Chapter 25: Home Fires

Christmas was now just a week away, but you'd never know it by the lack of seasonal decor in the Thuleat System Control Centre. The room lacked any kind of artwork. Nothing that might distract the duty controllers' attention from their sensors' readouts was permitted within this most sacrosanct compartment.

Suddenly, the klaxon began blaring – something was emerging into normal space. There were two possibilities, the first being Confederacy ... and no Confederate ships were scheduled. The second possibility was far less friendly.

No sooner had the klaxon given the entire control team a simultaneous heart attack than it silenced itself: the target had emerged and sent out an IFF signal. The AI announced, "Incoming Mark Four message drone, source system Hesperusat."

As the corporals whistled in relief, the duty sergeant took it upon herself to query the drone. "AI, download messages. Any general messages marked 'Priority Alpha', relay to System Control immediately."

"Message from Commodore Andrew Swanson, Commanding Officer, Fleet Operations, Hesperusat System," the AI calmly advised in a masculine voice. "Latest Sa'arm invasion of Hesperusat destroyed without fatalities. All casualties expected to fully recover to active duty status. Casualty list and battle damage report attached."

"Thank you, AI. Please notify General Deschenes and Admiral Van De Graaf immediately." The sergeant sagged back in her chair and threw her arms in the air. "Hey, we won!"

The roars of approval from the throats of the duty corporals were soon echoed throughout the domes of Thule.

Finally, Thule could relax again, at least a little ... until the next time.

The party started as soon as the word was passed, and lasted long into the night. With the approval of the Governor, Shinji set up his DJ equipment at the edge of the parade square, which was turned into a giant dance floor.

At the corner of the parade square, Sandy stood and interviewed General Michael Deschenes for dissemination across the Earth news feeds. Lyn took her usual role as cameraman. Because this one was for Earth eyes, Samantha Redburn had the formerly innocent young reporter wear a concubine shift, albeit without underwear. The general wore his dress uniform, Marine green with wedge cap. The Confederacy wanted to get the word out, that there was a real war out. In the background, a Rommel main battle tank provided a point of visual interest.

"Is this a big victory, then?" Sandy asked, holding her totally unnecessary microphone. It was a prop, only rendered necessary because Earth-based humans weren't used to the superior recording technology of the Confederacy and expected to see such a device in the hands of a reporter. They'd be even more shocked by the camera, which was barely more than the thickness of a couple of quarters.

Lyn knew what would shock her own mother most: the sight of her pregnant daughter dressed as she currently was, nude – Samantha had recently filled up her last two slots with Sandy and Lyn, and preferred unfettered access to her concubines' delights whenever possible. The last time Lyn had worn anything was just before she shouted her acceptance to the ceiling of the Party Room as Samantha exercised her talented and experienced tongue on Lyn's defenceless clitoris and labia.

"Very big. The enemy deployed a significant number of assets, and lost them all. We did have some of our ships damaged, but we've managed to repair them all."

"Are they done in our sector, then?" Sandy looked hopeful.

"Not on your life. We suspect the Sa'arm planet this came from will send even more next time, possibly in as little as a couple of months. We're building more warships, and increasing the garrison on Hesperus up to a full brigade. Next time, there will be more of them, and we'll be even harder pressed. But still, there's that many fewer Sa'arm that will be available to throw at Earth."

Sandy then turned to look into the unblinking eye of Lyn's camera. "So there's the latest word, direct from the General commanding this sector. We've won this battle, but the war goes on. We can celebrate tonight, but first thing in the morning we resume training for the next battle. For now, this is Sandy Redburn on Thule, reporting for the Confederacy News Network."

"OK, Sandy, toss over your shift," came Decurion Sandy Redburn's voice from off-camera. "Now you get to do your story on the party. Remember, this one's for the Confederacy planets and ships."

Lyn obediently pivoted the camera on its tripod toward the parade square. The participants were looking like a scene from the La Vida Loco music video, shimmying and shaking, except with far less clothes on. At least a dozen were quite openly and unashamedly copulating on the dance floor, using Darjee-medical-technology-enhanced muscles to remain vertical, at least until their orgasms overcame them. Indoor fireworks made the massive dome sparkle above the dancers.

Gladys was used to strange comings and goings at the Beauty Saloon. After all, it was both the colony's whorehouse and family restaurant, a combined functionality that all but screamed 'incongruous'. In addition, the whorehouse madam, being all of fourteen years of age, was in love with fancy dress balls and costume play, especially if they could combine an element of the risqué at the same time.

Still, this morning was ... different.

First a female Fleet Auxiliary lieutenant arrived, and rather than occupying a table or one of the stools at the long Art Deco bar, she headed straight for Banquet Room One, which shared a wall with the main dining/dancing hall.

Then a couple of female Navy corporals, Division Sergeant-Major Butch Blondell of the Marines, and a half-dozen giggling concubines in grey shifts joined the lieutenant the banquet room. All four representatives of the uniformed services were very much out of uniform, dressed in comfortable, casual and utterly revealing maternity outfits. Finally, dressed in a hockey jersey that had fit her back when she arrived, Samantha Redburn herself appeared and headed arrow-like for the same location. The jersey's hem was now so high on the young Civil Service officer that it now exposed her crotch completely, showing that she hadn't bothered with panties.

Shelly Saturn, the interstellar chanteuse, arrived next. Something was definitely up, Gladys realized: she and her band, the Rings of Saturn, weren't scheduled for hours. For that matter, the Rings of Saturn were nowhere to be seen.

Then finally Lyn MacDonald, the camerawoman who had arrived as an already-pregnant Fille de Roi, showed up, nude as usual aside from her concubine collar.

Echoing down the hallway from Banquet Room One, Gladys could hear the giggles of the mob of girls. Whatever it was, if it turned out to be her business, she'd be assigned there soon enough. In the interim, there were a handful of concubines here in suggestive dress and perched daintily on bar stools looking for a sponsor to seduce, and a dozen or more families dining out. It looked like two of the tables consisted of chaperoned dates between kids under 14.

Then she heard Decurion Redburn call out: "OK, everybody in place?"

A ragged chorus responded in the affirmative.

"Then, AI, open the bulkhead!"

And with that, the bulkhead between the dining/dancing hall and Banquet Room One pulled back to reveal a baker's dozen worth of women in a line, including the Decurion, each dressed (if that was the appropriate word) in a plush "reindeer antler" hairpiece, a reindeer tail (attached by nanites), high heeled open-toed shoes, and cuffs. And aside from the concubines' collars and the sponsors' bow ties, that was pretty much it.

Each woman stood with left side toward the dining lounge, left hand on hip and right hand on baby bulge. They were all looking straight toward the dance floor. On the wall above their heads ran a sign declaring: "Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!"

Lyn dragged a camera on a tripod onto the dance floor, so as to take the picture of the line of happily giggling pregnant women. She then dashed back and joined the end of the line, striking the same confident pose as the rest of the reindeer herd.

The women clustered around to take a look at the picture – projected on the back wall of the banquet room – and agreed, it had worked. "OK, everyone, that's the Christmas card we're sending to Earth. Now for the Christmas card we're sending to the other colonies!"

Once again, Lyn set the camera up. This time when everyone lined up, they bent over and mooned the camera – each woman's genitalia was on wanton display. Again the flash came, again the line of women clustered around a photo displayed on the back wall of the banquet room – and this time as well, the photo met with approval from everyone, although some of the newer concubines were blushing in embarrassment.

Samantha's face reflected her relief as she took off the hooker-heel shoes. "That's better. I don't know how anyone wears these things."

Sergeant-Major Butch Blondell agreed. "Last time I wore these torture devices, I wasn't two metres tall – and I wasn't pregnant." She purred as she put her bare foot down. "I feel much better now," she sighed.