"If I ever get one of those cunts within range of my phasar then there'll be a shitload of fucking Polar corpuscles pasting the soil." It couldn't make it any more red than it already is," Grenadier Khadija joked as she cocked her massive missile-launcher over her shoulder. "Anyway, I reckon this planet's a lot more fucking red now than it was when the first colony was founded. We've been spreading this fucking hole with enough Polar corpuscles to give those Martian microbes a real feast of iron."Colonel Vashti strode across the Martian plain—if such a word correctly described the bounce that accompanied her step on the low gravity highlands. She held her laser rifle nozzle-downwards while crystals of Martian ice clung to her boots. Although the soldier's space suits were as thin as modern textiles allowed, the volume of nano-particles that filled the inside shell made her seem almost obese, as it did the other soldiers. A single microscopic rip through the fabric, however tough and. I could tell this was important from her whole demeanour, and not just because the gift came in a long, flat jewellery box. Excitedly I unpicked a familiar knot, and prised back the sprung lid. Inside, on a black velvet lining, were two silver chains. One was long, and filigree fine. The other was much shorter, and made of intricately articulated, broad flat links. The clasp and lock drew my special attention. A small finely wrought padlock held a tiny key.This was terribly important. My studies of S&M meant I knew the implications clearly. I lifted the wider chain, speechless, heart thumping, and without hesitation placed it around my throat. It was a collar, not a necklace, and it spelled not so much a change, but a full confirmation of our relationship. Holding the collar in place with one hand, I dropped the padlock into Margaret's open palm. A Bach cantata played softly, ethereally, adding to the sense of ceremony. Margaret stood behind me, her nipples lightly, intimately,.
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