Chapter 2

From the orbit of Pluto, the SOL system was deathly quiet.

Captain John Tangent sat back in his command chair – and despite the two weeks of cruising through the third tier of the Space Opera Field that made it possible for humanity and her allies to break the bonds of light speed travel – still felt as if this command position was surreal. He had been in a similar chair many times during his time in the academy, beside his friends ... but it had always been simulated by the battlecomputer. The fact that the very same battlecomputer from Zeta Colony now sat in the bowels of his ship, ready to assist his crew with lightning precision, didn’t exactly comfort him. Not considering how many times that collection of electrodes and quantum toggles had blasted him and his friends into virtualized space dust.

He kept whatever nerves he felt locked deep in his mind. His crew had to see he was confident. Hell, the universe had to see he was confident. He turned in his seat to face the science console where Lt. Sheyshan sat, her headset perched onto her head. Her elfin ears were concealed by the bulky set, and her fingers played along the controls, while beside her, Dr. Darling stood, her arms shelving her impressive chrome bust as she peered down at the systems.

“Anything?” John asked.

“Nothing, sir,” Shey said, her voice quiet. “Not even beacons.”

“We might be missing tight-beam traffic. Or, hell, it’s been twenty years. For all we know, Earth’s upgraded to something better than SOFR,” Albert said.

“Maybe,” John said. “Keep our scopes warm and our turrets online. Bring the Excalibur in at tier two.”

The ship cruised forward – and John wondered what it’d look like to any veteran of the Zemturga War. His ship was the hull of a Luciferian battleship (or at least, that was what the archaeology team thought it might have been, considering its size and strength) meaning that the hull armor and superstructure of his ship was ten thousand years more advanced than anyone else in the galaxy. But the internal components and the systems that they had filled the ship with were only what Zeta Colony’s scientists had on hand: The old, gutted remains of the UNN Cataphract. This meant most of the Excalibur was actually empty space: Hull wrapped around slots for future components. What few components it had were the sensors, crew compartment, weapon systems, thrust modules and fighter bays of a Khan class escort carrier, with a few extra rooms added in by the science staff holding research bays and medical wards.

John hoped that didn’t make the Excalibur a paper tiger.

Tier two of the Space Opera field kept physics relatively intact – enough that the basic fundamentals of reality didn’t start to break down. But it did make things more convenient. That included intrasystem travel time. It took significantly less reaction mass and significantly less time for the ship to reach cruising speed, and meant that they would arrive at Earth in only a few days. The crew shifted through several duty cycles, while John made sure to show himself on the bridge relatively often. Off the bridge, he kept up his physical exercise, read through the manuals, and kept abreast of every iota of information gleaned from the sensors as they got closer and closer to the homeworld of humanity.

Every hour made the mood aboard the Excalibur more grim.

“We’ve tabulated everything and it’s clear that Earth has almost no orbital infrastructure left,” Shey said as, several hours before they’d break to tier one, the bridge crew met in the conference room adjoining to the bridge. “We’ve detected only one starbase and it appears to be primarily a manufacturing center rather than anything administrative or defensive. The planetary surface, meanwhile, is even stranger.”

“It’s not a burned out atomic hellscape, right?” Trianna asked.

“No, worse,” Shey said. “It’s utterly untouched ... and completely lacking in any EM broadcasting. It’s like the entire human species reverted to a pre-atomic technology level. Pre-industrial, even.”

“Well, that will make the Gaian Collapse alarmists happy,” Eugene said, dryly.

“How about population figures?” John asked.

Shey glanced at Dr. Darling, who reached up to adjust the corrective lenses she wore. Her breathy voice was grim. “While hard to determine at this range while in tier two, I can guess that the Earth’s population has fallen by roughly ninety five percent. Maybe more.”

Albert hissed. Trianna rubbed her palms against her face. Eugene nodded.

John frowned. “All right. It looks like whatever happened, it wasn’t good. When we emerge from tier two, I want the entire ship’s weapon grid online and shield emitters warmed up. Trianna, if you see anything that even looks like a Zemturga ship, you blast it.”

“Aye, sir,” Trianna said.

“Chief Kyleen,” John said, turning to his chief engineer. Katria Kyleen was a member of the Yip-Paw-Lob – specifically, she was a Paw, despite being born to Yip parents. That was apparently a bit of a social stigma in the tripartite species, but if she resented being chucked off to the edge of the galaxy by her concerned extended family, Kyleen expressed it all by being fascinated with technology and utterly unconcerned with tact and politicking. Which was either the least or most rational response to that kind of institutionalized bigotry, John wasn’t sure which. She was currently fiddling with a piece of one of the connective regulators for the ship’s power system. Her bright, slitted green eyes flicked up and her ears twitched in curious eagerness.

“Yes?” she asked. “Oh, is the meeting done?”

“Almost,” John said. “How’s the Luciferian systems playing with our UNN stuff?”

“Oh, better than fine,” Kyleen said, stretching, her cat-tail twitching behind her. “The underlying structure of the power grid ... er...” Seeing his expression, she considered, then said: “It’s like a frungie player after three lops on the emgat, you know?”

John chuckled, glad she could explain the complexities of her engineering vocation with such an easy, down to earth metaphor. “Got it,” he said. “Then keep her flying.”

“Technically, we mostly spend our time falling,” Kyleen said, then sprang up and off her chair in that particularly Pawish way of her by curling up then springing backwards over the chair, flipping three times, and landing on her bare feet. She walked off, tail swishing, as the rest of the crew got up and John stood.

Dr. Darling stepped close to him, her voice growing grave. “Be ready for the worst, Captain Tangent.”

John gave her a gentle smile. Before he could say anything, though, a shrieking alarm rang out. He gave her a curt nod, then sprinted towards the bridge. There, his bridge crew were taking their positions, even as the backup science officer, Ensign Cartwheel, shouted: “Sir! Detecting a Totality ship! It’s firing on the station!”

John took his seat as the rest of the crew strapped in. “Warm up the shields, bring us to realspace and put it on the screen.”

The Excalibur shuddered as it lifted up and out of the second tier – emerging into realspace a few hundred thousand kilometers away from the verdant blue orb of the Earth. The station was not exactly UNN standard – rather than the spindly top shape that the United Nations had favored, it was instead a set of interlocking spheres built around a large space for a ship to come in for berthing. It had shields and armor, though, because it was taking a pounding from a Totality starship. Not a warsphere, though. The vehicle was an inverted chevron of metal, riding atop a glowing green field of energy that skated through realspace like butter on a hot griddle. Beams shot from the chevron’s outer edges, slicing into the station.

“Ship is identified,” Trianna said as she flicked hastily through her holodex and brought up a glowing replica of the very ship on the screen – in miniature form of course. She turned back to look at John. “She’s a Myg’Ga’Gar Butcher class war rocket.”

“We’re being hailed by the Totality ship,” Shey said.

“On screen,” John said, nodding. The screen flicked and, for the first time in his life, John Tangent saw a Myg’Ga’Gar in the person. The ancient Terran fear of the reptilian had been put to the test by their allies, the Qorr, but it was the ophidian Myg’Ga’Gar who had given the long extinct Freudian school of psychoanalytical thought a run for their money in the intricate combination of Terran’s worst fears and biggest draws. For while the Myg’Ga’Gars had the terrifying slitted eyes, the sharp viperous fangs, the ominous spread hoods, the sinuous necks and lithesome grace of the most deadly of serpents, they paired it with the galaxy’s most extravagantly displayed breasts and immodest sense of dress. This captainess reclined on her skull studded command chair and wore nothing but a thin straps of leather that swept from her crotch to cover her nipples and then loop around her shoulders adorned with a few medals of rank and glossy, silky strips of cloth that cross crossed her shoulders, forearms and belly. Her scales were dull orange and pale white, and her tail ended in a spiked rattle, as she crooned quietly.

“Well well well! What do we have here. A Terr-ann in an unidentified alien starship, in flagrant violation of your species oath of submission!” She hissed her long, forked tongue out at him. “Naughty Terr-ann!”

“I’m Captain Tangent of the UNN Excalibur,” John said, keeping his eyes fixed on hers. “Why are you attacking that starbase?”

“Why?” The Myg’Ga’Gar asked, then chuckled, her hand sliding between her scaled breasts, cupping herself salaciously. “Because, young Terr-ann, the starbase refused to service me and my crew as befits their status as Pleasure Serfs.”

John clenched his jaw.

He was sure the worst would have been to hear that the United Nations had been made into Battle-Thralls by the Zemturga. But this wasn’t much better. He forced his initial emotional reaction back down and lifted his chin. “And so you decided to slaughter the defenseless?”

“ ... yes, that is preci-sssssssss-ly what I did,” the Myg’ga’gar captainess crooned, her eyes slitting and narrowing. “Under the Hierarchy of Now and Forever, it isssssss our right.” She flicked her tongue out. “Now, sssssssadly, one assssss pretty asssss you musssst die, to satissssssssfy the laws of the Totality. But do not fear. I will pull you from your ssssssship if you yet live and make you my own personal bed sssssslave, Terr-ann!” She chuckled, then turned her head. “Bring usssss to bear on the enemy, helm!”

The screen cut off – and the view of the Butcher came back up. It skimmed through space, curving to bring itself to bear on the Excalibur.

“Her E-beams are locked on and she’s firing at us out of Tier Two!” Shey said.

“Evasive action – drop us to Tier Two and warm up our plasma casters,” John said, narrowing his eyes.

It seemed his ship’s first real test was coming sooner than he had expected.

The Excalibur heeled hard into a curving spin as they dropped into the shallow end of the SOF from realspace. This meant they managed to actually dodge two of the E-beams fired from the Butcher class war rocket – the sizzling green rays shot past the port wing of the Excalibur with a closeness that made John wince. The other two struck the belly of the ship, but skidded along her ablative armor with gouts of molten metal pluming into space like miniature volcanoes. The ship rocked and John glanced to Trianna, who shook her head.

“No damage,” she said.

“Sir, they’re launching Vipers,” Eugene said.

“Launch our Avengers in return. Lets give the flyboys something to do,” John said.

The two capital ships slewed away from one another, circling, trying to find a good time to strike. It was clear that the E-beams of the Butcher couldn’t simply batter down the Excalibur without opening herself up to an alarming amount of return fire. But the Excalibur’s weapons were primarily close ranged brawling guns, to gain synergy with fighter operations. Since the Butcher was faster, it meant the field was opened for the Vipers and the Avengers to play.

John watched ... and waited for his chance.

Delta Vee had to admit: She preferred being launched from a Khan class fighter bay, rather than the spindly connectors that she had trained on using the fictional Calypso. Rather than being stuck out in space until she detached, her fighter was kept in a narrow magnetic trough and when the order came to launch Avengers, she simply swung into her cockpit, strapped in ... and was shot out of a cannon. “Woooooooohooo!”

Her Avenger corkscrewed as she swept into the space above her species homeworld. Her HUD filled with glittering red dots: Sixteen Vipers, all of them dropping through the green haze beneath the Butcher’s main body. The Myg’ga’gar preferred single purpose attack fighters – long needles with the ability to stop and turn on a dime, armed with their infamous AGCs. She took hold of her controls, while Lt. Xao’s voice spoke in her ear.

“Alpha-1, take your squad forward and bring down those Vipers. Beta-1, you’re going to take down the E-ray guns on the Butcher.”

“Lets get it done people, on my six,” Delta said. Her friends and fellow pilots shot their affirmations as she target-locked an approaching Viper. The Viper immediately began to twist away from her nose, while two other Vipers locked onto her. Delta gripped her stick, twisted, and fired her ventral thrusters. Her fighter screamed up and away as the AGCs on the Viper’s that had targeted her began to open fire: Hissing green strands of the gloppy acid that they fired shot past her belly, but a few splats went right through her shields and splattered onto her wings. “Shit! They penetrate shields!”

The white paint on her upper wing frothed away and the machinery beneath began to smoke. Alerts flared on her HUD and Delta scowled as she touched several buttons. “Jettisoning my missile pod, lets see if that does it!”

The wing banged loudly as bolts burst and the whole frame whipped away from her. Now her ship felt a bit unbalanced, but at least there wasn’t deadly smart acid eating towards ... well, her. She corrected for the handling adjustments, kept her nose on the Viper she had targeted, placed the crosshairs of her weapons right before it. She closed one eye, stuck her tongue out of the corner of her mouth.

“And ... gotcha!” she hissed.

Her nose mounted double barreled grazer cannons started to fill space with searing green beams of deadly radiation. The Viper ahead of her trembled, quivered, then exploded as the grazers did their work. She pulled away, while a contrail bloom of a missile launch filled space to her left. The missiles went corkscrewing in every direction and she heard Alpha-3 swearing. “Their jammed!”

“The Totality’s tech’s gotten a lot better-” Delta started.

“I can’t shake the snakes!”

“-but we’re still the fucking heroes,” Delta fished – dropping in behind a pair of Vipers that were splattering Alpha-2 with bolts of acid. She targeted one and fired her grazers right up the snake’s tailpipe.

“Nooooo!” The Myg’ga’gar pilot’s death scream ripped over the radio, while his wingmate started to turn aside – but she kept her nose right on him. Grazers played along the hull of the Viper and it split in half, bursting into a flare of orange light that she shot through. Her wings rattled and her cockpit pinged as bits and pieces bounced, but nothing looked damaged enough to worry about. Delta grinned, fierce and ready, then shouted over the radio.

“Alpha-2, get back to the ship and let the chief fix you up! We can replace fighters!”

“This is Beta-1, beginning my attack flight ... now!”

Above her, Delta saw Beta-1 and a chevron of his wingmates swooping down on the Butcher. E-beams scythed through space, trying to swat them down, but the whole wing of Avengers pulled up and away before any struck, leaving behind blooming arrays of micro-missiles, which detonated across the surface of the Myg’ga’gar ship like dozens of small suns. The whole ship shuddered and the glowing green energy that kept it moving through space flickered off and on again.

“We’ve got a good hit! Her port E-beams and her dorsal E-beams are down!” Beta-1 said, proudly.

“All wings, break! Break! The Excalibur is gonna finish this.”

The Excalibur shot forward and brought her prow mounted plasma casters to bear. A voice came over broadband, a terrified feminine voice. “No! Terr-ann! Please! We are disarmed! We ssssssssurrender! Do not your United Nations have mercy for sssssurrendering?”

“Oh come on!” Delta grumbled. “That can’t possibly work.”

“Uh, Alpha-1,” Alpha-3 whispered over a ship to ship chat. “Check the visual feeds.”

Delta turned on the view of the alien captainess.

“Okay, yes, actually, surrendering is a moral cornerstone of the Terran species, I think, basic, fundamental to our people, it’s why this war is worth fighting at all. Makes us different from the Totality,” Delta said, nodding hurriedly.

Captain John Tangent stepped through the airlock of the starbase and found himself realizing that he now, at a certain fundamental level, understood people who would fight and die for the Zemturga Totality. The airlock was, by necessity, small and spartan – but the corridor it opened into was breathtaking. The walls were immense and emerald and gold, covered with intricate and gorgeous geometric patterns that suggested grace, beauty and comfort. The floor was covered in silks, and chandeliers glittered overhead. The air was rich with the scent of spices and comforting flavors that made one want to lay down into the carpet and just wallow in the sensory excess of it. And then there were the greeters: Six Terrans, each one more breathtakingly lovely than the last, each representing the various phenotype of the Terran species, each dressed in a fashion that accentuated their specific beauty, be it the gauzy sari of the redheaded, athletic girl on the left, the leather straps of the ebony skinned goddess to the left, or the codpiece and shoulder pauldrons that framed the impressive, muscular bulk of the titan who was in the center of the formation, standing behind a blue figure of sleek, feminine masculinity with long blond hair, a veil, blue eyes, and milk pale skin. His thong and his skintight shirt made it clear what his particular gender was – and so, Captain John Tangent bowed low.

“I take it I have the honor to stand before a femboy?” he asked, politely.

“Ah, Captain, you know your Terran history,” the femboy said, his voice a husky contralto. “Yes, I am Captain Quincy Lagrange, formerly of the United Nations Navy – now, a pleasure serf of the Zemturga Totality.” He smiled sadly. “I think we both have very long stories to tell.”

“Indeed we do,” John said, then glanced to his left and to his right – he was flanked by a pair of his ship’s marine compliment. “Staff, you can handle securing the rest of the starbase? Make sure there’s no Zemturga traps.”

“Got it, Captain!” The marine gestured and his comrades walked past the beautiful Terrans, while John gestured.

“This is my science officer, Lt. Sheyshan, as well as my tactical and operations officers, Lt. Trianna Yang and Lt. Albert Moore. Finally, we have our fighter commander, Lt. Eugene Xao.”

“Your pilots were quite impressive,” Lagrange said, his voice soft. “We hope none were harmed.”

“Only a few minor acid burns,” Eugene said, blushing furiously – clearly overwhelmed by the honor of meeting a femboy in person.

“Come, let me show you to my reclining gala,” Lagrange said. “And ... I suppose ... I shall tell you of the end of the Alliance and the victory of the Zemturga.” He sighed, quietly, his hair swishing slightly as he turned. The crew of the Excalibur walked after him, and as he led them through the sprawling starbase, his gentle voice painted a picture of the end of days...

The war had turned on the Alliance with the betrayal of the Omnidrones. The Zemturga, being vile slavemasters, saw nothing wrong with enslaving a species without even having the gallantry to face them in the field of battle. Working away at complicated mathematics programs for decades, the Zemturga’s slaves had finally unlocked the code to alter Omnidrone programming en masse. Before the Omnis know what was happening, the slave code had beamed into their minds at the speed of SOF Radio transmissions.

The Omni fleets had turned upon their allies in a single disastrous, coordinated attack that was now called Black Twoday, as it had taken place on the 4th of March, 2233. The Alliance fleets had withdrawn in disarray and confusion as Omnis had worked to sabotage any response. Those few Omnis that had been free of the slave programming due to distance or radio shielding fled to the farthest reaches of space as the Alliance fell apart into recrimination.

The Zemturga fleets came, first, to the Yip-Paw-Lob homeworld of Tripletiathreetres. There, their ships had bombarded the planet for three weeks until the three species had each surrendered, emerging from their force shielded cities to find their once verdant paradise of a world had been turned to gray ash and slag. They were then sundered – their species ripped apart and turned into three distinct slave castes: The Yip, who were made into Battle Thralls, the Paw, who were made into Pleasure Serfs, and the Lob, who became Field Servants.

With the proudest race humbled, the Zemtuga had then split their forces. Half had come to the Lithanoids, only to find that their entire civilization had buried themselves into the crust of their homeworld. Rumor and hearsay was that they had unleashed a ferocious tectonic device that rendered the surface of the world into a hellplanet, and even the Zemturga’s most vicious battle thralls couldn’t land without dying within the hour. If the Lithanoids still lived ... none could say. But while the Zemturage took that as a bitter victory, they were delighted by their foray into Qorr space. There, the Quorr, fearing the same destruction that the Yip-Paw-Lob had been served, surrendered and were made Battle Thralls.

The combined fleet then came upon the Sensurians. Rather than facing servitude again, the Sensurians detonated some kind of hypexian device that obliterated their entire solar system by dragging it into the depths of the SOF. They took with them an immense Zemturga fleet ... but all that bought the Terrans and the Hylano was time.

The final battle of the war took place above the Earth herself as the UNN and the Hylano defense fleets fought side by side. Their sacrifices were incredible – but futile. For every warsphere they splashed, for every wing of Blades they immolated, for every Battle Thrall the sent to the next world, another dozen would emerge from Tier Three to attack realspace. In the end, the Hylano Queens surrendered their vast worldship fleets, which were sheltering in Earth orbit ... and the teeming billions of Terrans on Earth watched as warspheres began to fill their skies.

The war was over.

But the peace had only just begun.

Lagrange’s reclining parlor was, just as the name implied, the best place that John had ever seen for relaxing. There were many couches, divans and relaxing places to settle down. The view through the window was of the vast, beautiful curve of the Earth, with the Excalibur floating in orbit nearby, tending to the crippled Myg’ga’gar ship that had surrendered. Sparkling lights flickered on the belly of the Excalibur as Chief Kat’s crews got to work.

“And that’s how the war ended,” Lagrange said, shaking his head.

“We need to make sure we get Dr. Darling radio shielded immediately,” John said.

“The slave signal isn’t sent anymore, it took immense amounts of power ... but, still, it is wise,” Lagrange said.

“Then that’s it, huh?” Albert asked, his voice soft. “The war’s over?”

“It’s not over until we say it’s over,” John said, quashing any sense of fear or dread in the room with a confident smile. “Lets first hear about what happened after the War. What happened to Earth? Where’s the human race?”

“That’s the strangest part of the tale,” Lagrange said. “We were made into a Pleasure Serf species, as you can see.” His cheeks darkened and he coughed. “B-But, then ... the Zemturga began to take us for their own personal enjoyment. According to the Sensurians, that is very strange.”

“It is, Captain,” Shey said, her voice brittle – John knew that, inside, she was trying to process what it meant to possibly be the last Sensurian in the galaxy. He squeezed her hand, gently. She turned and laced her fingers through his, her voice growing stronger. “T-The Zemturga don’t take Pleasure Serfs for themselves, a-as far as my ancestors tell it. Pleasure Serfs are for the use on others within the Totality, not for the Zemturga themselves.”

“And how would that even work?” Trianna made a face. “A Zemturga’s the size of an elephant!”

“Their tentacles aren’t,” Albert muttered, darkly.

Everyone considered that in the peaceful silence of the beautiful room. John shook his head. “Did the Zemturga take ... everyone on Earth?”

“Most of them,” Lagrange said. “The first year, their warspheres came to Earth, and they announced they needed a city for Selection, and for us to choose a city. We didn’t know what Selection was. No one did. So, the United Nations made a randomized number generator. It rolled, chose, and ... then the Zemturga flew into the air above Buenos Aires. They ripped it out of the crust with gravity tractors ... the whole city, and every person in it!”

Lagrange turned to the window – and beneath them, the Earth spun. Clouds parted and John blinked as he saw the craters pockmarking the surface of what looked like Europe spinning beneath them. Sadly, Lagrange put his fingers to the glass. “Madrid, Paris, London, Berlin – they came every month and each month they took a different one. This station was built in orbit and staffed purely to continue to refuel and refit the ships as they came in. Within twelve years, there were almost no Terrans left on the planet.”

“What happened to them?” John asked.

Lagrange sighed, slowly. “That? I don’t know. The Zemturga haven’t returned and news is slow to come to us from the rest of the Empire. For a time, there were several Myg’ga’gar and Swiffo ships that came by to check on us – but the last Swiffo ship barely sent us a radio wave before they skedaddled, and the Myg’ga’gar, well, they are eager to use us in every sense of the word.” He made a face. “This latest ship demanded that we hand over the entire crew to be their love pets. We had orders from the Zemturga to keep this station operational – our choices were either to disobey the Zemturga’s orders to keep the station running, or disobey the Zemturga’s orders to obey any order from a Battle-Thrall.”

John sighed, quietly. “That’s ... a lot to think about.” He stood. “But I think I need to hear the rest of the story.”

“Oh?” Lagrange asked.

The door to the prison chamber opened with a whirr and a click, and the light came on with a soft bink bink noise, revealing the orange and white scaled form of the Myg’ga’gar captainess hung from a set of restraints, her arms above her head, muscular and sleek, her shoulders hunched, her hefty breasts sagging slightly as her head hung forward. She lifted her snakish snout and peered down at John Tangent, who stepped into the room with a wry little smile. He had a book under one arm and carried with him a small chair, which he opened and set down across from the captainess.

“Ah. The fabled Terr-ann hospitality,” the ophidian woman crooned. She arched her back sinuously, thrusting her chest out at him. “I wonder, Terr-ann, what torments will you unleash upon my lovely body. Whips? Clamps? Penetrative devices? Or, perhaps-”

“Where did you get the chains?” John asked, sitting down on the chair.

The captiness blinked, then flicked her hood a bit wider. “I-I was put in chains by your fiendish crew.”

“I gave orders to the explicit contrary,” John said, his voice wry. “Also, I can see the welds I ... did you chain yourself up in this room?”

The captainess paused. Then she hissed and lifted her head, her voice dripping with imperious confidence. “I’ll never talk, Terr-ann! Hssss!”

John shrugged one shoulder. “Can I at least get your name?”

The Myg’ga’gar paused for a long moment, watching him. She craned her head to try and peer at the book – but the dust jacket was an unremarkable red hue, no name was printed on the side of the primitive media container. She hissed again, then muttered. “Ssivik.”

“Well, Captainess Ssivik of the MSN Wrathful Heart, I just came with some questions-”

“Ah, quessssssssstions!” Ssivik hissed, her eyes narrowing. “Now comes the brutality. You will ... oh yes, you will tear aside my uniform, freeing my luscious orange breasts, then fondle them so fiercely it will be like pain and pleasure mix together and oh no! I will never tell, even as you ravage me with your mighty Terr-ann cock. Ah, you beast!”

“This must be the famous Myg’ga’garan hypnosis indoctrination,” John said, dryly. “You’re trying to slip your suggestions into my mind ... don’t you think I don’t spot your eyes.” His eyes flickered and then met hers – and Ssvik blinked, then focused hard on him. Her eyes glowed ... and began to swirl. Slowly, they twirled and twirled, becoming an intermixing, overlapping swirl of color, like the hypnotic spin of a hurricane seen from orbit. Her tongue darted out and she crooned quietly.