Fineprint 2: Republic
Chapter 1: Flying the Coop
Caution: This Science Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Mult, Coercion, Consensual, Drunk/Drugged, Heterosexual, Fiction, Science Fiction, Aliens, Space, DomSub, FemaleDom, Light Bond, Group Sex, Oral Sex, Petting, Tit-Fucking, Size, Big Breasts, Public Sex, Violent, Royalty, Politics,
Desc: Science Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 1: Flying the Coop - Set in the Pinwheel universe, Dennis and Ursi travel to Earth, to found their Siberian colony.
The ship left superlight, punching a hole in reality with a spray of technicolor gas as it drifted lazily, its crew struggling to come to their senses as the crippling effects of the dimensional transition wracked their bodies.
The autopilot took control, righting the vessel with small spurts of orange flame from its chemical thrusters, angling the nose towards their destination as it waited for the flesh and blood passengers to recover and provide it with further instructions. Before it, a blue marble hung in the velvet blackness of space, like a misted Christmas tree ornament, swirls of white cloud and brown continents breaking up the oceans.
Dennis spat the clear plastic bit out of his mouth as his harness automatically unfastened, and rose out of his crash couch, hurrying over to where Ursi was strapped down. Without Borealan-sized crash couches, the best solution the crew could find to stop the aliens from hurting themselves or each other during the brief insanity and loss of muscle control that followed a jump, was to strap them to cargo pallets.
Ursi groaned and twisted, the heavy webbing that held her down straining against her powerful limbs. The leather boot they had elected to use as a bit dropped from her mouth, perforated with punctures from her sharp fangs. Dennis knelt and started to unfasten the clasps.
“Dennis,” Ursi groaned, “I hope I will only have to make this journey once.”
“Yeah it was hard on me the first time, too. You never really get used to it, but it does get easier. First FTL jump is always the worst. We’re here now, though.”
The fabric straps fell loose, and Ursi rose to her nine foot height, dusting off her brilliant, white fur and flicking her long, fluffy tail unhappily. She rubbed her bicep, the cramps in her muscles slowly subsiding.
“Dennis you owe me a massage.”
“Later Ursi, now help me set the others loose.”
Around the cargo bay of the survey ship were two dozen more Polar Borealans, some still shuddering as the effects of the jump wore off, others complaining angrily in their native tongue as they struggled against their bonds.
It took them a few minutes to free all of the aliens, and they milled around the hold, muttering complaints and cradling their heads as the lingering migraines slowly faded.
“Carlisle and Queen Ursillik to the bridge please, Carlisle and Ursillik to the bridge.”
The ship’s PA system echoed through the large space, and Dennis took Ursi’s hand, tugging her along after him. She had to crouch in the human-sized corridors of the ship, the UNN Navarin was a survey vessel, built to civilian spec, and it didn’t have the facilities to house Borealans comfortably. The aliens had spent most of their journey in the cargo hold, which was the only space on the ship where they could stand at full height. Not that it had stopped Ursi from visiting Dennis’ room after hours for awkward, close quarters encounters.
It took them a few minutes to reach the bridge at the bow of the vessel, the Navarin was not large by military standards. The jump freighter that Dennis had rode to Borealis was massive in comparison, one of the largest ships that the UNN operated. The automatic doors opened with a rush of air, and they stepped onto the bridge of the ship, not much more than a cockpit for the two pilots, really. The crew had recovered, and were flipping nondescript switches and tapping at touch panels. Ursi stared through the bridge window at the azure ball that floated in space before them.
“Yep, that’s home.” Dennis replied.
“It’s so blue, is that all water?”
“Yes, Earth is about seventy percent water.”
One of the pilots turned his head to greet them, his face obscured by a flight visor. A dull green HUD glowed through the tinted glass.
“Carlisle, we have Moscow on the horn, they want to talk to you.” The pilot said, with a thick Russian accent. Dennis took the headset he was handed, and pulled it over his head.
“Allo, Mister Carlisle? This is the minister of immigration in Moscow, privet!”
“Hello, Minister! It’s good to be back in UNN space, do you have new instructions for us?”
“Da, we have cleared the local traffic over the region in Siberia where you have been requested to put down, please make landfall at the following coordinates, I will transmit them to your flight computer. I look forward to seeing you on the ground soon Carlisle, scastlivogo puti!”
“Thank you Minister, we’re on our way.”
The pilots entered in the new coordinates as Dennis handed back the headset, and he felt the hull begin to vibrate as the main engines flared to life. The Earth began to grow in the viewport, inflating noticeably as the powerful engines drove them closer. Ursi watched in awe, she had never even seen her own homeworld from space before a few days ago, and now her reflective, blue eyes were wide with wonder as the vessel burned towards the shining globe.
“That moon is huge! What is it called?” She exclaimed, pointing to the right of the window at the grey sphere as it peeked out from behind the Earth’s shadow.
“That’s Luna, but mostly we just call it the Moon.”
“I had no idea it would be so large in comparison to your planet!”
“Yep, it’s pretty big relative to Earth. It’s been colonized too.”
“People live on it?”
“There’s no atmosphere and very low gravity, but people live in subsurface lava tubes and in orbiting space stations.”
As they drew closer, orbiting rings and cylinders came into view in high Earth orbit, and Dennis explained to Ursi that they were space stations, much like the Pinwheel, habitats that allowed people to live and work in open space. Giant cargo vessels lazed around them, the slow behemoths loading and unloading supplies and cargo, while military battleships and carriers kept silent vigil.
“UNN traffic control this is Russian Federation survey ship Navarin requesting atmospheric insertion, please advise flight path, over.” The pilot waved them back. “Better return to the cargo bay and hold on to something, inertial dampeners won’t work during reentry.”
“It’s going to get bumpy,” Dennis elaborated, and he led Ursi back through the bridge doors to the hold.
The Navarin’s nose began to glow orange as she hit atmosphere, flames licking up the bridge window and dancing over her stubby wings as the pilots angled her down. The hull felt like it might shake apart, but as they cleared the cloud layer and began to slow, the shaking diminished and the trail of fire behind the ship dissipated. As they lost altitude, an endless expanse of white snow came up to greet them, dotted with patches of coniferous forest and towering mountains in the distance.
The ship came to a hover, the snow melting under her thrusters as the pilots lowered her towards the ground. The massive landing gear absorbed the impact, rocking in their housing as the weight of the vessel came to rest on them. The ship might be small by spacefaring standards, but the Navarin was still a good three hundred meters from nose to engines. After a moment the massive cargo bay ramp began to lower, sinking into the crisp snow, and two dozen Borealans flooded out of the ship. They tested the fresh snow with their furry feet, finding it to their liking, and bounded free, jumping and frolicking, stretching their legs after days of being cooped up on the ship.
Ursi and Dennis followed them down the ramp, and Ursi stretched her arms out as high as they could go, breathing in lungfuls of the fresh, cool Siberian air. She looked around her, taking in the landscape. They were on a plain of white snow, in the distance they could see winter forests, and snowy mountains, a few blades of grass protruded through the frost under their feet.
“It’s so fertile, and balmy,” she commented. If this was balmy to the Polar Borealans, Dennis hated to think what it must be like in the polar region they had been confined to. He wrapped his arms around himself, shivering as he breathed out clouds of vapor.
Ursi jumped straight up, per powerful legs sending her almost twice her own height into the air, she fell heavily in the snow, her impressive breasts bouncing as they settled, barely contained by her sparse clothing.
“Dennis! I’m so light here!”
“You weigh about thirty percent less here than you did on Borealis.”
“I feel so weightless, as if I had been wearing leaden clothes all my life and I had just taken them off for the first time.”
She jumped again, this time angled forward, and cleared about ten feet before landing in the snow, picking up a handful in her furry fingers and sifting through it.
“There are plants under here, it’s fertile. More fertile than any land in the polar territory.”
She threw the snow into the air over her head, and watched the falling flakes as they glistened in the sun. She jogged experimentally, striding through the snow as if in slow motion. The other Borealans ran and jumped around her, exploring their new environment with a curiosity and fervor that reminded Dennis of kittens released from their cage into a new room of the house.
Dennis heard the sound of engines, and looked to the clear, blue sky to see a shuttle approaching them. It circled around, banking as it chose a landing spot, then touched down in VTOL mode a short distance away from the Navarin. Ursi returned to his side, bounding and steadying herself as she landed, not yet accustomed to the change in her weight. The other Borealans turned to watch as the landing ramp lowered and three men stepped out.
They marched through the snow, wearing long, grey coats and the traditional furry ushanka hats, emblazoned with metal badges sporting the Federation logo. Two were obviously soldiers, though they were not conspicuously armed, and the third came to a halt before Dennis, extending a hand clad in a black leather glove. Dennis grasped it, and they shook, the man smiled warmly from beneath his hat, his nose and cheeks discolored pink in the chill air.
“Mister Carlisle! Zdravstvujte! Welcome to Russia!” He looked over to Ursi, craning his neck to see her face, his eyes widened for a moment before he composed himself, extending his hand to her in turn. “You must be Queen Ursillik, welcome, welcome. I hope your first light speed jump was not too harsh.”
She took it gently in her massive, furry palm, and shook. The man grinned widely, excited by the novelty.
“I have recovered, thank you.” Ursi replied.
“My name is Alexei Petrov, I am the minister of immigration, we have spoken much by email. I am so excited to finally meet you both. I flew in from Moscow to greet you, I hope the land we have selected for your colony is to your liking, Queen Ursillik.”
“It is better than I could have hoped. You do my people a great service, Minister, and I will not soon forget your kindness and willingness to help us.”
He beamed, and gestured to the landscape.
“This region of Siberia is known as the ‘taiga’, vast forests, low temperatures all year round, as much lumber as you could possibly need. We can bring you anything you cannot build yourselves, electric generators, solar panels, industrial machinery, medicine, you have only to make the request.”
Ursi nodded her approval.
“As of today this land belongs to you, Queen Ursillik. You have been given permission to found an independent Borealan republic on Federation soil, the twenty-third republic of its kind to date. You are permitted to have your own language, and to govern yourselves as you see fit. The only thing we require of you is a federal representative.” He looked to Dennis, his hands on his hips. “Judging by Mister Carlisle’s background in politics, I think he will make an excellent candidate.”
Ursi barked orders to the other Borealans in their native dialect, and they filed back into the Navarin, emerging carrying crates and boxes.
“Better start unloading, we have much to do.” Ursi commented. “I want a longhouse set up as soon as possible, we must gather lumber. I am pleased, the low gravity here makes everything so much easier, I could carry a whole tree by myself.”
Petrov and his guards watched the aliens as they marched through the snow, stacking the crates and beginning to unload some of the cargo. Ursi walked over to join them, directing her people and giving orders.
“A historic moment, Mister Carlisle.”
Dennis turned to face Petrov as he buried his gloved hands in his deep pockets.
“The first alien colony on Earth, the Russian Federation has set a precedent that will endure through history. The President is very pleased by this, it sends a message to the other members of the United Nations that Russia is becoming an interstellar power, not just a regional power on this planet. We are cooperating with aliens and the UNN, branching out, colonizing other planets, and now we have the world’s first alien population living alongside humans.”
“When the UN said they wouldn’t take the Polars, I thought that was it,” Dennis replied. “The fact that your office took notice was a godsend. You probably don’t appreciate the good you’ve done these people. They were practically prisoners back on Borealis, inhabiting territory that was borderline unlivable and too adapted to the cold to migrate elsewhere.” They watched one of the Borealis lift a massive crate above its head one-handed, its compatriots laughing at it played with the load in the low gravity. “They’re going to need low-G meds, like the kind the Martians use, were you able to secure shipments?”
“Da, won’t be a problem. The Martians are happy to export more supplies, and we have a sizable stock already planetside for our Lunar personnel.”
“Excellent. Borealan body chemistry seems very similar to ours, there shouldn’t be any issues.”
“I wanted to ask you, Carlisle, the President is very curious about the military applications of having a Borealan population on Russian soil. These, uh, how you say...” He struggled with the words for a moment. “These ‘Mad Cats’, their reputation precedes them. We hear stories from the front, and reports from our personnel stationed near combat zones, they say one Borealan is the equal of ten men. Do you think that Queen Ursillik will be willing to provide us with troops when her colony is established?”
Dennis considered, looking over to Ursi, her pristine, white fur spotted with black marks like a snow leopard, already playing tricks on his eyes against the white background
“I spent a lot of time with Borealans, of both varieties. I have not known the Polars to be as aggressive as the Equatorials, but in some ways that might actually make them better soldiers. They seem to get along more easily with humans for a start, and they’re less likely to fly off the handle.”
He rubbed his hands together, trying to drive off the cold.
“I have ... personal experience with Queen Ursillik, and I can tell you that she doesn’t forget the people who do favors for her. I’m pretty confident in saying that if you ask her for something, and it is within her power to give it to you, she’ll do so.”
“That I am glad to hear, Mister Carlisle. I do not want you to think we have an ulterior motive for reaching out to you, we were genuinely surprised by the UN’s offhand dismissal of your plea for asylum. Granted, it may have been somewhat of a publicity stunt, this I admit, but in the end we both get what we want, Da?”
Dennis nodded, and Petrov continued.
“I have instructed the Navarin to remain here for as long as you need her, she will provide you with shelter until your friends construct their dwellings, and you may continue to deplete the food stores, it is of no consequence. Use her communications systems to contact me should you require anything, building materials, more food, clothing, the Russian government is committed to making this project a success.”
He shook Dennis’ hand again, then turned to leave. He walked a short distance back to his shuttle, flanked by the guards, then paused, turning back.
“Oh, and Mister Carlisle. There are bears in these woods. It is probably of little concern to your friends, but I thought it might be prudent to tell you.”
He continued on, and Dennis watched the shuttle rise into the air and shoot off into the distance, becoming a small speck on the horizon as it made its way back to the capital city. He walked over to where Ursi was directing the unpacking. One of the Borealans broke open a wooden crate, and a dozen massive, oversized axes spilled out, sinking into the snow. They picked them up, hefting the massive blades, and a small procession of Borealans started making their way towards the treeline in the distance.
“It shouldn’t take them more than a few hours to gather enough logs, then we can get a longhouse set up, it will be the first Borealan structure ever built in our new republic, and a cultural center for the village that I will build around it.” She ran her fingers through Dennis’ hair, scratching his scalp with her dull claws. The familiar sensation sent a pleasant shiver down his spine. “This is all thanks to you, Dennis. If you hadn’t turned up on Borealis where and when you did, right now I’d be confined to my dwelling at the pole, no closer to finding a solution to my problem.”
“Well, I aim to please...”
Over the next day the Borealans chopped down innumerable trees with their axes, by nightfall they had an enormous stack of massive, heavy logs, transported easily from the nearest forest a short distance away, thanks to the low gravity. Dennis was not able to provide much support, and contented himself with staying inside the Navarin, sheltered from the cold as he watched the aliens work through a porthole in his cabin. Ursi did not return to him that night, the Borealans slept in the cargo hold, piled on top of one another like lions.
The following morning Dennis awoke to the Borealans pulling logs from the pile, and using their axes to split the bark and strip it from the trunks. They stacked the naked logs in a new pile, and buried the bark in the snow, being sure to mark its location with a stick. This was something he could help with, and so he pulled on his boots and exited via the landing ramp to see if he could lend a hand. Dennis took one of the axes, large and heavy by his standards, and imitated the Borealans, splitting the bark down the trunk and trying to remove it as a single, intact piece. Under Ursi’s supervision he was able to make a meager contribution, but the far stronger and more experienced aliens outpaced him easily.
When all of the logs were cleaned of their bark, the Borealans broke open another one of the large crates they had carried from the ship, hefting massive shovels, and began to clear the snow in a rough rectangle. The sky was clear, and no fresh snow had fallen since they had arrived, so it seemed as good a time as any. It didn’t take them long to expose the frozen earth beneath, the occasional straggly plant clinging to life under the frost. Ursi directed them, pointing and gesturing, mapping out the structure in her head. By the time they had finished, there was a rectangle of exposed soil about four hundred feet long. Dennis marveled, would the structure really be so large?
As if to answer his question, Ursi began to walk around the site, placing wooden stakes in the earth that they had fashioned from some of the thicker branches.
“What are you doing?” Dennis asked, sitting on the pile of logs a short distance away to get a better view of the activities, the cold wind tugging at his hair.
“I’m mapping out where the supports will be placed.”
It took Ursi about an hour to be happy with their placement, then she barked orders to the Borealans, and gestured that Dennis should descend from the log pile. He hopped down and trudged through the snow, standing at her side as the aliens selected logs based on some criteria unknown to him. They began to sharpen one end of each trunk with the steel blades of their axes, until they had dozens of logs ready to plant in the ground. Each log was maybe fifteen feet tall, and it took a couple of Borealans to carry them and steady them over the spots that had been marked out, despite their inhuman strength. They used stakes and the blades of their shovels to loosen the frozen soil, planting the logs as deep as they would go, burying a good three feet of each log and packing the earth around it.
It took a few hours, but eventually they had the supports for a frame, and the skeleton of the longhouse was beginning to take shape. Ursi walked through the forest of naked trees, pushing against the supports with all of her weight to ensure that they were properly planted.
“The gravity here makes this so much easier, this structure will stand for longer than it would have on the homeworld,” she commented. “This lumber is good, the grain of the wood is straight.”
“I can’t believe how big you want it to be,” Dennis said, walking through the construction site, running his hands over the smooth logs.
“We must all live in it, until such a time as we can construct our individual dwellings. That will take far longer, and I leave it up to the families and packs to supervise the work. When the initial village has been completed and everyone here has sorted out their living arrangements, we can begin to ship in more of my people. They will live in the longhouse until they have finished construction of their own dwellings, and so on and so forth. In time there will be a sprawling town in this spot, and we can begin to improve the infrastructure and bring modern amenities to the inhabitants.”
“You really have this all thought out, don’t you?”
“I wouldn’t have agreed to come here if I didn’t, Dennis. It might seem primitive to you humans, to build a wooden structure in an ancient style when there is a starship not a hundred feet away. The Russian government has offered to send us modern building materials, and I’m sure pre-fabricated structures, but there is wisdom in living off the land, in being self-sufficient. I want my town to be a Borealan town, built by Borealan hands, not merely a human town in which Borealans happen to live. I need to give my people a personal, intimate connection with this land.”
It occurred to Dennis that Ursi might be smarter than him, she was so forward thinking, was that a quality of all Polars, or was it the personality trait that had allowed her to remain the leader of her territory for so long?
“Forgive me Dennis, but I must get back to work, there is much to do.”
He nodded, and she walked over to the waiting Borealans, giving them instructions in their yowling, hissing language.
One group retrieved more logs from the pile, lying them along the ground between the supports, measuring their length, clearly intending to use them as beams to support the roof that would eventually lie on top of the structure. The other group broke open yet another large, wooden crate, this one contained a truly enormous, cast iron cauldron, or perhaps a cooking pot. It took three of them to carry it, and they cleared a space in the snow with shovels, dropping it heavily to the ground on extended feet that lifted it almost a foot off the floor. Some of them began to chop firewood from the pile they had stacked, splitting the wood with their axes, and others began to shovel snow into the cauldron.
After a few minutes the cauldron was full to the brim with snow, and the aliens had stacked firewood beneath it, which they were trying to light with kindling and some kind of blowtorch. They were obviously trying to melt the snow, but for what purpose? They didn’t have anything to cook yet, all of their food came from the Navarin and was pre-packaged.
They got the fire going, the orange flames licking lazily at the underside of the cauldron as they blew on it, nursing the tentative glow until it became a roaring blaze. As the snow within rapidly melted, they piled in more.
When the cauldron was full of boiling, steaming water, they walked over to where they had buried the flexible bark, digging it out of the snow and carrying it back in stacks. They split it into long strips, and dropped it into the water. Before long all of the bark was being boiled in the giant pot. All but one alien dispersed, he stayed behind to stir the water with a long branch, and kept the fire hot as the rest retreated back to the Navarin to find food. Ursi and the other group who had been responsible for selecting logs for the beams joined them, and Dennis scurried along after them.
The group ate in the cargo bay, passing the dried, packaged food between them. Dennis was sympathetic, Borealans were avid eaters, and their food culture was extensive and deeply rooted in tradition, it must be jarring for them to have to subsist on rations. The pastes and dehydrated meats were palatable to humans, barely, but the Borealans enjoyed greasy, wet meats dripping with fat, their palate favoring oils and textures. There were wild deer, moose and sheep to be found in the Siberian wilderness, but the group would have to become established before they could send out hunting parties to gather fresh food. Dennis chewed on some jerked beef, idly wondering how long the project would take. Over the last two days they had been so busy, and although he acknowledged that it was selfish, he was beginning to miss his more intimate moments with Ursi, they had been joined at the hip since meeting on Borealis, spending every moment together. He looked over to her, she was engaged in heated discussion with the group, going over plans perhaps.