Arda: The Captain's Fancy

by Annie Windsor

  She pushed a red lever to her right, sending a signal that ordered the Home Guard into the skies. In mere moments, five full wings of speeders would be on patrol, shielding Arda’s strategic targets.

  Krysta banked her own craft back toward Camford, the ancestral home of the Tul’Mars. The small walled city could withstand most attacks, with its strong weathered stone and psi-barriers, but Krysta didn’t want to take chances. She was more cautious than her brothers.

  Her heart pounded minute after minute, until she saw the greens, reds, yellows, and pinks of the blooms covering Camford’s stately towers. Below her, the lush emerald grounds stretched in all directions, ending in the dense blue-green boughs of the nearby forest. Nothing looked amiss on the hunting grounds or the riding fields. Crops of yellowgrain and wheybrown swayed gently as she made a low pass, all the while keeping one eye on the blinking sensor panel.

  The ship’s hull and her silver tattoo vibrated, but she didn’t startle. She knew without looking down that she was passing above one of Camford’s Chimera herds. The beautiful beasts always caught her scent and sang to the speeder, creating a resonance in all nearby pa.

  “Hello to you, too,” she sang in a close approximation to their lyrical calls. Below the speeder, a purple Chimera stallion cantered along, moving his long neck and tossing its thick mane until his horn was covered. A yellow female stayed close to him, and behind them, thirty or more thundered along, coloring the ground orange and blue, white and green, pink and golden.

  All was well on the ground, it seemed.

  Smiling from the peaceful, loving energy of the Chimera, Krysta eased the speeder back toward Arda’s expansive azure skies.

  The intruders above had taken up a disorganized orbit, reminding her of a clumsy caravan of fergilla beasts on the move.

  One by one, her officers checked in, reporting nothing out of the ordinary beyond their rude visitors.

  Krysta wondered how concerned she should be. Very few hostiles, especially such a ragtag bunch, would challenge Arda’s Royal Fleet. Unfortunately, the diplomatic mission to Bandu-Mother had delayed Ki and his battle frigates, and they were yet hours from planetside. Fari, still in the grip of mating fervor, was next to useless, but he and his officers could get to his first-attack ships quickly, if need be.

  She tried hailing the intruders, but they didn’t answer.

  Starburst formation, she psi-instructed the Guard, and heard their affirmatives as they moved into defensive positions.

  Krysta didn’t fear attack. She had trained beside her brothers since childhood, learning the fine arts of planetary rule and defense from her parents until their death at the hands of rogue OrTan slavers. She had mastered flight and battle skills even as Ki took on the role of Sailmaster and Fari earned his Sailkeeper’s rank.

  The three siblings each had charge of different branches of Arda’s storied Royal Fleet. Ki headed the impressive array of battle frigates known for lawkeeping in the galaxy and impeding the burgeoning trade of sex slaves. Fari directed the sleek first-assault vessels used to gather intelligence and defend Ki’s personal safety. Krysta commanded the heavily armed speeders charged with defending Arda itself. She had always done her job with a fervor almost legendary. Still, in her hundred stellar years of life, she hadn’t heard of a group of junk ships wandering into Ardani space before.

  The sensor alarms sounded.

  More ships drifted in, seemingly from null space.

  “Are they cloaked?” Krysta’s worry level tripled at the thought.

  Full alert, she instructed.

  We see them, came the almost universal response from her officers.

  Without further hesitation, Krysta tried to reach Fari, who was on Ammon Island, his private retreat. He didn’t answer psi-summons or the hail to his speeder.

  ”Knador!” The curse left Krysta’s lips even as she cut her ship sharply south and sped off toward the island.

  She hadn’t gone far when her sensors indicated incoming text from the cluster of vessels above Arda. She pushed the button to receive and read aloud, “Tanna Kon’pa for Ki Tul’Mar.”

  Her breath left in a rush. Half-relieved, half-annoyed, she conveyed the message to the rest of the Guard.

  Stand down. Tanna Kon’pa—The People—say they’ve come to talk to the Sailmaster.

  I do not trust those damnable Outlanders, shot back Kolot, her second in command. He clearly held no love for Arda’s only rebel faction. Krysta couldn’t blame him.

  Most people felt uncomfortable with the reclusive group. They had no pa-marks, no psi-powers at all, and they stayed to themselves, the gods only knew where, poring over Arda’s ancient history and practicing what they called the “old ways.” Since before Krysta was born the Outlanders had been predicting the “end of time,” which supposedly only they could prevent.

  Worse than that, Darkyn Weil, their self-proclaimed chief, had a galaxy-wide foul reputation. Krysta had never seen the bastard, but she had long heard tales of his cruelty to women and his cold, abusive attitude toward The People. Why they tolerated such a barbarian as their leader, she had no idea.

  Ki was surprisingly soft on the Outlanders, though. He insisted the Tanna Kon’pa had the same rights as all other citizens. Of course, Ki had been away and he didn’t know the fools had been stealing Chimeras, burning down barns, blowing up ships under construction, and leaving doomsday messages marked by rare black falcon feathers. Fari was ready to kill them—and that was before they brought an invasion force—joke though it might be—into the outer rings of the Ardani atmosphere.

  Superstitious thieves, one of her officers psi-grumbled.

  Stand down, Krysta repeated in command tones. I will handle this.

  She psi-generated a return message to the bizarre Outlander fleet and pressed send.

  “Hold your positions. We did not send for you. Why have you come, and why in so many ships?”

  A few stellar seconds ticked by. Krysta leaned forward to send her message again, but a sudden sharp pain in her head knocked her back into the inertial chair’s waiting fur.

  She grabbed her temples, hearing a brutal mind-noise, like an endless, stabbing whistle. Then came a cry, distant and feral, like that of a hunting bird. Her stomach turned over as a strange image seized her thoughts.

  A triangle, glowing bright at three points, with an endless, soul-stealing darkness at the center…

  A man. Not Fari or Ki. No. Larger and broader. Gods, is that even possible? And something on his shoulder, some sort of raptor, darker… Despite her agony, she made an effort not to broadcast her thoughts. This vision seemed…private, though she didn’t know why.

  The man had the bearing of a priest or a king, standing tall and still with what appeared to be a black falcon on his left shoulder. Something tugged at Krysta’s mind, a bit of recognition trying to make its way to the surface, but she shoved back conscious thought, content to simply exist in the vision with the incredible man.

  He was wearing clothes made of tanned animal skins instead of hammered fergilla hide. Unusual for an Ardani, but his build and his sable hair suggested he was indeed of Arda. White-blond streaks highlighted the field of silky black, giving him an alien, dangerous look. His flesh was almost as brown as the skins he wore—and the weapon at his side was most unusual, too. If she wasn’t mistaken, he was carrying a double-bladed axe, forged of a strange amber gemstone.

  Krysta’s pa-mark crackled as she stared at his bulging muscles and the squared set of his strong jaw. His visible skin was covered by small scars, suggesting he had seen more battles than she had seen stellar years.

  A warrior’s warrior. Yes. A man intimidated by nothing. Absolutely nothing at all.

  Her pa-tortured nipple tightened, followed quickly by her other nipple. The heat between her legs increased faster than she could stand, and the pa near her clit almost set her on fire.

  “Stop!” she shouted, shaking her head. She was in a battle situation! What was wrong with
her?

  The vision of the man clung to her mind like a tenacious vine. She couldn’t shake it loose. He lifted one powerful arm and placed his hand on his chest, then slowly lifted his eyes, seemingly to look straight into her brain.

  By the gods! They’re yellow. His eyes are yellow!

  With that, Krysta tore her mind free of whatever had possessed her. Her lower lips and core throbbed, and her nipples were in complete agony. All along her flesh, her pa hummed and burned. She felt like she had when she’d first emerged from the shuttle crash that had marked her so.

  Aching. Blazing.

  Such exquisite pleasure, matched with pain almost beyond imagining. Before she could stop herself, she thought about the strange man again.

  Orgasm seized her instantly, rocking her body and slamming her head against the inertial chair. Fighting for her sanity, she gripped the chair’s arms and steadied herself, vaguely grateful that she had shielded her thoughts from her officers.

  What in the name of sky and sea had that been? A fantasy about her dream man, a waking vision sexy enough to make her come? Her numbed mind realized it probably had something to do with flying so close to Ammon Island. Being in proximity to a sha and shanna in full mating fervor could do that, especially if one or the other was a generational blood relation. Fari and Georgia were no doubt making steamy love on the beach, sending out enough psi-energy to fell a herd of stampeding fergillas.

  Fucking, Georgia called it. Krysta liked that word just as she liked cherry. She didn’t, however, like pussy. Both Elise and Georgia called their sex a pussy, like they had a cat between their legs. She couldn’t get used to that, except to use it to excite them.

  Her sensor panel chirped. Krysta glanced down, momentarily unsure what had made such a noise.

  A message had come in from the Outlanders in answer to her challenge. A quick look at the stellar clock told her that nearly three minutes had passed since she sent it.

  Expecting information that would let her know which actions to take next, she opened the text.

  “Tanna Kon’pa for Ki Tul’Mar,” was all it said. The words seemed to leap at her like a slap, suggesting insolence for daring to ask for more information.

  Krysta swore again. She didn’t want to tell them Ki and the Fleet were away, though they might already know. Still cursing, she guided her speeder the rest of the way to Fari’s island, opened the hatch, and vaulted out to go find the Sailkeeper.

  Less than a half a stellar hour later, Krysta was back in the air and more than disgruntled. She was supposed to be taking Georgia back to Camford for safekeeping until they settled this Outlander mess, but the willful bitch had other ideas. Krysta had tried to take her by force and earned an aching jaw and crotch for her trouble.

  In position, Fari informed her through a protected psi-link. He had made it aboard his first-assault ship, no doubt unaware of a certain stowaway. And you?

  Landing the speeder. Krysta made an effort to shield her frustration as she steadied the craft for straight-line touchdown.

  What is wrong? Fari asked immediately.

  Krysta remained silent as her speeder kicked up dirt and grass on the edge of Camford Forest. As she felt the jolt of rudders meeting solid ground, she tried to select a response.

  Fari pressed his thoughts toward hers. Tell me, Sister! This is no time for games.

  Krysta sighed. I—uh, when you sent Georgia to the landing pad to gather her belongings, she apparently did not do so. At least, she did not return to me.

  “After she knocked me down as if I were a first year trainer,” she added to herself, seething.

  For a moment, Fari didn’t answer. When he did, his mental signature was terse and frightened. She…did not leave the island with you?

  No.

  Then Georgia is still on the island? Unprotected?

  A wave of ill-feeling flowed across their psi-link as Krysta tried not to say what she knew. Sitting on the ground, engines now powered to neutral, the speeder felt too still and too quiet.

  I do not think so, Brother, she allowed at last.

  Then where is she?

  Even as he broadcast the question, he realized the answer. Their link was abruptly severed, leaving Krysta’s mind empty but for the distant murmurs of communication between her officers. Her shields were so firmly in place she could barely track their conversations, but a panel chirp or an urgent psi-shout would come through as clear as Chimera song. On her sensor screens, the salvaged Outlander ships reeled in and out of Arda’s atmosphere like carrion birds, making slow, watchful circles.

  Most clustered directly above where she had landed, over Camford. A few seemed to be patrolling over the ceremonial Tuscan Platform in the center of the forest. Another handful of ships lumbered back and forth in patterns that crisscrossed the sea.

  “Makes no sense,” Krysta said aloud and in her mind, on a focused psi-sending to her officers. “They are not in position to attack the planet’s defenses.”

  They are not in position or shape for anything, except tearing up some of Camford’s grass, came Kolot’s glib retort. I read almost no firepower in those refits. A few torpedo cannons, a couple of wing turret lasers—what do they hope to accomplish?

  Before Krysta could respond, she felt the warm, powerful pull of her family reaching out to her. Raising her barriers once more and admitting only them, she felt joy from Fari and a deep excitement from Georgia. Elise was present in the link too, as was Ki, though her elder brother’s psi-signature was faint due to his distance from Arda.

  Hurry, Elise urged. We don’t have much time, and this could be the only time.

  Krysta understood immediately and felt Georgia’s shock with a deep, sad sympathy.

  Elise wanted the family bond, she wanted to share sex now, despite the odd circumstance, because she thought a battle was approaching. If she was right, anything might happen. The Tul’Mar clan might have no other chance to know the absolute joy of such a joining. Krysta’s pa-mark flared at the thought, making her quim immediately wet.

  “Glad I landed.”

  She stood and unzipped her jumpsuit, letting the soft-hide slide over her hips like a lover’s touch. It pooled around her ankles as she sat down, enjoying the soft bristles of the chair’s fur seat against her back and naked ass. The cabin’s cool air made her nipples bead all the harder, and she wrapped one of her long legs around the ship’s main hand control so she could mount it if she chose. The smooth rubber was cock-length, but not as thick as she’d prefer.

  Gods, but her core was flooded.

  Through the psi-link, she saw Elise pinch her own nipples and start stroking her clit. Krysta smiled. She had tasted Elise before, and enjoyed every second of her soft flesh and strong woman’s musk. The same for Georgia, except the two of them had shared much deeper pleasures, many more times. If Krysta were turned fully to women, she would have picked Georgia as her long-term lover…though Elise would have been a close second. Such was the essence of an Ardani same-generation bond. It was natural to feel attraction to and enjoy the soul’s mates of siblings, and sometimes even the soul’s mates of cousins.

  Each family handled the bonds a little differently, but ultimately they formed a circle of pleasure, protecting and supporting each other, pleasuring each other, caring for each other so that no one ever went wanting for attention, comfort, or love. How many relatives and soul’s mates comprised the circle—again, different for different families. Krysta had always figured on a circle of six, and now, there were five. The force of the energy coursing through the link told her she was probably right. A sixth, her sha, wherever he was, would close the circle.

  If she ever found him.

  Flushing from head to toe with building desire, Krysta ran her long fingers into the heat of the pa between her legs, and with her other hand, she pulled the hand control forward and positioned it against her core. All she would have to do was lean forward to take the length inside her quim.

  Ki’s pleasure
joined with hers, and Fari’s, and then Georgia’s ecstatic energy entered the mix. Krysta felt her sister-to-be’s unbridled pleasure as Fari teased her nipples and prepared to enter her. Krysta filtered out her brothers’ carnal sensations, instead allowing their happiness, satisfaction, and pleasure to fill her spirit. In return, she freed her own emotions, contributing to their enjoyment.

  Yessss… Elise’s moans pushed Krysta’s tension to the next level. Krysta could see her sister-by-marriage lying in her big bed, stroking her clit fast and hard. Krysta rubbed her own clit until she couldn’t ignore the ache in her quim a second longer. Groaning, she rolled herself forward, planting the hand control deep, deep into her throbbing channel.

  Shivers coursed up and down her back, and her pa burned like slowly streaming oil, over her nipple, down her belly, all along the lips of her slit. She closed her eyes and let herself moan, concentrating on the sensation—and trying hard not to think of her earlier vision above Ammon Island. Her dream man. The force of that orgasm.

  What would it be like when she found her own sha, her own soul’s mate, and closed the circle of the Tul’Mar family? The pleasure would have no bounds, then. They would soar together, all of them, to heights they couldn’t begin to imagine.

  Fuck me, Georgia pleaded across the link. Krysta imagined herself saying the same thing to her fantasy man. I need you inside me.

  Krysta shook from a small orgasm, feeling Elise come at the same time. The sexual energy felt like an all-encompassing sea as Georgia nearly screamed from need.

  Release, Krysta sent to her. Ah, gods. We will wait for you. Yes. She bit her lip, holding herself back, helping Elise hold herself back, too.

  Georgia did scream then, and swore, and threatened Fari. Krysta felt the swell of Elise’s warm laughter.

  More swearing and threatening from Georgia. More aching need. More pulsing arousal. Krysta’s pa-coated nipple burned as she twisted it, wishing for her dream man’s teeth and tongue to bring her some relief. She raised herself up and down on the hand control, wishing it were a cock, or even one of Arda’s expanding toys. To be fully filled, so completely dominated and taken as Georgia was about to be…