by Viki Storm
I forget about Hilf, about the Phurusians—about the war that is surely coming.
“What else is my mate going to command me to do?” I pant. I already want him, want to spread for him on the grass at the sight of the recent carnage. I arch my back, and he finds my other breast, tweezing my nipples through my shirt. God damn, who would have thought three millimeters of synthetic fabric would be so maddening—would feel so damned wrong? Any barrier between our flesh right now feels like the aforementioned affront to the Unseen Hand. I laugh at this.
“What’s funny?” he says.
“That all this lofty talk about bonding and whatever, it seems like all the Unseen Hand is trying to get us to do is fuck,” I say.
“Not fuck,” he says, slipping his hand inside my shirt. His bare skin on mine is delightful, and the heat of his fingers as he seeks out the tight beads of my nipples causes me to gasp. “Not jzulor, remember. Arlo foltest.”
“That’s right,” I say, breathing heavily. He’s still toying with me, but I’m afraid to urge him further. The bleeding in his wound stopped when Corvi sprayed something inside it, but I don’t want Anax to rupture anything.
“Jzulor means something like joining pieces. It’s the same word you’d use if you were repairing a broken table leg. Arlo foltest is divine reckoning. There is a definite difference in scope and magnitude.” I think I get it, even if my grasp on Kenorian idioms is tenuous at best.
“It sure felt like that the other night at the Floating City,” I say. He pulls my shirt over my head, and I swing my leg over his lap, straddling his erection. “Like worlds were colliding.”
“They were,” he says. “In your language, I say that I love you. In my language, I say noran jzarla. In the language of the stars, I say something more like this.” He unbuttons his pants and takes them down, letting his cock spring free. I hurriedly inch my pants down just far enough to allow him access. He slides his hand inside, and he finds me already slippery and ready for him. He kisses me, pulling my face towards his, his lips devouring me. But while his kiss is urgent, his fingers are maddeningly slow, carefully stroking my clit as if he’s trying to be as gentle as possible. I get my pants the rest of the way off and fling them to the ground.
He tries to lay me down, but I shake my head.
“You’re injured,” I say. “You lie down.” He doesn’t argue, just lies back down on the grass while I get on top. I position myself above his erection and use my hand to guide it to my opening. He’s so thick, so huge, that I can’t believe it actually fits inside me. I lower myself down and feel the spreading sensation intensify as he fills me up, spreading my lips apart, spreading my tight inner walls apart.
“All the way down,” he encourages me. “You’re going to take every inch of my cock.” I moan as I lower myself further, until I’m sitting down on his hips, his entire length buried inside me. He groans and holds my waist, thrusting upwards into me. I begin to rock, rising and falling onto him until we find a happy rhythm. I rub my clit over his vrla, grinding back and forth, every stroke taking me one step closer to orgasm. He positions his hand so that he can play with my nipples while I ride him, and it’s not long until an orgasm is building inside my belly, hot and urgent.
“That’s good,” he says. “Let me watch while you come all over my cock. You’re so damned beautiful when you’re coming.” I cry out, unable to control my screams. I push myself down harder, going faster and faster until I can’t hold it any longer. My hips start to convulse as I greedily devour his length, taking the whole thing inside me. Wave after wave wracks my body with pleasure until I’m wrung out and I collapse on his chest. He sucks in air, and I remember that he’s injured.
“Sorry!” I say and lift myself back up.
“I’m fine,” he says. “I’ll prove it to you with the gift of my seed. Ride my cock and work for it.”
I obey, pushing myself up and down, screaming out pleasure that only seems to intensify, despite the release I just had. Soon enough, I’m bouncing on his cock wildly, pushing my hips and grinding against him.
“That’s it,” he says, “you must want it really bad. I’ll give it to you now.” He holds my hips and starts to pound into me. I come again, this time my orgasm much more intense as it spreads to every inch of my body. He thrusts hard, then groans as he releases into me. He’s coating the inside of my sex with his thick, ropey seed, marking me, claiming me as his mate, warding off any other male who would try to take me. The idea sends another latent orgasm rippling through my body, causing me to clench and wring out every last drop of his essence.
This time I really am spent, and I collapse to his side, not wanting to aggravate his wound.
“It is tradition,” he says, “to claim your mate after a battle. After destruction and violence, you should sow the seed of a new life into a fertile womb. It is the way of the Universe.”
My clit starts to throb at the suggestion that he might have just impregnated me—though I haven’t the slightest idea why.
We lie in the grass for a while—it could be minutes or an hour; time feels rubbery and elusive right now. I remember hearing something about spacetime being made of fabric, and fabric can stretch and shrink.
But eventually, Corvi yells from his ship, “I’m coming out in two minutes!” so I get my clothes on and help Anax with his.
When Corvi finds us, it’s obvious what we were just doing, but he does not mention it. Probably what Anax said, the Kenorian tradition of mating after battle. After taking a life.
Except we did not take Hilf’s life.
Hilf is still alive. Somewhere.
“Did you tell him?” Corvi asks.
“Tell me what?” Anax says.
“That’s a ‘no,’” Corvi says. “It’s better shown than explained anyway. Here, get up.” Corvi extends his hand and helps Anax to his feet. I’m surprised at how easily Anax is able to move on his own. I would have thought after being murdered, he’d be more infirm. They walk slowly towards Hilf’s body, giving Anax time to stretch his torso upright and take careful steps.
“What in the name of Screaming Blackness is this?” Anax says when they approach.
“It’s not him,” Corvi says. “And there’s more. Many more. The entire Summer Palace was converted into a factory, cranking these things out.”
Anax just stares down at the thing we all thought was Hilf’s lifeless body.
But it’s not Hilf.
It is an android replicant. What Corvi says is true: the summer palace was converted into a laboratory and workshop.
The Phurusians have been amassing an android army.
Chapter 24
Anax
I stare down at the android replicant, and all I can do is laugh. Sometimes, that’s all there is to do. Corvi takes me on a tour of the Summer Palace. He was right; the entire place has been gutted and turned into a workshop for making these unholy creatures. They seem to be a gruesome amalgam of lab-grown flesh over mechanical skeletons. They’re stronger and more resilient than a true lifeform, but that’s not the worst part. Their artificial intelligence units are based on the brilliant Phurusian behavior forecasting software. The AI is adaptive, reads data from innumerable sources, then acts accordingly based on the most favorable outcome for their prime objective.
What is the prime objective? Not sure. But obviously it can’t be good.
“Come on,” I finally say to Brooke. I’m exhausted. I want to get back to the settlement, crawl into bed with her and sleep for twelve hours.
“Back to the settlement?” she asks.
“For now,” I say. “We’ll have to relocate, since Lord Phuru knows so much about it.”
“Not that it will make much difference,” Corvi says. “Hilf’s time in our settlement will have provided the Phurusians with enough data for them to anticipate our every thought and every move.”
“You are a true beacon of hope,” I tell him, “you know that?” He grumbles something I don’t bother aski
ng him to repeat. He gets onto his ship and says he’ll meet us back at the settlement.
I strap Brooke into the copilot’s chair and start the engines. Before I can get us in the air, the comm-link signals, and I see Hollyhock’s face fill up the vid-screen.
“You got out alive,” she says.
“Yes,” I tell her. I owe her some money and maybe more. Maybe my life.
“There’s three lifeforms on your ship,” she says. I wonder not for the first (or last) time if all Jirdies are this oddly direct.
“Someone’s on the ship?” Brooke gasps. My mind goes to Hilf—the ‘real’ Hilf—hiding out and ready to get revenge. I bolt up and draw my weapon.
“Relax,” says Hollyhock. “I’m tapped into the bioscanners on your ship. I register three lifeforms. One approximately a hundred ten kilograms, two meters height. Another smaller lifeform, one point five meters and sixty kilograms mass.”
“Yes, that’s us,” I say, the heights and weights roughly matching mine and Brooke’s. “The third lifeform?”
“Point zero zero two milligrams,” the Jirdie says. I know I must have heard her wrong. I try to puzzle out what she’s talking about. Is there a harmful virus onboard? Bacteria? A fungal spore?
“Can you elaborate?” I ask.
“It contains fragments of each of your DNA, so it’s either a zygote or parasitic tapeworm larvae. I can’t tell from the scanner. That is all.” Hollyhock ends the comm-link.
“Did she just say…” Brooke asks. “Parasitic tapeworm?”
“I think it’s the first option,” I say cautiously. “The zygote.”
“Like I’m pregnant?” Brooke says, in obvious shock.
“This is cause for celebration,” I say.
“If it’s true,” Brooke says.
“Don’t doubt the Jirdie,” I say.
“I’m not,” Brooke says, “but we haven’t ruled out tapeworms yet.” But she’s smiling, and I know in my heart that we have already kindled new life. Not on the grass of the imperial lawn, but days before when I first claimed her as my mate at the Floating City of Asherah.
“The first Kenorian born in a decade,” I say, the idea so bizarre I can’t believe that it’s true.
“Half-Kenorian,” she corrects me.
“This is great news,” I say. “We must celebrate.”
“We just did,” she says, “on the lawn down there. You gave me quite the big party favor.”
“The settlement will rejoice,” I say, knowing that there will be feasting tonight. “Even Corvi will hoist his cup and toast to our future. Because it’s not just our future, it’s the future of two races. It’s the future of our unification. The future of humans pioneering other homes in the Universe.”
“A pioneer,” she says. “Can I wear a bonnet and travel in a covered wagon?”
I have no idea what she’s talking about, but I don’t care.
This is perfect. Nothing can ruin this moment.
It’s the moment of my rebirth. I’ve been languishing for the last ten years. Now I can finally start to live.
- - -
Two weeks later, Kenorian Settlement, Phobetar.
“Do you have everything?” I ask Corvi.
“Yes,” he says.
“And you’ll get the weapon?”
“Yes, by the motherless Blackness, quit fussing,” he says.
“I can’t help it, this is important.”
“Everything is important,” he says. As if that explains everything. But he climbs into his ship and closes the hatch. His engines start, and the warriors watch as he blasts off into the sky, out of the blue and into the black, as we say, disappearing.
“Will he get it?” Brooke asks. The healer confirmed that she is indeed gestating my offspring and will birth it in approximately 280 days.
“He will,” I say. “The weapon will be our best hope.”
Hollyhock beamed Udos the entire software package containing the Phurusian forecasting programs. Before, he only had a fragmented beta version of the software, and he’s delighted. Udos has been playing with it ever since, running sims and analyzing data.
He located a weapon that will purportedly destroy the android replicant army.
Hollyhock still hasn’t been able to crack the encryption containing the android army’s prime objective. She says she’ll be able to get it eventually (and I think it’s a matter of professional pride that she proves that she can do it) but in most ways, it’s irrelevant. I know what Lord Phuru wants. He’s going to want planets, power, resources. He’s going to want to destroy the remaining Kenorians.
We already know from Hilf’s attempts to recruit us that he’s about to take over the so-called strategically located planet. Once Lord Phuru has a base of operations, he’ll expand and expand and expand—as far as he can, enveloping each planet into his burgeoning empire. The Phurusians aren’t fighters, aren’t warriors. They are, however, strategists, so programming a robot army to do their bidding is a perfect solution.
Except it’s not. Because we’re going to stop them. A handful of true Kenorian warriors is worth a whole battalion of those scrap-metal bastards.
Especially after Corvi gets the weapon.
Brooke and I return to our room. The new settlement is coming along nicely. We relocated and are already in the process of rebuilding. Everyone is pleased that Brooke is carrying Kenorian offspring, even though some, like Corvi, grumble that our bloodline is now no longer pure.
“This is pretty nice,” Brooke says, commenting for the hundredth time about our new dwelling. “Nicer than my place in Los Angeles.”
“The material surroundings are pointless,” I say. “Who’s with you is the only thing that matters. Soon enough, these rooms will be filled with the sounds of screaming babies and quarreling children.”
“Are you trying to make my hair go prematurely grey?” she asks.
“Human hair turns grey? Why?” This is the first I’ve heard about grey hairs.
“When we get old,” she says. “But a house full of crazed little warrior children might make me go grey early.”
“A house full of spirited, willful, strong children shall provide you with untold depths of satisfaction and happiness,” I counter.
“I know you’re right,” she says. “I just never imagined having human children before. Let alone alien warrior children.”
“It’s probably very much the same,” I assure her, though in truth I have no idea about these things. “All I know is that you will be a fine mother, and you will succeed in providing for their moral and intellectual instruction.”
“Why does every compliment you give me sound so… so much like legalese?”
“What is legalese?” I ask. “That lexicon is not stored in my implant.” She laughs at me and shakes her head.
“Never mind,” she says. “I love you and your funny ways of saying things. It’s part of your charm.”
“And I love you,” I say. I bring her close for a kiss. She tastes like crisp, cold water after a sun-drenched battle. Without breaking our embrace, I lead her towards the bed. I haven’t been able to keep my hands off of her. Knowing my child is gestating inside her makes me desire her more than I thought possible.
Then my comm-panel beeps.
“You need to get an answering machine,” she says. “So you can screen your calls.”
“You know our business is pressing,” I remind her.
I activate the comm-link but immediately regret it when the form of a uniformed Federation officer fills up the vid-screen.
“Anax of Kenor?” he says.
“There is no Kenor,” I say bitterly. Even with our new settlement and my new arlo jzumak, the sting of our planet’s destruction is no less painful.
“I have been trying to establish contact with you,” he says. “I am Commander Lorso of the Third Quadrant fleet.”
“How can I help you?” I say. Maybe if I don’t bring up the stolen fuel cartridges, he won’t, either. He
’s a Sceptri, like most of the Federation Officers, but they’re known for being fair and even-tempered.
“The fuel cartridges,” he begins. Damn.
“What fuel cartridges?” I ask.
“Shut up,” he says. “We know you were carrying them on behalf of Hilf of Phuru, and we know you delivered them to Shooki of Laurentia. And we know you exchanged them for a sizable quantity of vita-packs.” I don’t say anything. I was just told to shut up, after all. He knows a lot about me, but I don’t want to start talking and accidentally tell him more. “We also know you were recently inside the Phurusian summer palace. Did you deliver the vita-packs to Hilf?”
“No,” I say truthfully. Corvi destroyed them.
“Good,” he says. “We have reason to believe that they were going to be used to fuel a replicant army, said army currently making its way towards planet—”
“Replicant army?” I almost shout. “How do you know?”
“There’s not much that happens in my sector that I’m not aware of,” he says haughtily. “I tried to establish contact with you several times, but you rejected my attempts at comm-links. You evaded my fastest ship, too. I’ve wanted to discuss these matters with you at length.”
“Start by explaining everything you know about the replicants,” I say.
“No,” he says. “You don’t make demands on me. You start by explaining everything you know about the replicants. I have more than enough cause to arrest and execute you for possession of stolen Federation property. But I don’t want to do that. I want your help.”
This sounds so tempting, but the last time someone said they needed my help ridding the Universe of an evil bastard, it was Hilf, and he was full of shit.
“He needs it in writing,” Brooke chimes in, edging me out of the view of the vid-screen. “A legal document granting transactional immunity in exchange for his cooperation in apprehending Hilf and Lord Phuru. He won’t say a word without it.”