“You actually have cows on New Copenhagen?” I ask.
“What is cow?” Fenrir asks.
“An animal,” I say. “It’s extinct on Earth. I remember seeing one as a child. It was behind thick, bullet-proof glass. Hermetically sealed so no pathogens could get to it.”
“Speaking of pathogens,” Lisbeth says, “we’re going to have to deep-scrub you both before you are allowed onto the habitat.”
“She thinks I am dirty?” Fenrir whispers to me.
“She thinks we’re both filthy,” I say, loud enough for them all to hear.
“It’s not personal,” Lisbeth says. “But we couldn’t have you bringing on the bug that killed all the cows on Earth.”
“Aren’t you all pumped full of little robots anyway?” I say. “They’ll tear apart any bug or virus that gets in before it can even think of multiplying.”
“Yes,” Lisbeth says. “Our cows are, too, but you’re still getting deep-scrubbed. We take no chances.”
The New Copenhagen habitat is a massive O’Neil cylinder–a 50-kilometer-long spinning tube in Martian orbit. Inside the tube are long strips of land alternating with empty strips to let in the sun. Each strip of land is fifty kilometers long and three kilometers wide, and bridges run from strip to strip across the gaps. The rotation of the cylinder creates artificial gravity. It’s effectively a slice of old Earth floating above Mars. Just over one million people live inside the habitat, and they live much better than anyone else in the solar system.
We studied the habitats in school, though the Imperial education system portrayed them as decadent elitists, traitors who sealed themselves off from the rest of the filthy masses rather than working to save Earth. Even through all the propaganda, I knew that anyone with half a brain would kill to live on a habitat. Especially New Copenhagen, since it’s one of the largest and richest among the habitats.
They had cows, which meant they had beef. My parents had told my sister Aura and me about eating real beef, how it melted on their tongues and exploded with flavor.
“The scrubbing is not going to be pleasant,” I whisper to Fenrir, “but we might be able to bully them into giving us some really nice food.”
Bully. I’m already letting Fenrir’s brutish negotiation tactics influence me too much.
“It must be beautiful inside New Copenhagen,” I say.
Lisbeth just nods.
“Or do you all take it for granted? Not knowing what you really have?”
“When you see it,” Lisbeth says, “you’ll know it’s too beautiful to ever be taken for granted.”
I cross my arms and sigh. Aura and I used to look up at night, wishing we could see the stars through Earth’s toxic atmosphere. The only thing we could make out on a relatively clear day were the habitats in the Earth orbit. They felt so close, yet they were unreachable for surface scum like us.
The Empire claimed to have sovereignty over both Mars and Venus, which–especially lately–was not the case. The Empire wished it had control of Mars and Venus, and that is largely what this war is about, but the habitats–even the ones in Earth orbit and at the nearby Lagrange points–even the Empire doesn’t pretend to control them.
The shuttle approaches New Copenhagen head-on, and the angle makes it impossible for me to see inside the habitat. If we approached from the side, I’d be able to see through the strips that let in the sunlight, but from Lisbeth’s window I can only see a big metal sphere: the end-cap of the habitat.
“We’re going to dock on the end-cap,” Lisbeth says, “and you’ll both go through decontamination. I forgive you, Fenrir, for trying to kill me.”
“Forgive?” Fenrir says. “I did not ask for this shame.”
“Jesus,” I hiss, grabbing his arm. “Just say ‘thank you’ and be done with it.”
“Thank you!” he roars.
Lisbeth raises an eyebrow at him. “And I’m sorry I insulted you, Fiona. I have to admit...I understand his appeal.”
My face burns red. “We didn’t I say, it just–.”
She holds up a hand. “Most of us are not judgmental on New Copenhagen, our mother culture on Earth was very tolerant, and we continue that custom here. However, more...conservative...elements have gained a lot of influence here since the war began. I can’t promise you that everyone will be as tolerant as I am.”
“Will you stay with us?” I ask.
“I will push to be the principal researcher and liaison,” she says, “but if Lindgren gets his way, I may never see you again.”
“Lind. Gren.” Fenrir says. “Is this man dangerous?”
“Yes,” Lisbeth says. “He’d cut you open if he thought it would give us an edge over your fleet.”
“It will not,” Fenrir says.
I hold my breath, worried he’ll say that he wants to destroy humanity.
The end-cap has nearly filled the window now.
“Tell me honestly, Fenrir,” Lisbeth says. “What is it you want from us?”
Fenrir crosses his arms, and his massive muscles bulge. He presses his lips together in a tight line and says nothing, but then he turns to look at me and his mouth falls open.
He looks quickly away from me and down at his feet.
“I see,” Lisbeth says. “Maybe there’s still hope for us then.”
10 Fenrir
They throw us into some kind of holding cell, which is still somewhere within the endcap and thus in zero-g. Marauders do not typically train in zero-g. We sleep in hibernation while our fleet moves under constant acceleration, and once we enter a solar system with which we wish to conquer and interbreed, the bulk of any conflict happens on the surface of various planets. Or in habitats like this one.
I am different. After my shameful negligence, I and two other Marauders, Minos and Kaius, who had owed great shame debt, were trained as assassins. While the rest of our kind slept, we trained. For two years. And then–as if my shame debt were not enough–precious reaction mass was given to us so that we could reach the human system in advance of the main invasion fleet.
And now I float in a zero-g cell, with a human female’s intoxicating pheromones filling the tiny space. I’m crushed beneath a massive mountain of shame debt, and still I find myself tempted–again and again–to give into my most primal desires.
My cock twitches and beings to harden and grow. I close my eyes and focus on my breathing.
“Fenrir,” her voice says.
I ignore her, focusing harder on my breathing. Perhaps the humans of New Copenhagen will separate me from this female, and when I’m no longer in close proximity to her...I can forget her and focus on my mission.
“Fenrir!” she says, louder.
I open my eyes. “Yes?”
“Let’s assume you even make it to the Martian surface, which is already a big assumption.”
“I will make it,” I say.
“Okay, so if you do, what is your next step? How do you plan to find a hidden Marauder on a planet that basically worships them? If one person notices you and tells Cygnus, he’ll know you’re coming.”
“I need food,” I grunt.
“I’m hungry, too,” I say, “but answer the question.”
“I have a plan,” I say, “but to execute it, I need a lot of food.”
She looks at me in a peculiar way. Her eyebrows compress together, and she tilts her head. Humans have such small ears, and they have to work so much harder to express their emotions to make up for it.
“What does this look mean?” I ask, referring to her cocked head and squashed brow. “I don’t understand.”
“The first thing they will try to do,” she says, “is separate us. Under normal circumstances, I’d be fine with that, but I have a bad feeling that my only actual value is my relationship with you–.”
“We have no relationship!” I shout, flicking my ears at her angrily. Even without big ears, she must know what this type of gesture means.
“You need food,” she says, “and even i
f you don’t want to admit it, you know I’d be a huge help to you on Mars. So let’s work together.”
“Why would you work with me?” I ask, crossing my arms.
My eyes cling to hers. I try to look in her eyes as she speaks, but her gaze overwhelms me. So I look down, and the sight of her breasts overwhelms another part of me. I lose control, and suddenly I’m staring hungrily at her body with almost total abandon.
I don’t want to work with her. I want to mate with her. I need to get away from her. I can only resist her allure for so long.
“I’m not going to bullshit you,” she says. “I want to stop the invasion. I don’t really trust Cygnus or Aegus. It feels like a ploy. Get everyone to believe these two–convince humanity that Marauders want to be friends–and then BAM! Hit us with a sneak attack. I won’t help you kill him...but I won’t be sad to see him go, either.”
“You want to stop the invasion,” I say. “I want to ensure it happens and that we eradicate your race. I don’t think this partnership can work.”
“But you are a powerful Marauder assassin, and I’m just a useless female who you can’t even call by name. The benefit I’d provide you would far outweigh anything I could do to work against you.”
I narrow my eyes at her. The primal part of me screams at me to accept her offer. To stay together with her until my body overrides my mind, and until I betray everything I stand for.
“No,” I say.
I turn my back to her and close my eyes.
She starts to speak again, but the airlock begins to hiss.
“Fenrir!” she pleads. “They’re coming. Please, reconsider. They’re going to get you alone, and at least you know you can trust me...even if it’s as your enemy. These habbers will tell you all kinds of lies to manipulate you; it’s what they do.”
The airlock opens, and three tall figures–likely male–wearing strange, sealed orange suits drift in. Their uniforms seem like extremely primitive spacesuits, but the material they are made from seems to be too flimsy to insulate through vacuum. They’re holding what look like weapons, and I tense up in preparation for attack.
I can shift into a bear and claw them apart.
“We’re here to scrub you down,” one says, speaking through some kind of voice amplifier. “It’s not going to be pleasant, but if you cooperate, it will be over faster. You first, Marauder!”
They all press buttons on their belts, and their shoes magnetize, pulling and attaching them to one of the walls.
I growl.
“Fenrir,” she says. “They are worried you’re contaminated with something. They just want to clean you off.”
“My race’s immune system is strengthened through thousands of invasions!” I bark. “My body destroys all pathogens! Bringing me aboard will destroy any contaminates on the habitat through my highly evolved immune–.”
“Spray him!” one of them orders.
Their weapons open up, and a compressed liquid blasts at me from three directions.
The pressure knocks me down and pushes me into the corner, and since the three humans are anchored to the wall, they stay steady while I am slammed back. I soon realize they’re shooting me with water, though I inhale a faint scent of some chemical. The force of the spray pins me down, and each time I attempt to press back off the wall, it throws me–hard–back into the corner.
One of the spray guns shuts off, and the man walks toward me, his boots magnetizing on and off the wall with each step. He extends a rod, which is actually some kind of brush, and he presses it onto my body. Then he begins to scrub.
His motions are rough, and I can feel it scraping off my skin.
The water is nearly drowning me, but they cut the flow every few seconds, allowing me time to gasp for breath.
They soon cut off all the flow, and the man holding the scrubber shouts through his amplifier. “Will you cooperate, or–.”
I snatch at the scrubber, but before I can grab complete hold of it, the water comes back on and hits me like a tidal wave. I gasp, and a thick lungful of liquid chokes me.
The scrubbing continues as I continue gasping for breath. Finally, it’s turned off.
Once I catch my breath, I see the female waving her hands at them.
“You assholes! You didn’t have to do that, you–.”
“Do not defend me, woman!” I shout. “My shame debt is high enough without you adding to it!”
“Oh, all right,” she says, “Never mind, men. Spray him all you want.”
“We’re done,” one of the men answers.
She grabs the sprayer from his hands and lets loose, turning the water on full blast to drench me.
Just one sprayer is not enough to pin me down completely, and I’m able to kick off at an angle from where I’ve been cornered to evade the blast. For a Turret Woman, her aim is quite poor, and I snatch the sprayer from her hand before she can hit me with it long and powerfully enough to force me back.
I do not retaliate, as it would be cruel and petty to take action against a woman.
“Are you willing to cooperate?” one of the men asks her.
“Yes,” she says.
“Great, follow us. We’ve got a pretty pleasant system for people who cooperate.”
“He needs to go with me,” the female says, pointing to me.
“You’ll have to undress,” the man says. “I don’t think you want–.”
“He’s bonded to me,” she says. “If he’s too far away from me, he’ll die.”
A lie! I’ve not bonded to her, and even if I had, my body–the peak of evolution in the galaxy–would not be so frail as to die because of separation from my mate.
“She’s lying,” I say.
They give each other a few looks and start to mutter to each other. I see their mouths moving, but since they are not speaking through the amplifiers and the helmets they are wearing must be soundproof, I hear nothing.
Finally, one of the men moves to the wall with his magnet boots and presses a button. A small compartment opens.
“It’s a small pressure bath,” one of the men says. “Maybe the alien can just...stay close to the door. You can still have priv–.”
“No,” she says. “He goes in with me.”
I start to object, but they raise the spray guns at me.
It would be more shameful to fight and fail. I need to save my strength for another time.
They gesture for me to follow the female into the small compartment, and I do.
The door shuts behind us.
“Welcome to the pressure bath!” a voice proclaims. “What’s your name?”
“Fiona,” she says.
“Great! I’m Sudsley, your bath bot!”
“Jesus,” she says. “Why the fuck do I need a bath bot?”
I squint at it. “It’s a surveillance tactic. They want to make you feel comfortable so you will talk. They are listening in.”
She gives me a wide-eyed look. “Maybe you’re not a total idiot, Fenrir.”
“I assume you brought me in with you to conspire with me,” I say, “but since the bath bot is listening, you’ve wasted your time.”
“No,” she says, “I know you want to kill yourself because of your shame debt. Now that you’re bonded with me, the easiest way for you to end your life is to convince them that you’re able to be apart from me. You’ll kill yourself by separation from me!”
“They’ll not believe your lies,” I snarl.
She looks right at me, smiling wide, and she gives me an exaggerated blink. With just one eye.
Before I can ask her what that expression means, she pulls off her top.
Her luscious breasts spill out, and I’m stunned into silence.
I should close my eyes. I should turn away. Leave the bath.
But no, I stare at her, my eyes bulging wider than ever.
“Sudsley,” she says, “I like a really hot bath.”
“Sure thing, Fiona!” the bath bot says.
“Do
you like it really hot, Fenrir?” she says, her voice suddenly changed.
Her voice has become softer. It seems like some kind of auditory pheromone, because even with her miraculous breasts pointing out, right at me, her voice seduces me even more.
Then, she drops her pants to the floor, and my cock springs to attention. It’s bulging and vibrating so hard, that I worry the veins could burst. Through thousands of generations of conquering and invading and interbreeding, my cock has not evolved to be this hard.
It’s the Seraphic Form, naked before me. Blasphemy has manifested itself, and its name is Turret Woman.
Her hips are impossibly wide, and her curves pull me deeper and deeper into temptation.
I begin to reach up, but a glass panel slams shut in front of me. It separates us.
The bath bot’s voice says, “Oops! Sorry! Looks like you already got cleaned, friend!”
“I am not your friend,” I growl. “Open the glass and allow me through.”
“No fucking in the pressure bath!” the robot says. “You can watch, but don’t jack off or you’ll make a mess!”
“I will jack your face off, you stupid robot! Open the glass!” I roar.
“Yikes!” Sudsley says. “I don’t think you know what ‘jack off’ means!”
I slam the glass using my full strength, but it just bends and absorbs my punch. I hit it over and over until my fist bleeds, but it doesn’t even crack. There’s not space inside here to shift to bear form, and even if I could, I don’t want to reveal that I can. I might need to save that ability to surprise them later.
And then I stare through the fogging glass at the female’s body in all its glory. She’s not only naked, but she’s rubbing her body with soap. When she rubs her breasts, I can see them moving and jiggling. It’s hypnotic.
Somewhere, buried in the depths of my mind, I am still aware of my mission, but under the influence of this divine body, I cannot look away.
11 Fiona
I almost feel bad. Almost.
I see the way he looks at me. I know what his race is built to do. To invade and breed with the species it invades.
Marauder Fenrir: Scifi Alien Invasion Romance (Mating Wars) Page 5