’s just that our competence takes a different form."

"I’m beginning to understand that," Jacqui nodded, with more respect than she might have had a few days before.

"All that’s just fine," Vanna said, breaking in with an artificially overdone giggle, "but I want to know *who* they were interested in."

Sandy laughed and was about to tell them, when any further conversation was interrupted by the appearance of Jennings and the rest of the task analysis team. As usual, the debrief lasted longer than the actual exercise, but the conclusion was that Carol had done well, her long arms an aid in an environment where brute strength had long been recognized as not a primary need. Carol herself was strangely quiet, answering questions quickly and directly, but not volunteering anything. Most surprisingly, she passed up obvious opportunities to throw in her usual sexual innuendoes.

Jennings looked like he was even going to comment on it at one point, Carol’s brisk professionalism that is, but in the end all he did was toss a condescending ‘good job’ her way. After a review of the next day’s exercises, the team was dismissed.

"You wanna go get a cup of coffee?" Vanna invited Jacqui.

"Uh, thanks, but, um, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go *around* the tank facility," the petite brunette replied, then grimaced a little. "I need a little more practice in these heels before I spend any more time on that wet tile."

Carol stayed seated for a moment as the others gathered up to go. Marilyn noticed, as she noticed everything, and paused for a moment in her own activities to let the others get away. The first thing she did when they were alone was . . . nothing. She let Carol have the time to bring up whatever was bothering her, just being there in case now was the time.

Marilyn looked like she had about decided it was *not* the right time and turned to go, but despite Carol’s attempt to hide behind lowered eyes, she gave herself away with an audible sniff.

"What’s wrong, dear?" asked Marilyn.

"Nothing," Carol whispered.

In response, Marilyn didn’t say anything. At least, not with words, but she sat down with a firm finality that made it clear she wasn’t accepting that answer.

When Carol looked up, the tears in her eyes were past hiding, past denying. Her voice was still a whisper, vanishing softly into the corners of the conference room but only after passing by the attentive team leader.

"This is not really me, you know?" Carol began.

Perhaps to her surprise, her leader nodded sadly. "I know, Carol, and I’m sorry. I needed you to fill a specific role on the team - and you do it very well - but I’ve always known you weren’t comfortable in the role of a sex-obsessed vamp."

"You have?"

"Yes," Marilyn confirmed. "But I needed you to feel motivated to do your best, at least in the beginning, so I couldn’t offer you any real alternatives. After that, well, things were working too well to derail with some sort of shakeup. Maybe that was a mistake."

"Maybe," Carol said softly, the unaccustomed criticism of her commander making her tone hesitant.

Marilyn started to say something more, but Carol interrupted her.

"It’s not being part of the team," the redhead declared. "I love that. I love being attractive, and I don’t have any . . . , I mean I don’t feel embarrassed about looking like . . . "

Her words were interrupted by a cautioning hand from Marilyn. "This is probably not the right place to discuss some things," the blonde said. "Let’s go get our own cup of coffee."

"Oh, right," Carol agreed, blushing. "I’m sorry, maybe we should just . . . "

"Stop right there," Marilyn interrupted again. "This is important and we need to work it out, just not here."

Nodding, Carol gathered up her things and they both left the conference room. The day was pleasantly cool, at least for Houston, so after dropping their briefing materials off in their respective rooms, they took a stroll to an isolated place on the grounds.

 

(continued in next part)

 

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SMITE 2 - Pheromone Pharmacopia © 2001 by Brandy Dewinter. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.