by Jamie Petit
ALPHA COMMANDER
Wilds of Wynmere
Jamie Petit
Copyright 2016
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, dialogue, and everything else are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to people or events, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
NOTICE, WARNING, DISCLAIMER, AND ALL THAT:
All participants are 18+, 100% willing, not blood related, 100% human during sex, well read, finished their homework, eat their vegetables, yada yada yada
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
Alpha Commander: Wilds of Wynmere
Omega Salvation
Omega Commander: Love Like Iron
Crew’s New Omega
ALPHA COMMANDER: Wilds of Wynmere
PROLOGUE
Andax holds his powerful body above me, bronze, almost metallic flesh seeming to glow in the low light of our hiding spot. “I will never let anyone hurt you.” His eyes are incredibly human. Maybe that’s why mankind accepted them so easily, despite the other differences in appearance. We were different species altogether, but we shared the same eyes.
And right now, Andax’s purple, Wynmerian eyes are boring into mine. They hold the promise on his lips more strongly than words ever could.
His mouth descends to mine and I fall upwards into the kiss.
An impossible kiss.
An all too brief kiss.
He pushes off of me and stands, rifle slung low off one shoulder. A flood of spotlights illuminate his whole body standing proudly, like a shield, a wall, between me and everything beyond in the Wilds of Wynmere.
“I have made the human into an Omega,” he growls to the faces beyond the dark. “And I, Andax, Alpha and first commander of the Trothor, claim him as my own.”
His hands fall to the rifle and pull the sight up to his eyes.
“As they say on Earth—are there any fucking questions?”
ONE
The space elevator seemed to hover, impossibly large, above the broad, man-made plains where it was tethered by alien steel. From the surface of Earth, it rose hundreds of miles like a glittering onyx serpent into the heavens—you couldn’t see the end of it. At the other end were all my hopes and all my dreams.
“You are not seriously taking that assignment!” My girlfriend, fists dug into her hips, elbows akimbo, stared at me from under blonde bangs.
“Janie, please,” I said with a bit too much exasperation on my lips. I rested my hands on her shoulders.
“No. Dammit, I can’t do this,” she said, eyebrows scrunching together. “You know how long these types of assignments are.”
I ran my tongue along my lips and tried to think of something to help her understand. “It’s safe though. I’ll be back.”
“Oh, sure, maybe!” She huffed at me.
It had always been a seemingly endless struggle to get her to understand what my work with the United Nations Astronautical Corps—UNAC—really meant for us. I pointed to the sparkling apartment blocks just barely visible against the horizon—she remembered the tenements we grew up in as well as I did. “The reason we live there, with good plumbing and a working fridge, and time and money for you to get manicures at your pleasure, is because I do my job better than anyone. The moment I stop being their most useful recruit is the moment things stop being so pretty.”
“But why do they need you up there?”
“Because, believe it or not, your boyfriend is apparently one of the leading minds on Wynmerian society.” I gave her a light-hearted side-smirk.
She rolled her eyes. “That’s a bit terrifying, you know.”
I flicked the insignia pinned to my shoulder. “I worked hard for this, you know that.” I’d started out at the lowest levels, literally. When I joined the UNAC after the US Navy, they’d never even considered sending me to space. I was stuck on the launch platforms down on earth. Dangerous, grimy—but a solid path to a better life. And that’s all I ever wanted. A good life with a good wife.
“I know that.” Janie shrugged a bit guiltily. “You’re always working.”
“For us.”
“Sure.”
She wasn’t wrong. Maybe it was the childhood spent stuck inside a bare few blocks, but I’d always yearned for a world beyond even before I understood what Wynmere was or what it could mean for me. I’d joined the navy the very day I turned eighteen—there weren’t many opportunities for a kid like me—and I clutched at the first opportunity to build a prosperous life.
After basic training, I threw myself at the next opportunity: UNAC.
The Wynmerians were still fairly new. Hell, my parents could remember a time before they showed in our skies—tired, yet friendly, after a journey of some fifty lightyears. After almost four decades, we’d built our own spacefaring craft under their guidance, and the UN was looking for a few brave souls to be test-monkeys for this new frontier.
I was adventurous and knew all there was for a civilian to know about the Wynmerians—a byproduct of a dull life in the tenements with little more than a library card. Plus, the pay was good. Like, really good. So I took the job.
When I joined UNAC, I gained access to more academic resources than I knew what to do with—and I soaked as much of it up as I could. Before long I’d gained myself a reputation as a man who knew as much or more than anyone on the subject of Wynmere and its people.
I’d done it out of pure curiosity, but it turns out that it’s a great way to get yourself involuntarily promoted.
When the head brass found out, they recruited me into a special UNAC team of surveyors. Our job was to shadow important Wynmerian figures and learn what we could about them and from them.
“Listen,” I said, running my fingers through her hair and cupping the back of her neck, trying to pull her into an embrace, “After my tour is done, I get a lot of time off. No strings. That doesn’t happen with other positions. Sure as hell not my current one.”
She pulled away from me. “But at least your home nights.” Reasoning was hard against this much stubbornness.
“We’ll go to Bermuda. Paris,” I cooed. “Wherever you want.”
She turned away. “Kelly’s friend Joe has a Wind Skipper. Maybe I’ll just go with them to Bermuda. Maybe I’ll go with him.”
A paradox of emotions flared up inside me—cold stomach, scorching anger. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“What the hell am I supposed to do? Wait?”
“Yes!”
“Oh? And tell me: When do you get back? How long is this tour anyway?”
“Nine months to two years.” It sounded incredible saying it out loud
“So, you don’t even know. I can’t even rely on you coming back at a specific time.”
“So, what, you just go and—and what? With this—this Joe?”
Her jaw tensed and she flashed me red-rimmed hazel eyes. “Fuck you.”
“Then what are you suggesting,” I spat back.
She squinted hatefully at me over her shoulder. “You know what happens to the surveyors that go up there.”
I scoffed. “Okay. Yeah. Fuck you.”
“You’re worried about some human fucking me while you’re gone,” she snarled, “when, by the time you’re back, they’ll have turned you
into some emasculated whore for their alien freaks.”
I saw red. Teeth clenched, I breathed in and out of my nose. I knew where she was going with this, and I was doing all I could to stay calm.
“Admit it! You’ll be chewing pillows to pieces getting railed by those alien—”
“Stop right now,” I growl at her. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” There was a lot of misinformation and misunderstanding among humans. Janie was no exception.
Here’s the deal: The Wynmerians are a race slowly dying out. Half a millennia ago the last female Wynmerian died. This gave way to scientifically leveraged evolution—the Omega male Wynmerian. But the genetic time bomb in their blood was unstoppable.
The Wynmerians discovered that the Omegas were due to die out as well. They realized their only hope was to reach out to the heavens, to travel far and wide and find new species—fresh genes—to breed with.
They mined their planet bare to build the impressive warp-drives that squeeze space and fling them across the endless expanse.
When they found us, they found their hope and their answer. We were lucky. They came with only peace in mind. They offered us an exchange. Any human male willing to become a broodmare for the Wynmerian race—a human Omega—would be given virtually anything. Unlimited wealth. A gateway to the skies. Perhaps even the perfect love.
We quickly absorbed their technology and science and took to the stars. Within a few decades they needed recruits who were knowledgeable about Wynmerian language, etiquette, law, and the rest. That’s where I came in.
But people like Janie couldn’t accept this new function of inter-species coupling. Everyone had their own reasons, but I think it all boiled down to a general squick-factor. Men becoming pregnant. To some, it just ain’t natural.
“Gonna be a little Wynmere whore,” my girlfriend jabbed, “and you think you can lecture me on what I do?”
“That’s not how it works, and you know it.” I bit down hard on my lip. “Listen, I don’t want to leave things like this. I can’t delay my departure and… and I want to leave on good terms. Vid calls aren’t good for making up.”
“You can turn down the job.”
I almost pitied her blindness. “Listen. Everything’s gonna be fine. I’ll be gone a few months—”
“Years.”
“Years are made of months,” I offered. I sighed and took a breath. “I want you. Not some Wynmerian. I’m doing this for you. For us.”
“Sure.”
I saw the Captain—my surprisingly high-ranking escort up the space elevator—come down the stairs. “I love you.” I smiled at her.
“I… I was just kidding,” she said, cheeks reddening just a little. “I’m not… Joe’s just a friend. He’s Kelly’s friend. I just…”
“I know.” I took a deep breath. “Listen. The Captain’s here. I… have to go.”
She reached up and pulled my face in for a kiss. It was warm. It was sweet. It was just a little too brief.
TWO
The sun was raw blue and white, washing over the bridge and I stumbled against a railing as I lost myself in the view. The Wynmerian, standing seven feet tall next to the Admiral, glanced back at me with a puzzled glare. So much for a good first impression.
Just twenty-three years old and my first time off Earth. My awe was competing with my sense of protocol. Awe won out.
“You’re alright, kid.” The Captain who’d been with me on the ride up clapped me on the back. “Happened to me too, first time I stepped out here.”
I gathered myself and made my way down to the Admiral’s chair. “Chief Warrant Officer, Tanner Briggs, reporting for duty, sir!”
“Welcome aboard, son,” said the stately man resting back in his chair. He had all the air of an old sea captain, complete with bushy grey beard and wind-blue eyes. He gestured to the Wynmerian at his side. I had to tilt my head up to meet his gaze. “This is Commander Andax, first mate of the Trothor, which is currently docked with us.”
I turned to Andax and saluted. “Sir!”
“You’re assigned to the Commander,” said the Admiral, “for a three-quarter Solar cycle. Probationary, of course. We’ll upgrade you if and when we’ve reviewed and found satisfactory your reports.”
Though I couldn’t quite put my finger on why, I found it difficult to turn away from Andax and face the Admiral. “Of course, sir.”
He must have seen something even I didn’t in my strangely longing gaze. “And remember, all Omega privileges are suspended until the completion of your service, regardless of when one is taken as a mate, according—”
“According to UN statute of the Earth-Wynmere Treaty 2158, Article three, section five, subsection triple i. Well noted, sir.” The Admiral laughed, which is always good. “I do have a girlfriend, too, sir,” I added for good measure.
He winked at me, which I found a bit unnerving. “Never heard that before. Good luck, sailor.”
“Thank you, sir.” I turned to face Commander Andax again and immediately felt something catch in my throat. “Uh, sir, I am at your disposal. I’m looking forward to learning from you. The nations of Earth thank you as well, sir.”
“I’m sure we’ll have much to learn from each other,” said the imposing being in front of me. His voice was a sort of liquid precious metal—smooth, deep, clear. He turned to the Admiral, flashing the palm of his right hand below his waist. The Wynmerian salute. “A pleasure as always.”
Andax began to walk out of the room and I hustled to catch up and keep up—not something I’ve ever been used to, but at seven feet to my six-two, Andax easily outpaces me.
“You will have your own room on the Trothor, near the officer quarters. You’ll find a map of the ship, as well as a general information guide on your bed.” We reached the inter-ship bridge and he closed the pressurization gate behind us. “If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Of course n-” My voice catches in my throat as we step onto the main part of the bridge We’re enclosed in a mostly transparent tube that reaches perhaps three hundred feet through the void to the Trothor. Beneath my carefully treading feet is that blue marble, Earth.
Andax notices that I’ve stopped, and he retraces his steps to me, standing alongside. “First time?”
“Uh, yessir.” There’s a faint and pleasant scent on him. Sweet and subtle like fresh cut fruit, strong and hearty like the soil it was newly plucked from.
His hand brushes along my neck and comes to a rest on my shoulder. “Andax, please. Call me Andax.”
“Right. Of course. Andax.” His hand is warm and feels almost gently electrical on the surface. He’s relaxed, but I can feel the strength beneath his skin.
“I’m glad you stopped,” he said before turning his head to look at me. I feel his gaze and meet his eyes with my own. He’s smiling. My heart jumps again. I’m caught between beauties—the celestial and the corporeal. “It’s easy to forget to appreciate the beauty around us.”
I crack a weak smile. “I doubt I’ll forget any time soon.”
“Me neither,” he says and winks.
My chest tightens. “I’m looking forward to seeing Wynmere,” I say as I break our gaze and make a motion to head down the rest of the bridge to the Trothor.
“It’s a beautiful planet.” He pauses. “Our cities are, anyway. It was more beautiful in our forefathers’ time. Do you know about the history?”
“What I’ve read in books,” I say as the door pressurizes with an angry hiss behind us and the grinding sound of the bridge retracting shivers in the halls. “It’s a new field of study, of course, so I don’t know how—”
“Can you read Wynmerian script? We’re off and walking down the halls. I get a few curious stares form the enlisted we pass. I’d be more awed at the whole situation if I hadn’t spent so much time looking at pictures of Wynmerian ship interiors.
There’re large holes in the floor where you can drop from level to level. Easy to use for the
natives, with their center-set ankles, wide feet, and impressive echolocation abilities. Andax strides easily across them. I hop.
“I can read adapted Wynmerian. Still developing my fluency in the native script.”
“No problem,” he says as we hurry down the long, curving halls, me hopping just behind him at random intervals. “Adapted is perfectly fine for reading our literature and records. I’ll have a login to our computers created under your badge number.”
