Date: Sat, 6 Apr 2024 04:57:37 +0000 (UTC)
From: David Patrick <davidtpatrickccf@aol.com>
Subject: Star Runner Chapter IV

Disclaimer: This is a work gay themed erotic fiction with explicit sexual
themes and depictions of sexual activity. If you are not legally permitted
to read such material, or are offended by it please leave. The opinions and
actions of characters don't reflect the opinions and beliefs of the
author. The actions and behaviors of characters are for entertainment and
are not meant for emulation or education. Please donate to nifty.

Content Warning: Unprotected sexual actions; discussion of the sexual abuse
of minors by religious leaders; use of queer slurs and foul language;
unhealthy alcohol consumption; minor religious trauma.

In the future year of 7761, Jack Beaucul is a Star Runner, a space
adventurer for hire. After a botched job on the planet Ginna nearly lost
him his prized Class IV Penetrator, the Etoile, Jack gets a new job from
his fixer Benny. One problem though, some time after he lost his ship a
mysterious AI program going by the name Taylor was installed on the Etoile,
and now Jack has a new and unwanted partner. Benny sends Jack to the ice
planet Echo, where he meets the nuns of Heaven's Grace abbey. The nuns were
studying a small disc which turns out to be Stardust, a technological
miracle created by the mysterious and ancient entities known as the
Starborn. Unable to discover its secrets, the nuns hired Jack to deliver
the Stardust to the Vatican's papal archives for further research.  But
before Jack can take it off planet, the device displays a holographic image
of the planet Dagda. Now that the nuns have decided to keep the artifact,
Jack may just find losing one of the most lucrative jobs of his life time.



Chapter IV

6:52 am 7761-5-6

Heaven's Grace, Echo

 	A mild sweetness pushes its way up my nose and I instinctively
breathe in deeper, letting the light scent tickle its way to my brain's
pleasure center. Instantly the sweetness is cut through by a sharper
scent. More sour. It isn't a bad smell, but the gentleness of the first
scent makes the second strong enough to wake me up. My eyes flutter open to
a tangled mass of shimmering gold. A chandelier glittering against a rich
teal ceiling. My senses start returning to a waking state and I find I'm
naked; lying atop a cloud like bed and wrapped in a soft velvet, that
elicits a small jolt of arousal with each tender brush across my person. In
no time my cock is pitching a tent in the maroon sheets.

 	I jerk my head to my left when I hear liquid being poured
accompanied by a rhythmic glug of a bottle being emptied. Standing in front
of a polished brass serving cart a few meters from the bed, is a stout
creature, maybe under five feet tall, in a sea-foam green uniform with gold
embellishments. His legs are bent backwards like a lot of species which
evolved from mammalian creatures, but poking out from his short hair, are
two large and rough looking horns. I've been around quite a few places and
have seen almost every kind of xenoform imaginable, but I can't for the
life of me place what this guy is.

 	He moves his hand into my view; it's very hairy and the nails look
thick and black but well groomed. He's holding a crystal glass filled with
an amethyst colored liquid. He places a quarter empty bottle onto the cart,
a crowned bird of prey is emblazoned on the bottle cover. A Vvokay-Teusian
wine; a very good and very expensive brand. I only had it once when a
client gave me a bottle as a bonus for quickly getting him his stockpile of
jewels back (I suspect the guy who owned the transport ship and who also
happened to be my client's business rival would have insisted they were his
property, but hey; if he wanted them back, then he should have hired me).

 	The man turns and approaches the bed. The first thing which really
catches my attention are his eyes, which are yellow and have horizontal
slits for pupils. His face is hairy. Handsome, but far from a human's. His
ears look like they came from a deer and move independently from each
other. Whatever his species is, it most likely evolved from some kind of
goat creature.

 	But as I mentioned, he's quite handsome. His eyes have a youthful
brightness and his hair (or fur, maybe?) has a healthy sheen to it. He's a
bit shorter than the average humanoid but his body is well stocked and his
muscles fill out his uniform quite nicely (a minority of my fellow humans
have a tendency to freak out when I tell them I find people like goat-men
attractive, but they need to get over themselves. There's an entire galaxy
of horny studs out there and I'm supposed to limit myself to humans because
a tail or a cloaca or an exoskeleton might be a little unconventional. I'd
have never found the joys of a Speibenk's double dicking if I had that
attitude... well I guess it's technically a quadruple dicking since they
each have two dicks).

	The goat-man cups my face in his hand, scratching my cheeky with
the short hairs on his palm. He places the crystal to my lips and tilts the
glass upwards. I part my lips slightly and let the sour wine settle on my
tongue and flow down my throat. It stings upon contact, and leaves my mouth
tingling as if it had been burnt, but within a second the burning abates
and my mouth is struck with an overwhelming burst of sweetness, which fills
my nose with a light fruity aroma. Its just how I remember my first bottle
of Vvohkay-Teusian; an acidic sucker punch followed by the balm of sweet
grapes. The man has me take a few more sips, then puts the glass on a
varnished side table and offers me his hand. I take it and he pulls me out
of the feather soft bed with more force than expected. Now standing, I can
see that he'd be about half a meter shorter than me if not for his horns.

 	The velvet covers snag on my cock for a second then slide off
leaving my hard member bobbing up and down in the open. I swallow, a bit
embarrassed because my rod is just swinging in front of a complete stranger
in this weird place, but the goat man doesn't seem to notice or at least
doesn't mind my nudity (well, he did make me drink wine while I was naked
in a strange bed, so if we didn't already fuck before I passed out, he
seems to be preparing for us to do so). He leads me out of circular brass
door and into a hallway colored a rich navy and decorated in gold filigree;
stepping on the carpet is like walking along the finest mink fur. There
aren't any windows though, so I can't tell where I am or if I'm even still
on Echo.

 	Oh shit! I was on Echo, where the only thing more frigid than the
weather was that mother superior. I can't be at Heaven's Grace. They had a
few other species apart from human, but they definitely did not have any
goat-people among them (and if they did, I'm sure sister Asla would have
eaten them by now). But also, this guy is... well, a guy. And he wouldn't
be wandering around a convent. And this place certainly does not look like
it's part of the convent.

 	We exit the long hallway and enter a large veranda area. The floor
is a sandy polished marble, so clear I can see my throbbing dick pointing
to the reflection of my guide's backside. In the center of the massive
atrium on a marble table, stands a mountain of crystal glasses; large
bodied wine glasses, fluted champagnes, shot glasses, and delicate martini
glasses. Above the glasses, a chandelier, four times larger than one in the
room where I woke up, shoots down streams of white light which ricochet off
every curve of the glasses below resulting in a fractured, glittering mass
of a rainbow. I don't see any bottles of wine or liquor so I'm not sure why
anyone would stack all these glasses here, pretty as it is. But then I
notice, all around the atrium in recessed alcoves along the wall are
statues of the goat men. Life-sized, golden, and detailed with such
precision and care, I think for a second they might start trotting around
like my guide. Unlike their well dressed model, these facsimiles are as
naked as the day they were born (I presume they're born, I doubt a goat
species would hatch from eggs, but you never know what's possible). They're
all in different poses showing off the entirety of this species male
physique, some accentuating the legs while others pronounce the chest or
arms, but the one commonality being the massive erection they all
sport. Every cock is pissing a steady stream of colorful liquid I presume
is the alcohol the glasses on display are for.

 	The whole scene is more over the top and garish than this one sex
party I went to a few years ago. It was a greco-roman pagan themed orgy;
everyone was wearing nature themed masks, there were literal pools of wine
to swim in, actual honest-to-god cum baths in which pagan sex rituals and
x-rated editions of ancient myths were re-enacted, and every toy and tool
you could buy on the market (and a few which looked custom-made for the
party). The thing I remember most was the staff covered head to toe in
waterproof paint, made to look like ancient statues. I remember there was a
bronze Mars and Apollo sixty-nineing, while close by a marble Bacchus was
getting spit-roasted by golden Zeus and silver Neptune. The whole affair
was tacky and oozed psycho-rich asshole vibes, but still a pretty good time
killer. I'll admit, I didn't hesitate to get on my knees and worship cast
iron Hades and a marbled Pan. I had a few quickies with what might have
been a Hermes or a Mercury, I couldn't tell (but what I can tell you, is
whoever they got to play Priapus in the amphitheater, was cast
perfectly). The guests ranged from hunk to rotting bulbous corporate
sleazebag, but the actors were literally gods and the waiters/escorts were
reliably hot, even if some of them looked like they might be a bit underage
for a sex party...okay quite a few of them were definitely a couple years
underage, but I made sure to steer clear of them, and it's not like I threw
the damn party. Just so we're clear, I only went to that orgy because I had
a job (I did, I'm not bullshitting). The guy hosting was an evangelical
pastor, the `fire and brimstone, you're going to hell, Jesus hates fags'
kind of guy making millions off his broadcasts of vitriol and
fear-mongering. My client was a once devout pupil of this dear prophet, who
sent his wayward homo-sexually inclined son (plus a donation of four
million DICS) to the kindly preacher and to sum it all up, the son leaves
the `conversion camp' a drug addicted whore just like any other poor youth
the prick tried to "save." So the client wanted payback and he was willing
to give up two-hundred thousand DICs to the Runner who could utterly ruin
this asshole's reputation; thus I was trapped six hours in a humid, rancid
sex party where I had a dick trying to slide in my ass every ten steps (I
know I said it was hot, but the thing about orgies is that they can only
get so big before they stop being hot after an hour or two, and the only
reason everyone doesn't leave is because they're brain has been addled by
the sex and booze), and it's difficult to refuse because denying horny
creeps sex at an orgy is a quick way to draw attention to yourself (and to
get socked in the face by perverts who can't take a no). Eventually I was
able to make my way to the private room of the holy pastor, who was
performing some less than holy acts in his special made cum Jacuzzi. I put
on my usual charm, get him and his lackeys to drop their masks, and within
ten minutes my micro-camera I hid in my crown of thorns caught a
pornographic re-enactment of the crucifixion starring yours truly and the
pastor as Jesus and Pontius Pilate, respectively. This particular-let's
call it an interpretation- of the nailing of Jesus to the cross (yes, that
kind of nailing) went viral; and since the pastor, his two sons, his
brother, and four of his best buddies were in that candid POV video, they
all had to answer a lot of questions to the Baptist-Methodist conference of
Earth (not to mention full legal investigations into all of his properties,
companies, and charities by every country the bastard ever set foot
on). Follow that all up with a public condemnation from every quarter-way
credible religious leader on the planet and I could confidently prove to
the client that this asshole was thoroughly screwed. The guy was scum in
every conceivable way, but if the views and likes online are anything to go
by, he at least made a good porn star (then again, I was in the video, so
how could people not love it. Don't worry, my face was out of the film for
most of it and I blurred the video when it did show up. A Runner does need
some level of anonymity in their field. But that perfectly sculpted figure
getting railed by a group of "good Christian men" dressed up as Roman
soldiers, is assuredly me. Oh, and don't believe the comment sections, not
a single one of the orgasms I gave those guys was scripted or rehearsed. I
am just that good).

 	Sorry, what was I talking about? Oh, the statues, right? I can't
still be at the convent can I? That mother superior would beat you with a
ruler if your pant legs were rolled up too far, I doubt she would tolerate
statues of goat-men pissing through their foot long wangs.

 	I try asking my guide what this is all about and where even the
fuck am I, but he firmly grasps my jaw with his hand and drags my face over
to the nearest booze pissing phallus. I open my mouth to object, but he
takes me at this advantage and pushes me onto the cock. I wrap my lips
around the metal dick, which is warmer than I expected. A mellow citrus
flavor courses down my throat, and I start nursing on it as if it were a
real penis.

 	My guide's probably trying to get me drunk, before he pounces on me
(wouldn't be the first time someone tried that). Fortunately I process
alcohol pretty quickly and usually after about an hour or two, I'm back to
my full faculties, but there's still that chunk of time where I'm in a more
vulnerable state. But, I don't feel drunk. When I'm drunk, I get very hot
and my vision becomes horribly fragmented, like my brain is trying to fend
off the alcohol with kamikaze strikes. But this feels more...floaty, for
lack of a better word; like my body is moving on its own and my mind is
trying to rubber-band back into place. This is very off.

 	I should stop drinking, but it tastes so good; and I'm not being
attacked at the moment so there's really no need to worry about it right
now. The goat guy gently pulls my face from the gold member and leads me
down the atrium, around the shimmering tower of glass and to the other side
of the veranda; in my head I feel like I'm swaying but my body seems to
move with sober steadiness.

 	Every time we walk past a statue, my tongue pushed against my cheek
as if it's magnetized to each wine spewing member.

 	We reach another brass door which slides open to another enormous
room. It seems to be one giant spa; the floor tiled with sea-green tiles
all studded with pearls, the walls adorned with frescoes of the goat men
bathing, their penises standing proud. Along the edge of the wall are small
baths probably meant to be enjoyed by groups no larger than five, while
closer to the center are big fountains littered with floating benches and
beds. The pools in these fountains look too shallow for proper bathing;
they look more akin to a communal shower area where bathers can float along
the water or wash themselves under a spout or waterfall with about two
dozen others. In the center is a large open pool, divided by three walkways
leading to a central island.

 	The goat man takes me along the pathway to the center. The floor
isn't wet at all. I guess no one used this bathhouse in a while (or the
cleaning staff is worked to the bone), but also the floor isn't the least
bit cold. The pearls aren't uncomfortable and rise out of the floor enough
to massage my feet with each step. As we walk by the pools, I can see their
floors are decorated in blue, white, and green tiles arranged in intricate
mosaics depicting beautiful images of the ocean; and the fountains and
spouts are more nude goat men, but they are silver this time rather than
gold, and the water comes out of their open mouths instead of their stiff
cocks (while a piss stream is good for filling a glass, you'd need a bit
more water to wash a full grown man- or goat man, I suppose). The air is
perfectly comfortable and despite my nudity I don't feel a single chill. It
doesn't feel like the floor or the rooms are being heated and I can't see
any climate control machines around, it is just a perfectly comfortable
room.

 	We get to the center island and there's a large...chair, I
think. It's made of a sandy colored, solid wood. It looks like a cottage
core version of a gynecologist's chair, with a smooth sloping backrest
seamlessly transitioning to the valley forming the seat, and sloping up
again to make the leg rest, but instead of one solid length of wood, there
was an oblong division which gives each leg its own separate rest.

 	Am I in some sort of hotel or resort? Who the hell would put one of
these on Echo of all places (usually when you have a ski resort, you don't
want to have to put at the bottom of the brochure- Warning! Guests may be
devoured by Frost-Whales! Patrons are advised to update their wills before
check-in).

 	"Sorry" I say, "but are we-" but I'm cut off when two other goat
men come up behind me. They're in the same uniform as my guide but their
trim and embellishments are silver. They're taller than my guide and I
would say a bit younger too since their horns aren't that big; the left one
has light honey colored hair while the right one grew a reddish auburn
hue. The auburn one puts his arm across my back and with his other hand,
firmly grabs my jaw and squeezes my mouth open. The honey haired one pulls
out another bottle of wine and pours a dark purple liquid into another
crystal glass. My practical and logical side (the one that keeps me alive
and from repeating stupid mistakes) cries out `who are these guys? Where
the fuck did they come from? Why aren't you throwing punches?' But that
side can't be heard over my hedonistic side (the one which really only
concerns itself with my dick, my ass, and occasionally my stomach and says
`to hell' to the rest of my body). That latter side gets louder with every
ounce of wine they splash on my tongue. I lose myself in the fruitiness
mixed with chocolate undertones which hits a perfect balance between sweet
and bitter.

 	My body just kind of switches into autopilot while in my head I'm
praying to Luck that I don't end up crashing and burning. The two newcomers
rush ahead and stand at attention at either side of the weird sloping
chair. My guide leads me to stand between the two leg rests and motions for
me to sit. I obey. It feels comfortable enough, the wood is smooth and
warm, and the backrest is at the perfect angle to give me nice nap and
still have a good view of the whole spa. My guide signals to the younger
goat guys, and at once they go around the leg rests and kneel down in front
of me. They each grab one of my heels and lift my legs above their head
then place them on the leg rests, leaving my ass completely exposed to the
view of the entire spa..

 	The eldest goat man again signals to the younger ones, and together
they rise up from the floor and come back around to the sides of the
chair. They both reach behind the chair and pull out small wheeled tables
which carry assortments of vials all with different, brightly colored
liquids (I guess I'm doing more wine tasting today).

	They remove the stoppers and move the vials in front of my face,
but they don't go to my lips and instead the contents is poured onto my
chest. Small pools of glittering liquid gather on each pec, growing until
they spill over and meet in the valley of my cleavage. When the small
streams clash together, a rich of aroma of rose and lavender explodes in my
face. The pair unstop two more vials and pour them just below my chest
where they mix in the channels formed by my abs. Eucalyptus and mint slice
through the gentler floral scents which slowly fade, though they don't mix
in an unpleasant way.

 	The older goat examines my oiled body and nods approvingly; he
waves and the two younger men begin massaging me. Their fingers are strong
but very dexterous and each prodding digit puts just enough pressure strain
my muscles before releasing the tension in each fiber. I thought their
hairy hands would feel coarse and scratchy on my skin but the fur on their
fingers is actually very fine and soft, like mink fur (my great-grandmother
has a coat, along with a collection of of other pricey trinkets gathering
dust in a cottage in the South of France, and their fur feels just like
that coat). The oil softens their hair further and every movement across my
skin feels like I'm being brushed with loose strands of Chang'e silk.

  	The oil on my light-brown skin made it glisten like polished bronze
in the sunlight, but my muscles feel completely relaxed. Nothing is stiff
or tense, my body feels like it just exhaled after holding it's breath for
a half hour. The honey haired man on my left takes out another bottle of
wine and begins pouring the indigo drink into a piece of fine crystal,
while the auburn one brings forth a large bottle of oil, unstops it and
releases a vivid fragrance of peonies into the air. He gently drizzles the
perfume onto my cock (I almost forgot I've been naked this whole time). I
think about asking where they put my flight suit, but before I can talk the
honey haired goat puts the wine to my lips and I instinctively swallow the
light syrupy drink, and again my mind just sort of reclines back in its
chair (hey! If you were getting the five star treatment, you'd find it hard
to ask questions about how you got there. Life is short and rarely
pleasant, and I've a right to enjoy these sparse moments of perfect
contentment).

 	The peony oil drips off my balls and the goat man starts massaging
my cock. At first, I'm a bit surprised they're getting to the
"happy-ending" part of the massage before they even start on my back, but I
find the dick massage is a lot more literal than I initially imagined. His
soft fingers maneuver expertly across my shaft. He uses his thumbs to push
in gently just under my cock head and his little fingers rub at the base of
my shaft. I'm rock solid right now, but my dick isn't aching with arousal,
in fact I'd say it never felt this relaxed (even when soft).

 	The older goat comes forward as I finish the wine and he takes the
glass from the honey haired guy. He pulls up a bottle of pink wine I didn't
see before and fills the glass with it. It has a rosy aroma and it is
perfectly clear, though I see some bubbles floating along the inside of the
glass; he brings it to my lips and I obediently consume. As I drink, the
honey haired guy gets between my legs. He lifts up a vial with globular
base, holding a purple tinted oil inside. The neck of the vial was long and
thin (I don't get why it's like that. If you're going to pour it on me, why
put it such an awkward container?). My thoughts are still a bit hazy
because of all the wine, but I start to consider how this chair is built
and the position of my butt and legs, putting my hole on display for
whoever cares to look. In one swift motion, he plunges the vial into my
ass, letting the warm oil fill my insides. My eyes flutter at the intrusion
and I relax back into the chair; I sleepily turn my eyes to a domed
skylight hovering over the bath and see the pervasive blackness of space
broken up by the winking of a thousand stars.

 	The vial empties and the young goat slides it out with no
resistance. The delicate smell of pansies tiptoes its way up to my nose and
I shudder in bliss. I feel the tip of one of those silky-haired fingers
place itself on my entrance and I moan into the bubbly the older goat is
still pouring into my mouth. His finger gently probes into my hole and
carefully explores around my soft and perfumed fuck chute. My eyes roll
into the back of my head from the immense pleasure I'm receiving from both
my ass and my cock; my vision refocuses on the glass ceiling above and I
notice a planet that wasn't in the sky a few minutes ago. The planet looks
yellowish-brown and no clouds are running across the surface, it looks more
arid and nothing close to the frozen surface of Echo. I almost jump out of
the chair when the auburn haired guy quickly strokes the entirety of my
shaft the exact moment the honey haired guy presses on my prostate and it
feels like two strikes of lightning just crashed together in my body and my
vision goes white for a second. It returns and I see a strange figure
twirling across the sky. It's a long shimmering line, glowing like an
aurora and flowing across space like a dancer's ribbon fluttering towards
the planet. It's beautiful and awe-inspiring and...familiar, somehow. Where
the hell am I?

 	When the glass is empty, the older goat pulls it away and wipes my
bottom lip with his thumb. It's a bit coarser than his younger
companions. He pours out more sparkling wine and I feel the two pairs of
hands stop massaging my dick and hole, and move to rubbing deeply into my
biceps. I guess they're moving on to the rest of the massage (I should be
worrying about how I'm going to be paying for all of this, but that's a
problem for future Jack). I feel a third pair of hands rub along my inner
thighs. I look down from the skylight and see another goat man, in the same
green uniform with the silver trimmings as the two younger goats. This guy
has horns almost as large as the senior goat and his fur is an icy white,
but he doesn't appear any older than the honey and auburn goats, perhaps
he's even a bit younger. He is more jacked than them; his uniform looks to
be held together by mere stitches and the slightest twitch of his muscle
could tear the fabric to pieces.

 	He tenderly caresses my thigh and gives me a little smirk. I'm not
really clear on what's happening (probably because I've downed about five
or six glasses of wine), but I catch up to speed when I look down and see
the same giant erection I've seen displayed all over the atrium and
bathhouse, poking from his pants. The only difference is, those phalli were
solid metal while this one is pink and thrumming with life.

 	I see a second pair of horns, and my first thought is that the two
and half bottles of wine forced down my gullet are finally getting to
me. But a black haired goat guy peeks out from behind the white haired guy
and licks his lips with anticipation. I tilt my head and see a line of goat
men going all the way down to the spa's entrance. Some are almost two
meters tall, some have a heavier weight to them, and there are fur colors
ranging from gray to ginger to blonde to copper. I suddenly realize the
shape of the chair isn't just for the masseuse to give me a happy ending (a
full body massage and thorough dicking from dozens of guys; truly the five
star experience).

 	The eldest goat pours another glass of wine and brings it to my
lips.  I close my eyes and-

 	"Captain?"

 	I jump in surprise, clunking my head on the Etoile's windshield.

 	"Ouch. Are you okay, Captain?" Taylor asks.

 	I groan and rub my throbbing skull. It was a dream. A very good
dream, but still all in my head. I get pampered like a damn prince and I'm
just about to get gang-banged, then I'm woken up right before the main
attraction (isn't that the biggest tease. Don't you hate when shit like
that happens in fiction? Just as shitty when it happens in real life).

 	Taylor asks, "do you require medical assistance, Captain?"

 	"No Taylor," I snap at him, "you woke me up and I bumped my damn
head. What I need you to do is shut up for a minute."

 	I shut my eyes tight, trying to squeeze the pain out of my
head. The throbbing fades, then I shake my head and rub my eyes. Once my
vision comes back into focus, I see the windshields have been darkened.

 	"Taylor, I though I told you not to mess with my ship?"

 	"I know Captain, but I figured you would like some privacy while
you were...attending to your needs."

 	"What the hell are you talking about, Taylor?!" I sit up and feel
the tip of my bare cock slap against my control yoke.

 	"Oh," I mumble "...when did I-"

 	"Approximately two-point-four-eight hours ago. A total of
three-point-seven-one hours ago your penis became fully erect and your
heart rate was significantly elevated. Was the dream you were having a
pleasurable one, Captain?" he asks with a teasing tone that makes my face
hot.

 	"Shut up, you bastard AI" I say.

 	"Your face has become quite flushed and I detect a spike in your
pulse. This embarrassment would indicate your dream was indeed very
satisfying."

 	"Taylor, did the nuns send out a message to the ship?" I say,
trying to move the discussion off of my wet dream (who knows where this AI
is sending all the data it's gathering).

 	"Actually Captain, one of the sisters has been waiting next to the
Etoile for eight minutes now. Her posture and body language indicate she
does not intend any hostility."

 	I lean forward to see where she is, but I forgot that Taylor
blacked out windows because he still hasn't learned to bother with things
that aren't his to touch; then a worrying thought jumps to my mind
"Taylor...you didn't...speak to her did you? I mean, you didn't tell her to
wait?"

 	"No Captain, she stayed put of her own volition or perhaps on the
order of her superiors. Should I inquire?"

 	"No, Taylor! I'll go out and ask her."

 	I try to open the ship, but the hatch doesn't budge and Taylor asks
"Are you certain you wish to go out like...that, Captain?"

 	"What the fuck do you-" I glance down to my exposed, throbbing
member, "-oh, right. Just give me a minute."

  	I quickly think about vaginas, gross handsy guys I've met on jobs,
and Bloody Mary to get my dick to go down. It's quite hard to do (and I
don't mean my dick). I know it was a dream but I can still feel the silky
fur and smell the aromatic oils; I can taste the fruity wines on my
tongue. It was unlike any wet dream I've ever had. It really didn't feel
like a dream (I know that sounds pretty cliché, but I don't know how
else to explain it). Dreams have this hazy surreal quality to them, like a
poorly made algorithm tossed all of your random thoughts into a blender and
then tried to piece together a coherent story from the slurry. It doesn't
feel like I'm remembering a dream, but like I'm just remembering. I
remember some things better than others and few details might be mixed up
in my head, but I'm objectively aware that it happened. It didn't
happen. It couldn't have, because I've never been to a place like that, but
the realness of it is making it very hard to bring my cock down; everything
feels like it happened ten minutes ago.

 	It takes a while, but everything eventually calms down and gets
covered (as covered as it can be in a skintight flight-suit and
thermals). I open the cockpit and jump out. The nun stands at attention,
waiting for me to speak first.

 	I motion to my ship, "did you need me to leave?"

 	She shakes her head and says "the Mother Superior requests your
presence in the hangar."

 	I open my mouth to ask what that shrew wants, but I only manage to
sigh and motion for her to lead the way. I just slept but I'm tired. Tired
with Taylor and tired from the thing on Ginna and coming out here to this
icy shit hole for a job I thought was going to pay a ton, only for it to be
snatched away at the last second. Right now, I just want my compensatory
pay and to get the hell off this planet. I want to be back on Saayfam and
to sleep in my bed (I know. I'm a Star Runner and I'm supposed to be one of
the fearless thrill seekers of the galaxy, but that image is more for
marketing. Even we fearless adventurers get fed up with shit and need a
fucking break). I'm not even bothered by the low temperature because I feel
numb all over.

 	She leads me through the open hangar which is no longer bustling
with nuns repairing ships or chipping away at frosted over pipes. The wind
from the open door, which is the only sound coming through, is quickly cut
off when the hangar seals shut. In the center of the hangar is a gathering
of about three dozen of the martial guards standing at attention in a
circle; forming a loose phalanx. We approach and two guards move slightly
apart to allow us entry into the circle. I didn't really think of it, but
the guard never asked me for my gun. Do they no longer see me as a threat?
That can't be right (one thing everyone knows to be careful of is a Runner
who gets cheated out of their money).

 	The second I step into the ring, the two nuns close the opening and
continue their vigil. Inside the phalanx stands an inward facing circle of
six nuns spread out; the nun who retrieved me takes her place among this
inner guard. In the middle of both circles stands the reverend Mother, with
her stony jaw locked into place, though I can see a little weathering on
her face. It's not joy or softness or any emotion really but a nondescript
uneasiness starting to crack at her solid visage. On her right is sister
Megan, but her eyes have lost their brightness and are fogged with a glassy
sort of look to them; her mouth is hanging open in a way that reminds of
some guys who lost their virginity to me. Standing on the Reverend Mother's
left is sister Asla, who's eyes are like the edge of blades slicing across
everything around her. She locks onto me for a moment but she doesn't focus
for long, and quickly moves on as if she's hunting for something she can't
see but is certain is somewhere nearby.

 	A small levitating table floats before the three nuns and on it
sits a single strap backpack; it's not a big bag, just slim black sack (you
know the kind used by business types who need something to hold their very
important papers but is also light enough to let them bike to work, because
they're rich enough to have a healthy balance of work, play, and exercise
and can sit in their penthouse apartments wondering why so many plebs never
make time to treat their bodies right on minimum wage). Two guards flank
the table their stun staffs at the ready, and instantly I know what's in
there.

 	"Stardust," I point to the bag.

 	The Mother Superior clears her throat, "well, the artifact could
not simply be carried out in the open and we believed that a secure
casement of some sort would draw too much attention so we..." she trails
off.

 	I'm hardly paying attention though. It's hard to look away from the
bag; just knowing what's inside fills me with an energy that permeates my
every cell.

 	I ask "Why?"

 	The Mother Superior straightens herself (I didn't think it was
possible for her to be any stiffer) and says "We were expecting the heads
of the archives themselves to travel to Heaven's Grace to escort it to the
Vatican. Actually we were informed by his eminence, Cardinal Armand, that
he would personally come to retrieve the relic, but then..."she struggles
to find the words.

 	Before she continues, sister Megan, in a wavering exhale, exclaims
"the Pope."

  	I blink, "The Pope?" Looking around I see the guards tighten their
grips on their stun staffs, some shift their weight from one foot to the
other either in agitation or excitement; the nuns in the outward facing
phalanx keep quickly glancing back, eager to hear every word we say.

 	I clear my throat and ask "You mean the Pope, Pope?"

 	The Mother Superior doesn't respond, but I can see in her eyes
she's locking away whatever smart ass retort she had loaded in her mouth
(she reminds me of a supervisor who is a complete bastard to you every day,
but then suddenly acts all polite and formal because the regional manager
is in that day).

  	She swallows her snide remark and answers "yes. We-and even
Cardinal Armand- were surprised when his holiness himself joined our
conference. Cardinal Armand assured his holiness that he and his team of
researchers were all set to transport the relic, but his holiness had
a... difference of opinion."

 	She looks at me as if I have a hundred heads or like I'm made of
jello. Like she's trying to figure out what she's looking at.

 	"So what did the Pope have to say?" I ask.

 	She's still giving me that `what the fuck are you' look as she says
"his holiness believes that nothing in creation is left to chance and the
Lord in his divine wisdom enacts miracles at the right time for certain
people." I'm tempted to cut her off, explaining I know all the `God works
in mysterious ways' bullshit the church spits out, but I hold my tongue (I
need to know if this miracle bullshit is leading to a payday or not).

 	She continues, "His holiness reminded us that God guides us in
subtle ways and it is our duty as his children to try and understand his
teachings, and follow them to the best of our abilities." She pauses and
looks at me like I'm a sudoku she can't quite figure out, "and no matter
how strange or... inappropriate they may seem, we must help these plans
bear fruit as God is the one who planted their seeds."

 	She stops speaking and just continues to stare without telling what
the hell I'm still doing here. I wait a minute, but she doesn't say
anything. I can't help but pinch the bridge of my nose in annoyance, "I
don't care about what the pope believes, I want to know what he said about
the job."

 	"You're going to Dagda" sister Asla growls. All the nuns including
the glassy-eyed sister Megan jump at the abrupt noise from the Berlah. Even
the Mother Superior blinks in surprise at her subordinate's interruption.

 	The Mother superior collects herself and says "yes, thank you
sister Asla," the Berlah bows her head in apology, and the Mother Superior
continues speaking "the Pope has decreed that because the relic activated
when you held it, it is obvious that Christ almighty has...ordained you as
the bearer of the artifact, and the one who must take this most holy
pilgrimage."

 	I fold my arms, hoping to convey that I'm not in the mood to be
messed with and that this better actually lead to something. "How much?"

 	She says "I would think you would find it more important to learn
exactly what your sacred task is rather than your pay rate. After all, this
is holy duty given onto you by the most high Himself."

 	I repeat "How much?"

 	She sighs "Ten million Intergalatic Credits."

 	"No bullshitting? Ten Million?"

 	"Yes" she says without masking her disdain for me "assuming you do
exactly what his holiness has requested of you."

 	I smirk "perfect! What do you need from me?"

 	The Reverend Mother's jaw calcifies shut. She clearly wants to
lecture me on my heretical attitudes towards, what to her, is the most
sacred event since the resurrection, but I guess since the Pope made me a
pilgrim for the church she's trying her best to treat me with respect (ten
million DICs and I don't have to listen to this bitch's sanctimonious
berating? This day is looking up). Unable to say anything nice (or at least
neutral), the Reverend Mother motions for sister Asla to explain.

 	The Berlah's eyes dilate so thin, it almost looks like she has no
pupils. There's a noticeable chill in the room emanating from her; it's not
the cruel biting chill the Mother Superior has but an apathetic cold that
cadavers probably feel when they're thrown onto the slab and stared at by
hundred bored med students watching their professor slice it up.

 	"You are to take the artifact to Dagda and discover what its
intended use is. After you have discerned its functions to the best of your
abilities, you will bring the artifact and a detailed report back to earth
and present both to the papal archives" sister Asla relays this with the
passion of a glacier, but her eyes retain that same sharp intensity.

 	"What do you mean by functions?"

  	Sister Asla answers "If the device has a purpose on Dagda you will
discover what that is. If it it is a key you will tell us what it opens and
where the lock is located. If it is a singular part of a larger
construction, you will investigate the purpose of the primary device. If
you are led to another location outside of Dagda, your journey will
continue until the device ceases to guide you. You will make a report on
everything to do with the device."

 	"Okay...anything else I need to know or can I get going?"

 	All the nuns stare at me with incredulity, except sister Megan
who's still too star struck from her once in a life time meeting with the
Bishop of Rome. The others just can't believe how callous I'm being
towards, what to them must be, the equivalent of a crusade into the holy
land. But what they're forgetting is, not everyone buys into all the
religious bullshit. And as impressive as Stardust is, its far from
convincing me that God exists. I believe in more tangible things like money
and sex (and both of those have done a lot more for me than religion ever
has).

 	I shrug and point at the sleek bag holding my ten million DICS (and
depending on what I find out about the Stardust, it may be worth a lot
more. I mean if this thing can move the earth and sea, a measly ten million
DICs won't cover the cost of transporting something so precious).

 	The abbess grips her hands so fiercely they turn an icy white, and
through lips parted just enough to let air pass through, she mutters "you
may take it."

 	In a flash I snatch up the bag, unzip it and pull out the disc. All
the nun's instantly rush towards me a few steps, ruining the orderly
perimeter and creating more of a misshapen throng. I don't really pay
attention to them, I'm just glad to be on this job and to be holding this
thing. It really is beautifully designed for- well, I'm not sure what it
does, but whichever Starborn designed it, should be proud. This thing
weighs about a kilo, but it literally feels weightless; there's absolutely
no heft to it. I flip it around in my hands a few times before holding it
vertically and gently tossing it a meter above my head. All the nuns reach
forward as if to catch the falling disc but also jump back, probably
expecting some catastrophic explosion to be released.

 	"NO!" someone shouts, and I see the Mother superior leap over the
table, looking torn over whether she should catch the Stardust or tackle me
to the ground.

  	I simply catch it. It put no force on my wrist, it's like my touch
just paused all of its momentum. I raise an eyebrow at her.

 	The Mother Superior sputters like a malfunctioning coffee maker,
"Don't- don't you dare- how could you even. To think anyone- the gall!- the
nerve!- It's not possible that- God in heaven!- The devil wouldn't be so-"

 	I grin and toss it up again, a little higher this time (maybe more
acceleration will add a bit of weight to it, I don't know). The nuns are a
bit less cohesive in their responses this time; some rush backwards holding
their staffs up in pathetic defense of their faces, others hit the deck,
and some scramble around the hangar trying to get under where ever they
think the disc might land. I catch it.

 	Sister Asla and sister Megan stand stunned, eyes glued to the disc;
the Mother Superior is quietly staring at me now. It's like she's petrified
by her own fuming wrath, consumed by so much anger that she can't even
compel herself to think to do anything to stop me (I don't think I even got
Bloody Mary this angry and I super-glued her habit to her head... twice).

 	I don't know why (maybe I just want a bit of revenge for almost
losing me a job or maybe I just feel like being an ass) but I'm strongly
compelled to piss off the Mother Superior just that little bit more.

 	I lock eyes with her and relish the horror that breaks across her
face. I swing my arm back like a pendulum, and with all my strength swing
it upward, sending the Stardust soaring to just below the hangar
ceiling. In a second, I'm being pushed backwards by at least a half a dozen
nuns desperately trying to catch the Stardust before it drops and breaks
(or very likely, explodes and kills us all). There's complete commotion in
the hangar with nuns sprinting to the elevator for escape, ducking behind
shipping crates, or just dropping to their knees and praying to God for
mercy. I stumble backwards about twenty feet or so away from the cacophony
of nuns, but when I recover my balance the disc drops into my hand (even
though I could've sworn I threw it straight up. It should've landed
somewhere among the pile of nuns scrambling over each other).

 	Behind the mess of flailing nun limbs, a frantic voice squeaks out
"Did you see tha'? Did you see tha' sister?!"

 	Past the squirming dog pile, I see Sister Megan chirping in shock,
jumping and pointing at me with one hand and pulling on Sister Asla's dress
with the other, crying out again "Did you see tha'? Did you see tha'?"

 	Sister Asla's pupils completely eclipse her eyes while she stares
at me. But I only see them for a second because my line of sight is blocked
by the Mother Superior's austere form. Any vestige of her rigid stoicism
has broken off; she shakes like a vibrator hooked up to a ship battery and
her face trembles its way through every expression a human face could make.

 	She marches right up to me and in a voice of pure primordial anger,
she rasps out "this is not a toy."

  	The instant the Reverend Mother speaks, the nuns in the pile
perform a comical freeze frame. Sister Asla and Sister Megan jump back
about a foot and all the nuns who ran ran for cover seem to dig into their
hiding spots a bit more. As for me, well all the traumatic events of my
formative years in Catholic school kicked in, and even though I have at
least a foot over this woman, I still bend my head a little lower, trying
shrink myself out of her view.

 	Once she has everyone's attention, her grim rigidness re-calcifies
and she says, "young man (I'm really trying to figure out if this woman is
Bloody Mary and I'm just not remembering her face correctly because of
traumatic repression) part of your assignment is to care for the artifact,
which means treating with the utmost respect, and respect means not tossing
the object around like a child's Frisbee" she didn't look like my grade
school tormentor at all, but her calm condescending voice with icy hatred
lying just below the surface is a one for one; maybe they were related (or
hatched from the same spawning pool in Hell).

 	She... well she doesn't smile, but she pushes the corners of her
lips into a rough approximation of a smile and says, "now since his
holiness has personally given you this responsibility, I am willing to
forgive this little mishap and permit you to continue. But if you proceed
with this nonsense then I will have no choice but to appoint someone more
qualified. Have I made myself clear?"

 	I get deja vu in the worst possible way; it's twenty years ago and
I'm being asked to stand in front of the room while every other boy around
me are whispering bets on how many times that meter stick is going to get
whacked across my butt (and how many strikes I'll get before I start
bleeding). It doesn't matter how old you get, how rich or famous you are,
or even if you've been in a dozen dog fights in an asteroid belt, some shit
in your childhood just stays with you forever and will proceed to fuck up
your head in a variety of ways (like Catholic school giving you a severe
hatred/ fear of nuns and an unhealthy spanking fetish).

 	I can only manage to put out an indistinct mutter and an
affirmative shake of the head, to which she says "good. Now run along
quickly, and do try to finish the task in a timely fashion, if you would be
so kind."

 	I just kind of nod and shrink back while I put the Stardust back
into the bag.

 	In my ear I hear, "that interaction appears to have elevated your
heart rate, Captain. I would advise that you attempt to relax."

 	I hiss "Shut up, Taylor!"

 	"What was that?" the Mother Superior asks like a viper preparing to
strike.

 	"Nothing" I mutter through half closed lips. I quicken my pace,
just trying to get off of this icy hellhole as soon as I can. I rush past
nuns peeking out of their hiding places, unsure if they should take up
their posts again. I cover my one ear with the head piece in vain hope that
it will block out any sound (the Mother Superior is ready to take away this
job if I so much as scratch myself in a way she disproves of, there's no
way she'll let me take the disc if she finds out I have a rogue AI on the
ship).

 	Each crunch of snow under my steps sounds ten times louder than
it'd normally be. None of the nuns move from the haphazard pile (I can't
tell if they're waiting to see if I might throw the disc in the air again
or if they're too scared to move without the Mother Superior's
direction). I don't care what they do. Right now, I just need to get off
planet without incident. Admittedly that's a bit hard with the door closed.

 	I wait a moment, praying that luck will have some mercy and the
door will just automatically open. But Luck isn't so obliging today. I turn
around, and catch the frosty glare of the Mother Superior (I can't actually
make out her face from this distance, but I don't need to to know that
she's getting impatient). I can almost hear the rough grinding of her
eyebrow raising along her forehead.

 	Sheepishly, I jab my thumb at the door. All she has to do is glance
towards the pile of nuns and all of them leap into a standing
position. Most fall behind the Mother Superior while two of them sprint
towards me. When they get about five feet in front of me, they pivot
without stopping and run to opposite sides of the hangar door. They pull a
lever at each end and the massive door screeches open.  I duck underneath
it when there's enough of a gap to let me out. I rush back to the Etoile,
slam my hand down on the bio-metric lock and jump right in the open
cockpit.

 	"Where are we headed, Captain?" Taylor asks.

 	"We're going off planet. Right now!"

 	He pauses, then asks "Understood, Captain. But where is our
destination? Are we heading to Dagda immediately or are we stopping at a
different location to resupply first?"

 	I ignore him and focus on making the launch preparations. Engine
on. Navigation calibrated. Plasma cannons operational. Fuel is
half-empty. Hull isn't compromised.

 	"Captain?"

 	"Not now," I check the ray shields and they show a hundred percent
integrity.

 	"But Captain-'

 	"We'll set a destination when we're off planet," I snap. I check
for any obstructions in the exhaust.

 	"Captain-"

 	"Taylor, just shut up and make sure the cold isn't interfering with
anything."

 	I hear a light tapping on the side of the Etoile. I turn my head
and nearly piss myself when I see the face of a lion staring right at me
(just because I'm in a ship doesn't mean I'm automatically safe from
wildlife. There are plenty of things in nature that can easily crush, rip
open, or swallow a ship).  My instinctual fear is abated (at least
slightly) when I take note of the nun's habit around the beast's head.

 	Sister Asla stands by my ship like a marble pillar topped by a
grotesque; straight and still with her hands folded in front of her. Yet
the tapping hasn't stopped. I lift myself out of my seat a bit and I can
just make out the head of sister Megan who is rapidly banging on the side
of my ship.

 	"I tried to tell you that sister Megan and the head researcher are
outside of the ship. It seems they wish to converse with you, Captain" he
says.

 	I really want to yell at him for being so annoyingly obvious, but
it's probably best not to start anything with Taylor in front of the
sisters (best case scenario, they see me arguing with my own ship and think
I'm out of my head).

 	I whisper "please don't talk, Taylor."

 	I open the cockpit and look at the two nuns with some
confusion. Sister Megan stops her irritating knocking, and she joins sister
Asla in staring blankly at me. The awkward silence goes on long enough for
the discomfort to start being funny (at least to me. I mean, this is some
really stimulating conversation, right here).

 	I clear my throat to break up some of the quiet, and ask "Did you
two... need something?"

 	Sister Megan's mouth opens and shuts, not giving out anymore than
half syllables. After a minute she yanks at sister Asla's sleeve, bringing
out a short snarl from the Berlah. The woman regains her composure and
tries to play off the growl as a cough.

 	She speaks, "sister Megan and I merely wanted to wish you well and
let you know that we will be praying for both you safety and success on
this mission."

 	That's it? You wasted a minute to tell me that you're praying for
me? You ass hats could've have yelled `good luck' as I was walking out the
door, but instead waste your breath on some bullshit niceties (that's what
I want to say, but I don't. Obviously. After that stunt in the hangar, I
can't risk pissing off the sisters more. So instead I say-)

 	"Thanks?... I'll be going."

 	I go to close the cockpit but sister Megan squawks "It's just tha'
we're really appreciative of ye coming here. If it weren' for you, then the
relic would've never activated and I would have never gotten to meet the
pope..." her eyes lose focus, and her face reminds of a one "straight" guy
I sucked off after he bet me five-hundred DICs I wasn't better than his
girlfriend.

 	Sister Asla knocks her out of the daze with a nudge, and Megan
continues "Oh?-oh! Right. And honestly it seems as of the lord himself sent
you to us. You're an answer to our prayers and... well, we just have a
feeling that you were chosen for this task" her voice sort of loses the
fluttering brightness I normally hear (and begrudgingly tolerate) from her,
"and we believe that god will guide you down his intended path."

 	It sounds like the usual condescending holier-than-thous bullshit
I'm used to hearing from Jesus-freaks, but there's something in her tone
that makes her seem guilty or maybe nervous about telling me this. I look
to sister Asla to see if she has the same strange demeanor as her sister,
or if she maybe notices Megan's oddly serious behavior.

 	I don't see fear in her. It's the opposite. Ferocity and burning
intensity (I'm actually starting to sweat a bit, even though my dick's
freezing off in this weather). Her eyes feel like a pair of plasma cutters
on my face, but then the gaze softens and she looks puzzled.

 	"Weren't your eyes yellow?"

 	"Excuse me?" I say.

 	"Your eyes," she continues "I though they were yellow when we first
met, but now they appear as more of a...pinkish-red, I'd say."

 	"Or they could be reddish-pink" sister Megan chimes in, "but you're
right sister, with Christ as my witness I could've sworn they were yellow
yesterday."

 	"You're right, they were" Asla confirms "and wasn't that patch of
hair-"

 	"-As fascinating as this conversation is ladies, I really should
get going. I turn my head so they can't see my chromatically inconsistent
features (or pull my face to get a better look. One of the most infuriating
things I've ever experienced is having strangers grab my face and pull it
up to their ugly mug to see if I'm wearing contacts.) "Perhaps we can
continue this when I get back to the Vatican."

 	A strong hand clamps down on my forearm, claws pressing into my
flesh but luckily not breaking my skin. I look at the massive furry hand,
then glance up into sister Asla's face, which has returned to its furious
intensity. Our gazes lock for what feels like hours. I watch her lower jaw
shake open a bit and then snap shut, as if she wants to tell me something
but her own body is fighting against her.

 	She closes her eyes and with deep, silent gravity, says "I have not
always been the most faithful nun. I have often dismissed the or questioned
the practices and beliefs of the church. In my home land, we are a very
pragmatic- some may even say blunt- people, we view the world as it is. I
knew, from a very young age that logically, with all the chaos in universe,
the likelihood of complex intelligent life existing without a sapient
creator is highly improbable."

 	She opens her eyes, and though they still look fierce and
intimidating, there's a softness to them, like a rock smoothed by running
water, "I joined the church to serve this creator and learn how life can
thrive among such entropy. And I know that, that" she nods towards the bag
on my back, holding the Stardust, "is a key or stepping stone in answering
those questions."

 	I nod while prying one of her fingers from my arm "Yes, that's very
nice. And I will be sure to fill out my report as quickly as possible once
I get to Dagda. So you can get all those important answers once I send it
back to the Vatican-"

 	"No!" her free hand was already coming up to cover her mouth before
she spoke, but it slips out.

 	"No?" I ask. She stares at me, conveying no emotion.

 	"Look lady, your Pope requested me for this job. I don't really
care what he has me doing so long as I get paid, but I figured this is a
big fucking deal for all of you guys, so I would think you would want me to
finish it." Neither sister says anything in reply; they just look at each
other warily. "I honestly don't care if you have objections, because if I
don't do the job then I don't get paid. And you were so eager to have me
start the job a few minutes ago, so what exactly changed?"

 	She looks down and weakly slides her hand off of my arm. She and
sister Megan, who tries to console the dejected Berlah with sympathetic
looks, step back to give my ship enough room to launch.

 	"Forgive me," she mewls out.

	I want to tell her to piss off for wasting my time, but seeing how
pathetic she looks, it's probably not worth the effort (besides, even a
Berlah nun is still a Berlah, and could easily tear my throat if I make her
angry enough).

 	I sigh "I'm going to do this job. I'll do exactly what I was told
to do. No more, no less. I get my money and God gets his holy mission
finished or whatever he wants." I pull my arm inside and prepare for take
off.

 	Sister Asla turns away, but quietly says, "There is what people
want, what they think God wants, and what God actually wants. I've faith he
chose you because you'll know the difference."

 	The cockpit closes before I can ask what cryptic bull she's trying
spin to me, and the ship begins lifting off the ground (Taylor's meddling,
no doubt). I grab the steering controls to remind Taylor, he has no right
to just mess with my boy any time he feels. Out of the corner of my eye I
see sister Asla is already marching back towards Heaven's Grace while
petite sister Megan gives a frantic cheerful wave goodbye before rushing to
catch up to the Berlah.

 	We reach orbit and I say "Taylor, what did I tell you about fucking
with my ship?"

	"Apologies, Captain" he answers with enough irritating pleasantness
to rival sister Megan, "my only intention is to assist you and ensure nor
harm befalls you. I deduced that an abrupt launch was the best method to
keep you from physical harm in that situation."

 	"And how do you suppose I was going to come to harm?" I spit.

 	He pauses, "Well Berlah tend to be a very aggressive species, and
many are quick to enact violence when provoked. And though I have only
traveled with you for a short time, I noticed that all of your personal
interactions with other beings tends to...provoke them negatively."

 	I can't really say anything to refute him. I've always had a talent
for pissing people off (my elementary school teachers said I was a prodigy
when it came to making people lose their cool) and also, an unfortunate
habit of not really giving a shit when I do. I've been the cause of many
lethal bar shootouts cause I told some guy who was failing to hit on me
that his face would look better if he cut most of it off with a plasma
blade.

 	"Doesn't matter, Taylor. I got the job and I've got this baby with
me" I pat the bag strap. To think a literal miracle of technology is just
resting on my back.

 	"Shall I set a course for Dagda then, Captain?"

 	"No Taylor," I say "I will be setting a course for Gamma
Arietis. You can not touch anything while you're on this ship. Got it?"

 	He doesn't speak, so I start setting up the navigation and piloting
the ship towards the most optimal position to enter warp space. I'm
grateful the universe has finally blessed me with Taylor's silence-

 	"Gamma Arietis?" (Ah I see what you did there universe) "But that
is almost in the opposite direction of Dagda. It would be a very
unnecessary and time consuming detour. I thought you wished to expedite
this mission, Captain?"

 	Got to say, for an Artificial Intelligence, Taylor seems to be
quite stupid when it comes to knowing how the galaxy works. I ask "Taylor,
do you know how agricultural planets, like Dagda, operate? What the general
rules are for visitors?"

 	"That is a simple answer, Captain. Most agrarian planets in the
Orion arm, such as Dagda, have various visitor restriction
policies. Generally, visitors will only be permitted to access metropolitan
areas and certain sectors reserved for tourism and recreation. This is done
to limit pollution on the planet which could disrupt the ecosystem and
negatively impact agricultural production."

 	I nod, "Okay, so if I go in as a visitor and the disc needs me to
go somewhere outside of the tourist areas, what do you expect me to do?"

 	"I... had not considered that, Captain" he says. "But getting a
work permit for Dagda could take weeks if not months. There are background
checks, waiting lists, and a metaphorical mountain of government paperwork
to go through."

 	"Weeks if you do it the legal way, you mean. It takes five minutes
to do it the Runner way."

 	"But Captain, a fraudulent work permit could result in a prison
sentence of up to five years. The optimal outcome for you would be a fine
of approximately two-hundred thousand DICs, you currently do not have
anything close to those funds in your bank account."

 	"Thanks for reminding me, Taylor" I say through gritted teeth "but
I won't get caught. If the government actually cracked down on forged
permits, the galactic economy would come to a screeching halt because every
industry would lose a third of its workforce. Besides, the guy I'm going to
see is the best counterfeiter this side of the Orion arm. Benny knows him."

 	Taylor pauses before doubtfully saying "I do not know if I trust
the judgment of Benito Rodriguez. Was he not the reason the Etoile was
stolen on Ginna?"

 	"Yes Taylor, he was" I answer, "and he's also the reason I got
stuck with you on my ship."

 	"I suppose Benito Rodriguez's poor judgment can net positive
results on occasion." I can't tell if he's being sarcastic or if he's
genuinely dense, and I'm not sure which annoys me more.

 	I finish typing in the coordinates for Gamma Arietis. The
pierce-drive warms up, ready to throw me into warp space. It'd be a bout a
day or two in warp space and only a few hours in normal time.

 	Taylor asks "So, we only need to ask this individual for a
falsified permit and he will give one to us?"

 	It's cute (well, in very rare circumstances, it's cute) how Taylor
still seems to believe the galaxy works on altruism and justice and puppy
dog kisses "He won't just hand me a permit out of the kindness of his
heart, unless he's very stupid. I'm either going to have to pay him a shit
ton of money or he's going to have me do something for him."

 	"Do you mean a Runner service or a sexual service?"

 	I shrug "could be either. Or both. Doesn't matter so long as I get
the permit."

 	"You would have sexual intercourse with a stranger without any
reservations? That does not seem to be the healthiest sexual behavior for a
person to have, Captain."

 	"One. Did not ask you. Two. It's sex. People like fucking and some
like it so much, they're willing to do business with it. Who am I to stand
in the way of capitalism?"

 	"If that is how you feel, Captain, I suppose it is alright" he says
with concern (like I'm supposed to believe this thing won't bolt off with
my ship, the second I expire).

 	"So who is this counterfeiter we are supposed to meet with?"

 	"I'm meeting him, Taylor. You will stay in the ship and do
nothing. As for who he is, I'm going to find out in a second."

 	"You do not know who this individual is, Captain?"

 	I ignore Taylor and orient the ship into the proper position for
launch. I put it on standby to enter warp space, then send out a call to
Sayfaam.

 	"Hey Jackie, how's the-"

 	"Tell you in a minute. First, I need to know about your buddy on
Shepard III..."



* * * * *

 	There's not much that was interesting about our call (apart from me
screaming at Benny for not reading the contract properly and nearly losing
me the job and my life for nothing). The guy's name is Ric Mabi and he
lives in the lower quadrant of the first ward of Shepard III. Similarly,
the warp space journey was a bit dull. I spent most of the time brushing
aside Taylor's pestering questions like `how good are the forgeries' and
`will we have to kill someone to get a permit' and `what if he wants me to
do a really weird sex thing' (whoever made Taylor could have at least had
the courtesy to leave instructions on how to turn of his helicopter mom
mode).

 	But soon enough we reach Gamma Arietis. On my left, the two distant
suns glare through my window so I tilt the Etoile slightly so I don't get
blinded; sight is a very important sense in this area because to my right
is the Mesarthim Asteroid belt, the primary source of Shepard III's
economy, and nearby I spot the giant space station itself.

 	While it's not the biggest space station by any means, Shepard III
is nothing to scoff at. Facing towards the asteroid belt is a massive
cylindrical structure, about ten kilometers in radius and two in height;
that's the main docking port where mining ships go to and from the
Mesarthim belt. Connected on the side of the port facing away from the belt
are the three arms; each extends about forty kilometers from the base, all
completely shielded on the exterior sides by thick gray metal, but on the
inward face of the arms are three strips of sprawling metropolis and
labyrinths of factories and processing facilities. The arms are linked to
each other by about five rail lines running up along the edges. The station
is constantly rotating to induce gravitational forces for its citizens.

 	"Wow" Taylor gasps from the console, "I've done as much research as
I could on the station, and I've thoroughly analyzed the schematics and
photos publicly available, but... seeing something like this in person..."

 	I can't help but chuckle. Being out in space so much I guess I get
a bit desensitized to things like massive space stations and nebulae, but
seeing a first-timers reaction does put you back into perspective (I was a
toddler when my dad first took me into space, and not everyone gets that
experience of awe as early as I did). It's still amazing how despite our
fragile, vulnerable bodies and our petty bickering, humans came together
and made this marvel of engineering and science through genius, tenacity,
and cooperation (not bad for a species that only got into space about
two-thousand years ago).

 	"It's not bad to look at, but it's nothing too special."

 	"You have seen things more amazing than this?" Taylor asks like a
child finding out that there are animals bigger than their pet dog. You
know, if he wasn't an invasive AI and he had a decent biological body, I
could actually picture myself finding Taylor attractive.

 	"Yes, Taylor. There's a lot more to the galaxy than Shepard III."

 	"Like what!" he yaps out like a toddler that just ate half their
mass in sugar.

 	"Well believe it or not, there's actually a Shepard II out there,
and I've heard rumors of a Shepard I."

 	"Come on, Captain" he whines "be serious, what other things are out
there?"

 	I laugh "Don't you have access to the entire internet? You can't
search a few pictures?"

 	"It is not the same, Captain. I don't know what they really look
like in person. Come on, you have to know what things there are worth
seeing. Tell me, please."

 	I'll say it again. If he had a body I'd strongly consider getting
on top of it, "damn, I'm not even sure where to-"

 	Three sharp beeps from my console interrupt me, and Taylor
announces "Captain, the Command Station's space traffic control is hailing
us."

 	Fuck! I guess we drifted a bit too close without sending my ship
credentials (thank my luck, Shepard III has the compassion to ask questions
to approaching unidentified vessels. There are plenty of places that
would've just sent out their attack drone welcoming party).

 	"Just be quiet Taylor," I say and pick up the transmission, "hello
this is-"

 	"Unidentified Penetrator, you have entered the space of Mining
station Shepard III with no authorization or prior warning! State your
purpose and identify yourself or leave this area immediately!" he barks.

 	It takes me moment to even register what he said, because his
accent is from deep in the North of England (and when I say deep, I mean,
if this guy was facing North and got a hard-on, he'd be in Scotland. I
forgot who the main demographic on this station was).

 	"Penetrator, respond or we will use deadly force! You will not be
asked again!"

 	"Shit, fuck! I'm here! I'm here!" I scream to the space control
operator, "Jesus!-Jack Beaucul of the Etoile, requesting permission to
dock." I don't get any response for a minute, and my hands are strangling
the yoke, ready to speed out of the way of anything the station might fire
at me.

 	"Jack Beaucul of the Etoile, you have not spoken. Can you still
hear me?" I jump when he pops back on suddenly.

 	"Fuck! Yes, I can hear you. I was waiting for you to speak."

 	"We were waiting for you to transmit your information."

	"I was waiting for you tell me when you wanted my info transmitted"
I answer, a bit more firm this time.

 	"I told you we wanted your information when you first entered our
space. You're supposed to send us your credentials before you get to close
to the station" he snaps.

 	"How the hell am I supposed to know what's too close?" I yell back.

 	"That's why you're supposed to transmit your fuck-"he's cut off in
the middle of screaming.

 	"Captain?" Taylor. Should've guessed. "I'm sorry for abruptly
cutting off the communication but... remember what I said about you
provoking people?"

 	"Taylor, I've been doing this for years. I know how to handle air
and space control- especially when they're being dicks." I hope, perhaps in
vain, Taylor won't be this annoying the entire trip.

 	He hesitates then asks "have your prior interactions with
authorities been similar to this one?"

 	I consider the other times I've been held up by small-dicked
bureaucrats that wanted to act like they're the biggest man in the
universe, "honestly... this is going a lot better than it usually does."

 	"Okay... If that is the case, then I will transmit your information
and I will put the call through if you promise not to get us shot."

 	"Are you fucking serious?" I scoff "you almost got me eaten by a
goddamn frost whale, but now you're concerned about my safety?"

 	"You have neither confirmed nor denied that you will attempt to not
enrage the space control operator, something which could result in
fatality" he says, ignoring me.

 	"Put him through Taylor, I'll play nice. Whatever it takes to get
on this damn station."

 	 The operator comes back and resumes his tirade "Penetrator, why
did you cut off communication?!"

 	"Sorry, must've run into a bit of interference" I answer, but not
putting in the slightest effort to seem like I'm concerned.

  	"Penetrator, you realize that ending communication with Shepard III
space control is grounds for us to respond with deadly force!"

 	"Got it. So did you run my info yet? It should've been transmitted,
but I can do it again if you like."

 	There's practically steam coming out of my speakers when he
answers, "I have every right to declare you a hostile enemy and send the
station's defense forces to blow you to ash!"

 	I wait a minute, just to let him stew a bit longer before saying "I
mean if you're willing to to call out an entire squadron on a single one
man fighter, you can go ahead. I won't be the one explaining why he
dispatched a dozen ships on a Penetrator that could hardly scratch the
outer hull of the station." He doesn't respond but I can tell I'm getting
under his skin (hey, Taylor just asked me to not get us shot. He didn't say
I couldn't annoy this asshole).

 	I continue "sure it might make the news that you fired at a
complete non-threat which would lead to an internal investigation, but the
worst you'd be looking at is jail time and a tough guy like you can handle
that. I mean you'll probably just be fired, so it's really nothing to worry
about."

 	There are intermittent puffs and gasps bursting out of the
intercom. This guy is probably used to people rolling over and whimpering
whenever he throws around his threats, or maybe he's just in a bad mood and
is angry that he didn't get to blow off some steam by thrashing around
someone weaker than him.

 	I prod him a bit more, "But instead of going through all that
hassle, you can be a good boy, run my info and tell me where to dock."

 	There's silence at first (I guess he's either to stunned to talk or
he shut off his mic and is ripping through his chair with his teeth), but
he eventually grumbles something out.

 	"What was that?" I ask, adding a taunting lilt to my voice.

 	"Port five. Section nineteen. Lot thirteen. Wait for customs
officers" he growls. There's an audible snap when he cuts the transmission.

 	"Captain, you promised-"

 	"That we wouldn't get shot. Are we shot, Taylor?"

 	"No, Captain."

 	"Okay then, quit your bitching. I've got to get ready for customs."
I input the coordinates sent to me by traffic control. I zoom the Etoile
towards the edge of the station's command structure. Right before I smash
into the side of the station, I pull my ship upwards and flow along the
station's arc. At the entrance of port five, I swiftly twist the Etoile
through the permeable ray shield and orient it to align with the port's
internal gravity. I glide through the dock looking for section nineteen and
see rows lined with all manner of ships. There are sleek yachts that look
like they're made of marble and gold, I see some shiny gray cruisers some
executives get to use as company ships. There are a few junkers here and
there, the type that could give you tetanus just by breathing too close to
them; one of them, I'm pretty sure is just the back and front halves of two
ships someone welded together, and is flying purely on luck and a
prayer. But even with the variety of spacecraft on display, I don't see a
single one that looks capable of transporting the massive amounts of raw
material Shepard II takes in daily. This must be the port they use for
private vessels; people traveling who need rest and refueling, or those
visiting family, or people looking to move here for work, while the
corporate speeders belong to some suits looking to make it big with the
Millican Mining Co.

 	I find section nineteen and the lot space I was assigned and start
landing. I turn on a portrait mode on my console to check out how I
look. My eyes and hair streak have taken on a bright blue (perhaps more
vibrant than you'd expect from most humans, but at least it's a more subtle
color than red). As for the rest of me, I don't look bad (I mean, I never
look bad, but usually I rank somewhere between `hotter than the sun' and
`more gorgeous than a god'. Right now I just look pretty damn good). My
hair has got that `one week of bed-head' look to it and my face looks like
I forgot to wipe the sweat off it for the last few hours. Fortunately I
don't have body odor but I think someone could smell the saltiness on me
and surmise I haven't washed in a few days. It's one of the less glamorous
parts of Star Running but also kind of the main feature of gig; just
because you're in a ship most of the time and not moving around, it doesn't
mean you don't accumulate the dirt and grime your body naturally produces
(a lot less kids would have dreams about becoming Runners if all the
space-hero movies they watched showed the pilots coming out of their ships
smelling of a gym locker that only gets hosed down about once a week).

 	"Captain, they are sending two security officers down to our ship
now. They will be arriving in less than two minutes. I advise that you
store the artifact in a discreet location on the ship."

 	I stop checking myself out to ask "Taylor, how do you know how
close the officers are?"

 	"I tuned into the frequency of the security office, their channels
are not that secure, ironically. I can also see them on the ports security
cameras. They are in a small four-seat cart and should be here in
approximately one minute and thirty-five seconds" he answers (oblivious to
how creepy and orwellian this all sounds).

 	I think for a second "are they guys?"

 	"Yes Captain, I cross referenced their faces on the cameras with
the station's employee database. They are both cis-gender males, their
names are-"

 	"Whatever, Taylor. They're guys and that's all the information I
need." I open the cockpit, swing myself out of the seat and stand on the
Etoile's hull. I take out my phone and drop it on my seat. I bend down into
the cockpit, lifting one leg to rest my shin on the hatch frame.

 	"Captain," Taylor's voice echoes out of my ship, "what are you
doing?"

 	"Hey! Not so loud. Talk into the earpiece if you need to say
something" I whisper, glancing over my shoulder to make sure no one heard
him.

 	"-What I'm doing is making sure we get into the station with no
trouble."

 	"You plan to achieve this, by pretending to lose your phone?"

 	I laugh, "No Taylor. By presenting them with the one thing every
guy wants."

 	"What do you-" he consider this for a second "Oh! I
comprehend. But, Captain, you are also giving the officers a clear view of
the bag containing the relic. If they see it, the protocol for most space
port security would require them to investigate."

 	"Taylor... look at me. I'll be shocked if they eve notice the bag."

 	"If you're certain that they will be distracted, then perhaps it
would be prudent to leave the Stardust in the Etoile, so they have no
chance of seeing it," he says.

 	"As nice as that idea sounds, I think I'll just hold on to it. I'm
the one the client hired to carry it" I explain. How dumb does this thing
think I am. The second I leave him alone with it, he'll fly off with my
ship and bring the Stardust to whatever shadowy organization programmed
him.

 	"Captain, the officers are approaching the ship," he says "I can
tune you in to their communication frequency if you like."

  	While I don't trust him, I should try to take advantage of Taylor's
features, at least for now, "patch it through."

 	There's a slight crackle in my ear before I hear a voice mumble in
a light cockney accent, "Command, we've just come up to the lot. Black
Penatrator. Blue accents."

 	"Understood," says a woman, presumably their dispatcher, "be sure
to be very thorough in your search. Space control says the pilot was acting
very suspicious like."( How sweet of that operator to be extra petty and
spiteful just for little old me).

 	"Roger that command. We see the pilot and are approaching. It
looks-looks-" he coughs then swallows "-there is definitely a lot to, um,
look at. We'll be-we'll have to be very thorough in our, um, examination."

 	Taylor cuts off the frequency for a second to say, "I told you,
Captain."

 	When it comes back on, a man with a gruff northern accent chuckles
and says "right. And once we're done with the pilot, we can take a peak at
the ship."

 	"Told you," I whisper. Doesn't matter the age, the species, or the
sexuality, if there's a nice warm place for a man to stick his dick in,
he'll want to stick it in (and I make sure I always have a very nice place
ready for them).

 	Since I have their attention, now's probably the right time to make
introductions. I grab my phone and stand up, making sure every move works
to accentuate my butt. I stretch my arm a bit and glance over my shoulder
at the two officers. The first guy is a bit on the short side, but he's
packing a lot of muscle and even from here I can see some veins poking out
from his gray security uniform. He stands at attention, giving him a bit
more height and his face is just as rigid as his spine but his cheeks are
redder than a smelter and he's sweating so much it looks like he fell in
pool. His partner is a lot taller and not quite so muscled; not to say he
has no meat on his bones, it's just he isn't nearly as jacked as the other
guy. It also doesn't help him that his uniform is a bit baggy. While the
first guy is cropped and clean shaven, the tall guy's face and head are
covered in a coarse brown mess. Out from the fibers of his beard leers a
wet smile that reminds me of a hungry dog (this is going to be too fucking
easy).

 	"Am I under arrest officers?" I ask while leaning back on the
Etoile. The tall guy lets out a knowing chuckle and his partner's face gets
even hotter (I'm not sure if the muscle guy knows what game we're playing,
but he'll catch on soon enough).

 	The muscled officer clears his throat a few times before saying
"we-we are space port security for port five. We, well we need to check you
out."

 	"Believe me, I already am," the tall guy chuckles.

  	The muscled guy coughs in embarrassment and says "Right, well I'm
officer Yun and my partner officer Wright. We will be conducting a routine
search of your ship and your personal effects."

 	I smile coyly and ask "I'm not in trouble, am I?"

 	Yun quickly answers "of course not sir! These are just routine
procedures. We comb your ship for any unauthorized weaponry, check your
cargo for contraband, search your, uh" he gulps "person for anything that
might be dangerous."

 	I shrug "do whatever you need to. I'm all yours officer." I slide
down from the Etoile, raising my arms and then spread my legs for one of
them to pat me down (they're making this so damn easy).

 	The stoic expression on Yun's face falters, showing a hint of shame
mixed with excitement. He coughs again and says "Of-of course, sir. Officer
Wright would you like to, um, pat him down?"

 	Wright's smile curls into a devilish grin, "no, I think I'll check
the ship this time. I'll leave him in your very capable hands, Yun."

 	"Cockpit's open," I say "you can unlock the storage from the
console."

 	Wright strides my ship, giving Yun a quick wink before and a thumbs
up. Yun's serious demeanor falls completely, his mouth splutters out a
barrage of silent `buts' and he starts shuffling backwards. I smirk and
take a step forward.

 	"Well officer, have at it."

 	I slip off the pack with the Stardust and watch patiently while he
steps towards me with trepidation. His hands are trembling so much, it kind
of tickles he begins patting down my under arms. He rushes through checking
my legs, chest, and back. He reaches down to feel my hips but his hands
hover a few inches away (poor guy looks like he's gonna have a panic
attack).

 	He darts his eyes around the hangar, looking for any excuse to stop
himself from continuing with his pat down and unfortunately his eyes land
on my bag with the Stardust, "what's in the bag, sir?"

 	I keep calm and answer "just some mineral samples I'm delivering to
some Lab geeks. But, why worry about that now. I don't think you finished
searching me."

 	Officer Yun attempts to regain his composure and maintain
professionalism, but through his uniform I could see his heart pounding
against his chest. Luckily, this guy is thirty or maybe forty, if he were
anything over a hundred, I might've sent him into cardiac arrest (yes, it
is a true story, and yes, the paramedics arrived in time, and yes, he said
it was the best birthday he ever had).

 	He coughs "No, I believe you look fine- I mean, everything looks
fine. I-I should look at your bag."

 	"Come on officer, you won't find anything interesting," I pull the
zipper on flight suit down to reveal a bit of my chest, "in my bag
anyways."

 	Rather than becoming more flustered, his eyes narrow on the bag and
he asks, "what's in there?"

 	Fuck, I thought his focus was solely on my body (sometimes its hard
to tell when a guy is thinking only with his crotch or if his brain still
has some purchase over his actions). He bends down to pick up the bag,
which is very not good. While Stardust isn't very common and its designs
and constructions vary, you'd still have to be pretty dense to touch the
disc not realize something's up with it. If they bring this to their
superiors for investigation, I'm screwed.

 	He stands up with the bag and thinking quick, I step forward and
push myself into him, sandwiching the bag between our bodies. He looks up
probably ready to strike at me if I try to attack, but he catches a glimpse
of chest which has been gathering sweat over the past two days and gives my
light brown skin a lovely glow. I bring my arm around him, and lightly drag
my fingers across his lower back, and the surprise of my touch makes him to
push himself closer to me. I don't say anything, letting him bask in the
heat of our two bodies pressed together. I can feel his heart pound out
two-hundred bpm drum solo.

 	Confident that he's blindsided by lust, I say "you can look if you
want to, but I'd really prefer if you didn't. The guys who hired me made it
very clear that they'll lose their shit if their science project gets
contaminated. I'd rather save myself the headache, and maybe just put it
through a scanner. I'd be really grateful if you did this one favor, just
for me."

 	While not much is known about Stardust, one thing that's been
established in scientific research is however Starborn make their miracle
machines, they don't use traditional circuitry. Most Stardust is lacking in
wires, motherboards, and other moving parts. So unless they actually
examine it with their own eyes and hands, I can probably pass off the disc
as a random hunk of metal if they scan it. All I need is for this moron to
accept my damn offer already.

 	"But-but-" he stammers.

 	"I really don't feel like budging on this... but for anything else,
I can be quite flexible" for emphasis I lick my top lip and move my hand to
rest right above his crotch.

 	Yun coughs again and says "I appreciate your willingness to, um-um,
cooperate with our procedures, but-but I will still need to search-um,
search the bag myself."

 	I laugh slyly "Do you really need to?"

 	He blinks" Yes...it's routine. I thought I explained that?"

 	For fuck's sake, how's this guy not taking the goddamn hint. The
only way I could make this more clear is to strip down and present my ass
to him. Before I have to seriously consider getting naked in the middle of
the port, Officer Wright comes up from behind and starts dragging me
towards the cart. I snatch the bag from Yun's hands, not wanting to leave
him alone with my payday.

 	Yun stares blankly for a moment before registering what happened,
and cries "Wright, what are you doing, mate?"

 	"Found a few things of interest on that ship of his. Seems like we
need to bring this lad here in for some questioning," he says, the words
dripping out of his wet grin.

 	Yun fumbles with his communicator "I-I'll call it in. Get a proper
search unit on the ship."

 	"Don't bother" Wright laughs, "no need to get them down here for
nothing."

 	Yun runs up behind us, "but didn't you find something illegal? We
have to call it in, especially if it's an explosive or something similarly
dangerous."

 	Wright laughs, letting some saliva fly into the air, "no, nothing
illegal or dangerous. Just a few items of interest that I would like to
know more about."

 	Yun continues to protests "but I still have to check his bag. And
he seems very adamant on me using the scanner rather than looking inside."

 	"Perfect" Wright says, "even more reason to bring him to
interrogation."

 	Wright pushes me into the back seat of the cart and fastens the
seat belt (a tip for any would be Runners: if a cop or other security
personnel straps you into the car, it means they aren't arresting you, but
they don't want you going anywhere. Just go along with them for the time
being, because you don't want to be in cuffs when they pull out the guns to
shoot you in the head). Wright sits in the driver seat, but Yun pulls him
away from the cart and they begin arguing in sharp whispers.

 	"Um, Captain?" Taylor's voice pops into my ear.

 	I turn my face away from the officers and whisper back "What?!"

 	"I do not wish to alarm you Captain, but when the security officer
investigated the ship, he did something rather... concerning."

 	I jump a bit when officer Yun enters a violent hacking fit, his
face turning sharp red. Wright's grin cuts wider across his face as he
whispers to his partner and vaguely motions towards me.

 	"What does `concerning' mean, exactly?" I ask.

 	Taylor explains "Well Captain, if you recall the sex toy you stored
away in the cockpit for this mission, the officer found it and... proceeded
to lick it."

 	I smile "really?"

 	"You do not sound concerned, Captain" Taylor whines.

 	"Why would I be?" I watch officer Wright drag his fellow officer
towards the cart. Wright is drooling while Yun is heaving and wheezing so
violently, I can't tell if his face went completely red from embarrassment
or from a lack of oxygen.

 	I swing my legs on the empty seat next to me, giving myself enough
space to lounge and say "this is going to be even easier than I thought."



Author's Note: So this story is quite late. I never stopped working on it
but, life gets in the way, but hopefully that will change and if not, I
will try my damnedest to work around it. Any ways, as always, you can
contact me at DavidTPatrickccf@aol.com. Please make sure any criticism you
give is constructive and understand that if I write something ignorant or
offensive it is almost guaranteed that's from ignorance and not malice. But
do give criticism, tell me what you like and what you don't, and what you
think can be done better, or if you have any questions feel free to
ask. And if you want to just learn when new stories I post are up, I have a
Bluesky account. @DavidTPatrickccf.bsky.social. Follow me there for updates
on my stories, or if you want to ask me quick questions, or if you just
want to check my extensive list of Bara artists I follow because I'm nerdy
and horny. Follow there and maybe engage with the few things I post on my
account. And as always please consider donating to Nifty and supporting it,
as well as the wonderful writers who really make this a safe place for
sexual expression and exploration.