Beastchild

this team-had a room. He was almost to Fiala's door when he decided his idea was full of holes big enough to crawl through. Perhaps Banalog was sympathetic, but that was no guarantee Fiala would feel the same. If she suspected him, she could call for help through the Phasersystem before he could do anything to stop her.
        He went up a few more floors to his own quarters. He packed an equipment case full of food which he dialed from the tower kitchen. He hoped there was not a repairman monitoring the food system; this large an order would draw attention he could not afford. He packed his own personal heat source and a handgun for protection against mutant lifeforms. He could think of nothing more to take.
        He got his supply of sweet-drugs and filled a hypo full of the stuff. There were still two doses in the bottle. He tucked the bottle in the case with the other things, closed the case. Then, carrying the provisions in one hand and concealing the hypo of sweet-drugs in the other, he went downstairs to see Fiala.
        She answered her door on the third ring. She was stunning, as usual, and she aroused a pang of desire in him that made his reproductive pouch contract pleasantly. He also knew a moment of guilt at what he was about to do.
        "Hulann?"
        "May I come in?"
        She looked at the satchel he carried, but did not see the needle in his other hand. She stepped back from the door to allow him by her.
        When he was around her, he turned, swept the needle into her hip, jabbed deep, depressed the release. The bright fluid drained into her in less than half a dozen seconds.
        But even as the first drops had been injected, she had ceased to whirl, to try to get out of his grasp. Her motions became relaxed. She had lost, from now until the sweet-drugs wore off, the ability to seek help through her Phasersystem contact.
        "What are you doing?" she asked dreamily, her eyes heavy.
        The needle still stuck out her rump. He pulled it free and laid it on top of his suitcase, set next to her desk.
        "Come," he said.
        She allowed herself to be led to the couch.
        "What do you want of me, Hulann?"
        "The keys to your ground car," he said, looking down at her. "Where are they?"
        "Why do you want them?" Her words were thick, slow, syrupy words.
        "Never mind. If you won't tell me, I'll have to search the place. I won't be gentle, Fiala. I'll wreck some of your files."
        "They're in the desk. Top left."
        He went and got them. When he turned to come back, she was opening the door to the corridor.
        He took three leaps, fell on her, dragging her away from the portal, kicking it shut, crushing her under him to smother any scream she might attempt. And she attempted several.
        He pressed down on her, used his left hand to pinch off the wide, four-nostriled nose. When she passed out, he could tie and gag her as he had Banalog.
        But she feigned unconsciousness. And when he let go of her slack body, she drove a well-muscled knee upwards into his pouch, making him gasp with pain and fall off her. Colorful flashes erupted in his head. His stomachs contracted. He clutched at himself to try to stop the pain, but it was no use.
        Fiala was up, weaving as the drug drew her farther and farther away from reality. She found the door again.
        He fought his nausea, reached out, grabbed her legs and pulled her backwards.
        She fell over him, clawing, tearing at him with her fingers and her wicked teeth.
        He wrestled her, trying to get another chance at her nose, to cut off her breath until she was genuinely unconscious. But she tossed her head and bit him.
        The pupils of her eyes were enormous as the drug worked against her and for Hulann. But he was not going to be able to wait for it to help him.
        She drew blood from his hand and made a gurgling sound of pleasure deep in her throat.
        She bucked, almost threw him off.
        At last, regretting the necessity for his action, he drew back his open hand, and slammed the flattened palm into her sex pouch. She made a harsh strangling sound, gagged as he had gagged. He did it again, sending a new wave of paralysis through her.
        Then he stood. She was in no condition to run now. She writhed on the floor, calling him names and hugging herself. She said something about his buying his directorship from