The Missing Half

Synopsis: A mad scientist releases a virus on his home planet, believing it to be the key to saving the dying empire. Generations later, the descendants of the survivors must decide whether his legacy is a gift or a curse.

***

"Does this look good on me?" asked Christie as she posed in front of the mirror. "I like the way it makes my boobs-"

The lights in the room switched off before she could finish. High pitched shrieks from the other girls drowned out the rumbling of distant explosions. The resulting creaking made them scream even louder.

Dim emergency lights took over and startled them into silence. With their sight restored, a few of the girls glanced at each other then hugged for comfort. Others curled up in the shadows or in the light, whichever felt safer to them.

Time passed until a giggle broke the silence and caught everyone's attention. Two girls were playing with the shadows they casted. One was jiggling her breasts, in awe of how their shadows looked a lot bigger. The other girl made a shadow snake which slithered and bit the other girl's nipple. When she yelped, the resulting giggle was infectious.

The next rumble was ignored now that the girls found other things to preoccupy themselves. Some played with the shadows on the wall. Those nearer to the lights held their jewelry close and marveled at how they sparkled. The more timid ones calmed one another with casual sex.

It was too dark for Christie to see her dress in the mirror, so she just let it drop to the floor in case it looked ugly on her. Then, she felt her way to the dresser and fumbled for a comb. With a cry of triumph, she leaned back and started brushing her hair. The tugging feeling on her scalp did the rest. She close her eyes, hummed a happy tune and swayed from side to side.

"Christie! Master wants to see you!" said one of the girls after an unknown amount of time had passed.

Christie jolted up from the chair and looked straight at the door. Master's silhouette was coming closer. She let go of the comb, letting it fall into the darkness, and stood straight to present herself to master. Her hands clasped together behind her back so he could see everything. It was the best she could do and she wished she wore something sexy to excite him.

"Let's go, Christie. I need you," said master. "Don't bother dressing. There's no time." He grabbed her wrist and pulled her, leading the way out.

Christie could only giggle in anticipation. She was so lucky that master needed her!

The hallways of the base were just as dark as their room and the occasional man who passed by walked or ran as urgently as master did. At one point, a whole squad of armed soldiers passed them by. She giggled when she drew some of their gazes. It felt good to be sexy.

Their final destination of their uneventful journey was the server room. After dragging Christie inside, master locked the door and barricaded it while she watched. There was another rumble, louder than the rest, but master's presence stopped her from worrying.

Master turned around and put his hands on her shoulders. She wished he would touch her in a more sensitive spot. "Christie," he asked. "Can you get me a direct connection to the missile controls?"

She nodded. "Yes master!"

"Good," he said. "Do it quickly."

She obeyed. The room was dark but she was familiar with the place where she used to work and knew where everything was kept. She took the tool belt from the wall and wore it over her naked waist then grabbed a handful of the wiring needed from the drawers and slung them around her shoulder. The last thing she needed was the portable terminal, which nowhere to be found.

She panicked at the thought of displeasing master and spun around in circles with wide eyes, looking for the missing gadget.

"What are you looking for?" asked master.

She jumped at his attention. "Um," she whispered in shame. "The terminal."

"Of course," he said. He went to a corner and returned with the terminal in hand. Curious, she peeked behind him and saw a body sprawled where master had retrieved the tool. "He tried to stop me," master explained.

She remembered the corpse's face. When she used to work here, Marko was obviously head over heels with her. They were about to start something, too, but master infected her before anything more could happen.

Master handed her the terminal and she banished the thoughts of old days. "Thanks, master," she said before getting to work.

She glided through the server racks, seeing the meaning of the red and green status lights as clearly as if the machines spoke. "What's wrong, Delphi?" she asked aloud to one machine. "Why are you hurting like that?"

She plugged her terminal into the machine and thought about how nice it would be to have something plugged into her. Yes, that would be very nice if she didn't have a job to do.

The first diagnostic scan showed that everything was a mess. Network nodes pulsed irregular heartbeats and servers stuttered to one another. "It looks like someone's scrambling us with ECM," she said aloud.

"Of course," said master. "We're under attack."

"Oh. Okay." The details weren't important. Just her task.

She didn't speak once it got technical. Remembered expertise from a lifetime ago guided her mind and body. She zoned out as she did when she brushed her hair, not fully aware of her movement along the server racks and the data scrolling down her screen.

When her awareness returned, she was sitting on the floor with her legs spread and the terminal between them. "Done!" she announced. Sweat from the exertion of thinking shone on her forehead. She bit her lip at the anticipation of her reward for such hard work and thought about all the sockets she had plugged.

"Load all the missiles with the payload from the bio labs. They're stored in bay two," he said.

She pouted but obeyed. After typing in the appropriate commands, she idly stroked her slit with one hand while the other scrolled through the confirmation logs.

"Program in these launch targets," he said and handed her a portable drive.

She took it with her wet hand then plugged it between her legs. When nothing happened on screen, she pulled the drive out, spun it upside down and plugged it between her legs again. Nothing still. Maybe it would work if she jiggled it a bit.

"Stay with me, Christie," said master. "Plug it in the computer port."

She blinked and giggled at her silly mistake. "Sorry master. It's getting hard to think." She pulled the drive out of her body then sucked on it before plugging it into the computer. While the gadget loaded the data, she giggled and played with herself again.

"Don't worry," said master. "You'll get one last fucking once this is done. Just load the data and fire."

"Fucking!" she said with a giggle while she typed in the final commands. Her wet fingers slipped over the keys and she had to redo a lot of typing. It didn't help that she stopped frequently to give herself a few comfort rubs.

"Keep at it." said master. He knelt down and placed his fingers in her pussy. "I'll take care of you down there. Just get those missiles in the air."

She just nodded, giggled and typed with a happy smile on her face. This continued for awhile until master looked at the screen. She was entering gibberish punctuated with the occasional "fuCK" and "PU55Y" .

He took his fingers out of her and slapped her on the cheek. "You bitch! I told you to fire the missiles!"

She giggled at the kinky sting the slap left on her face. "Already fired," she said and pressed the button to display the missile tracker. She had only continued typing so he could play with her more. It was such a clever plan.

He shoved her aside and grabbed the terminal. Desperate eyes scanned to see if the deed was done. "When did you fire?" he asked. The first strikes should be hitting by now.

She answered with a grunt. She was too busy pumping the handle of some diagnostic tool into her pussy. Her eyes gazed at the erratic readouts of the tool, seeing only a kaleidoscopic visualization of her lust. One of her hands fumbled around the tool belt still around her waist, looking for something else she could play with.

He was too afraid to touch any key. It could abort the sequence. All he could do was watch and wait in those tense moments, hoping that her rational mind hadn't burned out too late.

The cursor blinked and spat out text.

BLACKWATER CITY: HIT

He sighed in relief.

RITTER: HIT

SOLUS: HIT

RARIER: MISS

MAESTRA: HIT

He laughed out loud and put a hand on Christie's leg. "Good girl," he said. "Good girl. Do you know what you've just done?"

She spread her legs for him. "Christie want fuck," she said.

"Every woman on the planet will be just like you. But this time, they can share their gift. Their daughters will follow in their footsteps and the gift will survive through time. One day, someone who shares my dream will seize my legacy and do what I could not."

She just giggled and pulled him down on the floor. "Christie make daughters," she said. "Make children with fucking! Master promised!"

Her master placed the terminal where he could watch and made good on his promise. He pinned down the now mindless girl and impaled her, unconsciously thrusting in time with every confirmed hit on the screen. The missiles were his seed. The planet, the last egg of the empire he loved. It didn't matter that the next explosion was much closer and was followed by the sound of collapsing rock. He knew he had succeeded.

With one last kiss, the two of them faded away in bliss.

***

Centuries later.

After a lot of insistent shaking, Darrin finally woke. He opened his eyes to see his wife kneeling over him with a breast sticking out of her nightgown. The sight pulled him out of the dream he was having and he flexed his dick which was still hard from sleep.

"Are you feeling a midnight craving, dear?" he asked as he put a hand on his wife's hips.

Vicky's answer was a disappointing surprise. "You have a call from Mister Suffridge. He says its urgent."

He glanced out the window into the dark blue of the early morning and wondered why a historian would be needed at this hour. After a resigned sigh, he leaned up to kiss his wife and fix her nightgown. "Thanks. You can go get some sleep now if you want."

She giggled and got off him. "I'd rather come with you."

They went downstairs together, holding hands. When he sat down to answer the phone, she sat on his lap and leaned back on him. Thankful for her warmth, he put one arm around her before answering the phone.

"Hello? Darrin?" said the familiar voice. "A car's coming to pick you up in a few minutes."

"What for?!"

"I can't say over a wire. Classified. All I can tell you is that it's important stuff and you were the first pick on a short list. You'll get the rest of the details once you've been picked up."

Darrin laughed. "You didn't even ask if I wanted to leave at this hour! Sophie's tits, Morgan, what have you gotten me into this time?"

The voice at the other end returned the laugh. "I know you'll agree to do this, Darrin, because you can't resist a mystery like this. But watch that mouth of yours, this assignment requires a bit of political correctness."

Darrin fell silent, wondering how the tamest of swearing could be considered offensive.

"Start packing and making arrangements for your wife's care," continued Morgan. "You could be gone for a few days."

"Alright," said Darrin. "Anything else?"

"That should be all. You should have about half an hour to prepare. Thanks, Darrin. Thanks."

When he hung up, he caught his wife staring into space with her finger twirling her hair automatically.

He hugged her tight and spoke into her ear. "I'll be gone for a few days. Morgan says the car's on its way and we've got to start packing."

She snapped out of the trance and got off him. "Okay," she said. "You get the suitcase out and I'll start folding your things."

They returned upstairs and packed together with the wordless efficiency that years of companionship had brought. Once his things were ready, he left a note to Nick and Alice, the partner couple who lived when them. The note explained his abrupt trip and instructed Nick to take care of Vicky's needs while he was gone.

"Nick will take care of you if you need a fuck, okay?" he told his wife. "Just pass this note to him first and don't just pounce on him like the last time I went to a conference." After she nodded, he tied a string around her finger so she wouldn't forget.

There was still a lot of time to spare so he asked her, "How about some goodbye sex before I get dressed?"

"Of course!' She giggled and slid out of her nightie in one smooth motion. Then, before he could move to take her, she hopped on top of the packed suitcase on their bed. She lay on it, stomach down, with her lower half propped up on the luggage. Her pussy left a smear of wetness where she slid on the leather.

Darrin smiled at his wife's creativity. She was one of the smarter girls.

She began grunting as soon as he entered her from behind and got into a rhythm. But the suitcase made his position tiring. He had to stop and rebalance himself. When he withdrew, she panted loud enough for him to hear.

After making a slight adjustment to his stance, he paused and kept her in anticipation. Then, right before her panting could slow, he thrust. She have a high pitched squeal and vocalized louder than before.

It didn't take long for him to feel the strain again. In another time, he would have stopped to reposition again but he had a schedule to keep. He let himself go, triggering their orgasms. For a split second, they were frozen and tireless. Then, he relaxed and lay down on her. They breathed in time for awhile before he slid out of her, leaving a stain of his own on the suitcase.

"Sorry I couldn't make you come more," he said. "But I don't want to keep Morgan waiting." He wiped himself on the bed sheet and got dressed while his wife licked off the mess they made on the suitcase. She wore the nightie she had discarded and the fabric clung to wet pussy.

Together, they went outside and waited. It was cold and she wore next to nothing, but Vicky weathered it so she could stay with her husband longer. To keep warm, all she had to do was rub on him a bit.

The car arrived and, to Darrin's surprise, a female chauffeur stepped out of the driver's seat. It made him wonder what Vicky could have become if she was born in a different generation, one with the training techniques that could teach women to be more than housewives.

The chauffeur looked proud in her uniform. The peaked cap on her head was the only piece of clothing identical to that of male chauffeurs. The many-buttoned coat and leather gloves were cut to fit her bust and dainty fingers. Below the waist, she wore a skirt that ended above the knee and stockings covered the region of her legs left exposed between her boots. When she walked toward him, he could see that the slits on the side of her skirt ran deep for easy access in case she needed a fuck when her higher functions shut down.

A man in a trenchcoat came out from passenger seat in the back and offered his hand. "Mister Wesley?" said the man after introducing himself as an intelligence agent. "Get in and let Dana take care of your luggage. We've got a schedule to keep."

Darrin shook the agent's hand then gave his wife one last kiss. She reluctantly let go of him and waved as he followed the agent into the car. Once the doors were shut and the car was on the way, it was all business.

"I'll give it to you straight," said the agent. "We've made contact. The empire has returned."

Darrin collapsed backward in his seat. Everyone knew the moment would come someday but no one really expected it to happen during his lifetime. Their rebellious ancestors destroyed the stargates, forcing the empire to travel the slow way. Given interstellar distances, the luckier rebel colonies would be safe for millennia. It would be more than enough time to develop a tech base to match anything the imperialists would have.

The agent continued. "Now, the good news. You see, we only managed to detect the spacecraft because, as of a few hours ago, our ancient defenses on the moon opened fire on the imperial craft and caught it by surprise. After the lightshow, only bits of debris remained."

"But didn't you say we made contact?"

The agent nodded. "I was getting to that. Naturally, we raced to salvage as much as we could. Even a defective fragment of space tech could jump us few decades forward. But one of the bits of debris was actually a lifeboat. A lifeboat with a survivor. This is why we need you, Mister Wesley. We can't fight a war with the empire. Not when half of us are no better than pets. We need peace and, given your field of expertise, you're the most qualified man to talk to her."

"The survivor's a 'her'?!" said Darrin. "Sophie's tits, we've only got a few days before the virus gets to her!"

"We're luckier that that. When she met our guys, she had a mask on and explained that quarantine was standard contact procedure to prevent the spread of off-planet disease. We then made it clear to her that she had to keep it on or risk infection from us."

"It means she'll stay intelligent! It means she-"

"It means," interrupted the agent, "that this is a delicate situation. As the only known survivor, she's now the acting ambassador of the empire. Her opinion of us will matter greatly when the other ships arrive."

Darrin exhaled, nervous at the responsibility given to him. "What does she know?" he asked.

The agent chuckled and shrugged. "I don't know myself. I'm just the messenger, really."

"Alright then, how much time do I have to prepare for the most important lecture of my life?"

The agent leaned forward toward the driver. "Dana? How long until we get there?"

"Around three hours and twenty two minutes before we arrive at the crash site, sir."

"Good," said the agent and patted her on the shoulder. She giggled in response but kept the car on its steady course.

Darrin stared out the window, deep in thought and muttering the beginnings of the speech to himself.

He didn't notice time pass until they went off road and shock of hitting uneven ground jarred him out of his thoughts. Outside, he could see the sky brighten even if the sun hadn't poked out of the horizon yet. He marshaled his thoughts to ignore the bumps and rehearsed his opening. "On the eve of the dark age, our ancestors join the great rebellion..."

Hours later, Darrin found himself trudging up a hill, fighting muscles still complaining from the long ride. The sun was just rising, but the weak heat it gave was effectively trapped inside the improvised quarantine suit he wore. In truth, the outfit was nothing more than a soldier's hooded winter greatcoat and gas mask all dunked in disinfectant. In theory, the insulation from cold and damp would also protect the survivor from the disease he spread with every breath and drop from his body.

A bead of perspiration rolled down his face and he tried to wipe it off. Gloved hands slid on the gas mask's goggles and Darrin sighed. "How far is she?" he asked.

"Just over the hill," answered the lieutenant who escorted him.

It was just the two of them. Darrin thought that higher ranked officers should have come. Instead, they claimed they were too busy organizing the border defense. According to them, there was no telling what the Marlowists across the border would do if they discovered that there was a female survivor. Darrin suspected that the officers where just afraid to confront a woman. He himself wasn't sure he had the nerves.

They crested the hill and saw the crash site. The lifeboat was a perfect sphere half embedded in the earth and around it were boxes of supplies that the survivor must have unloaded. The survivor herself sat on the ground, tinkering with a device stacked on a crate.