by Ashe Barker
CAID transmits the scans of the moon’s surface when I request them and from studying those it takes a relatively short time to isolate the trajectory of the impact. Next I calculate the probable mass and velocity of the craft by aggregating the weight of the various fragments that match the metallic signature of the piece that I now think of as Leo. As Luca told me, it is now obvious to me that more than one unfortunate or unwary craft has hurtled into this particular moon, and from the same approximate direction, further evidence of a black hole discharging in the vicinity.
My results are fairly conclusive so I prepare to return to the Zephyrean. Luca wishes to speak with me and whilst I am not convinced I will wish to hear what he has to say, it would be disrespectful, or foolhardy, to delay the conversation unnecessarily. I start to make my way back to the cargo bay where the transport link back to the other ship can most readily be established.
Leo? Could that really be the name of the craft?
Perhaps, and certainly that was what Luca concluded, but for some reason I do not believe it to be so. There is something elusive yet familiar about the short sequence of symbols. Something is not quite right, the word does not seem appropriate but my command of this human language is stilted at best. I can understand all that is said to me because the on-board translators convert speech to the Fyorlian tongue automatically and that is what I hear. The written form is less simple, and in order to comprehend the script I have had to learn the grammatical rules. It has not been taxing, I have near perfect recall of all data presented to me so remembering the rules and syntax of a specific alien language is straightforward. Something, however, is not correct in the lettering I discovered. Leo may be the precise word, I have no doubt we decoded the symbols accurately, but the inscription was not put there as a name. I know it…
The capital letter. All names in this form of language commence with a capital letter, of this I am sure. With stunning certainty it hits me. The word etched into the hull of this craft is ‘leo,’ not ‘Leo.’
I turn on my heel at the entrance to the cargo bay, my head suddenly swirling with ideas, with possibilities. I knew it, knew there was something familiar about the inscription, something I had seen before. I need to check, need to compare, but I am almost certain I recognise leo now. Back in my familiar lab on board the Renascient I fire up my data retrieval system and start scanning records, particularly technical specifications and illustrative images. It takes me a while, but I know exactly what it is that I am looking for, and at last I have it.
I now know precisely what leo is. Or was.
* * *
“On screen, CAID, Earth, twentieth-century space exploration databank three-six-nine-seven-one.” I burst into the galley where Sylvan and Luca are seated together and bark out my command to the computer. For once CAID does as I ask and the data I require is displayed on the huge screen that fills one end of the room.
“Llianna, what’s this?” Both males turn to view the screen, and Sylvan pulls out a second chair to prop up his feet. “Are we to have a history lesson, then?”
“I fucking hope not,” murmurs Luca into his mug of coffee.
“Yes,” I announce. “You are. This is important.”
Luca scowls, but puts his cup down and eyes the screen with suspicion. “Can you make this quick. There must be some paint I need to watch drying somewhere on board…”
“Did you tell Sylvan about Leo?” I ask, ignoring Luca’s lamentable lack of enthusiasm. He’ll soon change his mind when he learns just what it is we found.
“Yeah,” he replies. “I explained that we thought it might be a wrecked craft which originated on Earth, possibly catapulted into this sector of space via a black hole. Did you manage to pinpoint the location of the phenomenon?”
“Oh, yes. Yes, I did. I will input the coordinates into your astral mapping system. But I discovered much more than that. Our wreckage is not from a ship called Leo.”
“Oh?” Luca raises one dark eyebrow. “So what do you think it might be, then?”
“I know what it is.” My tone is emphatic. “CAID, please display data and image for the Jovian exploration mission Galileo.”
“Galileo?” Luca leans forward, his elbows propped on his knees as he views the screen. “But that was over five hundred years ago. Maybe more. Earth’s space exploration capability was in its infancy then.”
“Eight hundred years,” corrects Sylvan. “The unmanned Galileo mission studied Jupiter and its moons for several years at the end of the twentieth century. The orbiting probe collected crucial data about Jupiter’s atmosphere and pretty much proved that there was liquid water under the ice on Europa, the basis for subsequent manned missions. The discoveries were pivotal at the time, but the probe was destroyed early in the twenty-first century to avoid contaminating alien moons.”
“Yes, in the year two thousand and three to be exact,” I agree. “But whatever the intention, the craft was not destroyed. Galileo somehow survived the scheduled collision with Jupiter and must have hurtled off into deep space. From the amount of debris which reached the Zaxar Quadrant I would say the probe exited its Jovian orbit more or less intact. Only the most fragile sections, the solar array and antennae, were not present among the fragments we located so I assume those were lost somewhere on the way. The rest made it to Zaxar, though.”
Sylvan is not convinced. “How can you be sure? The space agency at the time…”
“NASA,” puts in Luca, helpfully.
“Yes, NASA. They announced the termination of the mission after what, fourteen years? Are you saying they got it wrong?”
“Yes, they must have.” I stand before the screen gazing up at the image of the ancient space probe with an admiration close to reverence, then turn to face my sceptical audience. “After all, how would they have known, really? There were no manned craft capable of reaching Jupiter, not for several decades, so they could not have checked. Galileo orbited Jupiter for eight years and her progress was monitored exactly, but once the probe ceased to transmit data they would have had no way to track what happened after that. The collision which was intended to terminate the mission was an assumption, never questioned.”
“Until now,” breathes Luca. “But where does our Leo come in?”
“We assumed the word was complete, but it is not. I overlaid the filtered scan of our fragment with the image of the probe, see.” I manipulate the images on the screen, turning the technical schematics of the ancient orbiter to display the mission name.
“See? There, on the probe section. The name of the mission, Galileo. Now, look at this.” I drag in the image of the fragment in the hold of the Renascient, turn it through one hundred and eighty degrees, adjust the scale, then lay it over the picture of the probe. The last three letters of the name fit perfectly. “There, you see. And from the curvature of the fragment it’s clear which part of the craft this is. I have identified several other pieces also…” I cease speaking for a few moments to lay other images on top of the original.
Sylvan and Luca watch in silence. I saved the best until last.
“See this? The probe was developed and launched from a location known as Florida in a region of Earth then known as the United States of America—USA, for short. They must have been proud of their achievement because they stamped their name on it too. I found this on another piece…” I lay the final part of my jigsaw before them, the initials U, S, and A clearly delineated on a cylindrical section of metal.
“Holy fuck,” breathes Luca. “I think she could be right.”
“Shit,” is Sylvan’s sole contribution to the discussion.
We all take a moment to survey the images before us. Luca is the first to speak.
“So, we have all of this in the cargo hold of the Renascient?”
I nod. “We do. And when combined with the scans of the wreckage field on the moon, this evidence will provide Earth historians with a perfect insight into what happened to their probe. There is much else they mig
ht learn from it also…”
“Whoa,” interjects Sylvan. “Are you saying we ought to turn all this over to some bloody academic on our home world?”
I gape at him. It never occurred to me that we might do otherwise. “Of course.”
“Do you know how far away we are from Earth? It would take us several lunar cycles to even reach the Virgo cluster, then we would need to negotiate an orbital permit to enter the Milky Way. Have you any idea how long all that paperwork would take?”
“Not to mention the loss of revenue when we don’t process all this lot as scrap,” puts in Luca. “Look, honey, this is fascinating and you can write it up in a report. We’ll send that back, obviously…”
“No!” I stand before them, my chin jutting and my arms folded. How can they even contemplate destroying these priceless artefacts? “No, you must not do this. I will not permit it.”
They exchange an amused glance, then look back to me. “What happened to her?” enquires Sylvan, his tone deceptively light. “Where did she go?”
Luca shrugs. “Search me.”
“What are you saying?” I demand. “I do not understand… Who has gone?”
Sylvan gets to his feet and advances toward me. “I was wondering,” he says with a wry smile, “what happened to the timid little half-dead alien we rescued from that failing spacecraft. She would never have stamped her feet like this and presumed to order us about on our own ship.”
“I am not doing that, but it is—”
Luca chuckles and peers into what remains of his mug of coffee “Maybe we spanked all that quiet reserve out of her. And look where it got us.”
“Fucked it out of her, more like,” observes Sylvan.
“Whatever… we have a problem. We already lost the salvage fee for the Renascient, and now this. Bloody hell…”
“What do you mean? The Renascient has been salvaged and the repairs are almost complete. Surely you can…” My words trail off. I am at a loss.
Sylvan helps himself to a cup of tea before answering me. “Had the Renascient been uninhabited when we boarded her then yes, we could have claimed the salvage rights and those would be worth a bloody fortune for a ship that size, with such an advanced specification. But she wasn’t uninhabited. You were there, and alive, the only surviving member of the crew. The Renascient belongs to you, not to us.”
I shake my head and back away. “I do not want it.”
I had never assumed I might be in a position to assert rights to the abandoned craft, and I have no idea what I might do with it.
“Honey, salvage is what we call it when a ship is derelict and abandoned and we claim the rights to it. To seize a ship when even one member of its crew is alive is piracy, pure and simple, and that’s not the business we’re in. We would never do that. The Renascient is yours, Llianna. It always was.”
“Well, you may have it,” I announce impulsively. “You may sell the Renascient to compensate you for Galileo.”
Luca shakes his head. “Not happening. It belongs to you. You sell it if you want.”
“I will then, and I shall give you the credits which I raise.”
I am blinking back tears, my frustration and utter disappointment almost painful. I do not have any interest in claiming ownership of the Renascient. They can tear it up and incinerate the entire ship for all I care, but Galileo matters to me more than I can find words to describe. I fall back on simple pleading.
“Please, you must see that this is the right thing to do. You cannot mean to destroy what is left of Galileo, she is part of your history. She deserves better than that.”
Luca regards Sylvan, his eyes heating. “How many lunar cycles did you say? Then a mountain of officialdom to deal with before we can even get a permit to access the Milky Way?”
Sylvan nods slowly. “Eight cycles, maybe ten. And enough fucking red tape to keep a sassy alien tied to a bed for the entire journey. It’s a bloody nightmare.”
“Nightmare,” agrees Luca. “Still, I suppose we better get started. We’ll never hear the end of it if we don’t.”
“Right. Absolom Quadrant first though, to offload what we can. There’s no point in dragging the rest of that junk across several galaxies.”
“Agreed.” Luca sets down his empty cup. “CAID, adjust course setting, please. Absolom, at half speed, then plot a course for the Virgo cluster, twenty-three percent sub-light speed. What’s our estimated time of arrival at the final destination, please?”
“Allowing for the detour to Absolom and assuming three solar-cycles for processing our payload, we will arrive on the perimeter of the Virgo cluster in point nine three helio-cycles.”
“Long trip,” says Sylvan. “We’ll need to pass the time somehow.”
“Any ideas, Llianna?” enquires Luca. “Any suggestions for keeping the three of us amused while we spend the best part of the next helio-cycle carting your cargo across the bloody cosmos?”
“We are going, then? We are taking Galileo back to Earth?” I cannot follow their bizarre conversation but this does seem to be the gist of it.
“You persuaded us, so yes, we’re going to Earth. You can turn your findings over to the global heritage authority there. From what I know of them they’re a crusty bunch of academics who’ll take some convincing, but you’ll manage, I’m sure.”
I let out a squeal of pure joy and fling myself at Sylvan. He lifts me easily and swings me around, laughing. I kiss him on the mouth, hard, then wriggle free to rush at Luca in like manner. He is still seated so I bounce onto his lap and press my lips to his.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” I cry. “Thank you, both of you. This is wonderful, quite, quite…”
“Yes, quite wonderful. We know.”
“What made you change your minds?”
Sylvan shrugs. “You asked nicely. And despite indications to the contrary, we’re not complete barbarians. We do get it, this archaeological stuff, even though it’s not our specialism. So we’ll do it, for you.”
“For me? You’ll give up all those credits, and all that time, for me?”
“Seems like it. So, talking of time…”
“Your cabin’s the biggest. Shall we…?” Luca puts me back on my feet then stands up himself. He holds out his hand to me.
I take it, my pussy already creaming at the prospect of almost a helio-cycle with my own two males, and nothing much to do except pleasure each other.
Truly wonderful.
* * *
“Undress, then get yourself over here.” Luca reclines against the pillows on my bed as he issues his instructions. Sylvan is leaning on the door, his arms folded.
“Will you not also remove your clothing?” I ask, looking from one to the other.
Luca’s answering grin is positively lecherous. “All in good time, honey. Now do as you’re told.”
I start to unfasten the small buckle that clasps my Fyorlian garment at the shoulder. “Do you intend to spank me? Because of the manner in which I spoke to you earlier?”
I hope not, but my pussy still clenches as I consider this possibility. My body responds even when my head has other ideas.
“We do intend to pay particular attention to your gorgeous bottom,” Sylvan confirms, coming forward to lift my hair from my shoulders. I often wear it loose these days and it has grown in the weeks I have been with these human males. He takes a handful of it and buries his nose in the inky purple-coloured waves. “How does this look like spun titanium, yet it feels so soft?”
“I do not know. All Fyorlians are the same. Sorry… were.” I cannot keep the regret from my tone, though I no longer feel the intensity of my loss quite so keenly.
Sylvan kisses the crown of my head and gives me a quick hug. No more words are required.
I slip my tunic from my shoulders to let it pool at my feet. Beneath I wear just a short, sheer vest-like garment that clings to my skin. I start to peel it down to bare my body to them.
“Your markings have faded. I can
hardly see them at all now,” observes Luca.
I twist to view my shoulder. He is correct. The lines that denote my status have almost disappeared, melting into the natural tone of my skin. I frown, puzzled. This should not occur.
“I do not understand,” I murmur. “I am not mated…”
“Could have fooled me,” puts in Sylvan. “You look pretty well mated from where I’m standing.”
“No, it is not the same. Fucking is not mating. This is… different.” I chew on my lip, not sure if the changes are a worrying sign or not. Perhaps something is wrong. My body seems to be reacting to these novel experiences in ways I could not expect. “Perhaps I am ill…”
“Do you feel unwell?” Sylvan tips up my chin to peer into my eyes. “Any other symptoms?”
“No. Quite the opposite, in fact. I feel fine, better than I can ever recall.”
“So, these markings fade after a Fyorlian female mates? Is that it?” asks Luca.
“Yes, usually. It takes a while, but they do eventually disappear. The reaction is in response to the presence of semen introduced to the female’s body, and it is cumulative. It is how my species knows which females are available and which are not. If the mating is terminated for any reason, usually because the male has died, the supply of semen is lost and the marks will re-emerge. But this is not common. Fyorlians rarely mate more than once. And my markings have faded so rapidly… this is not right, not how it should be.”
“Maybe mating with two males has speeded the process up,” suggests Sylvan. “Double the semen, double the effect.”
“But, you are human, not Fyorlian. Your fluids do not count,” I exclaim.
“We’re symbiants, you know that. Both Luca and I are able to emulate other species and your innate physiology probably responds to that. Your body has mistaken us for Fyorlian males, and our cum for Fyorlian semen.”
“That is ridiculous. You are not at all similar to Fyorlian males. And no female has two mates, this is impossible.”
