How their drunken steps made it to the bed, will remain a mystery to him for years to come, or how she was able to push him onto it.
Copulating with a human female proved to be a different experience. It wasn’t like bedding Hashmedai women, in which their claws would deploy from the excitement and rush their bodies got, digging across the flesh of their partner. To most Hashmedai men, walking away with scratch marks left by a woman was an honor, proof that you pleased a woman and she sought to leave her mark behind, almost claiming you as her own. No such thing would come from this experience, however, the only proof he’d have would be in his and her memories.
Sarah wasn’t fond of the concept licking each other, as Hashmedai intimate partners typically did. Kissing had to make do, unless it was an open-mouthed one, then his tongue was put to use. When Peiun’s kisses got near to her thighs, she held his face down and directed it to her midsection, instructing him exactly where she wanted him to lick. He did, though was unsure why it was fine for his tongue to be used there and in her mouth, but no place else. Human women were indeed a confusing bunch.
Then there was the issue of climaxes. Things got awkward briefly when he had to explain how he was able to continue to perform after his first one, and then after the second. Sarah was used to human males and the limitations of their bodies during moments like this. Then there was the ice Peiun’s body needed to survive the act, rubbing his chest down with a pack of ice when she was on top was a stimulating experience for her.
Penetrating Sarah from behind allowed him to look down at her back which was decorated with human body art, ranging from words written in one of the languages humans spoke across her upper back. Peiun recognized it as Chinese. Her lower back was decorated with a picture of an avian creature that originated from Earth, he was unsure of the name of it, however. He never understood why some humans opted to turn parts of their body into a canvas for an artist to work on. Very few people would see it. He didn’t know she had such wonderful artwork on her body until she rolled over for him to mount her in this position.
In the background, the holo screen slowly made progress decrypting the memories Cody had. Its estimated time of completion wasn’t until the next morning.
36 Foster
XSV Johannes Kepler
Taxah orbital path, Uelcovis system
October 16, 2118, 12:35 SST (Sol Standard Time)
The XSV Johannes Kepler’s presence appeared from a surge of blue and white flashes of psionic energy within the empty void of space. The space bridge jump took approximately six hours, according to EVE’s internal clock. Six hours to cross the distance of approximately three hundred light-years, six hours of having your body dissembled, and psionically tossed across the cosmos to be rebuilt. To the minds of those aboard, it felt like six seconds.
Foster’s stomach rumbled, and it wasn’t because she was hungry. The experience was not like a psionic teleportation as Hashmedai made it out to be.
She looked at her tattooed hands and counted the digits attached. Four fingers and one thumb on each, nothing was missing. It was promising news. “Location?” she asked, sitting back on her chair.
“The space bridge jump was a success, Captain,” Chang said, reading his console. “We have arrived in the Uelcovis system.”
She gave him a nod, and joined Williams at his station, both fixing their eyes on the huge spinning three-dimensional holographic map of the galaxy. He made the map zoom in to their current location, the Uelcovis system, turning the projection into a top-down map of the system and its orbiting planets around the blue giant star and its incredible bright glow.
“This is going to take a while to get used to,” Williams said. “Never thought I’d be this far away from Earth.”
“And I never thought we’d be voyaging freely through not one, but two, major Imperial strongholds,” Foster said.
“Didn’t know this was a major stronghold,” Williams said.
“The Uelcovis system is the second most populated system in the Empire, Commander,” EVE said to him.
“She is correct, I sense a great many ships nearby,” Tolukei said, and tapped a command on his computer. “I shall update the maps accordingly.”
Foster peered at the map of the system. “So . . . which one is Taxah?”
EVE populated the map with the names of all the planets, moons, and space stations, translating them from Hashmedai to English. The most populated planets were located at the far edge of the system. It made sense, considering the light and heat output the star ejected and the fact that Hashmedai thrived in darker and cold environments. Williams made a copy of the map and pushed it over to Chang.
“That’s where we want to head to, Chang,” he said to him.
“Alrighty, setting a course,” Chang said.
A quick ten-minute FTL jump made the Johannes Kepler flash in orbit around a blue sphere shrouded with white clouds, green continents, and polar ice caps perpetually frozen. It was like Earth, perhaps a slightly cooler surface temperature wise. Its equators were virtually empty of signs of civilization. She began to wonder if they arrived at the right planet, as the lack of communication was worrisome. Repeated attempts at communicating with the surface yielded the same results.
“Okay . . .” Foster said.
“Is there like a doorbell or something we can ring?” Chang asked.
Williams stepped forward, shaking his head, looking at the planet on the viewer. “Not much of a welcoming party I see.”
“Incoming transmission, Captain,” EVE said.
“About damn time, put it through,” Foster said.
“Unable to comply, the message is text only,” EVE said. “We are to land at the provided coordinates and meet with the system lord.”
“Not one for introductions I see,” Foster said. “Well then, take us down, Chang.”
“You got it, Captain.”
Following the translated instructions provided, Chang took the Kepler into the atmosphere of Taxah. After the flickering of the shields diminished from their atmospheric entry, one of the arctic polar regions of the planet appeared on the viewer. The closer they pushed into the glacier- and snow-covered region, that looked identical to Antarctica, the more Hashmedai cities appeared. They flew into the city limits of Muro, the capital of the planet, and slowed to lower themselves on a large landing pad outside a large manor in the city’s most remote area. The movement on the viewer stilled when the landing was finished.
“Well, let’s say hello,” Foster said, heading for the exit. “Contact Boyd and his team to meet me in the cargo bay. Odelea, you’re with me, I don’t speak a lick of their language.”
EVE stepped forward. “If I may, Captain, perhaps I should go in Odelea’s place.” Looking back at Odelea, Foster realized the error she was about to make. “Right, she’s an Aryile.”
“The Hashmedai here may take offence at her presence or those of our Radiance crew members,” EVE said. “Plus, it would be . . . fascinating to obverse this planet personally as opposed to the sensor scans.”
“Then come along, EVE,” Foster said. “Oh and . . . someone remind Chef Bailey he might wanna get started on his food preparation for the event.”
Foster and EVE descended down the ladder, entering the cargo bay. They approached Boyd, Chevallier, Maxwell, and LeBoeuf, who stood ready next to the opened entry ramp. Sunlight reflected off the white snow-covered platform outside and shone upon them from the entrance.
“Expecting trouble, Captain?” Boyd asked, checking the settings of his rifle.
“Just gettin’ flashbacks of our first time in Sirius,” Foster replied to the former US navy SEAL. “As it stands, we’s cut off from the UNE with the exception of communication. There’s no backup, ain’t no wormholes to escape to, and an FTL flight back home would take us a few decades.”
“The space bridge can take us back, no?” LeBoeuf asked.
“If it’s in operation and wasn’t used recently,” Foster said as
she led the way, stepping across the ramp. “Somethin’ tells me we done gone walked into trouble. Besides, I think Chef would feel a lot more comfortable knowing we’s scouted ahead.”
Six bodies, one of them being an android, walked past the irising shields of the Kepler, exposing their bodies to the subzero temperatures. Foster wished she wore more layers under her coat and uniform. At least the EDF team had their shields active, and the environment controls of their protect suits to keep them warm and comfy.
They followed a brick path that led to the manor, noting the number of Hashmedai in the distance that looked back at the six aliens that arrived on their colony. The Hashmedai were different from the ones Foster had seen, all possessing varying shades of blue skin, and black- or white-colored hair.
“So, EVE, what do you got about this place?” Foster asked their android assistant.
“Taxah Hashmedai are different since they embrace traditional Hashmedai customs observed by their species prior to Radiance uplifting them.”
“They’re . . . blue.”
EVE continued. “Hashmedai skin tone ranges from pale, pink, beige, light green, and blue, an evolutionary adaptation of their species as they had to hunt wild animals to survive during their prehistoric days. Hashmedai that originated from the heavily snow- and ice-covered regions of their planet have pale skin and platinum blond hair to blend into the environment around them, while those from the warmer regions that had water, had blue skin, and typically hunted in the lakes or oceans. The Hashmedai that founded this colony are of that ethnicity.”
Foster nodded, gazing at the simplistic houses in the distance draped in fresh snow cover. “Umm, cool.”
“Furthermore, they speak a dialect that is different from the rest of the Hashmedai race,” EVE added. “This speech pattern is reminiscent of the old languages spoken prior to becoming a spacefaring species.”
“And this lord we need to speak to?”
EVE blinked twice, sending a hologram to float in front of Foster’s face. It was an image of Hashmedai woman with pale blue skin, black hair. Her neck, arms, and fingers covered in enough jewelry that if you were to sell it all, you’d have enough money to buy a house in the Florida Keys.
“This is the system lord, Phylarlie Starchaser, a controversial figure and a veteran of the Celestial Order wars,” EVE said.
Maxwell looked at the hologram over Foster’s shoulders, whistling loudly. “Wow, she’s fucking hot!”
“In the past, Hashmedai had lords that oversaw colonies and worked as the representative of the Imperial throne,” EVE said “When Empress Kroshka took the throne, she sought to consolidate such power into one system lord that would rule over a system, as opposed to several ruling over individual planets within a system. One planetary lord was selected from each system to become the ruling system lord, the rest were forced to give up their status. Phylarlie’s competition perished days before the empress made her choice.”
“That sounds convenient,” Foster said.
“Phylarlie was also a former member of the Hashmedai Assassins’ Guild,” EVE said.
Maxwell’s face became distraught. “And we’re about to visit her mansion?”
EVE nodded. “That is correct, Ravager Maxwell.”
“Sir, let’s make sure we leave the toilet seats down,” he said to Boyd. “They do use toilets here right, EVE?”
“Actually, the Hashmedai uses—”
“Maxwell,” Boyd cut in. “Shut up.”
Boyd too had been looking at Phylarlie’s hologram. His body language had hints of fury with a touch of hatred, the opposite of what he was prior to the hologram being displayed.
“Someone is in a good mood,” Foster said drily to Boyd.
He said nothing more until they arrived at the manor’s front door, and those words he spoke were grunts and curses. The large doors, made of wood and metal, opened allowing the team of servants in their red outfits to welcome them inside and greet them. The servants were young, fit, highly attractive, and performed their duties flawlessly.
That’s what happens when you’re hand selected at birth to be a servant, Foster mused as they ventured inside the darkened and oversized residence.
The sounds of laughter and drunken banter erupted from one chamber, while Hashmedai of high birth strode past them from another, giving them fleeting odd glances. One room the six passed had its door slightly open. Erotic moans and the thumps of a bed rocking came from that room. There must have been at least seven Hashmedai involved in whatever was going on.
Foster pretended she didn’t hear it. Maxwell, not so much. “Uh.”
“Not a word,” Boyd said, silencing him.
The servant tour guide, if you’d call them that, led them into the largest chamber in the manor, Phylarlie’s chamber. It reminded Foster of old Earth harems, a private room where a person of power kept their harems, personal servants, and people to entertain them. The only thing missing was ancient Middle Eastern architecture and hookahs on the floor.
The chamber was full of chiseled Hashmedai men and alluring women. Clothing was optional, apparently. Those that did wear clothing didn’t wear much save for Phylarlie. The Imperial system lord sat back on a wide couch donning a ruby-red dress, with long sleeves, and a slit that exposed her back, left and right sides of her body. Foster had to look away from her top, as her voluptuous cleavage was half a centimeter way from a wardrobe malfunction involving her nipples.
Loin-clothed men offered the six pitchers of wine and cuts of raw meat on a silver and gold platter. The words ‘no thank you’ meant nothing to them, EVE had to step in and translate on the team’s behalf.
Phylarlie’s glowing red-orange eyes caught the arrival of the five humans and one android. She smiled, waving for them to come closer, while handing her half-full wineglass to one of her servants. There was a moment of apprehension before the six moved past the group of men and women engaging in their social activities within the chamber and made the trek to Phylarlie.
“Welcome to my place of residence,” Phylarlie said to them, in English. “I am Phylarlie, lord of this system.”
“So we’ve been told,” Foster said. “I ain’t tryin’ be rude, but we’s on a tight deadline, got stuff to do and—”
“The empress has briefed me on what you need.”
“Cool, so can we like get that movin’ along?”
“It’s being prepared as we speak to be placed aboard your ship. We’ll need more time to finish the preparations, however.”
Foster made a face, rolling her eyes in the process. “Of course.”
“You ruined the last one you had, the vortex key as you call it,” Phylarlie said. “I’d prefer not to see this device, which my people worked long hours on, destroyed.”
“I’m gonna assume you know what went wrong with ours then,” Foster said.
“We have an idea. My team is making the modifications now. Then there’s the substance, that research project was being carried out on another world in this system. It’s on its way here, but again, it will be some time before it’s ready.” Phylarlie raised an arm, and the bracelets and rings around it jingled as she waved it about, highlighting the splendors of the room around them. “We are in the midst of a celebration here as you know. Which one of you is the chef?”
“Bailey is getting food prep done,” Foster said. “He’ll be here later tonight to set things up.”
“Your chef isn’t ready yet, and neither are my research teams.” Phylarlie smiled, unveiling her fangs. She clasped and folded her ring-covered hands together. “Well then, Captain, take this time to relax, and indulge in the splendors we have to offer here. The emperor and empress, as with all Imperial system lords, will be arriving within the hour.”
“Well, since you offered!” Maxwell said, rubbing his hands together and neared a group of women in the corner gifting him with flirty smiles and waves.
“Maxwell!” Boyd shouted to him. “Get, back, here!”
; Maxwell groaned, facing the floor for a moment before complying with his CO’s order. Phylarlie looked at Boyd with a puzzled and wincing face. “If your soldier requires pleasure, you should allow him to accept my gifts,” the sultry system lord said. “We know all too well what happens when you force people to remain at a young age for the purpose of military service.”
“We don’t force anyone to keep their age at a certain number,” Boyd assertively said to her.
“I read a story about the great Admiral Agatha Chevallier doing just that with her crew,” Phylarlie said. “Senior officers had to appear older, to maintain some old Earth naval traditional.”
Phylarlie pushed the red button with that comment. The button that had the Post-it sticker, ‘don’t touch.’ It was sure to trigger Chevallier and break her silence. Foster looked behind, and saw the anger building up on her face, anger of a woman that still hadn’t gotten over the loss of her mother.
Foster hoped Phylarlie chose her next words carefully.
“Though, tactically,” Phylarlie continued. “I think it was foolish, the older you are the slower and less effective you become. Perhaps that’s why her ship was lost—”
“Go fuck yourself!”
Phylarlie chose her words poorly. Foster moved to block the path Chevallier was talking, most likely to punch Phylarlie. “Chevallier, stop!”
“You got something to say about my mother?” Chevallier roared, pointing her finger at Phylarlie. “Then you say it to me, I’m what’s left of her.”
“Chevallier, stand down!” Foster pleaded.
Phylarlie’s words might have been out of line, but in the end, she had what they needed. She also had the power to snap her fingers and make the armored guards outside storm in and snap the necks of those she didn’t like. Chevallier was becoming an unlikeable person in the glowing eyes of Phylarlie.
Chevallier grimaced, facing down Foster. “I don’t report to you, Foster.”
Foster looked at Chevallier’s CO giving him a ‘please help me out glare.’ “. . . Boyd?”
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