Chapter 6: Squeeze Play

“You’re back late,” Kaisha said, Moralez stepping in through the automatic door to their apartment. She was sitting on the oversized couch, a tablet computer in her clawed hand, the lights dimmed. Her lab coat had been replaced with a more casual sweater, she must have been home for a good couple of hours. It looked like she had been reading while she waited for him to return. “I heard about what happened,” she continued, setting the tablet down on the coffee table. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he replied, making his way over and sitting down on the armrest beside her. “But my career might not be. Admiral Vos was furious, he’s blaming me for what happened, and he’s given me seventy-two hours to sort everything out. If I can’t bring him the culprit in time, he’s going to send in some sketchy SWAR guys to clean shop. It’s gonna be bad.”

“SWAR?” Kaisha asked.

“Special Operations types. I met one of them, something about him just ... rubs me the wrong way. I don’t doubt his combat abilities, but I doubt his professionalism, he doesn’t have the demeanor of a Marine. He’s an amputee, like me, quadruple.”

“Quadruple?” Kaisha asked, raising an eyebrow. “That’s pretty rare.”

“Looks like he’s made the most of a bad situation, his prosthetics were clearly geared for combat.”

Kaisha’s ice-blue eyes wandered down to his hand, narrowing as she noticed the tremor in his fingers. He quickly clenched his fist, then moved it out of view. She was smarter than that, almost knocking him off-balance as she reached out and gripped his wrist in her furry hand, holding his prosthetic up as she examined it.

“Your tremor is back?” she asked, her brow furrowing with concern.

“It’s fine,” he grumbled, trying to snatch it back and failing. “I’m just stressed out, you know how strong emotions interfere with the signals.”

“I thought you were past this,” she replied with a shake of her head.

“I just need to relax for a while, clear my head,” he muttered as she released his hand from her grasp. “Come on, don’t look at me like that ... I’m fine, really.”

“Well ... you didn’t bring me a longburger back, but I guess I can do the thing.”

“Yeah?” Moralez asked, perking up a little at that.

She sat up and patted her furry thigh in invitation, her black skirt riding high on her legs, the impact sending a ripple through her layer of soft fat. Moralez hopped down off the armrest and made his way over to her, Kaisha lifting him once he was range and planting him in her lap. She was like a giant, living armchair. Her thighs were as soft as down pillows beneath him, and her breasts cradled his head through the fabric of her sweater, the paunch of her belly acting as lumbar support.

He began to unfasten his uniform with the rubber grips on his fingers, opening it down to his belt, shrugging it off to expose his naked torso. His tanned skin was a patchwork of old scars, some better healed than others, the knitted flesh crisscrossing his body. He was still in good shape despite his situation, he made a point of keeping up a strict exercise regimen. It was all too easy for amputees to let their situation get the better of them.

He slouched forward as he felt Kaisha’s hands on his back, the varied sensations tickling him. She had fur that was thick and silky, fleshy pads that felt like marshmallows, and hooked claws that pricked him. He shivered as she ran her talons from his neck to the base of his spine, light enough that he could feel them without breaking the skin. It sent a wave of tingling sensation washing over him, heightening his senses.

“You need to relax,” she whispered, “doctor’s orders.”

He felt the pads on her thumbs at the base of his neck, her thick fingers draping over his shoulders, long enough that her black claws reached his chest. She began to make slow circles, pressing deep into his flesh, easing out the knots in his taut muscles. He sighed, a familiar warmth washing over him, her light grip around his neck further enhancing his sensitivity. She began to crawl lower, moving down his spine as she massaged him, Moralez letting the pleasant sensations carry him as his head slowly sagged until his chin met his chest. All of the day’s tension seemed to be melting out of him as she kneaded his muscles like fresh dough, the stress evaporating at the touch of Kaisha’s skilled hands.

“This is some physical therapy I can get behind,” he muttered, closing his eyes as she roamed down to his shoulder blades.

“You really ‘are’ stressed,” she marveled, Moralez jerking as she drove a padded finger into an especially stubborn knot. She quickly gave up, not able to press too deeply due to her deadly claws, switching to the heel of her hand instead. It was like getting a massage through an expensive fur coat, a wonderful ache permeating his body.

“I’d write you a slip for some time off, but I doubt that you’d accept it,” she added. “You can’t run this whole station on your own, you know. You’re supposed to cede some responsibility to the people under your command, people that you trust. I don’t perform every surgery myself.”

“I know, I know,” he mumbled. “Vos wants me out, he’s given me a task that he knows is unreasonable. It’s designed to stress me out, to throw me off-kilter.”

“Then you have to show him that he can’t get to you,” Kaisha replied.

“But he ‘is’ getting to me,” he said, Kaisha teasing him with her sharp claws again.

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean that you have to show it. Think, what would a Polar do?”

“Misdirect, put on a stoic front, find a way to get him to believe what you want him to believe.”

“I have taught you well,” she chuckled, her hands reaching the base of his spine. She pressed deep, Moralez arching his back as a wave of sweet pleasure washed over him. “When you meet Vos again, act confident, even if that’s not what you’re feeling. Make him think that you know more than you’re letting on, turn it right back around and put him on edge, make him doubt himself.”

He flinched as one of her furry hands snuck around to his belly, her talons pricking his skin. She began to unfasten his belt, Moralez leaning back to rest his head against the cushion of her ample chest. Her soft lips brushed his ear, her warm breath blowing his hair, her voice low and sultry as she whispered to him.

“You don’t need to know anything, you don’t have to be confident, you just have to convince Vos. Do that, and it might as well be true...”

He flinched as she freed his member, watching from over his shoulder as it bobbed in the air, throbbing in time with the beating of his heart. She crawled her fingers down to it, slowly tracing one of his pulsing veins with the pointed tip of her claw, smiling as he twitched.

“Truth is often relative,” she continued, pausing to circle his glans with one of her padded fingers. “It matters more that people act as though something is true. If it actually is or not is rarely important. Given enough time, you can bluff your way into shaping the truth, make your deceptions real.”

Her fist closed around his shaft, burying him in downy, fluffy fur. Her hand was so warm, her insulated coat like fine silk as the strands began to glide up and down his length in a leisurely pumping motion.

“Now, you need to relax,” she added, pausing to nibble at his ear with her sharp teeth. “I have other, more effective methods to relieve stress and to put you to sleep.”

Her grip grew a little tighter, her pace increasing, her free arm wrapping around him to pull him tight against her bust. Her flesh yielded through her sweater like wet clay, pouring over his shoulders, cradling his head like a travel pillow. Her long, sinuous tongue escaped her lips to probe his ear, his eyelids fluttering as her skilled fingers slid up and down his shaft. She was so good with her hands, they were those of a surgeon, gentle and precise. They could perform delicate surgery to reconnect severed nerves, and they could do things that would make his toes curl, at least what toes he had left...

“Relax,” she whispered, sucking his ear into her mouth and chewing on it softly. “You’ve been building up stress all day, like a bomb about to explode. Let me ease it out of you.”

“Are you saying that as my doctor, or as my lover?” he muttered.

“I will admit to a ... conflict of interest,” she purred, making him shiver with an especially hard squeeze. Her hand was large enough to encompass his manhood entirely, her velvet fur irresistible, and he found himself beginning to thrust into her warm palm. She cooed softly, delighting in his reaction, letting him set the pace as she held maddeningly still. She wet her thumb and forefinger with his leaking pre, circling his tender head with the fleshy pads, searing pleasure crawling its way up his spine.

“I’d really work you over if we had the time,” she muttered, “call it a full physical. But I suppose that you’d rather be up early tomorrow. A pity.” Her puffy lips touched his neck, his member surging between her fingers as she began to lick and mouth, leaving sucking kisses and gentle bites that made points of light dance before his eyes. “Perhaps it can help to motivate you. When this is all over, I’ll write you a slip, and we can spend a whole day making up for lost time. How about it?”

“I can get behind that,” he sighed, Kaisha chuckling by his ear.

“I’m sure you will...”

She released him for a moment, leaving him wanting, his member jumping in the air as she brought her hand up to her mouth. She extended a clear foot of her pink, tapered tongue, licking her palm wetly. She left a smear of thick, clear saliva, the gooey fluid matting her fur. When she returned her hand to his shaft, her silky coat was warm and slimy, her bubbling drool making it slippery. She drenched his skin in her slaver, the wet hair creating an unusual and alluring sensation, lurid sounds emanating from her fist as she resumed her pumping.

“You’re putting out so many pheromones,” she muttered, burying her feline nose in the nape of his neck and taking in a lungful of his scent. “You smell so good when you get like this...”

She added a twist to the motion, her warm, wet fur spiraling around his shaft. Moralez couldn’t do much more than lie there and try to endure it, letting his head sink back into her heaving bosom. He reached down and delved his prosthetic fingers into the meat of her round thigh, sinking them into her doughy flesh up to the second joint, admiring the delicate texture of her coat. If one were to wrap an oil barrel in memory foam, it might feel something like this. Her thighs were as thick around as his torso. How he longed to slide between them, but that wasn’t in the cards today.

“You get so grabby when you’re close,” she whispered.

“These arms were expensive,” he replied, “I’m making the most of them.”

Kaisha giggled, planting a lingering kiss on his shoulder, her stroking growing ever faster.

“You’re nearly there,” she added gleefully, “I can feel it in the way you’re fucking my hand. Come on, let it all out.”

Her hold on him tightened, the soft pads on her furry fingers massaging his glans, the silky hairs brushing his balls as he matched her pace with his thrusting. The throbs of pleasure became more frequent, an all too familiar euphoria overcoming him. Sensing that he was on the brink, she squeezed, kneading his shaft like a farmer milking a cow. Every light brush of her wet, slimy fur against his glans made him buck, the stroking of her fingers captivating him.

“Fill my palm,” she whispered, pausing to kiss his neck again.

A sudden jolt of ecstasy rocked him, followed by a flood of soothing, satisfying bliss as a rope of his emission joined her slick saliva. Kaisha continued to rub, easing out more, squeezing him into her palm like a tube of toothpaste. Every thick wad was chased by a rush of pleasure, a tingling sensation spreading through his body, warming him from within. She held him tightly with her free arm as he bucked and writhed, his abdominal muscles tensing with the effort, his erection throbbing in her grasp. His fluids blended with hers, adding a fresh warmth to her already sodden hand, the gleeful Polar using his own semen as a lubricant. It felt like he was fucking a handful of warm jelly.

She kept it up until he had given her every last drop, Moralez melting into her bust as though she had sapped the strength from his muscles, his eyelids drooping. She held onto him until his slimy, pulsing member ceased its twitching, finally releasing it as his erection began to recede.

“Doesn’t that feel better?” she cooed, holding up her hand and watching as the pearly globs of his essence drooped from her thick fingers in a sagging web.

“Mhmm,” he mumbled, lost in the comfort of his afterglow. She let him stay that way for a while, resting in her cushy lap, the rhythmic rise and fall of her ample chest lulling him to sleep. It was only when she noticed that his eyes were closed that she roused him, giving him a gentle nudge.

“Off to bed with you. Before you ask, no, I’m not coming. We’ll never get to sleep if I do, and you have more pressing matters to concern yourself with right now.”

“Yes, Doctor,” he grumbled as he rose to his feet unsteadily. She leaned forward to plant a kiss on his forehead, then grabbed him by the shoulder, turning him in the direction of the bedroom and giving him an encouraging tap on the butt. He stumbled off, Kaisha watching him with a smirk as he vanished through the automatic door.

“Damn, I didn’t realize how late it was,” Harry said as he set his tablet computer down on the coffee table. Holly was sat close beside him, perhaps a little too close, shuffling away from him a little as her attention was diverted. They had been engrossed in the database for at least a couple of hours, and Holly had been able to go over the details of the alien races whose ambassadors she had yet to sway.

The Rask was probably a lost cause, they were notoriously stubborn creatures, but the Elysian might be convinced with the right approach. The Araxie seemed like a good bet, they had no history with the Betelgeusians, there were no grudges between the two species. The Valbarans were much like the Rask, there wasn’t much hope of swaying them, not when what information about their history that was on file centered around their various wars against the Bugs. He had been present in the conference room to see their reaction to Holly’s proposal, and he had to admit, it seemed as though they’d rather quit in protest than vote the Jarilans into the Coalition.

“Thank you,” Holly muttered, “for your help. What I learned here might save my people.”

“It’s the least I could do,” he replied with a shrug, “literally...”

“It’s alright,” she added, batting those pink eyes at him. “I do not expect you to take a side, you made it clear that you did not want to become politically involved, and I respect that. But you gave me the help that I asked for, and so I cannot fault you.”

“We should probably get some sleep,” he said, rising to his feet. “You know where the bedroom is?”

“Yes,” she replied.

“Do you ... sleep on beds? I don’t suppose it matters. You take the bed, I’ll take the couch. Me and Blackjack will take turns on watch.”

“My father slept in a bunk,” she replied, “I usually slept in a pile with whatever other members of my hive were present.”

“There were other Bugs with your father?” Harry asked.

“Of course. They obeyed him as though he was their Queen. When he traveled the forests of Jarilo, he was usually accompanied by a team of Drones who would see to his protection from the local fauna, and by a handful of Workers who would carry his equipment and help him to perform his studies. And me, of course.”

“Bug Sherpas?” Harry asked, the mental image of a Worker carrying a rucksack making him chuckle. “So Bugs sleep in piles?”

“Yes, do you find that unusual?”

“Not especially, no. The Krell do the same when they’re basking in their pools beneath the heat lamps in their barracks, and most of the Borealans like to sleep in a big pile. I guess you could say that we humans are unusual for preferrin’ to sleep alone.”

Blackjack rolled over onto his back, loosing a sleepy rumble. He was spread out in his usual place on the wood floor.

“I suppose I’m takin’ first watch,” Harry grumbled, Holly sparing him a smile before heading off into the bedroom and closing the sliding door behind her.

“You seem chipper today,” Boyd muttered, shooting Moralez a sideways glance from beneath his visor as they weaved through the crowds in the military quarter. There were fewer tourists here, mostly columns of armored Marines and packs of Borealans moving to and from their assignments. The sculpted facades and colorful awnings had given way to more spartan and functional architecture, mostly troop barracks and administration buildings, huge pressure doors that led into the hangars spaced between them at intervals.

“The benefits of a good night’s sleep,” Moralez replied with a grin.

“So who’s this guy you’re taking us to?” the surly agent continued, “and what makes you think that he knows more about railguns than me?”

“Stan is in charge of the armory,” Moralez said as he dodged around a passing Krell, the alien clutching a large ammo crate in its scaly hands that a human would have needed a forklift to move. “He’ll be able to tell us if anyone has been sneaking into the storerooms and stealing parts. He knows more about XMRs than anyone, he can probably guess what kind of weapon was used.”

“At least we don’t have to find our own contacts on this assignment,” Lorza added.

“I keep meaning to ask you,” Moralez continued, “what does that visor do?”

“It’s a wearable computer,” Boyd replied, tapping at the wrap-around visor with a gloved finger. “It doubles as an augmented reality display, and a combat HUD if I get into trouble. It’s pretty inconspicuous, doesn’t raise as many questions as wearing a helmet.”

“Doesn’t Agent Lorza get one too?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at the Polar as she followed behind them.

“I don’t need to augment my senses,” she replied. “I can see, smell, and hear better than you.”

“I suppose you two must make a pretty good team,” Moralez said, “you seem to have very compatible skillsets.”

“How do you mean?” Boyd asked skeptically.

“You’re obviously into technology and weapons, while Lorza seems to be a typical Polar, good at manipulation and social maneuvering. I’ll bet Polars make great spies, as long as they’re in a setting where they don’t stand out too much. Like on the Pinwheel, for example. They’re pretty good at getting what they want and making you think that it was all your idea.”

“What do you know of Polars?” Boyd asked.

“Oh, he has a very intimate knowledge of Polars,” Lorza interjected before he had a chance to answer. She pointed to her pink nose with her black claw, giving Moralez a toothy smile. “I didn’t want to out you before it came up in conversation, Chief, but your girlfriend has pretty good taste in shampoos.”

“Well, I appreciate your discretion,” he replied. “Although it’s not much of a secret. I work with a lot of Borealans, and the nose always knows, as they say. Ah, we’re here.”

They turned off the street and made their way into a matte white building that protruded from the hull. As they proceeded deeper into the facility, the unmistakable crack of railgun fire became more audible, and they eventually emerged into a firing range. To their left were dozens of booths, most of them occupied by Marines who were training with their rifles, firing at paper targets down-range. The far wall was padded with layers of thick material to prevent the slugs from penetrating into the station’s guts, the tungsten projectiles turning into showers of molten sparks as they impacted it.

To their right was a wall lined with weapon racks, which housed XMR configurations of all conceivable sizes and uses, from scout rifles to light machineguns. There was a man in a blue uniform who was hunched over a table nearby, engrossed in the disassembly of one of the weapons, its component parts strewn about his work surface. Moralez called to him, his voice struggling to carry over the din of gunfire, and the man’s head snapped up. He made his way over to the trio, extending a hand to Moralez.

“Hey Chief, what brings you down here?” he yelled.

“I’m on official business,” he replied, Lorza flattening her ears against her head. “Is there somewhere quieter that we can talk?”

Stanley nodded, gesturing for them to follow him. He led them into a storeroom at the back of the building, where there were more racks of weapons, crates containing ammo and spare parts stacked high against the walls. He closed the door, muffling the noise enough that they could talk without raising their voices.

“So, what can I do for you, Chief?”

“I suppose that you heard about what happened on the hub?” Moralez asked.

“Yeah, though they didn’t tell us much. I just know that there was an assassination attempt on one of the ambassadors, that’s the word on the grapevine.”

“That’s right. I can’t tell you who was targeted just yet, it’s classified, but we’re pretty close to figuring out how they pulled it off. We have reason to believe that someone fired either a railgun or a high-powered plasma weapon from the hull of the torus. The damage to the hub was indicative of a very high-velocity projectile, but it wasn’t designed to kill everyone in the room. It was very precise, with just enough power to vaporize the hull rather than turning it into shrapnel. We found a modified tripod welded to the outside of the station that provided a clear line of sight, and we’re pretty sure that the shooter jacked into the station’s grid to power it. What we need to figure out now is exactly what kind of weapon was used, and how they got it onto the station.”

Stanley scratched his chin, beginning to pace as the trio looked on.

“That’s certainly an ... unusual method,” he muttered. “Do you have anything else to go on?”

“No, that’s all we got right now,” Boyd replied.

“I think a railgun is a safe bet,” Stan continued. “Plasma weapons work by using magnetic fields to shape and contain superheated gas, and while that’s going to hit with about the same force as a railgun slug, you’re going to be shedding energy pretty quickly over the kinds of ranges that we’re talking about. A railgun, on the other hand, uses magnets to accelerate a tungsten slug. It has a low enough melting point not to just turn to sludge on its way through the hull, and it won’t shed any energy or velocity as it travels through a vacuum.”