Harvesting Rue

by Candace Smith

  Harvesting Rue

  by Candace Smith

  Copyright 2011 Candace Smith

  Published by Strict Publishing International

  Prelude

  Battleship Visqua

  Damn close to seven feet tall of rippled bronze muscle strode down the corridors of the Visqua. The entire squadron of powerfully built starship warriors had returned uninjured and with a single purpose in mind. As if their frightening physique and volatile nature were not enough, their dark eyes were shining with aroused heat while the stimulation from the battle continued to ride through their veins. Nervous crewmen silently plastered their bodies against the passageway walls to get out of their way. The Lamerian warriors scared the hell out of everyone else onboard the battleship.

  Their wild dark hair swung down their backs, and already their cocks were thickening and clearly outlined in their tight breeches. The warriors refused to wear the Realm’s traditional uniform, but once the Frital Union declared that to force them to do so would be a breach of their rites of passage, the hierarchy could no longer challenge them. Not that they ever really had. The Lamerians were natural warriors, predestined to battle, and if they did not fight for the Realm they would have no qualms about fighting for the enemy.

  Wide matching bands circled their wrists and massive biceps, decorated with blue and gold embroidered symbols that only the warriors could decipher. The open vests, taut breeches, and sturdy boots, were all made from the black leather skins of tersons. From the time the Lamerians were young, they honed their fighting skills until they could kill one of the ferocious beasts and acquire its skin for their garb. Only then would they receive the honor of being considered a warrior by their brothers.

  Earlier, Isari sat forward in his chair on the bridge, observing the battle in space through piercing dark Lamerian eyes. They shined with the passionate desire to join the starship warriors, but as Commander, he was forbidden to leave his position on the battleship. It was a necessary sacrifice of rank for his brothers to keep the Visqua under Lamerian control.

  The Frital Union had failed in its attempt to negotiate with the rogue ship’s commander, and with two passenger ships and a supply freighter involved, the decision was made to engage. The rogue had provoked the attack, but it was apparent soon after the Visqua’s starships were launched that the enemy was grossly underpowered in both men and weaponry. The ancient vessel was in such a dilapidated state that Isari never had to involve the battleship. Although the ideal situation would be to guide the rogue to a Frital Union base, but when they had refused to back away from the passenger ships they left Isari no choice.

  The Battleship Visqua was close enough for Isari to watch his squadron of starship fighters through the viewport, and he constantly scanned the window that arched around the front wall of the bridge. He cursed when two of the Realm’s fighters broke out of formation and placed themselves in a perilous position. “What the hell are they doing?”

  The inept soldiers were a pain in the ass that was forced on him when the hierarchy began to panic as their battleships filled with superiorly trained Lamerian commanders and warriors. The Royals knew the Realm soldiers could not beat the fierce men, should they decide to turn on them.

  Since Lamerians were not allowed to vote on policy, the hierarchy had no trouble demanding the Frital Union declare that it was discriminatory for battleships to be solely comprised of Lamerian forces. The result of this political move had forced Isari to pollute his squadrons with Royal soldiers of questionable bravery and substandard skills. It was a constant source of irritation for the Lamerian warriors attempting to synchronize their battle plan only to have the unqualified soldiers interfere.

  Varpin’s hand hovered over the communication holograph. He waited for the Commander’s order to disengage some Lamarian brothers from the battle to correct the Realm starships’ position.

  “Give it a moment. As long as the idiots don’t fire, I think the rogue will not waste ammunition on them.” Isari did not want to make the decision to pull his brothers out of the excitement of battle just to play nanny over the Royal fighters.

  Apparently, his brothers did not want to chance the rogue’s patience, and Isari watched as two Lamerian starships were forced to break off their attack in order to herd the Realm fighters away from their dangerous position. The incompetent soldiers had placed themselves between the rogue ship and a passenger freighter. It had not occurred to them that the Lamerian warriors were attacking from the other side to divert the rogue’s attention and the battle away from the civilians.

  The rogue vessel managed to tag the two starships before the Lamerians could move them. Fortunately, the ancient ship’s aim was accurate, and it did not overshoot and hit the civilian ship. Isari loosened his clenching fingers from the arms of his chair when his warriors coaxed the two damaged ships out of the line of fire. No matter who was at fault, it was a lengthy process to explain to the hierarchy when Royal soldiers were injured or killed.

  After so many centuries and many battles, Isari could almost predict his starships’ positions. The conflict concluded on the space-side and away from the passenger ships and supplies, when the rogue ship burst into a fireball. “Dammit,” Isari snapped. The rogue had chosen self-detonation rather than capture or integration into the Realm.

  Isari rose from his chair on the bridge, stretching his arms over his head and already feeling the undeniable tightening in his groin. “Such a waste. If the Union would let us take over when their negotiations failed, we could have disabled the rogue and coaxed it away from the civilians.”

  It had been many years since the Lamerians had free reign to board a rogue vessel and force it to a Union base. Isari had been a starship warrior and he remembered the excitement of onboard combat. The physical hand-to-hand fighting was an arousing exercise. His balls tightened with the memory of fighting beside his brothers, their wild dark hair whipping around their muscular bodies and the heat of battle flashing in their black eyes.

  After some Realm fighters were killed during a boarding, the hierarchy forbade the battleship warriors to mount personal confrontations. Now, everything had to be handled by the impersonal strategy of starships and battleships when Frital Union negotiations fell through. The destruction of ancient vessels… such as this rogue… had rendered the extinction of several species. This was another reason the Lamerian warriors despised the Realm fighters.

  “That was the second Janalin rogue.” The edge to Varpin’s voice held a note of contempt and despair. “That’s two, Isari. Maybe there is still a third that made it off planet before their atmosphere disintegrated,” he said hopefully. They both knew this was doubtful. It had been three hundred years since the last vessel was seen.

  Varpin followed the Commander out of the room and they walked through the battleship’s corridors towards the docking bay. It had not gone unnoticed by either of the men that the trainers were already shuttling pets to the ship’s dungeons. When the warriors returned, the adrenaline stoked from the battle would be excised through lust-filled encounters with their commissioned companions.

  Isari and Varpin did not have that relief. Their private dungeons had remained empty for decades, since their brief commissioning of an unconventional pet. The two warriors rubbed their terson breeches, agonizing as usual that they would have no satisfactory method of easing an even greater pent up passion than the returning warriors would be feeling. As Officers, they had been kept out of the fracas to merely observe the battle. This was another discomforting casualty of being Commander, and thus removed from the physical fight.

  Commander Isari stood on the platform, two stories above the floor of the launching bay. The mammoth metal doors closed when the last of his squadron had returne
d, escorting the damaged starships. Isari was pleased that the mission had been accomplished without injuring or losing any of his warriors, though he had to control his look of disgust when he glanced at the wan faces of the Realm fighters, standing on shakily buckling legs and nervously surveying the lasered slices along the sides of their vessels.

  Varpin stood beside him scanning the deck, and after assuring himself there was minimal damage to the starships, his mind tallied his preliminary findings. He mentally calculated what was necessary to correct the ineffective strategy of the non-Lamerian fighters. “We could risk hierarchy action, and keep the idiots near the Visqua on the pretext of guarding the battleship,” Varpin suggested. It would take several hours for the actual reports to come in, but Varpin gave his initial accounting to the Commander. Other than the scarring rips in the Realm starships, they acknowledged the resounding success.

  The Lamerian warriors disembarked quickly. Their long strides carried them across the bay, towards the corridors leading to the dungeons. The other fighters waited by their ships, trying to stay out of their path. It pissed them off that Lamerians refused to acknowledge them as warriors, and it also irritated the hierarchy. The Royal fighters looked up to the balcony, noting that Varpin’s cold black gaze was fixed on the damaged ships.

  “The bastard’s going to send another one of his scathing reports to the Royals,” one of the Realm fighters stated. They knew it would accurately depict their inefficiency and describe how two Lamerian warriors had to abandon their attack to escort the Realm starships back to the Visqua. Reluctantly admitting the rashness of the strategy in attempting to surround the rogue, the soldier knew they had no defense against the charge.

  Isari kept silent while his brothers walked past him. He could tell by the aroused, focused gleam in their eyes that congratulatory words were unnecessary. They knew they had performed well, and their only interest was the reward waiting for them in the erotic chambers.

  After curt acknowledgement to the remaining fighters, Isari and Varpin walked down the passageway towards the section that housed the Officers’ Quarters. They slowed by the General Quarter’s dungeon, turning their attention towards the passionate sounds of the warriors venting their pent up excitement and energy on their pets. They walked into the chamber and stood by the door, watching for a moment. Alidans, a few Farmoths, and two Villinias, were secured to various devices. Other than infrequent mewling squeals from the Alidans, the only sound was the grunting from the warriors when they threw their whips or lashed their canes.

  Isari watched one of his brothers draw back a strong arm, preparing to toss the whip at his pet. His eyes narrowed with arousal as he waited for the snap of the leather. Instead, the warrior lowered the lash and took three strides towards the creature, cupping its pointed chin in his hand and running his thumb down its rough brown cheek. The creature gazed at him with her adoring golden eyes, tears slipping over the bark of her eyelids before they closed. The warrior shook his head and stroked her moss-like hair before returning to position to whip her.

  “He’s trained her well,” Varpin noted. The Farmoths had learned the sadistic release their warriors craved many battles ago, yet they could never halt their retreat into stoic repose. It was an irritating habit of their species that they could not control, much as a turtle retreating to its shell. This one knew that her Master would not hurt her and she had fought her natural instinct for at least three lashes. The scarring white marks shown against the bark on her belly.

  “Still,” Isari noted, “our brother will be using her as nothing more than a whipping post now. He will most likely gain his cock’s release with the Yatlin, because his pet will require hours to regain her composure.” He watched the warrior drop the lash after two more strikes. His next act explained why his pet was trying so hard to please him. The warrior dipped his hand in a numbing, healing solution and applied it to her welts, stroked her rough cheek gently again, and then turned to the android for release.

  Two positions from him, another warrior had sweat streaming down his bronze back, his hair separating into damp strands while he worked his passion. His Villinia stared up at him in wide-eyed confusion. With her gills sewn shut, she could not make a sound, and her body did not register pain or pleasure. Their thickly scaled hide did not mark, and harvesting suggested their nerves were buried so near their bones that they could never feel the warriors’ strikes.

  At least Villinias made it unnecessary to seek relief with a Yatlin, because they never retreated no matter how harshly they were used. Holding her upright by her two short front legs, the warrior entered the channel in the middle of her back. Her expression never changed, and she continued to look just as bewildered while he thrust in and out of her as she had when he was lashing her.

  Isari and Varpin’s attention was drawn to a loud squeal, and they turned to a warrior and his Alidan. The round beast had its bottom to their brother, taunting him with her wiggling, and squealing in delight when the cane struck her fat cheeks. Her warrior was smiling, and she batted her syrupy brown eyes. Isari wondered what vision his brother was imagining to distract him from the lumpy gray form. He too had not bothered to seek a Yatlin, and had apparently decided to accept the inevitable companionship of the predictably docile Alidan. The Alidans, for all their ugly appearance, truly worshipped their Masters.

  These few warriors were exceptions, as there were no truly compatible pets suitable for Lamerian needs. Isari noticed that most of his brothers had Yatlin androids standing close by to help ease their sexual arousal when their passion for the whip was sated.

  “It’s a piss-poor situation when it requires an ugly pet and a robot to relieve a warrior after battle,” Isari muttered. Isari and Varpin watched for a moment longer, and then closed the door to the dungeon and continued on in silence.

  They had made the tragic decision of trying a new species with their last commission, and the pets had become incoherent and prone to seizures quickly. After a century in battles, the two warriors were ready for the yearlong sabbatical on planet to train their new companions… after they decided on a damn species.

  Neither one of them wanted to settle for one of the few predictable groups guaranteed to them. “There has to be some species of pet that can acclimate to our wishes and still be somewhat visually arousing,” Isari remarked.

  The Commander and Varpin discovered they were on the same commissioning schedule centuries ago, and they made their decision on companions together. After two cycles with the Alidans, they had agreed to the uncertainty of trying different options on the ‘Probable’ listing. As they learned with their last species attempt, if they tried a pet not on the ‘Acceptable’ list and it was pulled from them, they were not afforded a replacement… not even an unappealing Alidan.

  Unfortunately, the Lamerian’s size and volatile sexual demands limited their choices dramatically. Harvesting could submit a potentially physically compatible species, but their recommendations still had to pass through both the Royals… who despised the warriors… and the Frital Union. The Union was involved in protecting species’ rights, and they declared that the pets must be commissioned to reasonably comfortable Realm divisions. This limited the Lamerian’s choices further, because they were born with a natural demeanor and propensity to inflict pain… they enjoyed it.

  The Lamerians were the foundation of the warrior class, though they continued to make the rest of the hierarchy nervous and were not considered eligible to be a voting faction of the Realm. Still, to keep the fierce protectors sated enough to continue to man the battleships, the Royals knew that they had to be provided with a measure of sexual relief.

  It became clear centuries ago, that the Lamerians were not going to settle for a constant diet of Yatlin androids. Although the warriors did not give a damn about losing the right to vote on endless mundane litigation and rulers, they did want live companions. Ultimately, the Lamerians threatened to withdraw their protection, if not given the same considerat
ion as the other classifications of the Realm. Worse, they had the Frital Union’s support on the matter, and the Royals had to back off when the dreaded declaration of discrimination was issued.

  The classifications of the Realms… the Royals, Hospitality, Tradesmen and Production… could claim almost any of the species deemed passable by Harvesting Procurement. The warriors’ sadistic needs left out any of the more appealing, docile groups. They were stuck with the sturdier apathetic creatures that could withstand a chance at adapting to the Lamerians’ voracious sexual appetites. This was a constant source of irritation for the Lamerians. They had very little say in what species they could commission.

  “It’s a safe bet that no other classification in the Realm would settle for an Alidan,” Varpin muttered.

  “Shit, I can just see one of those pompous Royals with a Villinia crawling beside them, decked out in their flashy jeweled collars and cuffs.” The notion was outrageous. Isari had seen the quality of the other Realm pets.

  The men continued to the Commander’s quarters, ignoring the fact that due to the Frital Union’s predictable threat of discrimination, the Royal fighters were considered warriors by the hierarchy. Even though they did not share the Lamerian need for sadistic relief, they were left with the same dismal choice of pets to select from. It was a small measure of payback for the inconvenience the fighters caused them.

  There were rumors that hierarchy was gingerly working through edicts to correct this measure for their loyal ranks. The Royals were fully aware that it could cause more problems with the barbaric Lamerians, and they sure as hell did not want to expand a wider fissure between themselves and the savages. The discussions with the Union had been going on for centuries, and to the dismay of the Realm fighters there was very little progress.

  To the Lamerian warriors’ sadistic delight, they discovered that constant belittling of the Realm fighters’ abilities would make them apply for less exciting on-planet positions as soon as they were allowed to transfer. There, the soldiers could mate with women of their own species and avoid another disgusting commissioned companion from the warriors’ class. Another benefit of serving on planet was that the soldiers were classified with the Royals. This opened a new world of desirable pet species for the Realm fighters to choose from. It was also the reason there was a constant rotation of inexperienced Realm soldiers added to the squadrons on the battleships.