Genesis Alpha

New Year's Eve on Triton- FlashNews- The faculty of the Shoemaker Science Station are dressing the halls all this week for an event that happens once every one hundred and sixty five years. At 4,496 kilometers out, the planet Neptune will complete an orbit of the Sun, and the crew of mankind's furthest outpost yet is marking the occasion in a big way.

"We don't get a chance like this very often," Said researcher Christina Warner. "We haven't done anything like this since we left Earth. It's a once in a lifetime thing so, it might get a little bit crazy around here. We tried to save some provisions, like from the only time we received a shipment of steak so far, we put aside enough for the staff to have one each. I think everybody has a little bit of something or another put away for that special occasion."

Including a potent micro-brew. The local favorite is called Triton Tank-Swill and it packs a mean punch. Station Commander Merrill Weston likes it that way, but he'll have Gardenburgers on the grill with the steaks.

"The station family will be a Neptunian year old tomorrow," He says. "Sure, we landed here eleven Terran years ago, but to have made it this far, is a big step for us." In addition to his degree in Astronomy, he wears the title of station beer-meister, but won't divulge the secret that gives his Triton-brand its impact. An amateur brewer in addition to his more well known degree fields, he did say the ingredients were grown locally.

The party is set to start at the beginning of the station's next orbit around it's host world, Neptune. The site for the party is going to be in the middle of the station's massive greenhouse, filled with broad-leafed plants just perfect for sucking up Carbon-Dioxide and producing Oxygen.

"Mostly we're scientists," Merril said, looking on as decorations, made from scrap but still beautiful, cut the green sea inside the geodesic atrium with streaks of color. "We're construction workers when they send us new modular units to attach to the main habitat, but we can't forget that we're also human. That means that we're adults sometimes, and kids sometimes, and kids have to play. Being mostly self-sufficient has it's advantages."

When asked how his research was progressing, he had nothing but good things to say about the new Clarity-arrayed telescope installed here.

"What to say about our telescope? Wow, I wouldn't know where to begin. We're getting better shots of the Alpha Centauri system that we are of our own sun, it's like we're right next door. With the technology we've got, it would take us forty years to get there, and with Clarity it's like... like looking though somebody's window into their living room. We'll get there someday. I'd like to be around for the fireworks display but I know I did my part."

Done their part they have, and at the turn of the midwatch five rotations from now, the crew of Triton station will throw a party that, for most of them, will only happen once in their lives. Happy New Year from Triton.

1st Rotation

"What do you think, Merrill?"

The station commander lowered the hardcopy of the update I had filed, FlashNews those fucks. They never told me what I did to get sent so far from where anything was happening but I still filed my reports once every seven rotations. They were paying my way and the electronic credit transfers kept arriving so I've be here for a while. On the upside, this station is on the leading fringe of exploration and research, when I got the otherwise numbing news I tried to put things in the best possible light. There'd be a story here, eventually, then maybe I could get the fuck off this rock.

"This pretty well describes what we'll be doing," Weston said. "Yes, it's a festival but it'll be a working festival. We have several research protocols to cover this whole week. I think it'll be fun though, I've got a list of book discussion groups if you want to sign up for one. You're more than welcome to join in, of course. We like to think that we're good hosts."

"I'll be happy to. I hope I don't mess up your research by being a complete dullard when it comes to anything scientific, I just know how to craft words into something that everybody can understand."

Weston laughed, he was a fifty-something NASA colonel who kept fit by spending hours in the exercise module on the treadmill, gut like a steel plate, he could do 450 sit-ups in a row in Triton's weak gravity. He was the big man in charge when it came to station affairs and was a fair botanist in addition to being an outstanding astronomer. He loved it on Triton, the fuck. He pressed the talk button on the intercom mounted into his desk.

"Rachael, will you come in here please?" Weston said, then he focused his attention on me as he stretched out at his desk. "That's okay, this is one subject that I think everyone is an expert on. Besides, just remember that we'll all be one year old again for a short while, not literally of course, but you can do no wrong when you're a child, it's all about exploration."

"So what sort of protocols will we be testing?" I said. Everything I'd seen so far told me that this station would be the model for any settlements outside the system. The central geodesic greenhouse dome was reinforced by fibro-steel supports thrusting out of an artificial lake, deep enough for swimming and Kelp-beds lined the bottom, crop-fields tended by diver/aqua-culturists. It was heated by natural, geothermal sources and steam coming off it's surface help from it generated spawned floral growth as dense as it was at either tropic on Earth, a spot of paradise in a dark, cold place. Don't get me wrong, there were a few things that made it nice.

"Yes, Doctor?" The module door rolled open and Weston's personal assistant came in with an electronic assistant, stylus poised over the sensor pad, ready to take notes. Rachael Strauss was a stunning example of humanity, a trim 5'7" with shoulder-length Brunette hair and dark cats-eyes.

She was a recent arrival from Mars and the rumor was that she enjoyed considerable sexual control over than one man. Rachael had superstar, bee-sting lips and a body darkly tanned by the station's lone UV projector. She liked wearing Lilly musk and wearing fitted shorts with a gray half t-shirts under the blue jumpsuits that were the standard uniforms. Hers were fitted and she wore them to slay. Her legs merged smoothly with her firm, heart-shaped derriere. The jumpsuit was unzipped to the waist and the sides rolled and held back by Velcro tabs. A bellybutton ring flashed from her smooth stomach but more interesting was the engaging way her nipples poked through her bra-material to indent the t-shirt fabric.

"You'll be happy to know that our friend Maxwell has accepted our offer to join in the study starting today."

"Fine, I'll add his name to the pool list," Rachael said curtly and lifted the EA to make a note. Her contribution to the team was as information specialist. "It's good to have you on board, Mister Noble, and just in time to, this should make things a little more even. Still, we'll be lucky to put together ten couples, we'll still have a couple triple-groups though."

"It shouldn't effect the outcome of the study," Weston said. "You can fudge the draw for him. We want to make a good impression."

"Of course, Doctor," Rachael said and gave me an uncertain eye. Despite several months among the crew of Triton station, I was still being accepted by some. "I think I could find one or two people to look after him, if he behaves himself."

"Oh, I won't be any trouble." I said as she turned on her heel. I watched her ass cheeks shift under the elastic blue cloth, the cleft of each showed tantilizingly as she turned. "Unless it's absolutely called for."

"Good, well Mister Noble, I'll keep that in mind." Rachael said and the look in her changed to one appraising a product.

"In answer to your question, we'll be going over the Bingham Fertility Protocol," Weston said and took a pull off of the self-heating cup attached via magnet to his desk. It was filled with a greenish-sludge that I knew to be his latest batch of Triton Tank-Swill. "It was proposed back when we first started settling Mars. Basically, we'll have round-table study-group discussions and workshops. Once we finish at the end of fifth rotation, there'll be a reception in the atrium. Fun stuff, a cookout, swimming, you know."

"So what's the Bingham Fertility Protocol?"

Weston laughed, making me feel somewhat stupid, like an ape being given a banana made out of wax, always tested.

"It was proposed by a Doctor Estes Bingham back during the early colonization of Mars, twenty-eighty or so. They were trying to put natural methods back into the birth-process but they needed to make it more efficient. They needed to find a way to begin populating the planet without all the lab equipment available on Earth. Then inter-system vessels powered by solar sails came along and made affordable exodus from Earth possible."

"I see," Said I, though I really didn't. "What's the first study group covering?"

I got a mental picture of a bunch of brainy-types sitting around discussing Proust as Weston leaned forward and rested his elbows on his desk. He wrinkled his brow with intense concentration on the screen as he tapped on the desk's integral keyboard.

"Here we are... the first study-group will cover the complete, unabridged Kama Sutra... the Herrod's translation, I believe."

"The what?" In all honesty, I had never heard of such a thing. It was clearly a title among the hundreds of millions that mankind had stored in electronic form, stored forever in ice-cold orbital data-cores.

"It was an ancient India educational text containing rules for spiritual copulation. It was quite a popular reference until about twenty-fifty A.D. until it was replaced by the Sexomicron, that we'll be covering during fourth rotation. There's also the Story of O on second rotation and the Joy of Sex, complete series on the third."

"Who?" I said, getting tired of hearing names and titles that ten generations of human-kind had forgotten about.

"These were another two guide-books that were considered advanced for their time," Weston said. "We had to order them in data cube form from Earth but they arrived in plenty of time. You should sign up to lead a workshop, I think there are a few good ones left."

"Sure, just show me the list and I'm in." I said. I didn't know what he was talking about but I was thrilled to be included.

"Fine, fine... just one moment here." Weston said and clicked through several different files. "Ah, yes, it looks like we have the Encyclopedia of Unusual Sex Practices on the fifth, the Manual of Human Sexuality on the sixth, and during the seventh rotation we rest and picnic in the big greenhouse."

"Well, how old fashioned of you." I said, Weston wasn't wearing a cross but he seemed like the type. Clean cut on the outside, he always had a smile on his face. Sometimes I found it infuriating that he seemed so happy with his lot. Everyone on the station seemed to always be too busy to stop and have a talk, or a kiss, or tumble that I was beginning to feel like a ghost.

"Doctor, your workshop partner is here." Rachael called in over the intercom.

"Fine, send her in." Weston said.

A girl came in, none of the stationers carried identification and age was sometimes difficult to tell, but my guess was that the tight-breasted female with the baggy, orange Nomex emergency-suit on was between 16 and 18 Terran years old, was my guess, if she hadn't been fixed. The badge on her breast was red instead of blue. She was the child of an original stationer.

"Maxwell, let me introduce you to my workshop partner, Molly Flint. I believe you've met her parents? They were sitting across from you during chow."

"Of course, she looks just like her mother." If she aged half as well as her parents did, Molly would be a stunner into her 50's and a professional somebody if she ever decided went back to Earth. As far as she would get was Mars, as only a fertilized embryo, her coding had been altered and Earth was closed to what was being fashionably called "genetic tampering."

She wore her red-hair braided long in a ponytail that hung down to her waist. I could see that the zip-up was hiding a set youthful curves that were of an animal bred to compete. She came to attention in front of Weston she made up with intensity. She was the assistant-captain of the station zero-gravity gymnastics team and practiced daily, now her cheeks wore the red streaks that indicated she'd been crying. Her family name was born out in her eyes, as gray and dark as the stone the settlement was built into.

"What's wrong, angel? Are you okay? How did phase three go?"

"It hurts, it felt like I got stung by a bee when the piercing needle went through, now my tongue is all swelled up."

"Say hello to Mister Noble." Weston said. She turned my way and I felt a needle go through me, I was impaled on her eyes.

"Please to meet you, Mister Noble." She answered automatically, those same eyes lacked any spark of interest that was more than passing, but her "S's" sounded like "Th" and her "T's" were blunted by a thick tongue having trouble with words.

"I won't think any less of you, there are people all around this system that talk like that and it doesn't go away, let's have a look at it." Weston said. Without hesitation, Molly sank to her knees, sucking on her bottom lip. She closed her eyes and put her head back, then opened her mouth wide. Watching her lips parts was like watching dawn break on the day you'd remember for the rest of your life. "Go on, don't keep us waiting."

The pink tip of her tongue trembled it's way out of her mouth, followed by the thicker body, the cause of distress was immediately visible, a pea-sized silver bead atop a stainless steel post protruding through sweet spot, just perfect for dual-duty use.

"It's not so bad," Weston said and nodded approvingly. "The swelling should go down in a few orbits. We can stop if you like, but I would really be unhappy to see the protocols fall behind."

"It's Ok," She said and wiped her sniffles away. "I'll be alright. I trust you, Doctor."

"That's a good girl," Weston said and stood from his chair. "If you'll fetch the apparatus we'll get started. I'll set up the audio/visual gear."

She jogged off to fulfill his orders while he moved to the portable video disk player on the floor next to a small therapy bench covered with a thick layer of reactive memory gel. It conformed to the shape of the body and could give comfortable support for hours, as Weston was about to demonstrate. Molly opened a storage locker beside the door and removed something phallic-shaped with lots of straps dangling from it's triangular synth-leather support.

"My dear, you'll have to forgive me, I've forgotten what number you watched last time." Weston said as he half-turned and got her attention with a wave, but he had it all along. Her eyes never left him except for when she

"We're on number eight."

"Thank you, Molly, please carry on." Weston said as he rummaged through mini-disk cases. He found the one labeled #16 and slid the disk inside into the player. I scanned the title as he set the case back into the rack. Cum-Eruption Finals 2120 was hand-written on the spine with a permanent black marker.

Molly laid her prize on the table and for the first time I could get a good look at what it actually was... a "penile-suppliment" to use station lingo. It was seven inches long and at least three in girth, made of flesh-colored rubber, and was held in place by a ring and several support straps apparently to keep it in place over whichever orifice it was being inserted into. She looked over her shoulder and backed toward me. "Unzip me please, Mister Noble?"

"Of course, Miss Flint, you had survival instruction today? I understand that some part parts of it can be pretty tough." I said. The suit delivered partial protection from vacuum and sealed the neck with a collar that a helmet-locked onto. It would provide atmosphere in the event of a depressurization. I cracked the seal at the ring and pulled on the zipper-tab. The smell of a warm, young body rose up with the moist air with that of Lavender water, the combination made my nostrils flare, triggering a flood of Testosterone and Gonadotropics into my system.

"It was fine. We had micro-gravity practice today in the training dome. I was wonderful, I learned how to fly almost. I pulled off a triple-flip, double-twist during practice, micro-gravity kicks ass."

"Does your mother know you're using that kind of language, young lady?" Weston said. "I assure you that it is quite unnecessary in this setting."

"Sorry, Mister Weston."

Then, in a lower tone, he turned to me and said. "I'll show you what we to with potty mouths around here, Mister Noble."

Molly cringed as Weston seized the dildo apparatus from off the table. "Let's get continue with phase four, assume the position, Molly."

He used the rubber phallus as a rod and pointed at the memory-gel chair. Molly slipped off her jumpsuit and climbed onto it, assuming a comfortable face-down position that would allow her to see the video-feed monitor. She looked at him with weepy eyes filled with utter yielding as she opened her ripe lips.

"Ok, resuming at eighteen hundred hours, video number eight." Weston spoke into the personal recorder attached to his label and started the video feed. The semi-final rounds were first. A blonde with elf-like features appeared, working her tongue around the shaft of a man's cock.

Weston slid the rod across Molly's tongue, pushing it deeper back into her through until it the synthesized scrotum sac butted up against her lips. Once in-place, Weston used the straps attached to buckled the dildo into place.

"You should have seen what happened when we first started preparing for this," Weston said as Molly opened her eyes and focused on the video. "Poor Molly was gagging so much around the supplimental that I thought I was going to have to find myself a new workshop partner."

I could see that the harness around her head was moving somewhat. Molly was working her tongue up and down the length of the prosthesis, the device apparently quite comfortable in her mouth. Her eyes were fixed on the action on screen. The sucktress had a piercing through each cheek to accomidate a camera instead of Stainless-Steel beads, but she had one of those through her tongue as well and was dragging it against the contestants shaft with enthusiastic vigor.

"What workshop is this for?" I said. Molly was beginning to leak. Saliva from her mouth, but it was the scent of juices flowing from elsewhere that caused ugly, primal urges to rise up within me. This fresh female, right here in front of me, any part of her would feel better than velvet glove around my cock. My heartbeat sped up as my imagination went into overdrive, her soft lips working my shaft, her face thrust forward eyes, closed, to receive a sticky shower, little pearls of white spread across freckled cheeks, neck, and chest.

"This is for the Manual of Human Sexuality group, we're doing a presentation on the effects of suggestive media on the developing mind. It should be a hoot."

"Call me old fashioned, but there's going to be a lot of fucking going on during this protocol, isn't there?"

"Well, of course, that's the whole point."

To Be Continued...