He spoke with a distinct Earthside dialect of English, someone educated. I saw the uniform, the pins and insignias … Defense Council … military. The DC had found us.
Cesar!
I turned to the Cat with his claws buried in a holovid display showing several DC ships arrayed in formation. “Where is Captain Cesar and his crew? Have they been captured?” The Cat ignored me.
The grey-haired uniformed man looked irritated I hadn’t answered his questions. “How do you speak Gran? Who are you, woman? How have you come to the Gran? These dealings are not authorized!”
Captain Cronin growled and swiped his claws in the air towards the DC officer. “The Commander wishes to talk. Humans and their useless talking. I must not delay. Speak quickly. Tell me what he wants.”
I looked to the military officer who acted like he owned the universe. “I am Angel. I work for the Gran … as translator. Captain Cronin wishes to leave the system. You are delaying his journey. What do you need?”
The man scoffed and his frown deepened. “Ma’am, you are addressing Admiral Michael Benjamin of the Outer Rim Fleet, DC. We hold jurisdiction in all areas outside the main asteroid belt. We police all activity concerning the Gran.”
Unimpressed by his title, the one thing I wanted to know remained unanswered. I clicked at Cronin. “Where is Cesar? Did they capture Cesar?”
Cronin growled in dismissal. “He disappeared before the Commander arrived. Cesar moves unseen in his stealth ship.”
Relief poured through me. Cesar was a wanted man among the DC. A thief, pirate, and a wonderfully considerate lover, I prayed gratitude to the universe that Cesar’s stolen stealth tech had allowed him to escape unharmed.
Admiral Benjamin cleared his throat. “Angel, I have questions that must be answered. This situation is very serious. If you do not help me learn the truth, you could be responsible for war. Please focus on what I am saying.”
I nodded. “I am listening.”
He gave me a stern look of distrust. “We detected one of our stolen Shadow Class cruisers in the area carrying a stolen freighter of ore. Now we find the Gran in possession of the stolen freighter. Who was responsible for these thefts, and how have the Gran come by this freighter?”
I suppressed a giggle at the audacity of my lover. Cesar had traded the ore freighter to the Gran in exchange for jumpship tech, jump patterns, and galactic maps. He neglected to mention that his trade goods were stolen from the DC.
“The Gran purchased the freighter. They are not thieves.” Though I could have said many things, all I wanted was to end this conversation and get away from the DC. I inherently sensed they were dangerous, to me, to Cesar, perhaps even to the Gran.
I saw no gain in dealing with them.
“Angel, you’re not telling the whole truth. Who sold them the freighter? And you never answered my question. How did you come to be on this ship with the Gran, speaking their language. Only DC trained translators speak Gran. You are not on our roster. I just checked.”
Fucker.
“We do not know who sold the freighter. They offered to trade, and the Gran accepted their offer. They did not give us their names.” The Admiral watched me, silent, waiting. I could see he didn’t believe me. “I met the Gran on Nugene Station. Now I work for them.”
His face lit up in surprise.
Captain Cronin clicked to gain my attention. “What do they want?”
“They wanted to know who sold you the freighter. I answered them. They wanted to know how you acquired me. I answered them. I will see what else they want.”
The Cat watched me, and then inclined his head in acceptance. As translator, feeding everyone half-truths, I was walking fine lines on all sides. No one knew the full truth, the truth I withheld.
“Angel, I want you to talk to Lieutenant Secora. She is concerned for your well-being.”
A blonde woman in her thirties stepped into the display beside the Admiral. Her thin lips curled in a warm smile. “Hello Angel. I’d like you to be honest with me, please. Are you with the Gran against your will? Have they harmed or coerced you in any way?”
Like the DC gave a shit about how the Gran treated clones. It was their mandate that allowed Nugene to produce worker drones, and me… Dr D’Anton’s personal experiment with the human genome.
“Lieutenant, are you fully aware of what Nugene supplies to the Gran by permission of the DC?”
She looked to the Admiral and then back to me. “I understand there is a trade arrangement. The details are classified. Admiral, do you know what she is referring to?”
The Admiral’s eyes took on a serious, accusing glare for a moment, then he blinked it away, almost like it never happened. He looked to me then back to Secora. “The nature of Nugene’s business with the Gran is not our concern. We need to understand why Angel is aboard their ship, and how we can recover our stolen property.”
“I am not your concern. The freighter is the property of The Gran, acquired by trade. If you try to take it, I will watch the Gran destroy your ships, and there’s nothing I can do to stop them. Do not test them, Admiral. Your issue is with those who took your property, not the Gran.”
The Admiral watched me closely. “You are not translating, Angel. This is not your game to play alone.”
I turned to Captain Cronin. “They are curious about your trades with Cesar. I explained. They will leave in a moment. Is there anything you would like to say?”
Cronin stood up slightly taller, showing off his Cat authority. Posturing bastard. “I hear him speak of Nugene. Is there a problem?”
I clicked, no. “They wanted to confirm the Gran are satisfied with the worker drones.” The lies were running thick and heavy now.
Cronin nodded. “Tell them we are pleased with Nugene’s performance. We are happy to continue trades with Nugene, provided they continue their timely, high quality supply.”
The high quality supply he spoke of was the cells full of human worker drones aboard the ship, the latest batch Cronin had received from Nugene. Docile, unintelligent, yet physically able, clones were bred by Nugene as mine laborers for the Gran. This was the dirty secret the DC kept from humanity, the nature of the treaty, the manner in which the Gran’s demands for slave laborers were met by the DC, putting an end to the thirty year war between humanity and the Gran.
I translated for Captain Cronin, and the Admiral’s face turned sour. He looked to Lieutenant Secora. “You are dismissed, Lieutenant. Leave me to speak with Angel in private.”
She nodded and disappeared from the holovid display. The Admiral pierced me with his searching stare. “I don’t like this game you play. Relations between humanity and the Gran are dependent upon factors you do not understand, Angel. We hover upon the brink of war, serving aliens who would enslave our entire race, if not for the distasteful business of Nugene. I don’t know who you are, or where you come from, but you should conduct these matters with extreme caution. Many lives hang in the balance.”
Like the lives of the worker drones who were sacrificed to the slave labor needs of the Gran? Like my life? And Cesar’s? Yes, many lives. But not the life of the Admiral and his crew, hiding behind the protection of the DC and the filthy treaty they cut with the Gran.
“I do understand what Nugene does for the Gran. I also know what the DC is doing, in secret. I translate for the Captain, and you need not worry for me. Unless you can free me from service to the Gran, our conversation is finished. Captain Cronin wishes to leave, now.”
The Admiral watched me for a time. It seemed he wanted to say something more, but then he nodded. "We watch this sector very carefully. We’ll be looking for you, when the Gran return to Nugene. Until we meet again, Angel. Give the Captain my wishes for a safe journey.”
* * * *
Chapter 4
With Cronin’s ship cruising double-time to reach the jump site at the outer edge of our solar system, I found my fellow concubine curled into a ball, passed out on the couch in her cabin
. Chilla’s beautiful green-striped fur had bloodstains from a recent round of punishing sex with Cronin. If there was a hell for Cats, that son-of-a-bitch Cronin had a special corner dedicated to him.
Seeing her miserable condition lit fires of fury in my veins. My hands shook with the intense adrenaline rush, the need to lash out and hurt someone. If he fucking came near me, I’d probably break his claws off one a time and use them to castrate him.
He tried to enter our cabin a few hours later, without permission or warning. I kicked him so hard in his fat, fist-sized balls that he puked all over the hallway as I shoved him back out the door.
Chilla moaned from the couch. “If I deny him, he will short my payment.”
“And if you’re dead, how will you collect your money?”
She didn’t argue that one. Concubines had died servicing males who lost control while high on amixa. She’d admitted as much, and I feared she’d end up like one of her lost sisters, dead on the floor, fucked and mauled to death.
Chilla’s thighs showed deep scarring from the many times she’d been mauled during sex with males high on amixa. Her nanomed cream healed her wounds in a couple days, but it didn’t get rid of the scars. That cream she used religiously was the only reason she’d survived this long.
The Captain and I couldn’t really have sex, and he didn’t do any permanent damage to me. Though his massive cock didn’t fit me, he was creative with his games of pretend. Luckily, my skin healed in hours without a mark. I could serve him well enough to keep him away from Chilla until she recovered.
Cronin waited a few hours before he knocked on our door with a polite growl, requesting entry. I hoped his balls were too sore to get it up and enjoy his drug addiction. Chilla, the fool, answered the door and let him in. The stupid female worried she wouldn’t get paid if she refused him service.
Though I wanted to crush his swollen testicles in my hands so I could watch him mewl and puke, I volunteered to service him, to keep him off Chilla for another day. Like a good little concubine I followed Cronin back to his cabin. He laid out the bottle of spiced amber-colored liquor with little spongy squares of spice cake –Angel treats – and watched me strip off my one-piece suit. The Cats, specifically Cronin, preferred I wear the clothing of a female Cat – a barely there bra, and a belted skirt thing that left my legs, thighs and most of my ass bared. My zipper suit was quickly discarded as the Captain brought out my new outfit, another facet of his pretend routine.
Standing naked before this massive male, with a swinging dick as long as my arm, I was glad for the liquor. The potent aphrodisiac liquor allowed me to perform for this motherfucker, instead of killing him like I wanted to. He bent me over, sprayed amixa on my back and ass, and rubbed his monstrous cock between my thighs, pretending to fuck me. With the heavy meat of his erection rubbing my inner thighs and pussy raw, I knew somehow, some way, I’d make him pay. If not for all he’d done to me – for Chilla.
Cronin seated his claws into my hips and sent me spiraling over the top with the euphoric explosion of my pain. This was my secret, which Cronin had learned to abuse, the beautiful joy that pain gave me. In D’Anton Pascal’s quest to perfect humanity through genetic enhancement, my pseudo father had taken away my pain. Instead, I experienced a full-on rush of pleasure from Cronin’s claws raking my back and ass.
When the Cat sprayed his come all over the couch and me – I came too. The bastard knew how to hit my pain switch every time. My enjoyment of his abuse was my ultimate shame.
Probably the real reason I performed for him so exuberantly.
I prayed to the universe that Cesar never learned of the degradation this bastard Cat put me through. And I wished I didn’t enjoy being mauled nearly as much as I did. Cronin had become expert at hitting my pain switch and leaving me in a wet puddle of bloody euphoria.
* * * *
After a month servicing Cronin and protecting Chilla from being fucked to death, finally, we made our destination, a series of colonial stations orbiting a mammoth gas giant, and the biggest station of them all – the Emperor’s Palace. I couldn’t wait to get off the Trader’s Guild ship, and into the Emperor’s jurisdiction, free of Captain Cronin’s service.
A month may not seem like a long time, but it’s an eternity spent bent over and rubbed raw by a massive Cat cock. So what I heal in hours. So what I’d been staggering drunk and could hardly remember my degradation. The journey sucked and I hated Cronin more and more each passing day.
Chilla got it worse than me. Cronin made me watch every time he impaled this beautiful green female and mauled her hips with his claws while she squealed and gnashed her teeth in agony. The sadistic furry fuck got off on hurting us. It’s no wonder he didn’t have a mate. No decent female would put up with his shit. He was an addict – lucky enough to afford his drug of choice, and a full time concubine to serve him. Plus he was lucky to have stolen me from Nugene and figured out how to use my peculiar qualities to his advantage.
Chilla and I couldn’t exit Cronin’s ship fast enough. The hatch opened and we were gone, dashing down the ramp to the only Cats I was ever happy to see.
Princess Lenka, a young female who’d dyed her fur a brilliant red in my absence, stood beside a medium sized male just over two meters. They’d been waiting for me! The male at her side looked familiar, but I found it hard to believe he now had caramel colored fur with darker brown, nearly black striping. When I left the Prince he’d been almost completely brown, and significantly smaller.
Prince Rollick must have taken some hardcore growth hormones or gone through Cat puberty. The kid had exploded in my absence. In the three months I was jumping across the galaxy and back again, the Prince had grown to tower over me and his sister, Princess Lenka. I couldn’t tell him apart from Cronin’s Warriors. Rollick was fucking huge. He crushed me in a warm, furry affectionate squeeze.
“I missed you so much, Angel!” As my back popped and I squirmed, trying to catch my breath, he ran his hands over my arms and legs, even my ass. As a young feller, Rollick had always been a little too touchy-feely for comfort. Some things never changed.
The Gran had a different outlook on personal boundaries. I’d found myself fondled frequently among these strange Cats. I pulled Rollick’s claws away from my butt and rubbed noses with him in greeting. “It has been too long, friend. I missed you too.”
Lenka stepped up and wrapped her arms around me in a welcoming hug. “Our home has been quiet without you.” This was my safe haven among the Gran.
I caught brilliant green fur in my peripheral vision and separated from the royal brats to grab Chilla. Her eyes popped in surprise as I dragged her over to the royals. “Prince Rollick, Princess Lenka, please meet my dearest friend, Chilla. She saved my sanity during the trip across the galaxy.”
Chilla wouldn’t look them in the face, her eyes downcast, and the royals had adopted a strange look. Their gazes lingered on Chilla’s scarred hips – the marks of a concubine. Lenka had explained how scarred females held a lesser value in Gran society, but I’d never witnessed the social dynamics until this moment.
Chilla looked uncomfortable in the Royal family limelight. I doubted the royals understood I had suffered the same tortures as Chilla, performed the same degradations … but my body did not scar. My service to the Captain was hidden from plain view.
Lenka touched claws with Chilla and Rollick nodded an acknowledgement to Chilla – a cold greeting. I turned to both of these royal brats and had a mind to tear strips off their hides for their ignorant prejudices. Lenka looked back and forth between us, me and Chilla, and I suspected she understood the implications of my friendship with Chilla.
Rollick, old in stature yet young at heart, still didn’t get it. I certainly wasn’t going to tell him. I dreaded the day he looked at me the way he regarded Chilla.
“Rollick, maybe we can invite Chilla to a meal.” I moved in close to whisper growls into his ear. “She’s a wonderful friend, and it would make her so hap
py to spend time with us … with you.”
Rollick twitched and his eyes grew far older and wiser. “Yes, Angel. We can invite her to dinner.”
In an unexpected surge of gallantry, Rollick dipped low to Chilla and put out his hand. “It would be my pleasure to dine with you, Chilla. Angel’s friend is my friend.”
She didn’t look up to meet his face, but her purr spoke of delight. “I would love to dine with the Prince. You are kind and gracious, as Angel has said many times.” Her appreciation was sincere. She would bow down and lick the Prince’s feet to have a shot at a decent male for a mate.
I couldn’t tell if Rollick was simply being polite, the propriety of his noble station in life, or if he held a genuine interest in Chilla. As far as I was concerned, she was a strikingly beautiful female with an awesome, calm demeanor in the face of intense difficulty. I had no other person who understood the trials of my life.
* * * *
Chapter 5
We did not dine in for the evening meal. Instead, the Emperor, his wife, his security entourage of a half dozen behemoth Warriors, both royal brats, Chilla and I, all cruised on the royal floater to the arena for premium seating at what I could only describe as a gladiator’s event. Fitted with some kind of grav generator, the flat, open-topped disc was ringed by plush seating, and hovered around the Emperor’s palace like an oversized, opulent limousine for Cats. They used it as transport through the interior of the palace station.
The royal floater had parked on high, looking over the stadium, with a spectacular view of everything and everyone. I’d seen holovids of Roman gladiator films from Nugene Station archives, and this was a very similar setup. Seating tiers wrapped around both sides of the arena in stair steps and each end of the stadium floor had large entry-exits. The place was even made of creamy-colored, carved stone, like something from Ancient Egypt or Rome. I imagined the entire setup must have been transported here from their home planet, but I still had no idea where their home planet was located, or what it looked like.
Angel 6.0: Pursuit Page 2