Young Blood by Brian Stableford

By Brian Stableford

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A terrorist assault. A killer at the free. And a last, determined challenge . . .

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I suppose he figured that we could talk any old time, once the vital business of the night was out of the way. ’ but he figured that he ought to be subtle, to creep up on me, to pressure me inch by inch. He was ready to fail, though—he was by no means certain then that he would make enough progress to make the eventual end inevitable, a week or a month later. He just kept making hopeful contact, one nudge at a time, one grope at a time, one question or tawdry joke at a time. ' 'Hell, no. ' 'The old part of it's nice.

He was always polite, but his politeness was based in expectation; the pressure he put on was steady but relentless. He knew that in a way I'd already consented, and he was eager to push the process through to its appointed end. As Sharon would have said, he was panting to get inside my knickers. He wanted to do it in his flat but I decided that I would rather it happened in my room, at least the first time. It might all have been different, I think, if it had been summer instead of winter, but the university year starts in October, and there are two terms of winter before you ever get to the long, warm days when you can spend more time in the open air.

And so on. Just a series of sound bites, squeezed between the band's pauses. When he walked me home, the pressure intensified. He put his arm round me, as though to protect me from the creatures of the night, staking his claim so that any freaks and rapists waiting in the bushes would know that they had to stay away. It was a fairly long walk. The Students’ Union was in the corner of the campus furthest away from Brennan Hall, near the main road into the city. We had to pass between the various sets of science labs, and the buildings which housed the main lecture halls.

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