by Trent Evans
Chapter 17
Never before had he felt more frustrated, more helpless as he had when Marcia sprung to her feet, shuffling toward the man outlined in the light of the doorway. Suddenly it became two men, as one of the soldiers walked inside the room as well.
“Master, I—”
Her head rocked the side with the crisp sound of the slap.
Master?
She cried out, then stumbled backward, the hobble at her ankles preventing her from catching her balance. As she fell to the side, she was brought up short by the soldier’s fist, entwined in her hair.
Yanking her back to her feet, she was drawn up, her toes scrabbling desperately to find purchase upon the floor grates. Her round, constricted breasts, the blush nipples shiny and tight, heaved dramatically.
Surprisingly, the trooper stripped off his helmet then, revealing a rich fall of black locks, much more generous than Antaeus’ austere look. The soldier had baby blue eyes, but his mouth was tight, the curve of the lips bespeaking nothing bur martial discipline, even a touch of cruelty.
As he was about to see, it was much more than a touch.
“You know better than to speak out of turn, slave,” the soldier said, his voice low, menacing.
Marcia’s lashes fluttered, but she looked immediately at the floor — or as much as the trooper’s cruel grip allowed. “I’m… sorry, Master.”
“On your knees, slave girl.”
Martin and Antaeus watched in silence, the former in anguish, and a shamed arousal, the latter seemingly unfazed entirely at the lewd spectacle unfolding before them.
“Don’t do this,” Martin said. “Just… you don’t need to do this.”
The soldier shot him a withering glare, as if Martin had committed a great offense, one so profound it was uncouth to even speak of it.
“Continue,” Antaeus said, giving his subordinate a subtle incline of the head.
Still holding Marcia by the fringe of her hair, the soldier undid his flies, revealing a flushed, engorged cock, moisture glistened at the tip, the shaft long and thick. The purplish head was broad, its deep color contrasted against her pale, blushing cheeks as he slapped her mouth with it.
Super men, indeed.
“Open, slut.”
Why were they doing this? He knew, of course, even if he didn’t want to face that truth, a very bitter pill to swallow.
They wanted him to know he wasn’t in control here anymore, that no matter what he did, what he thought he could accomplish, it would never go the way he thought it would.
Psychological conditioning 101.
Marcia’s lips stretched around the heavy cock forced into her throat, and she gagged almost immediately, tears brimming in her eyes. The soldier shook her by the hair, slapping her cheek briskly, not retreating one inch from the frantic clutch of her mouth. “Relax your throat, bitch. You’re taking every inch. You’ve practiced enough — you know how to do this.”
“I think she’s a little nervous.” Antaeus glanced at Martin. “New audience to perform for.”
Incredibly, she blushed scarlet at the words, the soldier tightening his grip on her silky tresses. “Suck.”
“Dear God, don’t do this,” Martin said.
“A funny notion, that. God, I mean.” Antaeus clasped his wrists behind him, his eyes not leaving the scene of violation playing out before him. “That a species believes in a fairy tale such as that… all the while playing God themselves.”
The soldier groaned, an animal sound unlike anything Martin would have believed a mere machine could produce, the vibration of it guttural, almost… alien.
Tears poured down Marcia’s face them, the hard cock brutally pistoning within the circlet of her swollen, abused lips. He eyes closed as she was forced to the root, her nose pressed almost flat against the pubic bone of the cruel soldier. He was quite bare down there, though Martin had no way of knowing if that was another design feature — or an aesthetic choice of the automaton designed to look, sound, and smell like a man.
Marcia yelped then, as the hugely swollen head of the soldier’s penis was pulled from between her lips.
“Show me your tongue, human,” the soldier growled, his huge veined fish stroking the big penis. The purplish head tapped at her lower lip, the humid skin there sticky against his.
With a final growl, the thick, viscous jets of semen sluiced across her lips, a strand of it draping all the way form her forehead down the bridge of her nose.
The soldier released her hair, but not before making her clean his shaft thoroughly with her tongue.
Marcia hung her head, her shame blushing scarlet as the soldier stood over her, his grin pure avarice.
She moved to back away, but the male hooked a finger in the ropes between her bound breasts, pulling her close again. “Kiss it. Your mouth leaves my cock, you get the whip.”
Miserably, she complied, worshiping the still partially erect flesh, his murmurs to her equal parts fond and degrading.
“I admit, I didn’t think you’d be able to resist her.” Antaeus turned to face Martin. He lifted his chin toward the solider. “Rann over there certainly can’t.”
“You have a lot to learn about humans if you think naked tits and ass waved under my nose will get me to break my vows.”
“Vows — oh, yes, you’re referring to your strange pair-bonding ritual. Marriage.” Antaeus’ lip curled. “You’ll find that such anachronistic notions mean little out here. It’s a tradition that’s lost its purpose.”
“Not to me, it hasn’t.”
Whatever this subjugation theater was supposed to be, it wasn’t going to work on him.
Not a chance in hell.
A lost whimper slipped from between Marcia’s lips then, the soldier’s cock returned to its full glory already, standing high and hard over her. The soldier wasted no time, taking her by the hair again and spinning her around, folding her over tightly until her tear-stained cheek pressed to the floor grating, her hands, bound helplessly at her back, tugging feebly at the ropes. She bit her lip, her brow creasing sharply as his phallus sunk deep into her blatantly offered sex.
“What the fuck do you want? Why haven’t you killed me? I’m useless to you now that you’ve got the station.”
Antaeus didn’t answer him though, instead walking slowly back and forth, occasionally watching as his subordinate ruthlessly fucked the bound and debased Marcia.
“I’m intrigued by humans, but I didn’t used to be. Before, I intended to kill every single one I encountered, given the opportunity. But now? Well, now and again, I meet one that’s… worthy of further investigation. You humans — a few of you, anyway — display an odd, and illogical, selflessness and a loyalty. It’s something very rare among your species, by my estimation.” He looked upon Martin then, but it wasn’t with anger, or malice. Mainly, it was curiosity. “It interests me, I suppose.”
“Glad I could entertain you.”
“Occasionally, I observe a member of your species do something that defies any explanation. No reason, no logic, no probability. No motive. Sometimes they seem prepared to sacrifice themselves for a cause, a belief. Or in your case, a person.”
Marcia was panting heavily now, her constricted breasts bulging against her knee, her red, bitten lips an exhausted O, the obscene slapping of flesh on flesh growing louder behind Antaeus.
Martin clenched his jaw. “You mean my wife.”
“I mean the woman you weren’t sure was your wife... and yet you still risked your life for her.”
Martin’s blood ran cold.
Antaeus crossed his arms, a long finger slowly tapping the sleeve of his shirt. “The why, now there… that makes me very curious indeed.”
“How did you...?”
“Your computer... oh, you really didn’t know? It was recorded, everything — and I do mean everything — captured. It’s all there. Shall I show you?”
Martin looked away, rage boiling within him at his own stupidity. He had ev
en suspected he was being... watched somehow.
Then it came to him.
The Eye.
“Wait... you. The Eye — she’s barred from recording in the crew module.”
Antaeus’ smile was pure ice. “And yet there it is. In all your... bestial glory. Preserved for eternity.”
“This can’t... I don’t understand.” He met Antaeus’ cool gaze. “Why?”
“Haven’t you asked yourself why your computer didn’t notify you of gate transit of my ship? Why the computer allowed docking so seamlessly?” Antaeus dropped to a knee before him. “Tell me, has your computer been... malfunctioning? Or maybe it’s something more, ah, deliberate?”
Jesus Christ.
He spat the words. “The fucking computer. It was... in on it. Somehow.”
“He is a smart human, this one.” Antaeus chuckled softly, looking over at the soldier. His subordinate was lost in lust, thrusting hard now, little cries drawn from Marcia’s mouth at each deep plunge within her plundered cunt. “But he hasn’t quite hit on the truth yet.”
“You — you’re lying.”
But he knew it was the truth. He didn’t want to believe it. His head began to swim at what it all meant, the implications crashing down upon him.
“Your computer was either instructed, or perhaps even programmed ahead of time, to let us arrive unharmed.” Antaeus’ voice grew grave, almost a growl. “It deceived you, Martin. Now, why do you suppose that would be?”
“If I knew that was happening, I wouldn’t be sitting here talking to you right now.”
“Got it again!” Antaeus stood, beaming, arms outstretched. “This whole interesting chain of events... would never have happened. Because you might have stopped us — or at least slipped away, none of us the wiser. Snuck a distress call out in time. And what a shame that would have been.”
“I’ve been — fuck, I don’t know what. Set up. Betrayed.”
Antaeus crouched down before him again. “I wouldn’t say that, human. You’re collateral damage — nothing more, nothing less. The question that really matters, the real reason I didn’t air out your gray matter back there in the docking module, is what I think you’re going to do about it.”
“About what?”
“The fact that out here, you haven’t a single friend in the world. But most of all, that the entire galaxy thinks you’re dead.”
“Aren’t I already? Dead station jock walking?”
He laughed bitterly, the ignominious end looming before him feeling like salvation and injustice both.
Antaeus clicked his tongue, his voice a murmur as he wagged a finger at him. “Now, that’s the first thing you’ve got wrong, human. Your fate? That’s entirely your choice, and yours alone.”
Chapter 18
He laid a hand on the top of his screen. “Before I show you this… look, Diandra, disclosing this could get me fired — or worse. You have to promise this information stays in this room. You understand me?”
“Of course. I don’t care about any of that shit. I just want to know where my Martin is.”
“Okay, this… isn’t going to be easy to see. This is what we found at the Charon 90 installation.”
He spun the screen around so that I could view the image. I couldn’t help but gasp at what I saw.
It was a sea of wreckage.
A maelstrom of twisted, blackened steel, clouds of frozen liquids, rocks, and unrecognizable detritus, some of it simply drifting, while more of it was caught in wild spins and gyrations, pieces bouncing and careening off on another.
“Oh…my God.” My voice caught in my throat. “My Martin… is that really it? His station?”
His throat worked, then he gave me a reluctant nod. “It’s gone. What you see is all that was found at those coordinates.”
“What on Earth could...?”
“We don’t know. We’re, uh, working on that.”
“Stations don’t just… blow up. Right?”
“Definitely not. This was... exogenous.”
I let out a frustrated breath. “Ex… what?”
“It was destroyed from the outside. Obliterated. Samples from the debris field confirmed it. Scorch marks, blast patterns, break-up distribution. Consistent with”— Cartlan reached behind him, plucking a paper file from a shelf, flipping the document open—“here’s what the salvage report called it: ‘kinetic kill vehicles.’ Hostile action, in other words.”
“You needed an investigation to figure that out?” I murmured, leaning back in my seat. “What about Martin though? How do you know he wasn’t somewhere… floating around somewhere in that debris?”
I swallowed against the sudden ache deep in my chest at the mere thought of him out there.
Oh God, my husband!
“We know he’s not out there because we never found a body out there. Not one. Not a trace.”
“How could you though? That’s got to be hundreds of square miles.”
“We scanned everything within a five hundred kilometer radius. Just… nothing.” Cartlan looked down, clasping his fingers across his lap. “And, lately, we’ve had lots of… practice, I guess.”
Though I didn’t want to allow myself to hope, I couldn’t help it. It was a chance. If they didn’t find his body, there was still a possibility he was out there. Somewhere.
You’re going to find him. Don’t you dare give up.
“Wait…what’s that supposed to mean? Practice?”
He didn’t reply at first, his tongue clicking, as if weighing whether or not to answer. “Charon 90 isn’t the only installation we’ve lost. There have been ... others.”
“How many? Could Martin have... escaped to one of the other stations?” My voice caught in my throat. “Uh, before…?”
“There are four other installations — all of them left like this one.” He waved at the screen. “No survivors, but...”
“What? Tell me!”
“No dead, either. It’s just... I don’t know.”
“Jesus, what’s happening out there? Has anything like this ever...?”
Cartlan shook his head, the afternoon light pouring in from the windows making his tanned face look suddenly washed out, almost weary. He squinted against it as he finally met my gaze.
“Diandra, we have no idea what’s happening, other than that these incidents are likely connected. We’re still investigating.”
“Investigating? Investigating!” I stood up, stabbing a finger at the window. “Why don’t you fucking do something? Send someone out there, the Navy—”
“We already tried that.”
“What?”
“We requested a cruiser — full Marine contingent, enhanced sensor arrays, everything.” He scrubbed a hand across his chin, his sigh deep and somber. “The Vella Gulf was the nearest cruiser. Only a month out from her shakedown, but she was more than adequate for the task. Had her on station within forty-eight hours of the initial star packet squawks — Glasya station was the nearest that had gone offline, I believe. But…” Cartlan grew silent again, glancing at me, then back at his screen.
“Tell me, goddamn it.”
With a pained sigh, he met my gaze again, his expression suddenly even more sober. “The problem is that the Vella Gulf... hasn’t been heard from since.”
“What does that mean? Like, bad transponder, what? There has to be a reason, right?”
“We just don’t know. For all practical purposes… the Vella Gulf has disappeared.”
But I knew inside what it meant. The last flicker of a chance, that he might still be alive out there somewhere. It was fading.
“What about the Navy? Didn’t they—”
“They’ve stopped communicating with us, Diandra. Other than warning us that Navy operations are strictly confidential information and will not be disclosed. Which is, essentially, bureaucrat speak for ‘shut the fuck up, and go away.’”
“You’re the Company — you guys work with the Navy all the time. What the hell is going
on out there?”
Cartlan spun slightly in his chair, looking out the window. “They’ve shut us out. I’ve never seen them do this before. None of our contacts there will respond to back channel inquiries either. We…we’re at a standstill there.” He let out a weary breath, shaking his head. “With Borellia on top of this… it’s a fucking mess.”
She remembered seeing the headline, that the Borellia station was offline. The reason given was “maintenance.” It had struck her odd that an entire installation would go dark over a maintenance issue, but she hadn’t thought much beyond that.
The only way she even knew that much was that as a Company employee, Martin was privy to the Company newsfeed. Ostensibly, it was more privileged information than anything broadcast over GalNet — and she had to admit most of it she’d never seen disseminated anywhere else — but Martin had warned her that it was still heavily censored, and “massaged to reflect positively on the Company.”
“Martin said something about the other stations. When… when I had to break character. He told me he had to know what other stations the company sent the artificials to.”
Cartlan’s eyes narrowed. “Did he say anything else?”
“No — but what’s that have to do with Borellia?”
“I don’t know. Nothing, that I can think of.” Cartlan punched something into the keyboard at his desk. “I just wonder if Martin thought….”
The bastard’s stalling.
“You aren’t telling me all of it, Cartlan. I’m not stupid.” I wanted to strangle the man with his evasiveness. Even now, I could see he was still hoping to cover his ass, somehow. There was no way I was going to let him off that easy. “Martin was onto something. It was a… a theory he had.”
It was a lie, of course, but Brent Cartlan didn’t have to know that. I added a little more for good measure.
“And if you don’t tell me everything you know about what happened, then I’ll see if someone else… might be interested in hearing what it was.”
His gaze grew dark, but it was for just a moment. Gone as quickly as it appeared. “I guess it doesn’t matter at this point.” He glared at me. “You give me your word you won’t speak of this? Not ever?”