by S. L. Hadley
<
Ambassador’s expression was blank as always, but his voice conveyed an anger Katie had not heard before. She tried clearing her throat to answer him but the seed Janniss and his packmates had emptied down it stuck and left her unable to speak.
<
“Wasteful?” Katie rasped out. She laughed at her own joke, the sound phlegmatic but going a long way toward clearing her throat.
Ambassador was not amused. One of his tentacles lashed out like a whip and curled around her wrist. He yanked her to her feet, earning fierce growls from the pack. The three of them advanced, tails lashing and eyes narrowed to murderous squints. They were no match for Ambassador, however, who sent them scurrying backward with a glance and a psionic command that Katie couldn’t hear but which left the hair on the back of her neck standing on end.
<
Katie tried to pull her arm free of Ambassador’s grasp, but found she couldn’t even budge him even with the slickness of the combined juices coating her limbs. The motion did, however, cause a bit of the alien seed to leak from her thoroughly bred holes and it was only Ambassador’s presence that kept her from collecting it with her fingers.
“So what?” she grumbled. “I don’t see any more of them around. Especially females.”
<
“Is that so? Well, my apologies,” she snapped, making no effort to sound convincing. “Must be quite an inconvenience for you.”
Ambassador ignored her venom. <
The final word had barely enough time to breach Katie’s skull before an icy current of fear swept over her. Too frightened even to breathe, she froze with her fingers still trying to pry Ambassador’s tentacle off her wrist.
“My… my death?” she echoed, voice shaking. “What do you mean? What are you saying?”
Ambassador stared at her silently, just long enough for her legs to begin trembling. At last, he released his grip on her wrist. Katie hadn’t realized how off-balance she was until he did, and stumbled.
<
Katie breathed a sigh and felt tears of relief well up in the corners of her eyes. It wasn’t until the fear had begun to lift that she noticed how oppressive it had been. It felt as though he’d been squeezing her entire body, not just her wrist, and her chest ached from the fading pressure.
<
“So, what are you saying? I have to stay here?”
<
And, just like that, Katie’s fear returned.
“You can’t be serious!” she shouted. Hands balling into fists, she stalked toward Ambassador without thought of the danger. “You’re going to… maroon me? Why not just kill me now and get it over with?”
<
Katie circled slowly, lifting her fists. Jaw clenched, she eyed Ambassador and waited for… something. An opening, perhaps, as if she’d recognize it when it appeared. A chance to leap into action and pummel the damn alien into submission.
It was hopeless. And pointless.
Both of which were not lost on Ambassador either. With a complete lack of concern, the alien retreated several paces into the hallway, gestured with one tentacle, and shut the door.
Finding herself in darkness, it took Katie several seconds to wrap her mind around what had just happened. Furious, both at Ambassador and herself, she stomped forward and delivered a ferocious kick to the now-locked door. The metal barely made a sound as she struck it, though lashing out blindly made her misjudge the distance and sent a jolt of pain through her heel and up the back of her leg to the knee.
“Son of a bitch!” she roared.
No one answered.
***
When Katie woke next, she knew instantly that she was not in the same place she’d fallen asleep. She’d done so in a corner of the pitch-black room, huddled anxiously in the center of the pack. Their scaly fur was not quite the same as a pile of blankets, but it was still far more comfortable than the bare mattress she’d been dealing with for weeks. It was only the anxiety of her prescribed fate that kept her from resting soundly.
As she opened her eyes, however, she knew immediately that fate had found her first.
Gone were the blank metal walls, the darkness, and even the quiet, ever-present hum of alien machinery. In their place was a wide-open field, dotted with enormous ferns with leaves the size of a bus, beneath an unfamiliar, red sky. And, as she climbed to her feet, Katie noticed the ground beneath her seemed to be a single, unbroken bed of moss that spread out in every direction as far as the eye could see.
“Well, shit.”
Katie was so distracted by the alien landscape—and the feeling of helplessness the new environment created within her—that she failed to spot Janniss had woken as well. She screeched and leapt a foot into the air as the alien’s snout brushed her backside. Whirling, she glared at him, even as a reluctant smile spread across her face.
“Damn it,” she grumbled. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”
Janniss stared at her and from the twinkling of his eyes, Katie could have sworn he was smirking. At the very least, he was not the least bit mollified by her words. His tails—more than that, she reminded herself—swayed eagerly above his back, unbraided.
Despite everything, current circumstances included, the memory of what they could do brought a blush to her cheeks. She cleared her throat rather quickly.
“So, I guess the bastards decided to dump us here?”
“For now,” Janniss said. At the sound of his voice, the other two members of the pack stirred and began to climb to their feet, yawning. “A fair world. Abundant. The pack will stay with you.”
Katie sighed, looking around at their surroundings again. Aside from the mossy ground and the fernlike trees, there didn’t seem to be much in the way of life. Had that been Ambassador’s plan all along? Dump her here and wait until she starved?
Before she had a chance to voice her concerns, however, Janniss continued. “Do not fear. The pack will hunt. Our female will be provided for.”
Katie grinned. Turning, she tiptoed toward Janniss until his snout was mere inches away from her navel. She stroked his head, using the gentle pressure of her palm to guide his head down below her waist. Without further prompting, his tongue emerged to lick her eagerly.
If she was stuck here permanently, she was going to make the best of it.
“I’m counting on it,” she said.
The End
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In space, no one can hear you scream. Oh, if only that were true.
Capt. James Davison groaned, rolling and smothering himself with a pillow. It did very little to drown out the noise filtering in from the hall. The shrieking giggles and pounding feet would normally make him grin. Perhaps even rush out and claim the morning's willing victim.
Right now, he had a truly awe-inspiring hangover.
He reached toward his nightstand blindly, fumbling for the pills that would cure the incessant throbbing in his head. They weren't there. Frowning--and immediately regretting the decision--he sat up, letting the pillow fall from his face.
Damn, he really had trashed this place last night. Makeshift bottles of alcohol--empty, of course--dotted the not-quite-spacious captain's chambers. His uniform lay strewn across the floor and spartan furniture. And the pill bottle...
"There you are," he muttered. Gritting his teeth, he gingerly grabbed it from the corner where it had rolled. A few pills, swallowed hastily and dry, diminished the ache within seconds. He let out a slow, shaky breath. Slowly lifting himself into a sitting position, he snatched up a nearby dataslate. After a few seconds of loading, he began to thumb through the list of relevant notifications and updates. Most were utterly forgettable--Survey vessel lost after sensor malfunction on lava planet! It could happen to you!--but one headline managed to catch his eye.
Colonization voyages planned for Outer Centaurus Arm.
Frowning, he opened the link, skimming the information it contained. Lists of stars, planets, and systems scrolled in a seemingly endless list.
Unimportant. Unimportant. Unimportant. Un--
There it was. RSGC2.
James swore violently, hurling the dataslate across the room. It struck the far wall, screen cracking. Almost immediately, the screen lit with a soft green glow as the device began to repair itself.
They were his. That whole system was his--he'd made sure of that. A hundred voyages, maybe more, each one reported as an utter failure. All their wealth, resources, and inhabitants the rightful property of His Majesty, James the First, God-Emperor of the Outer Centaurus Arm.
And yet the looters were still coming. Coming to steal what was rightfully his.
Back stiffening proudly, he stood. The commotion outside his quarters had died down. Perhaps his girls had heard him fling the dataslate. Or perhaps Janna was simply being nosy again, reading his mood and informing the others. Regardless, it was a timely reminder. He had his place, and so did the rest of the universe.
His just happened to be on top.
Stripping off his bedclothes, James made his way to the washroom. He'd paid extra from his own pocket to have it expanded, and he had yet to regret the decision. The room was nearly as large as the main quarters, with a bath and shower that could easily fit six. It had on many occasions.
He stretched as he walked, stiff muscles loosening much as they always did. During the early years of his voyage, he had gotten used to the toned and athletic body the ship's galley had given him. With the right calories, stimulants, and modified foodstuffs, it took virtually no effort on his part. So it wasn't until he'd visited his first inhabited planet that he'd realized what an unusual specimen he was. Regardless of species, the males quailed before him. And the women... he gave a self-aware grin at the way his body still responded to the memories. They'd practically fought one another to serve as his concubines. He flexed a little, one muscle at a time, to distract himself as he stepped under the stinging hot shower spray.
Damn, it felt good to be a god-emperor. And he'd be damned if he was going to let some filthy refugees settle all over one of his planets.
When he was eventually satisfied by his hygiene, James stepped from the washroom. His back was still stiff and regal, and the pre-adjusted heat settings had warmed his quarters until they were almost balmy. He dressed quickly, his uniform tight and authoritative as ever. There was something about a stiff collar and epaulettes that most would never understand. You weren't just dressed differently, you were different.
With a gentle brush of his hand, James stepped out from his chambers. The main hold was surprisingly spacious, given all the modifications he'd made. Over half had originally held assorted survey equipment--as if anyone actually cared about soil samples. He'd scrapped or sold all but the essentials, often to natives, and in exchange he'd amassed all sorts of treasures. Food, actual alcohol, additional beds, and most importantly...
Throughout the chamber, the members of his harem knelt, bowed, or made other culturally significant signs of reverence. He acknowledged them with a faint nod and paternal smile.
"Morning, my dears," he said.
A chorus of voices answered him and his grin widened appreciatively. Glancing around, he gave a small frown.
"Where's Janna?" he asked. He spotted a hint of jealousy in a few eyes and bit back the urge to explain himself further. She'd been the first to join his makeshift crew, and he suspected a number of his lovers resented her for it. Any attention he paid her was certainly attributed to favoritism; he didn't even need to be psychic to perceive that.
It was silent for a second, until Orryhena, his only darkmaw bride, gave a fanged, toothy grin.
"Briesheh," she hissed. Certain sounds were impossible for her to enunciate, but they'd grown to understand one another in their own way. Her eyes swelled and her tail writhed a bit as she spoke, eying him hungrily. "Shanna eesha wash sabriesheh."
James inclined his head in her direction. Come to think of it, it had been a while....
"Thank you, Orry." He indicated over his shoulder with a thumb. "Clean up if you haven't already, then wait for me. Everyone else is dismissed for now."
The darkmaw gave an excited trill, settling back on her haunches. Her tail snaked back and forth, and her eyes were pitch black with eagerness. Around the rest of the hold, sighs and muttered disappointments could be heard. James purposefully ignored both, simply making his way toward the bridge with steady, even strides. Behind him, Orryhena darted into the room, while the rest looked on jealously.
Janna was waiting for him in the bridge, seated in the copilot's chair. In her hands, she held a steaming mug of some sweet-smelling, native drink. She passively watched the handful of monitors and viewscreens, most of her attention focused on a gentle, haunting tune playing over the speakers. Glancing back as the door shut behind him, she lifted her mug in a casual greeting.
"My lord," she acknowledged, casually. There was a refreshing, almost irreverent familiarity in her tone. None of the others dared speak to him that way.
"Anything to report?" he asked, sliding into his seat.
Janna shook her head. "Nothing. She's still purring like that darkmaw of yours."
He rolled his eyes, swapping a few of the viewscreens with a lazy wave of his hand. "Showoff. You're lucky I like you, or I'd have thrown you out the airlock by now."
Unblinking, Janna took a sip of her drink that doubled as a rude gesture. James sighed and she stiffened almost at once, suddenly nervous.
"What is it?" she asked.
"News," he said. "The damned Survey Corp put C2 on a colonization list. I don't know if they sent someone to follow-up, but for whatever reason they've stopped trusting my reports."
Janna shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Her gift meant that she could read moods, emotions, and generalities, but the nuances of politics and federal colonization policy were beyond the scope of her abilities. It was a not-so-subtle reminder of who was really in charge.
"So what does that mean?" she asked.
"It means," he said, staring ahead, unseeing. "That there are thousands of poor, dirty mongrels on their way here right now. They're going to swarm over this system, plant their flags, build their cities, and destroy anything in their way. All of that," he nodded back toward the main hold and its occupants, "is about to become a footnote in some history text."
Janna's mouth hung open, her look somewhere between disbelief and horror. "What...what are we going to do?" she demanded.
Standing, James leaned over and kissed the top of her head, feeling her flinch a bit in surprise.
"We," he said, in a reassuring tone. "Are going to keep this to ourselves. We're going to stay calm and quiet."
Struggling to compose herself, Janna nodded. She kept her eyes down, staring to
ward his knees.
"Of course, my lord," she said. "Forgive me."
"Naturally. Now, Janna, I want you to keep us on the same course. We have more than enough time to address this situation." Assuming I can think of a way to do it.
"Yes, my lord."
"I'll send you updated coordinates shortly. I have something to attend to at the moment."
"More important than--? Oh. Right." Janna's concern morphed into a scowl. "Go mount your demon-cat. I'll just be here... contemplating the annihilation of my people."
James gave a rare grin, mussing her hair affectionately. "Glad we understand one another."
***
By the time James returned to his quarters, Orryhena had already burrowed under the covers of his bed. The lump where she lay curled was petite, and he might have glanced right past had he not invited her. Well, except for the tail that poked from beneath the blankets. That was rather difficult to miss. The appendage was long and slender, ending in a serrated spade that was every bit as dangerous as it looked.
Slowly lowering himself to the bed, James cleared his throat. Taking his time, he slowly peeled off his shirt, savoring the slight delay. His hand trailed over the blankets, allowing his fingers to lightly brush the end of Orryhena's tail. Still curled inside her makeshift burrow, the darkmaw shivered visibly.
"What have we here?" he murmured. His hand gently wrapped around the stem of her tail, inching its way up. Her skin was utterly hairless and inhumanly smooth, like a fingernail, yet supple.
"N-naaa..." she groaned beneath the blanket. Her people were so reliant on their tails that centuries of breeding and modification had left them sensitive to a fault. Though James had yet to test the theory, he had long suspected that with the right stimulation, Orryhena could have climaxed through her tail alone.
No time like the present.
As his hand glided to her tailbone, James took the tip with his free hand. Almost at once, the darkmaw began to thrash, struggling out from the blankets.
