Mutationem

by Phoenix Jericho

  Leea made herself cum three times. It was intoxicating to masturbate to someone you desired. It was a peeping tom’s fantasy come true, and the fact that Brooke was moaning made the fantasy more real.

  Leea reached up to the netting and pulled herself closer to Brooke till their mouths were only inches apart. Leea breathed in Brooke’s exhaled air like a wolf, savoring the woman’s scent. Some people are so sexual that they want to breathe their lover in; Leea was such a person, and she was determined to live every second of the seduction in slow motion so that she could relive every detail later.

  Brooke licked her lips in her sleep and moaned again. Leea couldn’t take it anymore. She rubbed more precum on her finger and traced the outline of her own lips, leaving a wet, sticky trail of juice. Then she pulled herself closer to Brooke. Their nipples touched, then their lips, then Leea’s index finger found the square opening in the netting over Brooke’s vagina. Their lips touched gently, and when Leea pulled away, they were still connected by the clear, stringy cum of her pussy.

  She pulled herself closer and breathed Brooke’s breath in through their cum-ringed lips. Soon the cum dried and their lips were delicately stuck together. Leea’s finger gently slid through the netting to Brooke’s dream-wetted hole. She slowly caressed the clit. Not enough to awaken Brooke, but enough to stimulate her dream.

  Brooke moaned again. Leea continued, their lips still stuck together. Leea was in charge of Brooke’s moans, like a puppeteer bringing to life a puppet.

  Leea continued to tease Brooke. It was like they both were going to orgasm together, one in the real world and one in the dream world. It was this thought that finally made Leea climax again without even touching her own pussy. With the desire for both worlds to become one, Leea finally thrust her long finger deep into Brooke’s wet pussy, and as she came loudly, she pulled away to see Brooke’s face come alive.

  Chapter Fourty

  Dozer ran with purpose. He was blessed with a sixth sense only a cat with nine lives possesses. He had been asleep with Libby in her infant pod when this sense awakened him from a deep slumber. He had shaken himself awake and bunted the pod’s cover, which soundlessly opened. Jumping up and out, he’d turned and looked at his sleeping companion, wondering if this was the last time his large eyes would see his best friend. Driven by an inner rage of survival, he darted off into the night, and the infant pod cover closed quietly, not waking Libby.

  If someone had been awake on the bridge, they would have seen a flash of orange appear on one monitor and disappear on another, only to appear again. But everyone was asleep.

  Dozer didn’t know what was wrong, but his instincts told him that he would find the answer in Command. When Dozer reached the bridge, he touched his nose to the doors. They sensed his implanted chip and opened. Walking in, the cat crouched low in anticipation of the unseen danger.

  To a human sense, everything appeared normal. The dimly lit bridge was as it always seemed, with walls of lights monitoring the entire ship. There was no telltale red warning light or pulsating strobe or deafening alarm echoing through the ship’s hallways. Just the low noise of electronics and the hum of their extensive cooling fans.

  Looking up, Dozer saw the suspended spinning hologram of Earth and A-64, its glow illuminating the sleeping supine form of Captain Kriss in the Roost. This hologram normally captivated the cat, but not now.

  Scanning the room, the cat found a blinking green light out of the ordinary; driven by his instinct, he went to investigate. It was actually a cluster of gauges surrounded by a dozen or so LED lights. These lights would alternatively blink on and off in a random pattern.

  But the cat wasn’t fooled. He could hear the quiet spitting arc of an electronic short in the wireless circuit board. To Dozer, it sounded like an electronic rodent eating its way through a cardboard tube; it was almost deafening to his sensitive ears. His first instinct was to crush its neck with his powerful jaws, but he knew that would be fruitless. Some deep instinct guided him to look up at the Roost. Jumping up aggressively, the giant cat almost missed the command chair. If it weren’t for his open right paw and its fully extended claws, he would have flown by; as it happened, the claws on his distal two toes ripped into the fabric of the chair and held. This spun the cat around, slamming him into Kriss’s sleeping legs. The captain continued to slumber.

  The cat rubbed his giant head on Kriss and meowed intently, but still there was no response. In a final act of desperation, Dozer bit Kriss on her left forearm above the navigation mitt. Finally the captain twitched her arm.

  The overhead hologram began to flash a new trajectory barely off course. The cat watched it in fascination and again bit the captain in the same spot on her arm; again the hologram projected a new path. Each time the cat bit Kriss, her arm would twitch, and the ship would change course. It wasn’t even one degree of change from the original course plotted, but given they were almost going the speed of light, a slight change equaled a huge distance.

  Dozer looked up at the hologram one last time. His instinct told him it was enough, so he curled up in a ball beside Kriss.

  The cat had barely fallen asleep when a piercing alarm went off throughout the ship. Everyone was immediately awakened. It sounded like a smoke detector going off in both ears at the same time.

  “Red alert, red alert, red alert!” blared a voice over the ship’s com. Kriss violently came awake and immediately surveyed the bridge. The computer-generated voice blared, “Hull temperature increasing, hull temperature increasing! Warning, warning!”

  “Attention on bridge, stat!” yelled the captain. “What the fuck is heating up my ship?”

  “We see nothing, Captain,” said a crew woman on deck.

  “Why is my ship off course? I need answers immediately.”

  “Hull temperature increasing! Warning, warning!” again was broadcast over the PA.

  “Check our Cosmic Origins Spectrograph!” yelled Kriss.

  The COS was a sensitive instrument that traced its origins to the Hubble Telescope, once Earth’s prized eye in space. It had the ability to detect a gas halo in space from great distances.

  “The COS is clear, Captain,” yelled the woman monitoring it. “No sign of a gas halo, sir.”

  “Well, something is trying to melt my ship, goddammit,” Kriss yelled back.

  “Hull nearing maximum temperature before catastrophic breach!” blared the computer over the com.

  Grabbing the com mic, Kriss calmly said, “This is your captain speaking. We are having a computer malfunction. Everyone remain calm and stay at your stations. I repeat, this is a computer malfunction, remain calm.”

  Releasing the mic, her hands shaking, the captain was shocked to see the big cat sitting beside her.

  “What in the hell are you doing here?” Kriss said. The cat remained motionless, staring at Kriss with his large, luminescent eyes. Kriss was upset, but for some reason the cat calmed her.

  The ship began to noticeably get hotter, and the air felt heavy to breathe.

  “Smitty, get Merc on the com and get her ass up here ASAP,” barked the captain.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Hull breach is imminent! Hull breach is imminent!” the central computer blurted over the com.

  “Shut that goddamn thing off!” yelled the captain.

  “I’m trying, sir, but it’s an emergency code written in the software and can’t be turned off,” yelled back a crew woman.

  “Well, then, shut the com down,” bellowed Kriss. “I don’t want my crew scared to death before they die.”

  Kriss was red with rage. The captain was not going to let her crew die under her watch. She normally was in control of her emotions, but the dire situation had her at her breaking point. The hull was close to melting, and the captain could not see her enemy. So she did what any good boxer would do in a similar situation. She tried to d
uck and weave, which amounted to her slipping both her hands back into the command navigation mitts mounted on the arms of her chair. These mitts were a custom fit for only the captain; like the keys to a car, whoever controlled the keys controlled the car.

  Kriss feverishly pressed the codes necessary to change the ship’s course, but her gut told her it was too late; there was nothing else she could do. Just then, Merc burst into Command. “I’m here, Captain!”

  “How much more heat can this hull take before we have a breach?”

  “Well, Captain, the hull’s outer layer is a ceramic hybrid of NASA’s original tiles, and underneath—”

  “Enough with the science lesson, Commander. Are we close to breach or not?”

  Merc intently scoured the array of sensors and instruments. “The hull can withstand 10,000 degrees Fahrenheit, and it is 9,932 degrees right now.”

  Kriss hung paralyzed to her chair. A giant digital display was showing the hull temperature in red. Everyone in Command held their breath. It was like watching a tornado’s funnel getting closer, hoping it would go off course. A catastrophic breach of the hull and all would be lost.

  Kriss cleared her throat. “I have never worked with a more disciplined and professional crew, and it has been an honor being your captain.”

  The temperature hit 10,000 and the hull began to steam like a hot frying pan. No one moved; not a single eye blinked.

  The gauge went up to 10,010. The ship was eerily silent. Every electron bond interwoven in the hull was ready to break. The captain exhaled loudly as the temperature rose to 10,013 degrees Fahrenheit. The ship began to stink; the heat was cooking the paint off of the inner hull, tearing into irregular patterns like frost formed on a frozen lake.

  It seemed like an eternity. Everyone was willing the temperature not to go up, and then, for some reason, it didn’t. Instead it started to go down. No one said a word. No one wanted to jinx the spell.

  Finally the temperature fell below 10,000.

  “Thank God,” said Smitty.

  “No, thank the engineers on Earth that overbuilt this bitch,” said Kriss with relief. Grabbing the com mic, Kriss had to bite her teeth together so they wouldn’t chatter and reveal her nerves.

  “Attention, this is your captain speaking. As you all can tell, it is goddamn hot on board. I have given Engineering a strong tongue-lashing, and they have reassured me that they have figured out the problem with the ship’s AC. The air conditioning will be fixed shortly, so I don’t want to hear any bitching about the heat. But if you must bitch, then do so to your commander.”

  Looking at Merc, Kriss winked. “Command out.”

  Merc already had a control panel out and was scanning each one with a short detector. As luck would have it, within five minutes she had it narrowed down to the same panel Dozer had sensed was the problem.

  “I believe I have found the problem, sir,” said Merc. “The COS is shorting out and giving a false reading.”

  “Speak English, Merc,” snapped the captain.

  “I believe the severe vibration of launch damaged this unit. It indicated everything was fine, but in reality we were flying blind. We just flew through a gas halo, sir,” said Merc.

  Just then, Kriss’s left forearm started to throb. Taking her right hand out of the navigation mitt, she ran her fingers over a sore spot; it was actually a puncture wound.

  At just that moment, Dozer decided to get up and stretch. He arched his back and opened his mouth into a large yawn. Then he jumped down from the Roost and walked out.

  “Smitty, come here,” commanded Kriss.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Do you see what I see?” asked Kriss.

  Smitty had a puzzled look on her face.

  “Don’t you think it’s a coincidence that my left forearm has a cat bite on it, and that is the mitt that changes the ship’s navigation? Look at the hologram. The trajectory has been changed five times. I only changed it one time after the alarm awakened me, and it was too late. My change didn’t save the ship, but the other four did.” Kriss had deep emotion in her voice, and tears began to ooze out of her eyes.

  In a gruff voice covering for the captain, Smitty called out, “Call Pickle ASAP. That damn cat has bitten the captain.”

  She shielded the captain and wiped her eyes dry. “You did one heck of a job, sir,” said Smitty. “And that’s one hell of a cat.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Connie was frustrated. It wasn’t often that she felt stumped. She had tried everything she had been taught about DNA extraction, but nothing had worked. The radioactive isotope had preserved the pig’s fetus but had decayed the genetic code. So far, the gene sequencers had only come up with a partial genetic map, and without a complete one, cloning was not possible.

  Connie rolled a fat joint and lit it under the fume hood in Med Bay. The lights were out in the lab, so the only thing visible was the tip of the joint when Connie inhaled. Deep in thought, Connie had forgotten to turn the fan on in the fume hood, and it filled full of her exhaled smoke. Soon she wasn’t frustrated anymore and began to think about how cool it would be to ride a bicycle inside the hull of the ship. She would have to talk to Merc about making her one.

  Without warning, the Med Bay lights flashed on, momentarily blinding Connie.

  “Are you in here, Commander?” yelled Pickle.

  “Yes, yes, what is it?” coughed Connie.

  “Why are the lights off?”

  “Because I didn’t want them on,” said Connie with a smile. “I have been looking at that damn pig fetus under a microscope for two weeks now and my head is killing me, so I turned the lights out. I was doing a breathing treatment to clear my sinuses.”

  Connie flicked on the switch to the fume hood fan, sucking all the incriminating evidence out of the room. “I feel much better now. What is it that you need, Pickle?”

  “There is something wrong with the captain, sir. Smitty told me Dozer bit her, and when I went to the bridge to take care of her wounds, she wouldn’t let me touch her. She said there was nothing wrong with her, but both her eyes were bloodshot, and she was shaking like she had a fever. Smitty told me to leave her alone. Is it possible the cat has rabies and has infected the captain?”

  “Nonsense. She must be having an allergic reaction,” said Connie. “I’m going to the bridge immediately. Bring my med bag and scanner and follow me.”

  “Yes, sir,” snapped Pickle.

  *

  Connie could be smelled on the bridge even before the doors swished shut.

  Grabbing the captain’s wrist, the chief science officer checked Kriss’s pulse; it was weak. The whites of the captain’s eyes were a blood-red color and wouldn’t focus.

  “Can you hear me, Commander?” snapped Connie.

  “C-c-c-can’t breathe,” wheezed Kriss.

  Grabbing the body scanner from Pickle, Connie scanned Kriss from her head to her abdomen. The laser light traced its way down Kriss’s body and sent a signal to Connie’s eye monitor that flashed a red LED light that indicated dangerously low blood pressure.

  “Quick, get a cuff on the captain,” yelled Connie.

  Kriss’s face was swollen, and her cheeks were tight and smooth. She looked like a balloon that had been overinflated.

  “Commander, her blood pressure is sixty-eight over forty-eight,” yelled Pickle. “We are losing her.”

  “Not on my watch,” said Connie. Grabbing an EpiPen, Connie stabbed it into Kriss’s outer thigh. Holding the pen against Kriss’s leg a full ten seconds, Connie waited to hear the click that meant the spring-actuated plunger had pushed the hidden needle deep into the flesh to release the life-saving epinephrine.

  “What’s her blood pressure now?” asked Connie.

  “It’s sixty-five over forty-two!” Pickle frantically yelled.

  “Ste
ady, steady,” said Connie as she stabbed the EpiPen once again into the same thigh.

  Kriss had snot running out of her nose, her eyes were weeping tears, and she was profusely sweating.

  “Elevate her legs,” Connie said to Smitty. “What’s her blood pressure now?”

  “We are losing her!” screamed Pickle.

  In one final desperate attempt, Connie slammed the EpiPen into Kriss’s thigh. The ten seconds leading up to the click felt like an eternity.

  “Her blood pressure is sixty-nine over fifty-nine!” Pickle burst out.

  Rubbing the injection sites to aid in the absorption of the epinephrine, Connie scanned Kriss’s face but saw no response. The captain couldn’t breathe.

  Grabbing a scalpel from her bag, Connie began to feel for the bulge in the cartilage below Kriss’s throat. Satisfied that she had found the cricoid cartilage bulge, she slid the scalpel’s blade in and cut horizontally across her windpipe. The incision turned a dark blood red, and Connie pinched it like a garden hose. Immediately air was inhaled.

  “Quick, hand me that tracheal tube!” snapped Connie. She had the captain’s life on the end of her fingertips, holding the cut trachea open to keep the incision from closing. “Hurry the fuck up!”

  “I’m looking but I can’t find it!” shouted Pickle.

  Kriss’s breath was making an eerie whistling sound around Connie’s finger.

  “Here it is!” cried Pickle.

  Grabbing it from her, Connie immediately forced it into the incision. With the airway no longer restricted, the captain started to breathe more easily. Unwrapping a clear breathing tube that was hooked up to a portable oxygen bottle, Connie slid its stretchable pipe over the trach tube so Kriss would get pure oxygen for her starved body.