seeing as no matter how big a pain in the ass he had been he had still been the only friend she'd had. She had to work at feeling guilty, which wasn't very hard, either, considering all that she had done as a Reliance officer.
Then she ran out onto her porch screaming into the night, "My husband is dead! My gods! I have killed my poor sick husband!"
A group of villagers soon gathered to comfort her. Knowing well what had happened and how, no one further questioned her. Since everyone knew he had the worms, several of the men watched as she put on his pants and stuffed him into one of the bio-waste bags they had brought for that purpose. Then they helpfully gathered up Right's bagged carcass and carried it off towards the incinerator as Jessica followed in a herd of consoling women. One told her how she had killed her aged husband the same way only last spring. It happened sometimes, no one ever blamed anyone, she shouldn't blame herself, and he probably welcomed death anyway having the worms in him and all.
He was loaded into the incinerator, it was set on high, and in mere moments Right, his worms, and the computer components he hid were history. Nothing but dust.
She returned home to "mourn" on her own. When the others were clear of her abode she sat down and smiled. She wondered when would be a proper time to start the next phase of her plan. How long would she be expected to mourn for Right? She wanted off this filthy planet, but she couldn't afford to screw up, not now.
She expected that taking into account the severity of Right's illness and how tiresome life with him obviously was that she wouldn't be expected to mourn more than a couple of weeks.
For two weeks she moped around just shooting out vibes of grief and general guilt. It wasn't hard; there were many things in her life that had made her unhappy. Stewart's rejection of her seemed to be her favorite unpleasant memory. There were a multitude of things she felt very real guilt for, and all stemmed from being stupid enough to buy into the Reliance's propaganda. Which she could blame on her father because he hadn't trained her to think for herself the way he had RJ. He had in fact killed himself rather than choose her over her sister, which made her very unhappy, which fed her guilt, etcetera.
Finally, she figured she had displayed all the grief necessary. After all, life was short, and life on Pete was shorter. A general "shit happens" type attitude seemed to prevail where all horrors were concerned on Pete. It was time for her to move forward to the next stage of her plan.
He was watching her. She had noticed when she had finally opened her eye that he always watched her, and she could feel his lust. No doubt her flawless body more than made up for the eye she was missing.
"Sorry to hear about your husband, One-eye," he said as he approached her close to the middle of the day. It was obvious that he wasn't in the slightest bit sorry.
"Thanks," Jessica said in an absent tone.
He laughed then. "I hear you bed killed him."
That's what the Argy called it, bed killing. She supposed it was nicer than saying "fucked to death."
She just nodded.
"He was sickly and weak. You couldn't kill a healthy man," he said.
Jessica looked up at him and gave him her very sexiest smile. "Now I wouldn't want to bet on that."
The pig was now fully aroused. She didn't have to use her empathic powers to know it, he was pointing at her—and not with a finger. "I'd take that bet," he said.
She purposely looked down at her feet and tried to feel coy, though she wasn't really sure what that was. "It's been a very long time since I've had a healthy man."
"Take me to your place after work and I'll show you the best night of your life."
She knew that was a boast he wouldn't be able to make good on.
He was a filthy pig who wanted her to do disgusting things and who liked to
Then she ran out onto her porch screaming into the night, "My husband is dead! My gods! I have killed my poor sick husband!"
A group of villagers soon gathered to comfort her. Knowing well what had happened and how, no one further questioned her. Since everyone knew he had the worms, several of the men watched as she put on his pants and stuffed him into one of the bio-waste bags they had brought for that purpose. Then they helpfully gathered up Right's bagged carcass and carried it off towards the incinerator as Jessica followed in a herd of consoling women. One told her how she had killed her aged husband the same way only last spring. It happened sometimes, no one ever blamed anyone, she shouldn't blame herself, and he probably welcomed death anyway having the worms in him and all.
He was loaded into the incinerator, it was set on high, and in mere moments Right, his worms, and the computer components he hid were history. Nothing but dust.
She returned home to "mourn" on her own. When the others were clear of her abode she sat down and smiled. She wondered when would be a proper time to start the next phase of her plan. How long would she be expected to mourn for Right? She wanted off this filthy planet, but she couldn't afford to screw up, not now.
She expected that taking into account the severity of Right's illness and how tiresome life with him obviously was that she wouldn't be expected to mourn more than a couple of weeks.
For two weeks she moped around just shooting out vibes of grief and general guilt. It wasn't hard; there were many things in her life that had made her unhappy. Stewart's rejection of her seemed to be her favorite unpleasant memory. There were a multitude of things she felt very real guilt for, and all stemmed from being stupid enough to buy into the Reliance's propaganda. Which she could blame on her father because he hadn't trained her to think for herself the way he had RJ. He had in fact killed himself rather than choose her over her sister, which made her very unhappy, which fed her guilt, etcetera.
Finally, she figured she had displayed all the grief necessary. After all, life was short, and life on Pete was shorter. A general "shit happens" type attitude seemed to prevail where all horrors were concerned on Pete. It was time for her to move forward to the next stage of her plan.
He was watching her. She had noticed when she had finally opened her eye that he always watched her, and she could feel his lust. No doubt her flawless body more than made up for the eye she was missing.
"Sorry to hear about your husband, One-eye," he said as he approached her close to the middle of the day. It was obvious that he wasn't in the slightest bit sorry.
"Thanks," Jessica said in an absent tone.
He laughed then. "I hear you bed killed him."
That's what the Argy called it, bed killing. She supposed it was nicer than saying "fucked to death."
She just nodded.
"He was sickly and weak. You couldn't kill a healthy man," he said.
Jessica looked up at him and gave him her very sexiest smile. "Now I wouldn't want to bet on that."
The pig was now fully aroused. She didn't have to use her empathic powers to know it, he was pointing at her—and not with a finger. "I'd take that bet," he said.
She purposely looked down at her feet and tried to feel coy, though she wasn't really sure what that was. "It's been a very long time since I've had a healthy man."
"Take me to your place after work and I'll show you the best night of your life."
She knew that was a boast he wouldn't be able to make good on.
He was a filthy pig who wanted her to do disgusting things and who liked to
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