Written by Dumano1r :: [Tuesday, 19 December 2017 10:07] Last updated by :: [Tuesday, 19 December 2017 11:17]
Deck sergeant Kormack flicked his way through the cargo manifest on his tablet as another pallet of tinned food rolled past on a cargo forklift. Kormack generally thought of himself as a relaxed individual, but today he was extremely irritated.
Most of the crew were enjoying the brief respite of company, but Kormack was stuck with the important task of overseeing the transfer of supplies. Such routine tasks were obviously beneath Brennan, and Jones was hosting the officers from the Glyndwr, which should have left third lieutenant Chan in charge of logistics. But Chan had sloped his shoulders, gone off drinking and left Kormack in charge.
Kormack took another bite from the large sandwich he had been steadily working his way through. Why was he so hungry?
Rowe checked her reflection in the mirror. She had followed Clarke's suggestion and dressed as plainly as she could to conceal her developing body, but even so she looked better than she ever had.
Her newly vibrant hair was tied back severely in a ponytail and largely hidden beneath a plain grey baseball cap. A pair of thick rimmed reading glasses helped to hide her sparkling green eyes. She had found her baggiest sweatshirt, which was stretched tight across her expanding, firm breasts, but at least was baggy enough beneath to hide her toned waist. Baggy cargo trousers and a battered old pair of trainers hid her shapely posterior and elegant legs. But even with all of her efforts, she still looked good.
There was a knock at the door. “Hello?” she said cautiously.
“Jasmine! It's Grace, let me in.”
Rowe stood up and opened the door. Clarke slipped inside quickly and Rowe shut the door behind her. She smiled at Rowe. “What do you think?” she asked.
Rowe stared at her friend in amazement. “You look really good,” she said.
Which was true. Clarke had changed into a small red dress, cut low across the chest to show off a plummeting cleavage and cut high across the thighs to show off shapely legs. Clarke had let her hair down, put on make-up, splashed on perfume and done all she could to make herself stand out. She smiled at Rowe, “We want them looking at me and not you, right?”
“I think you'll pull that off okay!” Rowe said with a grin. “You really do look hot in that dress.”
“I know a few tricks! A padded bra and some big knickers help.” She did a little twirl and giggled. Rowe felt her nipples hardening against the rough fabric of her top.
It was Clarke's turn to survey Rowe. She ran her eyes up and down Rowe's body thoughtfully. “You still look good, but you're hiding it well. So long as we don't actually run into Brennan you should be fine.”
“Brennan will probably be busy with the other captain,” Rowe said simply.
Clarke laughed, “That's true!” She checked her reflection in Rowe's mirror and smiled, pleased at what she saw. “Right, we’ll go along deck four to the communication tunnel. Deck four is normally quietest. Once we're on the Glyndwr we head for the mess, I'll try to keep everyone distracted whilst you grab as much food as you can.”
Rowe looked at Clarke, her plump friend who had successfully made herself look ravishing, and was overwhelmed with gratitude. Clarke was taking a massive risk to help her, one that could easily end with Brennan killing them both. “How am I ever going to repay you for all this, Grace?” she asked.
Clarke smiled, leaned forward and kissed Rowe firmly on the lips. For a brief moment their tongues met and Rowe felt it like an electric shock. “I'm sure you'll think of a way,” Clarke whispered with a smile.
Deep in Rowe's brain the nano-controller reacted to the kiss, instantly dispatching nanobots on a new mission. Acquire secondary host.
Brennan sat at the desk in her quarters, reading through the reports and watching footage from the rebellion in the Barnard's Star system. She was dressed in a purple silk bra and panties that Dupont had brought her as a present. Dupont, still naked,was sitting on the edge of what remained of the bed, playing a video game on the huge screen that dropped down from her ceiling. Brennan ignored his occasional outbursts whilst she read through report after report, her enhanced eyes allowing her to read in seconds what would take a human minutes.
The rebellion had started because of a tax dispute. Superiors in the system, led by the Krupps family, had lobbied for some time against the taxes they were paying to maintain a substantial garrison in a now well established colony. The Barnard's Star system was a great success, the second most populous after the solar system, a colony that had become increasingly resentful of what was seen as interference from Earth.
The rebellion had spread quickly. The humans in the system for the most part supported their local superiors and those that didn't were quickly slaughtered. There was footage of a superior tearing through a crowd of protesters with breathtaking ease.
The military garrison surrendered after a brief one sided fight. Again there was footage of superiors massacring human soldiers. In one video, Brennan recognised Heidi Krupp, her fantastic tits barely restrained by a pink crop top, using a huge laser cannon the size of a car to blast away at some unseen target. She had evidently been working out, as her amazing body looked more toned and powerful than ever. Just the sight of her was getting Brennan wet.
Then there was footage of a naked assassin, loyal to the rebels, smashing a tank apart with her naked fists, before hurling the twisted remains at a distant bunker with incredible force. Brennan slipped her hand inside her panties and began to play with herself.
But the next article and photo made her pause.
It showed a superior male in what remained of his general’s uniform lying face up on blood spattered concrete. Half of his face was missing.
The articles, reports, footage and accounts got darker after that. A task force had been despatched from Earth and an enormous battle had taken place in orbit above the third planet of the system, known as Elodia.
Amongst all the slaughtered humans were a worrying number of dead superiors, on both sides. One video showed a warship exploding as an assassin ripped it's hull apart, only for her to be blasted apart by an energy beam from an ion cannon. A photo showed the human crew of a heavy laser standing proudly over the magnificently curvaceous corpse of a superior female. Another showed two superiors lying dead together, hands wrapped around each other's throats. The more Brennan saw the sicker she felt.
Dupont rose from the bed and walked over to her as she perused the next article, about an assassin killed when her starfighter was hit by a large piece of burning debris. Dupont stood behind her and looked over her shoulder as she moved on to a depressing report about a superior killed whilst trying to escape from the star system.
Dupont placed his hands on her slender waist, then drew them upwards, slipping them beneath the silk of her bra. His powerful hands were squeezing hard on her massive, unyielding breasts. She moved on to another video, this one showing two superiors fighting one another, blasting away with gattling cannon, moving almost faster than the camera could capture.
“Aren't you bored of all this stuff yet?” Dupont asked, squeezing her breasts harder. She could feel his colossal member pressing against her spine.
“It's very important,” she said, ignoring his powerful touch. She felt her nipples hardening against his fingers, goose bumps rising involuntarily at his caress.
“Can't we just get back to fucking? Who cares what's going on light years away?”
Brennan stood up suddenly, turning to face Dupont in one sharp movement. “You want to get fucked?” she whispered sultrily. She placed her hands gently on his massive chest, leaning forward slightly so that the silk of her bra was grazing his skin.
“Oh yeah!” he said with an arrogant grin.
She pushed him hard, the titanic strength in her slender arms catapulting him backwards onto what remained of the bed. She strode purposefully toward him, hands on her swaying hips. “Ready?” she asked.
“Oh yeah!” he gasped from his prone position on the bed.
She grinned, slipping one hand behind her back to release the clasp of her bra, which fell softly to the floor. Her breasts barely moved. She leaned forward, sliding her magnificent body up his legs, letting her tongue linger on the tip of his cock before it slipped inside her chasmic cleavage. She squeezed it hard between her breasts, not even using her hands, allowing her tremendous pectorals to squeeze her mammaries hard against his throbbing member.
She straddled him, allowing him deep inside her sodden quim, whilst her hands rested lightly on chest. Slowly she slid down him, deeper and deeper, until he was entirely inside her. She rose then, slowly, with a soft gasp, before thrusting herself back upon him. He was grinning like an idiot as she steadily picked up the pace, gradually moving faster and faster, harder and harder. Her thighs were tighter against his chest as her thrusts became more and more powerful.
Dupont's moans of pleasure were beginning to subside. “Charlotte, slow down!” he gasped.
Brennan ignored him, squeezing harder with her thighs and increasing the pace and power of her movement, so that her super hard body was slamming down upon Dupont's hips and member with incredible force. She let out a roar of pleasure as she came, a deep orgasm rocking her body with incredible force. Dupont's gasps of pleasure were quickly becoming sobs of pain.
“Charlotte! You're hurting me!” he gasped.
“You wanted to get fucked!” Brennan cackled deeply, gyrating her hips with stupefying force. Her hands were on her own titanic breasts now, kneading her flesh with force far greater than Dupont's feeble efforts. “Oh, yes! Yes! Yes!” she cried, tossing her hair about as a second orgasm tore through her. She rode him still harder, treating him as a colossal dildo with a human shaped appendage for her own delight.
Finally, Dupont could take no more. Brennan felt the hardness drop away deep inside her. She slowed her rhythm as his rigidity subsided, though she increased the pressure from her thighs, smiling to herself as his face began turning purple as he struggled to breathe. “Please …” he managed to whimper.
Brennan stopped her thrusts and looked down upon him, a condescending sneer etched across her beautiful face. “That's what it feels like to get fucked, Jules! That is what superiors are doing to each other in Barnard's Star.” She slapped him firmly across the face. If he'd been human the blow would have smashed his head apart, but to Dupont it was just a firm reminder of her superior strength. “Don't ever tell me what is important again, you fucking prick! Superiors have to work together, or it all goes to shit. Never forget that and never underestimate it either!”
She stood up, turning her back on him to sway seductively back to the computer and the reports she had been reading. “Go back to your ship and make sure the supply transfer is being sorted properly. Remember what I have just taught you.”
She didn't look up from the news report she was watching as she heard him slip out of her quarters.
Clarke and Rowe boarded the Glyndwr via an access gantry that was nearly deserted. Most crew members of both vessels were by now gathered in the main mess hall of the Magellan. A lone sentry stood at the gantry, and he nodded them aboard, his eyes lingering on Clarke's exposed flesh more than Rowe's concealed assets. “So far so good,” said Clarke cheerfully.
The interior of the Glyndwr was almost indistinguishable from that of the Magellan. Corridors painted in standard military pale grey stretched off in most directions, with stencilled signage indicating directions to key facilities. Rowe and Clarke headed for the secondary mess hall on the assumption it would be quieter.
They were absolutely correct. The hall was empty of people except for a bored looking chef in a grubby apron. A basic range of fried breakfast items were arrayed in front of him, separated from his customers by a glass screen. There were about forty tables in the hall, all empty and clean, clearly not used for some time.
Clarke sauntered over to the chef. “Hey there!” she said brightly.
“Hello,” he said, his eyes traveling over Clarke and coming to rest upon her exposed cleavage.
“We've just come from the Magellan’s mess hall. It's a big party over there. Are you going?”
“Not until my shift finishes,” he muttered grumpily.
“That's too bad,” said Clarke, placing her hands on her hips. “You look like you know how to party …”
Whilst Clarke flirted with the chef, Rowe casually walked towards two doors, one labelled “restroom" and the other “staff only.” Rowe glanced over her shoulder at the chef, who was busily flirting with Clarke, then opened the canteen staff door and quickly darted inside.
The kitchen area inside was typical of such kitchens everywhere. Stainless steel surfaces followed the walls in all directions, punctuated by deep sinks and large washing units. Knives with different coloured handles sat in blocks beside chopping boards in a similar array of colours. Substantial pans sat upon large, still hobs. In the corner of the room was a large metal door with a substantial, faded plastic handle. Refrigerated storage. Rowe gave the handle a firm pull. It was unlocked.
Inside the refrigerator were shelves of food. Meats, dairy, fruit, vegetables, processed food and unprocessed food. Rowe eyes it all wolfishly. She grabbed a packet of ham, tore open the plastic packaging and began to eat.
Professor Kalinoska looked at the detailed analysis report on the nanobots. Their chemical composition was not extraordinary, which meant that she would need to look even more closely. She studied one of them carefully beneath a microscope, zooming closer and closer until she was able to see the tiny microchip housed beneath the creature's belly. “Computer, would it be possible to extract the microchip from this specimen for detailed analysis?” She asked.
“Extraction of the microchip from this specimen would only be possible with a microscopic processing unit with a calibration above 5000 microns,” the computer said calmly.
Kalinoska sighed and leaned back in her chair, rubbing the bridge of her nose wearily between her thumb and forefinger. The nearest lab with a processing unit that powerful was probably on Mars. She took a bite from her sandwich and thought about her options.
Giving a nanobot specimen to a superior controlled lab was unlikely to see scientific interests prioritised. More likely they would destroy the sample as a threat to their own interests. Kalinoska sat down and looked at the nanobots projected on the screen thoughtfully. She went to take another bite of her sandwich, but was surprised to find she'd already eaten it.
She made her way over to a vending machine, wondering at her own hunger and worrying that it was slowing her thinking. There had to be another way to get that microchip.
She selected a large chocolate bar and it fell from the machine with a loud clunk. She unwrapped it and ate it quickly, tossing the wrapper in the trash when she had finished. She was about to return to her desk when she paused and looked at the crumpled and discarded wrapper in the bin. Outer packaging.
She rushed back to her desk. “Computer, would it be possible to destroy all components of the nanobot whilst leaving the microchip intact?”
“Could it be done with the ship's microprocessing unit? How long would it take?”
“The process could be completed and would take approximately thirty-nine hours and eleven minutes,” the computer stated calmly.
“Do it!” Kalinoska whispered, breathless with excitement.
Jules Dupont was fuming as he crossed the transport bridge back onto the Glyndwr. Brennan had humiliated him, hurt him, and shown him how much stronger than him she was. He stomped along a corridor, his massive muscles tensed, looking for a human to take his anger out on.
But his ship was nearly deserted. Most of his crew were on the Magellan and Brennan had ordered him off her vessel. He punched a door hard, but was scarcely satisfied with the sizeable dent he left in the hardened steel. He wanted blood.
Then he heard voices. Two voices, a male and a female, talking, laughing. The laughter drove his rage further, as though they knew what Brennan had done to him. He sped towards the noise, bursting suddenly into the ship's secondary mess hall.
The large space was deserted, except for a human female and a cook. He eyed the female hungrily. She was dressed scantily, her soft, flabby breasts largely exposed, her imperfect legs largely bare. He felt his colossal member hardening at the sight of her and for a moment he was tempted to literally fuck her to death, but then he realised with annoyance that she was wearing a Magellan crew badge. Ordinarily, he wouldn't have worried about such a technicality, but with Brennan in a temper it was better that he take his anger out elsewhere.
Which left the cook.
Clarke and the cook looked round as Dupont burst into the room, his massive body framed in the doorway. He looked at them both, his eyes lit with rage and lust upon Clarke, then just rage upon the cook. Dupont stamped towards them. “A bacon sandwich, now!” He roared.
The cook was trembling as he tried to scrape the butter onto a slice of bread. Dupont towered over him, his meaty hands gripping the counter so hard that the metal was beginning to bend. Clarke instinctively began to edge away. “Faster!” Dupont roared.
The terrified cook placed three slices of bacon upon the bread. Dupont glowered at him. “I'm not a puny human! More!”
Slice after slice of bacon was piled upon the bread. “Do you want sauce, sir?” the cook managed to stammer.
“Of course, you idiot!”
The cook squirted a generous amount of red sauce onto the bacon, then closed the sandwich with a final slice of bread. He placed it onto a plate and handed it to Dupont, who snatched the sandwich and took a huge bite. He chewed it thoughtfully for a second, then spat it out in disgust. “This is shit!” He roared. His grip on the counter tightening so that the metal squealed beneath his mighty fingers.
“I'm s-s-sorry, sir …” the chef managed, but by then it was too late.
With a hard grunt, Dupont ripped the whole counter free from its fittings, raised it above his head, then slammed it down hard onto the unfortunate cook. “Learn to cook,” Dupont spat at the chef's crushed remains. Then he turned and strode out.
Clarke had watched it all in horror, helpless. Her heart was pounding against her ribcage as she crept round the counter and knelt in the expanding pool of blood beneath the chef. She didn't need to check his pulse to know he was dead.
She stood up, scared and trembling, the haunting images of Dupont's fury playing again and again in her mind. She closed her eyes and breathed slowly. When she opened them again she was even more horrified to see that the blood spattered sandwich was in her grasp, and that she had already taken several large bites from it.