The Dominatrix dimmed the sconces, leaving the brass desk lamp to cast a tepid glow across the studio. She tugged down the zipper of her dress, steppe... out, and hung it in the wardrobe. Perspiration molded a fine yellow silk slip to her body. The circumstances of the evening did not proscribe nudity, but the Dominatrix stopped with the slip peeled to her waist. She'd felt the nudge again, a subtle wrinkle at the boundary between the subconscious and the conscious. She was trying to tell herself. " It was Hank's voice. "I'm assuming were on one of the command ships." An Alpha or a Beta?" David asked.There were two distinct types of orbiting ships that the Fuzzies used. No one was sure what their functions or even their differences were."No way to tell," Hank said. "Are you okay?" I suppose so," David replied. "You?" As good as can be expected." Are you one of the soldiers?" another, deeper voice asked. One of the resistance."Yeah," David said. "David Camden. Lieutenant." Randy Hart," he. More

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