Chapter 13

"Ambassador Windham," I said, looking around the room and there wasn't much to see except her. "You're comfortable, I trust?"

"I would like my clothing back," she replied. "Please."

"We were looking all over for you, my Lady." I clucked my tongue. "It was quite the little goose chase."

"When my father hears about this..."

"Your father is a traitor to the Empire. He can't help you now, I'm afraid. Nobody can."

"What?" She looked genuinely surprised. "Who are you? What are you saying?"

I glanced at Helena and we both looked at the Chief Interrogator, a warlock named Vryss.

"I demand to speak with Lord Tristam!"

"I haven't touched her, my Lord," Vryss said quickly. "She's exactly as she arrived."

"This is an outrage. You've overstepped your bounds this time, Lady Helena! When the Duchess returns..."

"The ambassador's patience has limits," Helena observed, turning off the microphones with a wave of her hand.

We watched the woman continue to shout as she stared back at us through the security veil. The only daughter of Marquis de Windham had human features, ten fingers and toes, amber eyes and a pert, upturned nose above a generous mouth. Around her attractive face, a thick mane of black and white hair had been woven into a shaggy braid that she wore over the shoulder and between her six breasts. The pair on top were plump and her distended nipples dripped thin, white milk onto a slightly smaller pair directly beneath. The lowest pair, just above the gentle swell of her belly, were the smallest of all, the nipples long and red as if recently chewed.

All six of her mammeries were covered with fine, white fur forming an elongated V from her shoulders to her sex. Everywhere else the ambassador wore a coat of shimmering black hair, thick and long across the shoulders and down her back, shorter on her legs and arms. Only her face, the palms of her hands, and the soles of her feet were smooth, pink skin. Her long, shaggy tail had a sexy curlicue as it grew from the dimple just above her well rounded ass and I rather admired the woman as she stalked about her cell.

"The ambassador doesn't seem to know I'm dead," I said. "Where did you find her?"

"Nursing her brood in the Artisan District," Helena replied. "Evidently she's taken a paramour, a musician from Windham. We have him in the next cell."

"She had children with this man?"

"A litter of three," she said. "Less than a week old. They're being looked after."

"Her father won't be happy about that."

"Neither will her husband," Helena said with a smile. "She kept her pregnancy a secret, or so it would seem."

"Certainly secret from us. Did you know she was pregnant?"

"No. I didn't."

"I haven't seen her since Orion took his oath of office," I said, rubbing my chin.

"This is a strange business, my Lord. If she'd known about the assassination, she would have fled before Lady Preston arrived."

"Her belly ripe with another man's pups?" I took a deep breath. "A woman might be tempted to take her chances..."

"Lady Windham was never so clever," she disagreed. "I believe she's honestly confused. She's been isolated with her lover, birthing her litter and..."

"And there's only one way to be sure," I decided, looking at Vryss. "Find out what she knows."

"Her children?" Helena asked.

"The other as well. That musician of hers," I continued. "Interrogate them both and put her children in the crèche for now. They're innocent enough."

"As you say, my Lord." The warlock bowed his head.

"She's only nineteen." Helena pursed her lips and played her fingers along the veil as she examined the ambassador's file.

"Windham's renowned for its nepotism," I said. "The Marquis should have thought of that before trying to kill me."

Inside the cell, an interrogation chair had grown out of the floor. It looked something like a dentist's chair, being large and comfortable. A dozen metallic tentacles cornered the ambassador and pulled her into their cold embrace. The woman would not be hurt at all; the process was quite painless, or so I'd been assured in the past. Physically, Lady Windham would be unchanged, but for the inevitable damage to her neural pathways. Interrogation, unlike a scan, probed the victim's subconscious and left no thought, memory, or dream unturned. It also left the subject with an adolescent mind at best, one incapable of further development.

"What of her household?" I asked, knowing they'd all been detained within hours of the attempt on my life. Only the ambassador had eluded capture and now we knew why.

"There's nothing to report," Helena replied. "Thirty-two persons were arrested and interrogated."

"That many?" I looked at her and I hadn't enquired as to the details until now.

"Her staff of seventeen, twelve servants, and three slaves," she said. "Aside from the usual political maneuvering, we found nothing to suggest a direct attack by Windham."

"Political maneuvering?" I smiled, watching as Vryss entered the cell and began to work on the now docile ambassador.

"Some bribery, blackmail, a plot to overthrow the Viceroy of Pax Nethid..." Helena shrugged. "The usual."

"I'd like to overthrow the Viceroy myself," I snorted. "Is it a good plan?"

"Workable," she agreed. "I'm looking into it."

"But nothing about killing me?"

"No, my Lord."

A hologram appeared, flashing jumbled images and symbols representing alien thoughts that were incomprehensible to me. The ambassador's brain poured out its memories and the computers would have to churn the data into something meaningful. Vryss, being a warlock, was an empath and directed the interrogation along emotional pathways, searching for motive. Desire, jealousy, love and hatred were easily detected and he would follow those feelings like so many yellow brick roads. When one line of investigation would end, he'd move to another and the man was very good at his job.

"She's worried about her father," he said softly. "Afraid for him ... Her children? No ... Something else ... Just an idea, very deep ... Hmmm..."

"Could the Marquis be innocent?" I wondered, for that seemed the most obvious possibility.

"If it's a coup, we should have heard from the conspirators before now," Helena said. "They would be eager to blame the Marquis and enlist our aid to overthrow him."

"But we've heard nothing."

"And all of our attempts to communicate directly with the Windham Sector have been fruitless," she reminded me. "The major shipping lanes have been closed at their borders; your own commissioner has apparently been detained."

"We've lost all contact with the Exedra," I said with a frown, referring to the space control ship detailed to Windham. Such vessels were not insignificant.

"If the Marquis isn't behind this, the only possible explanation is that he's already been deposed."

"We would have heard something. Over six hundred systems..." I looked at her. "One of the nobles would have reported a coup."

"Unless they're all in on it," Helena said with a shrug, but we both knew that to be extremely unlikely.

"Someone always feels left out of the spoils."

"And you can't hide a civil war," she said with a nod of agreement. "It's a strange, strange business."

"As you've said."

We watched Vryss for a moment, still muttering to himself as his invisible scalpels sliced deeper into the ambassador's mind.

"My Lord," Helena cleared her throat. "We need to interrogate Lady Preston."

"She hasn't been erased?"

"No."

"Why not?" I frowned at her. "I thought my instructions were clear."

"Quite clear, my Lord, but we can't afford the missed opportunity."

"There may be nothing there."

"If you erase her, there will certainly be nothing there."

"She's my daughter, I can't..." I took a deep breath.

"Talis will do it, if you won't."

"Ah..." I stared into Helena's eyes. "That's why you delay."

"I delay to give my Lord the opportunity to do his duty," she replied. "The Council of Ministers doesn't understand this attachment of yours..."

"They don't have to."

" ... and neither do I, William." She stared back at me. "You've had many children. Lost many children. What makes Lady Preston so special?"

"Everything," I sighed. "Jericho?"

"My Lord?" the computer answered immediately.

"Have Lady Preston erased immediately."

"William..." Helena shook her head.

"As you command, my Lord," Jericho replied. "I have relayed your order."

"Thank you," I said, turning away from Helena. "Have her brought to my quarters once it's complete."

"The renascent protocol?" she asked stiffly.

"Level three," I decided, paused in the open doorway. "Standardized, nothing ... personal."

"Yes, my Lord."

I left her unhappy with me and I'd have to tolerate one of Helena's wintry moods for a day or two, but at least my daughter wouldn't be an imbecile.

Erasure emptied the mind, but didn't damage anything. She could be taught and her mental capabilities would evolve much like any child's, albeit more quickly. Lady Preston would be inquisitive, intelligent, and eager to refill her pretty little head with new ideas. Unlike the Lady Windham who would find her prepubescent mind trapped in a woman's body, my daughter would eventually be the equal of her previous self, although in no way a duplicate. She would never again know me as her father, but my love made no such demands on the girl. I only required her happiness.

The vessel has the traditional name Archduchy Cepheus in honor of her ruler. It may be easiest to imagine the capital ship a city floating in space and in truth, that's the only way to think of it. The size of Old Tokyo with all its skyscrapers inside, the city has over ten million inhabitants and all of them are busy. Government is the largest employer and provides the nucleus for all other goods and services. Schools, factories, parks and playgrounds, the vast engineering levels, the grandiose Duchess and her court, suburbs and offices, shops and restaurants, hospitals, barracks, and everything exceptional and mundane coexist within the smallest planet in the galaxy.

"The ship doesn't move unless it has someplace to go," I explained to Esya. "It'll remain in orbit around Earth for the next thirty years probably, until we find the next planet to assimilate."

"Is this what it's like, Master?" he asked and the boy couldn't stop looking upward.

"On Earth?" I shrugged. "In some places, I guess. Not where I came from though."

We were in one of the vast atriums, perhaps three miles long and five wide, arranged by streets and alleys into the sort of downtown any human would have felt comfortable with. The buildings were tall and beautiful, made of glass and aluminum mostly, and brightly colored with holographic advertisements. This was the Merchant District, or one of them anyway, and specialized in expensive rarities, exotic goods, and very personalized services.

"Do you like it?" I asked him.

"I've never been here before," he said with a grin. "It's wonderful, Master."

"Good."

We followed a small phalanx of security guards and there were more behind us. The risk to my person was very small and most ordinary people had no idea who they were passing on the busy street. Being from Earth and wearing my uniform, the tunic and breeches with my sword at my side, I got some curious looks. On the whole, however, the citizens were as cosmopolitan as one might expect them to be. The unusual was usual and the ship – the city – served as a crossroads for a thousand different races.

Pretty Esya, with his fair blue skin, silver hair and eyes, attracted only the attention demanded by his delightful presence. That the boy seemed so completely unaware of his effect on others only made him that much more desirable, at least to me. I'd dressed him in a long, silk camisole, white with lace trim and falling to mid thigh. I hadn't bothered finding him something to wear beneath it, of course, but I'd given Esya a royal blue pelisse. A sleeveless cloak worn around his slender shoulders, it seemed to waft behind him like a shadow. With his pink rubber go-go boots, I thought he looked quite fashionable ... If only he'd stop looking up like a tourist.

"We'll have to cure you of that," I decided with a chuckle and he blushed sweetly, having no idea what I meant.

I liked that about him, how he could barely contain his curiosity, and I planned to put it to good use.

"In here," I said, leading him through a glass doorway and the gentechs were already waiting.

"My Lord," a very human looking woman said, smiling and bowing gracefully. "We've been looking forward to your visit. I'm Queyla. May I offer you refreshments?"

"Thank you, Queyla," I agreed and we soon found ourselves comfortably seated in a private, circular showroom.

A long sofa hugged the wall around a lighted stage in the center of the room. Esya had been undressed and placed upon it by several assistants, a human boy and girl by the looks of them, but of course they weren't human at all. Neither was Queyla, but being in orbit around Earth, I suppose it made good business sense to advertise the firm's skills. New planets, especially the ones populated with humanoids, were always popular. New food, fashion, art...

The Empire was not a realm of mindless automatons moving mechanically through their tedious lives. Expansion created, indeed necessitated, the vigor of youthful endeavor. The state survived not by force of arms or a rigorous system of control, but rather by giving its people what they most wanted: security, opportunity, and entertainment. So long as the Imperial citizen had those three things, we were a collective immune to decay. On Earth it had been called life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness and for the moment humanity imagined itself deprived of those rights, but not for long.

"I want him taller," I said. "Say ... Sixty-seven inches, but slim like he is now. About 112 pounds I think, that's a good number."

"We'll worry about his weight last," Queyla wrinkled her nose. "Will this be permanent or temporary?"

"Permanent."

"You won't be able to modify the species type permanently."

"That's fine," I said. "I like Eyasians."

"As do we, my Lord," she said with a smile, crossing one long, tanned leg over the other beneath her nylon miniskirt. "They have the most marvelous DNA, very friendly genes."

"I'll take your word for it." I sipped my tea and enjoyed the way her hazel eyes seemed to glitter beneath her thick, auburn hair.

"You can take anything of mine you want," Queyla replied and I widened my eyes. "Now, what do you really want to do with him?"

"Breasts," I told her. "I want him to look like a woman, but keep his penis and testicles."

"Hmmm ... Sounds like fun," she said. "Tell me when to stop."

Esya giggled nervously as his flat chest began to expand with budding breasts. They were small at first, but growing in size and shape the way a real girl's would develop over her adolescence. It was all an illusion of course, a hologram painted over the boy's body, just as our senses were fooled by his newfound height. So long as he remained on the stage, or the palette as it was called, we'd be able to see exactly what Esya would look like when they performed the actual modifications.

"There," I said. "Those look nice."

"Hmmm... 34C cups according to the computer," Queyla said with a smile. "Strange way to measure a person, isn't it. Are they firm enough? Do you like his nipples?"

"Larger," I decided. "Give him fat, puffy nipples ... Yeah. Like that ... Pointing upward just ... Perfect!"

"Nice," she agreed. "You have an artistic eye, my Lord."

"Nah," I said with a grin. "I just know a slut when I see one."

"Do you?" She grinned back at me, posing with her own rather spectacular tits straining against her blouse.

"Would I ever lie to you, Queyla?"

"I'm not sure yet," she sighed, tilting her head with a smile. "Would you?"

"I won't pull out," I told her. "And I'll definitely cum in your mouth."

"Ah! But will you still respect me in the morning, my Lord?"

"I don't respect you right now, slut."

"Am I blushing?" she asked. "I can't tell."

"Me neither," I sighed. "Let's assume you're not."

"Why?"

"Because I hate being wrong."

"Don't we all," Queyla said with a musical laugh. "What else would you like us to do to your ... Slave is he?"

"Give him legs from hell," I said and when she narrowed her eyes, "Legs like yours ... except blue."

"Ah! Legs from hell," she agreed, taking the opportunity to uncross and re-cross hers slowly. "I'll have to remember that. Colloquialisms are always difficult with a new language."

"And hips," I told her, watching as Esya's thighs and calves became those of a very well-toned young woman. "Narrow, but nice and round. Soft hips to go with his ass; I really want to see some wiggle out of the whore."

"Would you like to see him walk around?"

"Yeah. Put some shoes on his feet."

"High heels? Of course, my Lord."

A hologram of Esya appeared, naked but for a pair of 3" fuck me pumps, and the apparition walked around the stage for us. He stood nearly six feet tall in those shoes, his legs being somewhat longer than I'd originally had in mind, but that was okay. The boy had an amazing body, with those full tits jutting outward and topped by a pair of fat, pink nipples begging to be eaten. He had a flat tummy and non-existent waist...

"Eighteen inches," Queyla informed me. "With thirty-one inch hips."

... Long, smooth legs with shapely thighs and artichoke calves, small feet with cute little toes curling as Esya's ghost strutted about. His cock wagged in front of him and then grew erect before my eyes. Queyla smiled, watching my reaction as that blue penis grew thick and long. The foreskin stretched tightly around the pink glans as it was revealed and the boy's balls swing low between his thighs. He had the wiggle part down, his deliciously round ass rolling left and right with every deliberate step he took.

"Is this what you had in mind, my Lord?"

"Yeah," I breathed, reaching for my crotch and rubbing my own swollen erection. "That's exactly what I want."

"Eyes? Hair? His facial structure?"

"No, I like the way he looks now, but..." I tilted my head. "Give him a skin job and..."

"A level two dermal reconstruction?"

" ... I want to inhibit his aging as much as possible."

"Geriatrophy is expensive, my Lord," she reminded me. "And the results are not always predictable."

"I understand. Thank you."

"Very well." Queyla nodded and made the necessary notations. "If I may beg your indulgence, the final cost will be..."

"Unimportant." I looked at her. "Suck me off and we'll call it a deal."

We looked at each other for a long moment before a smile crept over her face and she nodded.

"Very well. If that's what I have to do to make a sale..." she sighed theatrically.

"On second thought..." I took a deep breath and looked down at her crotch, the taut V of her skirt. "I'll probably need a fuck too, just to be sure."

"I understand completely, my Lord." Queyla uncrossed her legs and stood up from the sofa. "Such decisions shouldn't be made lightly."

"Get on your knees, whore."

"You don't want me to undress?"

"No." I shook my head. "I like fucking a girl with her clothes on."

"I believe you," she said with a giggle, sinking to her knees on the plush carpeting.

"Sit over here and play with yourself, Esya." I pointed at the sofa behind Queyla. "You can watch us."

"Thank you, Master," the boy replied, stepping off the palette and looking like his normal self again.

That disappointed me, but only slightly as the hologram continued its endless rounds, prancing about the room for an audience of one. I wasn't very attentive, however, not with lovely Queyla opening my breeches and pulling my erection free with her nimble fingers. I had no idea what race she might have been before taking human form and it didn't really matter. She'd lifted her guise from a magazine, I thought, because she did look very familiar. One of those supermodel sluts selling lipstick or Victoria's Secret underwear, that's who she was, and now the bitch gave me her lustrous eyes as she opened her mouth.

"Are you really a slut?" I wondered, holding her hair out of her face as she washed me with her tongue. "Or just some royal groupie who wants bragging rights?"

"Ummph?" Queyla widened her eyes.

"Yeah. You know," I continued. "Telling all your friends how your cunt sucked my dick? That's what you're into, right?"

"Hmmmph..." She shrugged and I laughed, pushing her down until she gagged on the head of my penis.

"And I'm gonna forget about you ten minutes after I walk out the door," I told her, holding the slut's head down with both hands as she coughed around it.

"Nnmph umph mmph!"

Her hands slapped my thighs and I could feel her tongue and the soft entrance to her throat quivering. She had to swallow sometime and I felt it when she did. Queyla's throat opened and I pushed harder, ignoring her teeth as they scraped along the shaft, and her nose flattened in my pubic hair as I entered her esophagus with my prick.

"That's it, cocksucker," I breathed. "You don't have to be shy with me. Choke it down, bitch ... Ten seconds."

"Gnnmph!" She tried shaking her head, but that only felt good, just like her fingernails as they dug into my thighs.

"Five more, Queyla ... Three ... two ... one ... Ahhh!"

"Mwaammmph!" She pulled off my cock with a loud gasp and a flood of spit and precum spilling down her chin and neck.

"Do it again," I told her. "By yourself this time."

"You're an asshole..." she breathed, licking around her lips and staring at me with wet, injured eyes, " ... my Lord."

"Look!" I wiggled my fingers in the air. "No hands! Stop your whining and suck it, bitch."

She looked like she wanted to say something else, but I guess she changed her mind because Queyla went down like the fuckin' Titanic. Except for having no real idea how to deep throat a cock, she wasn't a bad little facefuck. Nowhere near Esya's league, of course, and don't even think about Marcia or Bambi! They had cunts for mouths, just like the fuckholes between their legs, and getting head from one of those two sluts left a guy feeling upside down and inside out.

But Queyla wasn't gonna be the sore loser in the cock eating contest, she managed to open up and take me deep all by herself. Of course, the bitch wanted to panic as soon as she couldn't breathe, so I had to give her a little help. I dug my fingers in her rich, auburn hair and made sure she had every last inch of my prick between her bruised lips. I'd count out loud for her too. Ten seconds, that's all I asked for, and I think she appreciated it.

I know Esya did. The blue minx sat there stroking his dick and playing with his balls, giggling happily while I fucked Queyla's face. He probably had a nice view of her pussy too, considering the way she had to bend over and how that short mini-skirt rode halfway up her ass. The slut didn't wear panties either and I could see the deep cleavage between her tanned butt cheeks. They looked like a couple of tits from my angle and I felt the temptation to let Esya fuck her, but he'd pump a pint of cum into the bitch for sure.

I didn't mind sloppy seconds as a general rule, but I'd long since learned never to jump into a cunt after one of those blue fuckers had nailed her. They all had huge cocks and it would probably be a lot like fucking a bathtub full of seawater by the time he was done with her.

"You can have her ass," I told him. "Go ahead and give the whore an enema."

"You mean..." The boy gave me a curious look and he could be so literal sometimes.

"I mean, fuck her in the ass," I told him with a grin. "Chop-chop! She wants it bad, faggot!"

"Umph nmmph!" Queyla tried to say something around my dick, but that's about the time I'd decided to get into her throat again.

"Shut-up and swallow, cunt. You don't have to beg," I promised. "We're gonna be fucking you all morning."

I lifted my hips and pulled her down, figuring I'd make sure she had something else to think about while Esya pushed his cock into her asshole. This chick had to be a virgin in the butt fucking department, I figured, but maybe not. I was still trying to decide if Queyla was a real slut, or just a poseur looking for some noble dick. Either way, it wasn't going to make any difference. She'd wanted to play games and flirt and be the slutty salesgirl, just like those silly bitches at the mall back home. They were always older though and went for the college guys mostly, leaving me with a hard dick as I tried to pick up a slut at the arcade,

When I got one, I liked to pretend she was somebody's little sister. Like Sophie, the blonde whore that worked in the music store. I'd always wanted to fuck her so badly and she'd lean over the counter with her blouse unbuttoned to her belly button for a hot college guy. What as slut! But me being just fifteen back then, she totally blew me off and I'd go looking for a blonde seventh grader I could sweet talk into the boy's bathroom at Sears. She'd be all giggly and scared and asking me what we were doing. As if she didn't know? Yeah right! Actually, I only fucked three girls in the Sears bathroom, and one was Marcia, so she didn't count, but the other two looked just like that cunt in the record store.

I really hoped one of them was Sophie's little sister, especially the one whose face I pushed into the toilet when I popped her cherry. Fuck! That whore wouldn't stop screaming! So I let her blow some bubbles and flushed a bunch of times just so she could catch her breath. I don't think she'd been a real virgin anyway though, since there hadn't been hardly any blood at all or anything. Sluts lie all the time too, everybody knows that.

"Unnmph!" Queyla jerked as Esya began stretching her anus with his erection, wagging her ass like the whore wanted to get away or something.

"Like that, baby?" I asked, holding her hair with both fists and working her slack mouth up and down my straining prick. "What's Queyla mean anyway? Is that alien for pocket pussy?"

Esya gave me a funny look and I grinned at him.

"What are you doing, faggot? Nail her ass!" I told him. "Don't worry, this bitch ain't going anywhere."

"Y-Yes Master," he said, nodding and holding her hips as he worked his cock deeper into Queyla's rectum.

"She likes it. Don't you, whore?" I pulled her all the way down, forcing her throat open as she choked on it.

"Ungmmph!" she replied with a shudder and I could feel those delicate throat muscles rippling as she tried to push my dick out of her esophagus.

"Fuck yeah!" I chuckled, yanking her head left and right with her face pressed against my stomach and my balls against her chin.

Stupid Sophie. It had been her fault anyway. All she'd had to do was show me her tits, maybe jerk me off behind the counter or something, and I'd have been happy. Selfish cunt. I had half a mind to track her down and make her a breeder just for fun. Like Queyla. She wasn't a real genetics technician, just the sales slut who sold the modifications. A minimum wage salesgirl flirting with the customers. How much could she be worth? I'd turn her into a fucking ... Fuck.

What was I doing? I frowned, relaxing my hands and letting Queyla jerk her head upward, wincing as she caught me with her teeth again. She had red, puffy eyes and wet cheeks, a bright pink face, and swollen lips dripping spit as she heaved for air. Esya knelt behind her, fucking her asshole nice and slow, being gentle because that's the sort of sweet faggot he had to be. It probably felt good for her, being ass fucked for the very first time by a homo who knew how to do it. He had a nice prick for it too, kind of long, but not too thick, and hard as steel when he pushed it deep. I could feel my own asshole pucker at the memories and I shook my head.

It was like this sometimes, struggling to remember exactly who I was with all my memories jumbled together. All my desires as well. Billy wanted to abuse this stupid whore. I wanted to fuck her throat until she puked on my dick and then make her lick it off. Faggot wanted me to get on my knees for Esya's beautiful dick, maybe suck Queyla's cunt just to apologize for me being such a jerk. Tristam was the worst though! He wanted me to act like a Lord Admiral and fuck the girl, but in a nice way. A polite way. He wanted to leave her happy and satisfied and praying that I'd call her the next morning, send her some flowers maybe just to say, "Thank you for all your help, Queyla. Fondly yours, William."

Fucking voices in my head!

"Are you okay?" I asked, stroking Queyla's cheeks with my thumbs.