The story below is a work of fiction, set in the format of reality. Any resemblances to real people, alive or in the hereafter, is entirely coincidental in nature. It is not meant to accurately reflect upon persons, of continents or islands, in countries, counties, cities, towns, villages, neighborhoods, streets, cul-de-sacs, nor governmental or non-governmental areas, which the story is staged. If a sexual scene involving male-to-male relationships offends you, then why are you here? Seriously, if guy-to-guy sex stuff makes you barf or is going to screw up your mind, you should not read this story. Additionally, if you are under 18 years of age, in most states and countries, you are not allowed to read this story, by law. Check with your local laws regarding such.
% Sexual safety matters. Remember guys, this is fiction. In real life, use protection.
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RancH HanDs 07 a continuation of `CoMPany payLoaD', WriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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While the campus of Elemental Habitat was on lunch call, Art Smith thought no better time than now to escort Demont on a more defined tour of the security facilities.
"Here," a key opens a door upon a bleak room, equipped with a bed, nothing more than a sheet covering it, a pillow at the top, "we have one of the main focal areas of discipline."
Walking in, Demont assesses the ceiling, walls and finally glances across the floor, "Four walls, a single window, ceiling, floor and bed. Bland."
"Exactly," Art replies, "for the first offender. Usually a ranch hand needs only a day or two to cool off, get their heads together."
"And second offenders?"
Art's loins were already cooking, watching Demont's every move. In essence, it seemed like already, he sensed Demont's approval, even though not much was said. However, incarcerating a ranch hand all alone in a room for up to two days, wasn't anything too severe. He could almost taste it on his tongue, his mind reeling with the prospect of how much Demont was going to like the next few areas on his tour guide list.
"This..." Art swings open another door, "is stage two."
Purposefully Art waited for Demont to enter, look around, get his bearing on the possibilities for discipling. He smiles when Demont goes to the center of the almost vacant room, lifts an arm and takes in his hand one of the two cuffs hanging from chains, saying, "And these would be for?"
Smartly, Art says, "Handcuffs are usually used for wrists," sighing, "although I can't deny ankles fit as well."
Well-versed at how this could go, Demont asks, "And what would be the purpose of hanging a boy from his ankles?"
A slip of the tongue was driving Art towards things he had in mind to share with Demont. Vocabulary such as `boy' fit the bill perfectly!
"Many purposes, Demont. Eighty percent of the time, it straightens out a boy' by hanging him by his arms for a few hours. Then' comes the important question, `Have you had enough?' to the boy."
Because this wasn't only about what he felt, Art leaves a moment of silence. Up until now, his speculation over how much of the realm of discipline, connected with the other realms of `bsm', was Demont willing to travel to.
Taking the bait, Demont moves to around where either himself, Art or another man would stand, for the sole purpose of, "Hanging by his ankles," Demont's two hands reached up, grabbed the two leather cuffs, "and legs brought down lower," he tried pulling, but they didn't budge, Art going to the wall and pushing a lever.
Mechanically, the cuffs lowered on chains, Art asking, "Tell me when to stop."
Eyeing up the distance, Demont had to use his imagination, making an approximation of where a boy's ass had to be in order to propel him into action. "Stop!"
"You're plan?" Art was greedy for details, approaching Demont and standing next to him.
For dramatic effect, Demont steps forwards about a foot and reaching in front of himself with both hands, he imitates grabbing a man around the thighs, "Then I enter from here, grab him around the legs and... and then there is nothing more but pleasure!"
It wasn't like reading a porno story, but Art got the message. However, reading into what Demont was saying, he adds, "And I tell you Demont, from experience, it feels so hot drilling a boy's ass from this position!"
Thinking things were going his way, thinks differently as Demont replies, "Tell me something. How does fucking, keep a boy from committing the same crime? Unless he is top?"
Art was going at this from the wrong perspective. Entirely on a different plane of reasoning, he figured Demont was about to inform Demont of all of the hot ass the two could get, by the day, by the night, whenever and how it didn't much of an infraction to beef up the supply of ass. If Demont took the bait and allowed his crotch to override any other reasoning, Art was about to clue Demont into the `supply and demand' system, utilizing payoffs to certain personnel at the habitat, such as Professor Moffit. Thinking he better make it look good, Art says, "Let me show you something else!"
Having Demont outside the door, Art Smith had a sense of inner relief, being out of there, hoping `out of sight', would put this out of Demont's mind. Thinking on Demont's words, of discipline, he skipped right to the main focus, "Here is where it really focuses on attention of punishment," he said, not sure exactly how to put it, only hoping it would draw favorable comment from Demont.
As for Demont, he was thinking how hot it could be, fucking a boy upside down, but from principle point of view, he didn't think `rape' was constitutional to proper disciplining.
Led into another room, there was a wooden pole in the middle. Around it, three quarters of the way, were wooden benches. Arranged much like a circular theater, Art explains, "I hope you can get the gist of this, Demont?"
At the top of the pole there was a single ring. At the bottom, two identical rings were attached to the floor. In no time, Art had gone to a closet and retrieved two implements, a flogger and leather strap.
"Which would be your implement of correction, Demont?"
Something was bothering Demont. Back home, at The Chasm' and here at the habitat, there was a big difference as far as how things worked. Whether it was whipping a guy or fucking his ass, it was done on a totally different basis. When it came to corrections', he wasn't sure. Yet, not having been around the habitat for long, he did not want to `step on' his superior's toes. Instead, he prudently chooses, "I'd like to see how your justice works, Art!"
Astounded, because Art didn't think `the tour' was going along with favorable reaction, "Tonight will be your chance then. I have two boys who reported late for class and, as Professor Moffit reports to me, they went on to be disruptive and insubordinate."
Not knowing Moffit, or the sexual favors guaranteed by Art Smith, Demont takes it at face value, "Sounds like a couple of unruly ranch hands?"
Art replies, "First offenders, but in my own opinion I think they need a harsh lesson in discipline."
To get things straight, Demont inquires, "So you and who else makes the decisions?"
With thoughts of Demont thinking he acts on his own, which most of the time, does, Art says, "Oh, it's not only my say. I assemble a panel of fellow security and we all determine the outcome of the sentence."
To Demont it all sounded like wishy-washy law enforcement, more like force', when he knew from past experiences, making' a person mend their evil ways wasn't at all conducive to a person's reconditioning of mind, but rather trying to fight evil with evil, which rarely served any peaceful purpose. Like he thought, rather than make rash decisions, he let it go as, "I see," not taking a stand either way.
In Art Smith's mind, Demont was falling more towards his will of decision making and that was good. "Ready to see more?"
He was, Demont more than willing to take on what Art had to offer, but as with the dinging of lunch hour, came the ding of it being over.
"Shit! I had so much to show you Demont, which I'm sure," Art says with complete confidence, "would have gotten you off!"
"Maybe later," Demont says. In a right mind of law and order, it was on his mind to do some investigation. First and foremost, he wanted to have it straight in his mind, with clear conscience, the powers to be behind at the habitat knowing of the reconditioning program offered by his assertive leader. One thought wandered through Demont's mind, if by theory this had been happening at a place like The Chasm', whereas force was a chosen option, a scenario going along as a guy wanting' to be hung by his ankles and fucked, then it would have had him already hard as a rock, stuck in the up position and ready. However, it just wasn't stoking his mind or the anatomy below his treasure trail as such.
On the way back to the security sector, Demont exchanged few words, Art doing most of the talking. He shared how, over numerous years of his employ at the habitat, he has had life good. Talking up much of his social life, according to Demont, Art seemed to lose focus pertaining to the reasons for his status as `director of security'.
Not that Demont wasn't into having a man coddle to his loins, or filling up an ass with his magic wand', but there always needed a place in time when you have to say stop' and face the reality of how you are affecting others by your own actions. Paying half mind to where Art was going with his ideas of `plenty of action around here', Demont reflects back to his past life, life at the Harrellsson Building. He smiles, thinking of one of his last endeavors, breaking up the little scenario he and Trystan broke up in the executive mens lounge. Even though Art is shooting his mouth off regarding some wild flings he has had, involving bdsm, sex and other exotic features, Demont's mind is off on a tangent, ruled by that one experience, stemming from his and Trystan's chance encounter, viewing Al Tarulli and Juan Cortez, at first, David Schlesinger, third party involvement.
Nothing on earth at this moment could break Demont's mental reflections, especially when his mind moved quickly from Al and Juan working over David Schlesinger, then on to where he had his cock buried deep in Al's ass, except for a third figure in the hallway.
"Oh, by the way Demont?" Art backhanded Demont, with a little slap to the ribs, "Has anyone introduced you to your room mate as of yet?"
"Room mate?" Demont answers.
"Apparently not," Art replies.
In the usual manner, when reports for the day, pertaining to accrued demerits found their way to Art Smith's office basket, it took one or two days. However, special individuals took priority and as Art enters his office, a lad sitting in a chair stands.
Because this is not his first time, Heath Hartshorn rises from his perch, saying, "Reporting for punishment, sir!"
Of course, reporting to Art Smith was old news, having been to this office a dozen or so times. No, Heath's eyes were more all over Demont.
Not the only one showing immense interest, before even speaking, Demont was having designs on this ranch hand!
Leaving the subject of roommate till later, Art says, "And what do I have the pleasure of punishing you for this time, Hartshorn?" Art sat down at his computer, fired up the monitor.
Before he could access the offenses listed on his screen, Heath is reporting to him, breaking his concentration from Demont, "I ran over an irrigation hose with a wheelbarrow and broke it, causing a loss of not only habitat resources, but setting our progress in the orchards back a day, sir."
While Heath was conversing with Art Smith, Demont was sizing up the tall, swimmer's build bod. He licked his lips, thinking of how Heath measured up, about his 6'4" height, their eyes leveling off, Heath dropping about an inch. He was clad in the traditional garb worn by ranch hands, khaki-colored, buttoned down shirt, same pants. He wondered if the slight bulge in Heath's pants was a result of being big, before or `after'. It made him smile.
Looking up from telling Art Smith all the details, snagging Demont made him break concentration, turning Heath from a dismal attitude, turning his lips up into a smile.
Contagious, it broke way for Demont's silent thoughts, nodding his head `yes', smiling back.
Both broke concentration, Art asking, "Demont, I'd like to hand Heath over to you. I'd like to see how you `handle' his punishment?" Art sat there, leaning back in his chair, relaxed, with hands behind his head. "Of course I will be there to oversee everything going along."
He wasn't sure about it, not having a real feel of the situation, but rather meekness, showing a rough figure of authority, arms folded across his middle, Demont relays, "I think I can effectively drill some sense into this boy."
If Heath's weren't hard enough for Demont in the last three minutes, his shaft was gaining momentum, if not size. Years ago, when he came across Art Smith, Heath felt the same thing, however this new, tall, young `master' entering his life, his feelings are in total renewal, a pulsing within, a wanting of Demont in ways he is not sure, but fulfillment of desires only serves to spike his interest in getting with him.
Rising up out of his chair, perhaps showing his own excitement, Art exclaims, "To the dungeon it is!"
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"Tidy it up boys!" Laurent calls out, his crew of kitchen workers winding up their session of making balls of dough for tomorrow, to become a batch of pizzas.
Hewy asks him, rather exhausted, "Now, how many minutes before dinner is served?"
"The bell rings at five thirty and we serve at six, which gives us more than a few minutes!" Laurent exclaims.
One of the new kitchen recruits, Jake Figler, reports, "One of the guys says to tell you everything is shipshape in the cafeteria and we're headed off to classes."
"Great, is it Jack?" Laurent questions identity.
"Jake," Jake replies sheepishly.
It doesn't go unnoticed, the twenty year old's glance to Hewy.
"You better run along so you're not late," Laurent tells him, because he sensed Jake's mind was lingering too long. He also reminds, "You don't want the wrath of Art Smith on you!"
"No, sir," Jake backs out of the kitchen, "surely don't, sir!"
"Nice young man," Hewy quips.
"Yes," Laurent agrees, "very polite."
Hewy says of the chef's luncheon, "I suppose one of us is in charge of cleaning up?" Without waiting around, Hewy begins the chore.
On Laurent's mind, he says, "Oh look at that," he goes for a kitchen implement, "one of the boys forgot to clean this up."
"I'll get it," Hewy says, because it was closer to him, picking up a wooden-handled board, used for scooping pizza out of the oven.
Holding it by the handle, Hewy equates it to one of the paddles he's used in a dungeon scene. It kind of gives him a zing! Holding it up, he looks at it, turns it over and gazes at the other side.
"Dirty?" Laurent asks.
"No," Hewy responds, lowering it. Slipping, he says, "It just reminds me of something."
"Oh?" Laurent doesn't let it go, thinking of the time in cooking school, when, as part of a practical joke, one of his fellow cook-mates swatted him in the ass with a wooden cutting board.
"Nothing," Hewy says, thinking like he's said something bad.
Even though not a word of it was true, Laurent says, "Reminds me of the paddle my daddy used on me when I was bad."
Hewy responds, with an ounce of lust, "Really?"
"Trust me, it wasn't such a bad ordeal."
"Must've hurt, though?" Hewy ventures into new territory with Laurent.
Feeling led on, Laurent says, "Matter of fact," he was taking a chance here, "I kind of grew `accustomed' to it.
Rubbing his palm up a side of it, Hewy knew he might be taking this conversation too far, "Could really give a good sting?"
"I suppose it would depend on who is swinging it, no?"
By now, Laurent had affixed his eyes on Hewy's gaze, smiling, communicating language another man could perceive as exactly what is on `his' mind.
Partially agreeing, Hewy says, "Depends on the ass and if a man could take it."
It was like `asking,' Laurent not missing out on the chance to experience, "Only one way to find out?"
"Like what are you saying?" Hewy questions Laurent's motives.
"It's only you and me!" Laurent says of the vacant kitchen, except for the two playful chefs.
"Really?" Hewy checks for sure, "You want me to..."
Instead of words, Laurent acted, unbuttoning his long, white chef's coat. Underneath he had a plain, white tee shirt. It and the white pants show off the black belt around his waist when he removed the traditional chefs jacket.
He asks, "Would you be wanting my pants up or down?"
"I don't know," Hewy replies, though at `The Chasm', he was in more of a frame of mind to demand, having his bottom-boy already void of clothing, except on occasion a lovely black leather harness!
Being Laurent has never taken a hit with a pizza board, he figures `both', "How about a couple of swats with pants up, then on the bare hiney?" he laughs.
"Okay," Hewy replies. Too, he smiles, Laurent's humor throwing off some of the nervousness.
From there, Laurent leaning with two hands on the oversized stove, Hewy had to grasp the handle with two hands and with a simple, `ready!' proceeded to give Laurent a swat.
Right after impact, Laurent replying with an almost unheard, `ouch', they both hear boasted out loud, "A man after my own heart!"
Immediately Laurent thought of Art Smith catching them in the act, however Hewy knew the voice to be, "Geoff?"
Bdsm-mates from `The Chasm', Geoff having been Hewy's mentor, says, "Gimme that thing. Let me show you how to really do it!"
Not even questioning Laurent, to what degree he was into this stuff, Geoff goes on his own assumption, "Brace yourself, boy!"
Loving it, Geoff demeaning him in an awesome manner, Laurent does just that. For whatever reason, he's doing some assuming himself, thinking his new chef knows exactly what he's doing. "Ak-k-k-k-k-k-k-oh-oh-oh!" Laurent hops around the kitchen, holding his ass.
"You didn't warn him," Hewy says.
"Oh," Geoff replies in a casual manner, "was I supposed to count to three or something?" Same time he's running his eyes over the pizza board. "No cracks. Damn good construction!"
By this time, Laurent is more concerned with his buns. In no time he had unbuckled his belt, unzipped and dropped his pants to his ankles. His briefs are down to almost his knees and he's contorting his bod so he can look at his buns.
No seeing Geoff sneaking up to him, he feels a hand slap him on the ass cheek, "Not even a red mark."
Checking things out, seeing how well Laurent took it, didn't only depend on checking things out from the rear!
Circling Laurent, Geoff, pizza-paddle still an extension of his arm, his other hand grabs up his superior's cock, "What have we here?"
To someone familiar, like maybe James, he would feel comfortable, but first time with Geoff, Laurent turns a brilliant crimson, "Um, a hardon?"
Hewy, getting the same idea as Geoff, fondles the hand Geoff has on the pizza board, "Maybe I try that again?"
Turning to both, not bothering on putting his crotch back together, Laurent puts up two dukes in a stopping position, "No guys. C'mon, we..."
Sensing they could take this to unknown heights, Geoff responds, "That'll be sir' to you boy'!"
Dropping his hands and the false warding off, Laurent questions with a smile, "Yeah? You guys can get into this?"
A little less seasoned, because Geoff would be more investigative before offering, Hewy says, "Give me the chance and I would work your balls and nips until they are beet red!"
It actually made Geoff smile at the humorous way in which Hewy presented it, coupled with the funny description, "Beet red? Really?"
However, in an accepting way, they hear it from Laurent, "Yeah, really?"
Getting the hang of things, like gaydar, Hewy says, "See, Geoff? He wants it as much as you and I want to give it!"
Well, it's not exactly how Geoff would have gone about it, but Hewy brought everything out into the open. It was like saving steps, cutting out all the shit-drama involved in leading a man's mind to what was supposed and what he liked.
"I see," Geoff responds to Hewy, but turns to Laurent. Taking the opportunity, Laurent not shying away, Geoff's hand on the chef's cock, fingertips sliding down the barrel, hand scooping up the two well-endowed orbs, "Got anybody to work these tennis balls?" he gives a little squeeze.
"Mm-m-m-oh-h," biting a lip, then saying, "uh, yeah, my partner likes cock and ball torture and..." he sighs from the slight second squeeze, "anything else he feels like doing to me at the time."
Hewy was thinking it would be so nice to meet him, Geoff kicking up the furnace, "We should meet."
For the moment, the moment being what it is, it would have to do, Geoff slowly jerking Laurent's cock, Hewy opening both his own and Geoff's pants, utilizing both hands, the three eventually making the kitchen floor slimy and slippery!
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For now, many of the areas of the habitat were put on hold until things picked up again tomorrow morning. Almost all of the ranch hands were involved in classes, chosen by themselves or for them. Those who weren't could earn a few credits towards the dog-tags they wore around their necks, for future purchases, like additional personal supplies or a good time had at Atlantis some evening. Ranch hands worked hard for their dollar and once established at the habitat, found everything doesn't come free.
With bikes snuggly in their stalls, Rally and James had ventured off to Atlantis. Before departing the glass depot, Rally says, "Oh here, James, Dutch told me to give this to you."
Holding the metal, beaded chain in his hand, two dog tag attached, James snatches it away, "Oh cool! Makes feel like I really belong!" He hastily loops it over his head. However, his head was too big for the chain, the dog tag resting on his forehead.
"Looks like you need a spacer for your big head!" Rally says. "Turn around," he made James spin around.
"I could have done that," James says, as Rally unloops the chain, opens the clasp and reattaches it around James' neck.
"I know you could have James, but it might be the closest I ever come to touching you!"
Turning back around, James replies, "Okay, get it out of your system."
"Get `what' out of my system?"
"Touch me."
"Touch you? But I don't wanna touch you. You're a married man. Besides, I don't want to take the chance of my rations of batatas cut down!"
He started to walk away, James snatching up the back of Rally's shirt, stopping him dead in his tracks, "Y'know that was like the biggest bunch of bullcrap I've ever heard?"
Then, making it sound like James was going to get something out of this, Rally not getting an ounce of shellshock, he says, "Okay, if you want me to, I'll do it just for you James!"
Rally didn't hesitate, the bike dude pulling James shirt right out of his pants and sticking his hands up underneath. First thing out of his mouth is, "Oh man, I love all this hair!"
Standing there, hands on his torso, James made out he wasn't getting anything out of it, saying after about two minutes, "Done yet?"
What amounted to roaming over James' haired chest, tweaking both nips lightly, planing down his abs trail, a thumb slightly putting a dent in James' navel, then making his exit, sloppily tucking James' shirt back in, Rally says, "Done!"
"Done? That's all you wanted to do?"
"Oh no, James. To do what I want to do, we would have to be in a secluded room and both of us with our clothes off," Rally laughs. He waited though, just in case there was a possibility James was thinking along those lines too.
"You know what mama said?"
"There'll be days like this?" Rally recalled from some song his dad used to listen to.
"Did she?" James asks. "No, I thought she said `never say never?'"
Speaking fast, Rally says, "Did she? I dunno, but I like yours better!"
"Um, think we should get to Atlantis before it closes?"
Rally replies, "Sure, but it like almost never closes."
All this talk and do session he and Rally had finished up, did set him off a little bit. James was sure when he peeled off his clothes, there would be a bit of jizz on the inside of his briefs. He smiled, following Rally, thinking it a little fun. Then, catching up and walking next to him, James says after a laugh, "Y'know, you got me going so much about this touchy-feely thing, I almost forgot about Tom."
"Did you tell me if he had a boyfriend?" Rally asks.
"Why? You trying to be my brother-in-law or something?"
"I suppose it wouldn't be so bad, James. At least I would see more of you?"
"Oh?"
"Yeah, besides your furry bod, I think you're a pretty cool guy!"
"You mean to tell me, out of the hundreds of guys here, you haven't found one you like?"
Rally says, as he holds the door to the main building, "There's a few I've had my eyes on, but of those, neither of them are the type who want to settle down."
"You're young. You don't want to play around first?"
Rally, thinking about earlier in the day, "You're with Laurent, yet you and Samuele had a fling in the shower together?"
"And how would you know something like that?"
Fessing up, Rally replies, "I was leaning on the other side of the wall with my dick in my hand. Between both you carrying on with moans and groans and a steal of the action every now and then from around the corner, well all I can say is, it got my rocks off!"
All James could think of is being snagged, caught with his hand in the cookie jar or another several phrases of equal meaning. "Did you stay around long enough to catch me emptying my load down Samuele's throat?"
"Yeah and it surprised me."
"How's that go?" James asks.
"Because I thought Samuele was a strict top. You must be somebody special!"
It worked both ways, James already thinking Rally a special guy. "You know, I think I could get hard having your tongue my hairy chest?"
"Don't tease, James!"
He would have liked to carry on more conversation, but looking up, as they walked through the double glass doors of Atlantis, he saw Tom running the length of the artificial seashore, a hand in the air.
"Hey look James! I've made a new friend!"
He was acting like a little kid, Tom running along, stopping, running back, turning back around and jogging towards his brother and Rally, the whole time, some underwater creature following his underwater movement in the air.
"Cool, huh?" he finally breaks off contact with the sea animal.
"What is it?" James asks.
"A porpoise, but not just any porpoise!"
Tom's way of saying it, James and Rally knew there was a story behind it.
They didn't disappoint Tom, him yearning to tell the story behind the porpoise and not waiting, "The special thing about Echo is he was born with one fin."
Rally asks, "He swims awfully good with one?"
"That's the thing. Thor says they had another porpoise which died, so they cut the extra fin off and sewed it onto Echo. Cool, huh?"
They thought it cool, but for James, the coolest thing was not about the porpoise. For as long as he can remember, going back over the past five years or more, Tom hadn't been excited over anything much more than gay sex and bdsm!
"Here ya go Tommy!"
Sneaking up behind Tom, not which James nor Rally let go by them, seeing Thor approach them, what did seem weird to James, was watching Thor put his arms around his brother, engulfing him, then presenting him with a coconut-filled drink.
"I hope you like it," Thor held the drink, the straw for Tom to sip. "Good?"
"Mm-m, yeah," Tom replies.
Rally asks, "Got any more of them, Thor?"
James grabs up his dogtag, "Yeah, I can break this in with my first purchase!"
"Cool, you got yours. I got mine too!"
Enraptured by Tom's porpoise experience and explanation, when James sees him clutch his dogtag up in a hand, he realizes his brother hadn't had a stitch of clothing on.
As Rally and Thor head over to the bar, James asks, "It looks like you're comfortable with your new wardrobe?"
Looking down over himself, the twenty-three year old replies, "I didn't even think about it. It's like Thor says, once you get used to yourself running around in the nude, you forget about it. Trust me, James, it didn't take long!"
Now he's mentioned it, James says, "Looks like you've hooked a nice specimen?!"
Tom knew who James talked about, but responds, "Who? Thor or Echo?"
"Not at all like his brother, Dutch!"
"Oh that's right. You work for Dutch. What's he like?"
"Truthfully," James says, making landfall with the bar area, "I don't know. He hasn't been around long enough to find out. He introduced me to Rally and then vanished!"
"What'll you have, James?" Thor asks, hiding his lower nudity by the bar counter.
Taking off his dogtag, he says, "I don't know how much I have charged up. Is there a way you can tell?"
"They start you out with 50 credits. A drink is 5 credits. You do the math!"
"Never mind," Tom jumps in, "I have tons more credits than you!"
"You do? What did you do to get them?"
Tom replies, "Well, today is my last day working at Atlantis, because they've arranged for me to go to the habitat college, but Thor says I can still work some of the time."
"Habitat college?" James seems skeptical. "What are they soaking you for that?"
"It's free!" Dwelling on how they got mixed up with the scheme to take down Harrellsson and their venture to Italy, "There's no tuition, but after I get my degree, like all the other guys, when I get my diploma, I have to stay on for five years. Then I can choose to go or stay."
Turning to Thor, James asks, "I suppose you've chosen to stay?"
"Frankly," Thor says, "I really like the environment and so far have not had a reason to desire to leave!"
Joking, Tom says, "What happens if `I' leave, Thor?"
"Now `that' could be a reason!" he laughs.
However, James could see something brewing between the two, the way their eyes lingered on each other!
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Copyright 2011 T. Chase McPhee
`CoMPany payLoaD' - RancH HanDs may not be sold, nor made part of any collection, without prior consent from the author.