Tales of the "Pink Mist" Ch. 03

Chapter 3

R&R: Rescue and Recruitment

People and beings scrambled to get out of the way of the black-clad redheaded Alliance "Intelligence" woman as Quillan stormed down the corridor toward the penal holding facility.

Alliance Intel was known throughout the galaxy as being almost as ferocious as the Stellar Marine Corps. Despite the fact that the woman carried no visible weapons, she could probably rip a throat out with her fingernail. This one looked mighty pissed off; eyes narrowed, shoulders set, head slightly forward, face passive yet showing that "something." Better off just to move out of her way.

Quillan blew through the open door of the holding facility and made a beeline for the desk sergeant. She brushed past an enormous, eight-legged, tentacled Terthon who was about to growl at her when he saw that she bore no Alliance insignia, but wore the uniform. He shut up.

"Where's my commander?" she demanded, before the startled sergeant could ask her business.

"Uhhh...er...w-who?" he stammered. A pissed-off Intel chick...all he needed.

"Commander Wilkerson, you moron. Dressed just like me. Short brown hair. Drinks a lot. Probably has a broken hand. Where the fuck is she?"

"Cell fourteen, ma'am. Another woman is in the same cell," he said as he pointed toward a door marked, OFFICIAL PERSONNEL ONLY. "I need your thu-thumbprint for access, please."

"No, you don't. Just open the trashmatter door and let me see my officer," she ordered, as she turned and walked toward the portal. "It had better be open by the time I get to it..."

It slid aside. Good acting, she thought, with an inward smile.

Holding cells hadn't changed much over the millennia. Floor to ceiling, wall to wall bars, these being made of tritanium; a simple four-cot room with a toilet and exposed shower nozzle which would spew cold water.

As she stalked down the tight passage, a hand reached out of a cell to grab her breast. Without losing stride, she bent her own arm upward, trapping the hand against her chest, and let leverage do its work. She released the arm only when she heard a snap followed by a scream of pain as the bone broke, caught between her body's momentum and an immovable bar of the cell. She smiled.

Stopping before cell fourteen, she eyed the two occupants a long time, her stern expression plain. Charleen, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees as she stared at the floor, looked up, gulped, and dropped her head again. Lt. Klaksell grinned sheepishly and wisely remained silent. The uniforms of both women were torn and ripped in various places, their hands wrapped in gauze bandages. Small cuts and scratches adorned their forearms and faces. At long last, Quillan spoke.

"Well?" was all she said.

Charleen stood up a bit stiffly, sore no doubt, and assumed the posture of attention; Lt. Klaksell following suit. Backs straight, chins tucked, thumbs along the creases of their ripped uniforms, feet at a forty-five degree angle to each other. As senior officer, Charleen was in charge of relaying the tale.

"Requesting permission to speak, ma'am," the barrel-like commander said in a clipped voice.

"At ease. Normal tones. Make me WANT to get you out of here..."

The pair relaxed slightly and glanced at one another with sly grins, like high school kids getting caught doing something fun but slightly illegal; out after curfew.

"The lieutenant and I went down to the Cemetery because we'd heard that all sorts of interesting things happened there." Charleen grinned at Quillan. "Oh, yeah, there was LOTS of good shit there. Drinks, carousing, partying...we stayed away from the drug tables...for the record." Charleen cleared her throat and continued. "We wandered through there looking around and...er...imbibing...a lot of imbibination was taking place..."

Lt. Klaksell leaned over to whisper in her ear. Charleen glanced at her again, a questioning look on her face.

"You sure? Yeah? Pardon, Captain Margoles, the word is, 'imbibition.'" She cast a wary eye at the lieutenant, then went on, making a mental note to check that word for herself. "Anyway, Captain, we had more than a few drinks that were sort of a glowy-orange...tasted pretty good, we should find the recipe..." She trailed off as Quillan folded her arms and began tapping a foot impatiently.

"Yes'm...short story...there were eight or nine guys fucking the shit out of a slave and they woulda killed her if we hadn't stepped in and done something about it." Charleen inhaled deeply and spoke again, "So the lieutenant and I kicked their asses, pooled our money, grabbed the slave, threw the money at one of the doormen to pay for the slave and ran to the ship where Muffin was waiting for us and the girl is safe onboard and here we sit...uh...stand..."

Huffpuffhuffpuff.

"Can we have that advance on our next payshares you were talking about?"

Quillan stood in the security watch commander's office as she patiently listened to the woman next to her.

Vanessa Harbinger, commonly known as Nessie, was the wealthiest woman on the station. Her wealth rivaled that of Infernus. The only reason she didn't have more than he did was simple; he demanded forty-five percent of her income. In fact, every vendor and establishment on the station paid the exorbitant fee for the privilege of operating there. With over four thousand of these establishments, he was raking in over a thousand credits a second...on a bad day.

Nessie's thick, shiny, pitch black hair reached her soft shoulders and was immaculately combed. Her gold-trimmed, low cut, flowing black dress was contrasted by the bright red lipstick on her kissable lips and fluorescent red fingernail polish on her long fingers. Her massive chest, rivaling Charleen's, threatened to spill over, it appeared that her areolae were hidden barely out of sight. In one hand, she held a wineglass containing some sort of reddish-green liquid which seemed to pulse on its own. Her other hand held two leashes which were attached to collared, muscular, bare-chested male slaves who were sitting cross-legged before her, staring at the floor.

"The slave in question is of no consequence to me or my establishment, Chief Capino," she said, haughtily. "The way she was 'bought,' for want of a better word, is dubious. The procedures which were set forth by Infernus must be followed. She needs a full medical workup, quarantine, the transfer papers must be completed, and of course, the remainder of the credits for her price and repayment for the hospitalization of my patrons."

She took a sip of the liquid in her glass, it glowed brighter as it hit her lips. Then turned her haughty stare toward Quillan.

"And why would Alliance Intel want to purchase a slave, anyway?" She imperiously raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow.

Quillan sniffed disdainfully and gritted her teeth, not liking this woman in the slightest.

"The matters of Intel do not concern you, miss. Suffice to say that we have a vested interest in this girl. My apologies for the way she was acquired. As you are aware, slavery is punishable by death within the Alliance territories. Only the fact that this station is one million miles outside of Alliance jurisdiction is saving your hoidy-toidy ass from summary execution." Quillan brushed invisible lint from her sleeve and continued. "The Alliance will pay you for any damages incurred, as well as seeing that all of the proper paperwork is on file. You're lucky we don't just blow holes in the Cemetery...let the air out."

Quillan turned to the security chief, and smiled tightly.

"But, we're not monsters. We're here to protect, not destroy. I need my two officers out as soon as possible."

How do I get myself into these situations? Quillan asked herself.

Totally devoid of clothing, lying on her back on the Chief's desk, legs in the air, her ass and pussy were being torn apart for the second time today as the two male slaves shoved their dicks roughly into her. While not nearly as large as Infernus, they still managed to cause her a bit of discomfort. Especially after that four hour session with the Big Boy. The Chief had his pants around his ankles with his cock firmly stuffed in her mouth. Nessie, for her part, was nude on all fours with her face planted in Quillan's nude crotch, tongue working furiously. Occasionally, the black-haired woman would pull a cock out of Quillan, lick and suck it for a moment and then shove it back inside the redhead, allowing the male slave to continue pumping.

Quillan's tongue worked along the shaft of Chief Capino's dick, tickled the head, and then she deep throated him and gulped, causing her throat to contract around him. He groaned and blew his wad down her throat...just as she'd figured; no stamina. He sank back into his chair, slightly out of breath. She swallowed the slick load, doing her best not to let it contact her tongue. She hated the aftertaste of cum. Bet his wife sought better bed mates behind his back.

The slaves steadily fucked her at the same pace, emptying and filling her as one. Nessie raised her head long enough to order them to kiss as they worked on the captain. The two gorgeous men embraced without hesitation, their tongues fighting with each other.

"Mistress," asked the slave who's cock was in Quillan's ass, "I am ready. May I come?"

"I think not, slave," said Nessie, gruffly. "Hold it. Slow yourself down. Don't bother me while I'm dining." She dropped her head and licked and sucked in earnest. Quite tasty. This one would fetch a high price in the SexPits.

Chief Capino watched the mass of flesh on his desk for a moment, then stood, his erection full once more and slid it into Nessie. She tensed as the intrusion caught her by surprise, then kicked backward with a leg, catching the chief in the solar plexus and knocking him into his chair.

"You didn't pay for that, chief," she intoned, as her fingers sought Quillan's clit and began rubbing it with a vengeance. "That's a five thousand credit snatch. Ten, if you want the cybernetics."

Again, the chief again stood and shoved his cock back into Quillan's open mouth.

Quillan furtively cut her eyes to the wall clock as she sucked and laved the dick in her mouth. Dammit...fourteen hours left on that computer diagnostic. What was wrong with Alice? She sighed. Her sigh was mistaken by all who heard it as one of ecstasy.

Nessie, lapping for all she was worth, tapped the slave who was close to coming, an indication for him to come when he wanted. She tapped the slave pounding Quillan's pussy and snapped her fingers. You come, too.

Quillan gulped again, triggering another groan from the chief, smiling inwardly. This guy was easy. She swallowed the smaller load as he pulled out, and sat in his chair, breathing more heavily now. That guy's gonna have a heart attack if he's not careful.

As one, the two male slaves in a passionate embrace, lips still locked together, moaned into each other's mouths as they came inside Quillan.

Nessie sucked Quillan's clit hard into her mouth, her tongue pressed tightly against the nub, squeezing her lips together. Quillan arched her back and let out a yowl as her juices gushed from her in the most intense orgasm she'd ever had. She held the posture for a moment before her muscles gave out and she thumped back onto the desk to lie panting and gasping for breath.

The chief leaned forward in his chair and punched the intercom button.

"Cell fourteen," he said, still panting, "let 'em out." A snickering reply to confirm his order, then he punched off.

Nessie made obscene slurping sounds as she sucked up Quillan's juices from the desk, then looked between her legs at Quillan's heaving chest, the pointed nipples standing up proudly.

"Damages are settled and the slave is fully paid for."

Tenhells, I can barely stand, thought Quillan as she made her shaky way into the facility's waiting room. Charleen and Lieutenant Klaksell bowled a few people over in their haste to reach the captain.

"Good God-on-Samarji, Captain," said Charleen, throwing Quillan's arm over her shoulder and supporting the redhead by the waist. "What the fuck happened in there?"

Quillan drunkenly turned her head to spear the XO with an icy glare.

"You'd better appreciate what I go through for my cr..." She passed out.

Hum. Muted light. Eyes are closed. Hum of...air handlers? Cool. Lying on back. Cool sheet on top of me. Air smells clean. Must be on the ship.

Quillan opened one eye a millimeter and peered around. Yep. In the infirmary. A medibot waited patiently beside her as it monitored her vital signs.

"Greetings, captain," it said. "You have suffered trauma to several internal biological systems and tears to your clitoral hood, labia minora, vaginal opening and walls, sphincter, and anal cavity. There was some swelling of your throat, also. Anti-pregnancy injections have been administered as well as antibiotics and anti-inflammatory medication. The biological tissue has been mended and the medications are functioning well within their parameters."

Alice's bedside manner HAD to be better. Alice!

"Where's Commander Nine?" she asked, sitting up and shaking her head to clear it. The sheet fell away to reveal her bare breasts. She didn't care. The only other animated thing in the room was the medibot, and it had seen every part of her in great detail.

"Commander Nine is located in the cryogenic suspension chamber awaiting reactivation," it replied.

"What's wrong with her?"

"I am unable to respond to that question. That data is not available to me."

Shit.

"Where's Commander Wilkerson?"

"Commander Wilkerson is in her quarters in a reclined posture indicative of sleep."

"And the slave?"

"I was not aware of a slave having been brought on board."

Double shit.

"The newest crew member. What is her name and where is she?"

"Amanda Dinnington is currently in Commander Wilkerson's quarters in a reclined posture indicative of sleep."

Quillan swung her legs over the side of the table on which she sat, hopped off and searched about for her uniform. Finding a freshly laundered and folded one lying on a chair, she dressed in it, slipped on her shoes and turned to face the medibot.

"What time is it?" she asked.

"Purgatory time is eleven minutes past midnight."

She had been unconscious for almost eight hours.

"According to Alliance standards, am I cleared for active duty?"

"You are cleared for light, limited duty. You should not engage in strenuous activity for twenty-four hours from this time. Lift no more than ten pounds until that time."

Strenuous activity, my happy ass, she thought. Fucked senseless and being rendered unconscious was strenuous enough.

As she walked down the carpeted hallway toward the mess hall, tummy rumbling, she spoke to thin air.

"Ship's system, this is the captain. Status report on mainframe integrity check."

"No errors thus far. Scan will be completed in nine hours, fifty-one minutes, seventeen seconds," came the flat reply.

For all intents and purposes it was an empty ship. All was quiet, the only company was the ever-present hum of the air recyclers. Almost exactly as it was when she first boarded. Quillan rummaged around in the kitchen and poured some cereal into a bowl, pouring fresh milk over it. She grabbed a spoon and gingerly sat in a chair to hunch over the bowl and eat morosely as she thought about Alice.

What could possibly have happened to cause that blonde bombshell to hit cryo?

Alice was the ship. That much had been determined. Her brain was directly tied to the computer, the body walking around was a shell.

Brain. Computer.

Computer. Brain.

The last person to have anything to do with the computer...

Her feet were in motion and she was running headlong down the corridor before she completed the thought. As she ran, she tapped her lifecomm. By sheer accident, she tapped it three times opening the shipwide intercom.

"I need two sentries to meet me at the gangplank!" Her own strident voice issuing from the speakers startled her for a second, but she kept running. She had meant that message for the security system; now anyone onboard would have heard her.

As she expected, not only were two additional sentry lizards waiting for her, but Muffin, Jeffers, Charleen, and a short brown-haired woman puffed up behind her. She noted that Muffin and Jeffers wore sidearms.

"Captain-ma'am," called Muffin, his deep voice sounding like a demon from Hell, "whatever it is, we're going, too." His words had a finality about them which Quillan wasn't going to argue with.

She briefly explained the situation in her calm voice.

"I really had only need of the lizards, but if you four want to come along to enjoy the show, you're more than welcome." She looked at the young brown-haired, brown-eyed woman who stood behind Charleen. The girl seemed to shrink a bit and hugged the commander's waist. Charleen put a protective, comforting arm around the girl. Quillan smiled genuinely.

"Welcome to the crew." she greeted warmly.

"Begging the captain's pardon," said Charleen, the usual boisterousness gone from her voice, "this is Amanda Dinnington. She's still a little skittish around newcomers and is afraid to say anything. The drugs they doped her with haven't completely worn off. The medibot said it'd be a couple more days before they were completely flushed outta her system."

"Alright, commander. You two stay on board, then. Sorry to wake you up." She suddenly realized that more people had arrived. If fact, it appeared as if the entire ship's complement had shown up. Not only were a few standing behind Charleen in the passageway, but several dozen were running up the gangplank as they spoke, with more seen below heading in their direction.

Quillan realized that these people had loyalty. Her heart swelled.

She tapped the lifecomm while pulling her carrier from her sidepouch. Knowing that she could be heard by everyone with a lifecomm, she addressed them as she typed on her carrier.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm terribly sorry for the misunderstanding and waking you at such an ungodly hour. Since you're here and awake, I ask you all to take a look at the new message I've just sent to your carriers. The picture displayed is that of a repairman named Sluggo. He is suspected of tampering with our computer. If you spot him in the next few days, notify me immediately. Don't make a move on him by yourself or even acknowledge that you recognize him. I'll deal with him."

She was about to say more, but a an incoming message beeped on her carrier. She accessed it.

MESSAGE BEGIN

Blue Spider Lounge, sitting at the bar. You don't need your security team. Bring them if you want, but they aren't necessary. Sluggo

MESSAGE END

Quillan read the message with a bit of trepidation. This guy was good. Very good.

"Alright, crew," she said, then cleared her throat. "I've just received word of his whereabouts. You can all go back to what you doing...um...sorry for the mix up." She sheepishly closed the connection, some of the crew beginning to filter away, others staying put to follow their captain.

The Blue Spider Lounge was home to hackers, crackers, netrunners, and compgeeks in general. As she entered the bar, Quillan peered around at the surroundings

Dark blue, almost black, deep-pile carpet covered the floor, walls, and ceiling of the place. Precisely spaced round flat light fixtures dotted the walls; the tables and chairs being precisely placed, also. Compgeeks in all colors, shapes and sizes sat plugged in to small computers the size of cigarette packs. Thin fiber-optic cables ran from the computer into small dermal plugs at the temples of the skull. Being plugged directly to the machines sported minor risks, like having one's brain fried by a pissed-off anti-intrusion program, but was preferred over the wireless "air" devices who's frequency could be interrupted by a stray signal. Plugging in directly had the benefit of being microseconds faster, too; essential when time was critical.