Pinwheel Remastered

Before I had a chance to get up, she strode across the room and struck me with the back of her hand, the blow dazing me and sending me reeling.

"Wait, Raz! Please don't!" I pleaded, tasting the copper flavor of blood on my tongue.

She wasn't listening, she was too angry. It was as though she was in a trance, a fugue state, my words failing to reach her. She closed her thick fingers around my throat again, pinning me to the bed with her left hand, bring the right to my chest. She brandished her claws, glinting as they caught the light, my eyes following them down to my shirt. She used the hooked talon on her index finger to slice through the material like it was made of paper, leaving my torso exposed and vulnerable. She watched me squirm for a moment as I tried to break free, her eyes lingering on my writhing body. Was that hunger in her eyes?

For all my wriggling, I had no hope of breaking free. Raz was just too powerful, so much larger and stronger than any human could have hoped to be. I could take her with a gun, but unarmed, I was utterly helpless. My eyelids began to flutter, her iron grip on my throat cutting off my oxygen supply, the corners of my vision starting to narrow as I became lightheaded.

Slowly and deliberately, she dragged her sharp claws from my chest to my belly, the sting of it bringing me back to my senses. She didn't intend to disembowel me, and she certainly could have. Raz only seemed to want me hurt and frightened. They dug into my skin, leaving burning trails and drawing crimson blood, white-hot pain searing through four fresh scars. I tried to cry out but only managed a muffled gag, her hand still firmly closed around my esophagus.

She brought a bloodied claw up to her mouth, touching it against her tongue and savoring the taste of my defeat.

"You taste so sweet," she muttered, as much to herself as to me. "So soft and pale...cutting your flesh is like drawing in wet clay, Stanley."

She finally released her hold on my neck, leaving it bruised and sore, probably intending to relish my pleas for mercy. My hand shot to my burning chest reflexively, and I drew back a trembling palm, seeing red blood. The cuts were not as deep as I had assumed, superficial at best, but they would leave scars...
I looked up at her, and she watched me eagerly, expectant.

"Raz, don't do this," I choked over my sore throat. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen, all I ever did was to try to be your friend!"

She climbed up onto the bed, the mattress sagging as she put her weight on it, mounting me and pinning my lower body between her thighs. I could feel the muscle that lurked beneath the cushion of yielding fat as she tensed, holding me tightly. They were so large that her knees almost reached my armpits. She let more of her weight rest on me, sinking me into the bed. With one hand, she gripped both of my wrists and held my arms up above my head, the other wandering down toward my face.

I tried to turn away, but she grabbed my chin and forced me to look her in the eye. My skin tingled as she ran her claws across my cheek, as light as the caress of a feather. Her gaze was almost affectionate now, the combination of violence and tenderness setting off all kinds of red flags.

"Where's your human fighting prowess now that your friends aren't here to protect you, Stanley?" she purred sweetly. "I could do whatever I wanted to you. I could put your eyes out, slit your throat, give you a new face that your own mother wouldn't recognize." She ground her crotch against me, the unexpected sensation making me gasp in surprise. "I could fuck you, Stanley, would you like that? There are many ways to submit, many ways to show subservience to your Alpha."

Raz leaned down close, her lips brushing my ear, her warm breath tickling my skin as she whispered to me in a low and husky voice.

"I could do things to you that would make you mewl like a kitten, I could take you in every way that you can imagine. Every time that you closed your eyes, you'd see my face. You'd smell me, taste me, you'd remember the things that I did to you."

I struggled ardently now, my fear turning into anger and desperation. If I was going to die here, then I wasn't going to do it lying on my back, begging for mercy from a psychopath. I'd get in a few good hits at least. I managed to slip one hand free of her grip, winding up a punch and hitting her in the face as hard as I could.

She caught my hand before it made contact, squeezing my fist in her silky palm, laughing at my pained expression.

"You just don't know when to quit, do you, monkey? There wouldn't be any sport in it otherwise..."

My panic suddenly turned to hope as a spark of inspiration crossed my mind.

"Raz, wait, wait. I can fix this!"

She cocked her head at me, her expression curious.

"Oh? And how do you propose to do that?" She appeared to be humoring me, this was my only chance to deescalate the situation before she did something crazy.

"H-hear me out, hear me out! So you lost your standing, right? Because you couldn't hit your target at the range, and because I stood you down in the recreation center. And because that Krell knocked you down."

Her brow furrowed, and she brought her claws up to my face again.

"Wait, wait!" I gasped as she brushed them against my cheek. "What if I could fix that? What if I could show you how to build the best XMR that the station has ever seen, what if I could teach you how to shoot it better than anyone else in the platoon? I studied harder than anyone back at the academy, I can teach you how to pass any exam or test, you'd be showing up every other Borealan here. Then they'd have to respect you again, right? I can show you how to gain the respect of the humans and the Krell, too!"

She leaned back a little, scratching her chin pensively with a curved claw as she weighed her options.

"If you aced the program and gained the admiration of the other species, then there's no way that your father would send you home. You'd be his best example of what Borealis can offer the Coalition!"

Raz eyed me suspiciously, and I waited with bated breath, beads of cold sweat dripping down my face. After some consideration, she seemed to come to a decision, lifting off me. I breathed in a sigh of relief as her oppressive weight left me, rising along with the mattress as she stood by the side of the bed. I dared to sit up again, rubbing my bruised throat and my scarred chest.

"Alright, tree climber, I accept. But on one condition. You are mine, you belong to me. This isn't a mutual arrangement, we aren't friends. You're my subordinate, and I want you to act like it. If you breathe a word about our little arrangement to anyone, if you tell so much as a soul that I accepted your help, then I'll finish what I started tonight. Is that clear?"

I nodded hastily, watching as Raz strode over to my bed. She gripped the metal frame in her hands, her muscles bulging again as she dragged it back against the wall. She turned to me and gestured to it.

"Better get some sleep. If you're going to make this right, then you'll need to be well rested."

I scowled at her, making my way over to my bunk.

CHAPTER 4: WITH FRIENDS LIKE THESE

My sleep was a troubled one, visions of stalking tigers and ravenous monsters haunted my dreams. Raz had crossed the line, her playful teasing had become serious threats, and the fresh scars on my chest stung as a reminder. When I awoke, Raz was stretching, her lean body and graceful movements drawing my eye once again.

I felt a surge of guilty arousal as I watched her from the corner of my eye, pretending that I was still asleep. Had she been serious about fucking me? Would she have gone through with it if I hadn't managed to weasel my way out of the situation? What would that have felt like?

I squirmed uncomfortably as I imagined her heavy, toned body moving atop mine, a sheen of sweat making her skin glisten as her sumptuous breasts bounced free of their support and her-

Damn it, I needed to keep my head on straight. This was exactly what she wanted. Although I would never admit it to Raz, she had been right. I had never had a girlfriend. My childhood and adolescence had been spent on a farm in a rural area, with no neighbors for miles around. I had joined the Navy as soon as I had come of age, and my life since had been focused on the single-minded goal of becoming a Marine, leaving little room for relationships. The alien seemed to be able to smell it on me...

I banished such thoughts from my mind, sliding out of bed and starting to get dressed. I glanced down at my chest, examining the red trails that Raz had left in my skin, tracing them with my fingers. They had closed up already, but they still burned, and they'd definitely leave a prominent mark. It was as though she had wanted to carve her name into me, she wanted me to think of her whenever I felt a twinge or saw my reflection in the mirror. The medics could probably remove them, but what story would I tell them? That I had fallen chest-first onto a garden rake?

Raz ignored me as I left the room and made my way to the mess hall, where I grabbed a tray and filled it with with a hearty breakfast of eggs and bacon. I joined my friends around their table, and they inquired as to why I looked so unrested. I simply told them that Raz and I had had a fight the night before, which wasn't entirely untrue, and that we had come to an understanding. They seemed to accept that, changing the subject. Even when they had backup, nobody was especially eager to go toe to toe with the surly alien.

As I chewed on a strip of bacon, I saw Raz enter the mess. I tensed up, keeping one eye on her as she moved over to the glass counter, picking up a slab of nondescript meat and slapping it down wetly onto her tray. She glanced around the room for a moment, then locked onto me, stalking over to my table. She sidled up next to me and slammed her tray down, almost making my human neighbor jump out of his skin. He wolfed down one last fried egg, then made an excuse to leave, getting away from the alien as quickly as possible.

There was no hope of her sitting on the human-sized bench, and so she sat down cross-legged on the floor beside me, putting her tall frame at about the appropriate height. She reached over and picked up what looked like a piece of raw steak in her claws, beginning to gnaw on it as the rest of the table's occupants slowly slipped away.

"Raz?" I asked, shooting her a questioning look. "Why aren't you sitting with the other Borealans?"

I glanced over at their preferred table, where the aliens were eating as a group. They hadn't even acknowledged Raz's presence. They seemed to be ignoring her, not a solitary ear was pointed in our direction.

"I lost standing, remember? They won't accept me."

"So...why are you sitting next to me?"

She muttered something under her breath that I couldn't quite hear, and I asked her to speak up.

"I don't know anyone else," she mumbled, "I don't have any other friends."

I couldn't help but feel a little sorry for her. As much of a nightmare as she was, she had completely failed to socialize outside of her pack. She had no friends at all now that the other Borealans were giving her the cold shoulder. She certainly didn't deserve to have any friends, but she looked so miserable as she hunched over the table, taking a bite out of her meat and chewing it forlornly.

"That's not what friendship is, you know," I chided. She glanced over at me, red juice dripping from her chin.

"Why's that?"

"Friendship isn't when people are afraid of you. When they stop being afraid of you, then they stop associating with you altogether, right?" Raz didn't respond, so I pressed on. "A friend is somebody who likes you for who you are, not because of what you can do for them, or because they're scared of what you'll do to them. Remember when that Krell defended me back in the recreation center?"

That got a reaction out of her, and she scowled, taking another bite out of her steak.

"Yeah, I remember," she muttered.

"Well, he wasn't doing that because he was afraid of me, or because I had higher standing than him. He did it because I was kind to him and he wanted to protect me." I watched as she picked a piece of meat from between her teeth with one of her pointed claws, unsure of whether she was even paying attention. "If you want to start making friends among the other species, then you're going to have to start being nicer to people. They aren't Borealans, they won't respond to intimidation or appeals to social standing, that will only make them angry. Hey, are you even listening to me?"

She stopped chewing for a moment and glanced over at me.

"Yes..."

"Okay then. Well, like I said, try being nicer to people. Make way for them when they pass you in a corridor rather than expecting other people to move for you. Be polite, don't insult people, don't make fun of them. Maybe try to learn some human games so that you can break the ice and start socializing with people. Humans love playing, it's practically all we do."

"Borealans play games too," she added.

"Alright, good! That's somewhere to start, at least. I can teach you to play cards or pool, you only have to ask..."

She went back to her breakfast, occasionally glancing up at the other Borealans as she chewed. Was that expression resentment? Longing? It was hard to tell. I had underestimated how hard being excommunicated from her pack had hit her, she was sulking, despondent. I might feel the same way if I had suddenly found myself alone in an unfamiliar environment, with no support structure of any kind. Social bonds seemed to be central to Borealan life, perhaps she was like a wolf without a pack now.

Again, I felt a pang of undeserved pity, but the stinging in my chest made me think twice.

***

After breakfast, we headed to the gym. The Staff Sergeants insisted that we be in peak physical condition at all times, and they wanted to get us back on a strict exercise regimen. After spending months on cramped starships and far lesser space stations with little opportunity to exercise, some of the recruits had gotten a little soft around the middle. They had given us a manual in basic training that included exercises that could be performed even in the confines of a tiny cabin during space travel, and I was pretty sure that a lot of the techniques had been developed in prison, but few people had kept up with the regimen without the careful supervision of the Drill Sergeants.

We had toured the building a couple of days prior, and I was once again impressed to see an Olympic-sized swimming pool housed in a space station, but we had overlooked the exercise equipment during our last visit. The room was massive, sporting all kinds of machines. There was everything from treadmills to climbing ropes. Best of all, rather than heading to the showers after working up a sweat, you could take a dip in the pool instead. It was only a short walk away.

Vasiliev had the human recruits begin on treadmills and pullup bars, while some of the trainees elected to swim lengths instead. Cardio was the most important thing to focus on right now, we were there to stay in shape, not to work on our Mr. World routine.

The Krell dove into the pool, swimming around like giant, scaly torpedoes. They were so agile under the water, in stark contrast to how sluggish and plodding they were on land, pushing themselves along with their powerful tails. They could hold their breaths for impressive amounts of time, sinking low to the bottom of the surprisingly deep pool. It was actually a little deeper than one might expect, catering to the needs of the aliens, no doubt.

I couldn't help but wonder if the Krell even needed to exercise, they were inhumanly strong and resilient simply by virtue of existing.

I had expected to see the Borealans taking to the pool too, they seemed to have an affinity for water. But instead, they headed toward the more elaborate weight training machines. They loaded weights onto barbells, slotting themselves into appropriately scaled-up hammer strength machines and abdominal benches.

Curious, I elected to move a little closer, running on a nearby treadmill so that I could observe them. Why were they lifting weights rather than doing cardio? Why was that more important for them?

Just like in the mess hall, Raz was standing conspicuously apart from her former pack. She trained with dumbbells that looked large and heavy enough that they could probably have served as barbells for a human.

We had stripped off our uniforms, most of the recruits wearing some combination of tank tops and exercise shorts, or leggings for the women. Raz was down to her tight shorts and her tube top again, putting everything on display, and the other Borealans were similarly dressed. They didn't seem to care about modesty very much, and I was momentarily transfixed by the buffet of impressive female physiques before me, glad that most of my blood was flowing to my legs rather than to other places...

The aliens were lifting an incredible amount of weight, their strength was superhuman, and yet something was off about them. They almost looked like they were moving around in low gravity. Despite being very fit by human standards, each one of them sporting a set of abs that could have been used as a washboard and thighs that looked like they could squat a truck, none of them really had the physique of a professional bodybuilder. Sure they had biceps as large as my head, but when I scaled the aliens down to normal proportions in my mind, it just didn't add up. Maybe their muscles were somehow more efficient than ours?

"Wondering why they're not doing cardio like the rest of you?"

I stumbled on the treadmill, almost falling as I noticed Vasiliev standing beside me.

"Didn't see you there, sir," I panted. "Yeah, what are they doing?"

"Borealis has thirty percent higher gravity than Earth standard. If they don't keep up with their resistance training, they'll start to shed muscle mass pretty quickly."

"That explains a lot," I replied, watching Raz as she lifted a set of weights that looked as large as a pair of manhole covers. Maybe that was why she was so developed, the crushing gravity of her home planet meant that just walking around was probably a form of resistance training. She wasn't a gym rat, her body had been sculpted by nature, not by exercise machines.

Vasiliev leaned over the controls of the treadmill, turning up the speed, and I began to jog faster.

"Keep it up, recruit."

"Yes sir," I panted, sweat beginning to dampen my tank top.

The Staff Sergeant moved off to supervise some of the other trainees, and I continued to run as I kept an eye on Raz. She was still working on the dumbbells, her perspiration soaking her tube top and making it cling to her figure, droplets of it following the contours of her abdominal muscles as they bulged from beneath her skin.

My breathing became heavier, my shoes impacting the treadmill as I struggled to keep up with the speed that Vasiliev had set. Maybe I was more out of practice than I had realized...

After a little while, Raz seemed done with her sets, replacing the dumbbells on their rack and rolling her shoulders. She walked over to another machine, a set of dipping bars this time, but one of the other aliens beat her to the punch. The Borealan wrapped her furry hands around the padded bars, beginning to raise herself off the deck, lifting her body weight up and down.

Raz was undeterred, marching toward the machine and loosing a sound that resembled a cat getting its tail caught in a door. The other alien stopped what she was doing, dropping to the deck and turning to face her.