Second Born

"Oh baby, you are so good! Suck it, baby! Suck me! So good! So very good! Suck me!"

Her eyes smiled and she sucked me harder and faster, not teasing me but working to pleasure me. My hands went to her head and steadied her as I began to thrust into her, the head of my prick driving into her mouth, over her tongue and into her throat. She accepted my using her like this, tongue lashing the underside of my cock, urging me to cum in her mouth. I was very close now, very close ...

"Thia, I'm going to cum!" I gasped. She pulled back long enough to gasp, "Yes, darling! Spend in my mouth! Give me your seed! I want it! Give me your juice!"

She sucked me in again. Her tongue tickled my frenum and she hummed in a very particular way. The effect was instantaneous.

I exploded into her mouth, great gouts of spunk erupting to slip down her throat as that superlative pleasure of a powerful climax pounded in my temples and made the world spin around me. I felt Kinthia swallow, savoring my cum like fine zulac. As my erection subsided, she slid up in the bed and pulled my head to her breasts, holding me and drawing figures on my skin, her touch leaving behind it a feeling of peace and of being cherished I had felt with no other lover. I felt myself sliding into sleep even as I stroked her to let her know I reciprocated her feelings.

When I woke, the glow of predawn twilight was coming through the windows. I was alone in my bed. My paramour, back in her wrapper, was standing beside the bed, two fingertips tracing my eyebrows and cheekbones.

"Must you leave, Thia, my lovely ninforn?"

"I do not want to, my sweet darling, but I must. It would not do for me to be found here, little as I wish to leave. But I will find a way to come to you if you want us to be together again." I caught her hand and held it.

"I want that, my sweet, very much."

She melted onto the bed again and kissed my mouth, taking her time. "Then you will have it, dear Edward. I promise." Rising, she walked to a panel in the wall, slipped through it and was gone.

Chapter 4

The Life Guards Firing Range

Regneld knocked on the door two hours later with a tea service. I unbolted the door and let him in. If he noticed anything that indicated I had had a female visitor, he did not comment on it.

An hour after that I was eating what Cook obviously thought what was a proper breakfast for a hooman. The only things that tasted like what I was used to were the toast and jam. The eggs were much larger than hen's eggs and the breakfast steak was rather gamy. I made a mental note to have Diana inventory her food components and see if she could synthesize Worcestershire sauce if I was to eat the native food on a regular basis.

Soon enough, he informed me that a carriage waited to take me out for the demonstration.

Colonel Vamana had arranged for a wagon to take my sample cases to the range. As I had requested, he had also tethered cattlebeast at 100 meters, 200 meters, 300 meters, 500 meters, 800 meters and 1000 meters from the firing line. They were in pairs, 15 meters separating them. His Majesty, Princess Derica and Kinthia were waiting in the shade of the open sided shed that served as the firing point. I was not surprised to see the Crown Princess casually cradling a gun with the ease of long familiarity.

"Good morning, Your Majesty, Highnesses," I said, bowing to the trio.

"Please dispense with formality," said the King. "We're here to watch you demonstrate a new rifle, not to propose a treaty of alliance or listen to a declaration of war! Just give us your ... what's the word? 'Throw?' "

"I believe you mean 'pitch,' Sire."

"Just so. Let us see if you can match the lines of patter the merchants in the Old City bazaars can run." His eyes laughed, and Princess Derica chuckled. My princess kept a straight face, but I could see concern in her eyes for me.

"Before I begin, might I examine Princess Derica's rifle? Your Highness?"

She handed me the gun, opening the action to show me it was unloaded. Although of native Medusan design, I recognized it as a single-shot tilting block action generally similar to the Martini-Henry of Old Earth. It had been a very popular and reliable military rifle for 25 years and continued in service with irregular troops and as a hunting rifle for more than a century. By habit I subjected it to the inspection an officer of the Imperial forces would before closing the action and sighting it at the target butts 200 meters away.

"Would you care to try it, Lord Edward?" asked Princess Derica, extending a brass cartridge to me.

"Thank you, Your Royal Highness."

"Oh, please, simply Derica," she laughed, thumping me on the shoulder hard enough to stagger me. I hated it when the country hons did that.

"Edward, then, Derica." I adjusted my sights to what I read as the 200-meter gradient on the rear sight.

"I'll bet you twenty bezants you can't hit the range marker at 200 meters," she teased.

"Please, Derica; I'm only a poor traveling salesman. Shall we make it ten bezants?"

"I'll take a piece of that, Rikka," said Kinthia. "I'll bet the other ten Edward blows the range marker in half, and I'll kiss him if he wins."

"Done!" Derica said. "Whenever you're ready, Edward."

I walked to the firing line. The sights on this antiquated slug-thrower weren't half bad, the rear sight being a ladder type instead of a buckhorn on an inclined plane. Locking them into place at 200, I looked at the wind pennant. I was lucky; the wind was coming straight down the range. I steadied down, took aim, exhaled and squeezed the trigger.

BOOM! The rifle pummeled my shoulder and powdersmoke momentarily obscured my view of the target. The light breeze blew it clear. There was a ragged bite out of the top of the first zero in "200" and the wood that made up the upper right quadrant of the range marker had splintered away.

"It shoots a little to the right," I said, handing the rifle back to Derica.

"Yes, it does," she agreed, ejecting the spent round. She reached into the purse slung over her shoulder and handed me a small leather pouch. "Your winnings, sir."

"You should know better than to bet against an armaments salesman," chuckled the King. I counted out ten bezants, walked to Thia, and handed them to her.

"Your share of the booty, my princess."

"And your reward," she murmured. Wrapping her arms around me, she kissed me soundly, her tongue touching mine as she sighed against my mouth. Reluctantly, she broke the kiss and said, "Now that we know you can shoot, suppose you show us the new guns you propose to sell to Father for the Royal Army."

She walked with me to the table where my arms cases had been set. I touched the biometric lock with my thumb and the case clicked open. Raising the lid, I broke Colonel Vamana's seals and took out a New Birmingham Model 220 pulse-laser rifle. It didn't look fancy compared to the engraved blue steel and polished dark hardwood of Derica's domestic tilting block. I took out the power unit, noting it was at 89%, ample for this demonstration. Snapping the magazine into its receptacle, I made sure the rifle was set on safe and the pulse to zero before I energized the optical sight and turned to the King.

"Sire, this is a Model 220 semi-automatic pulse-laser. Company advertising claims that if you can see it, you can hit it with a 220. Operationally, the effective range in the hands of an average soldier is 2000 meters in slow, aimed fire. The number of shots you can rely on from each power unit is 50. That varies up or down depending on the range and the charge setting the soldier is using. Longer ranges require more power. If your opponents are wearing body armor, you also need more power and a higher pulse repetition rate to punch through it. The settings are user-adjustable to permit the soldiers to set their rifles to suit the battle conditions they encounter.

"Each rifle comes with an integral optical system for faster target acquisition and greater accuracy at longer ranges. There's no need to apply windage or elevation. Just put the crosshairs on the target, squeeze the trigger, and the laser does the rest. It pulses too fast for the eye to see, but it hammers and burns a hole in the target."

"It seems too flimsy to do what you say it does, Edward," said Derica skeptically. "It appears to be just a light buttstock and a hollow tube in the forearm leading back to a box with a sight on it."

"It doesn't need the mass built into your rifle because it is not driving a bullet downrange using chemical propellants, with the force and recoil resulting from the reaction. Permit me to demonstrate."

I stepped up to the firing line and took aim at the cattlebeast tethered to the right of the range marker I'd shot. I adjusted the amplification on the screen so I had a good view of the head, set the sliders to the default for unarmored enemies, the range wheel to 200 meters and the safety to on before I powered the weapon up. Taking aim, I pushed the safety off and squeezed the trigger.

There was a loud SNAP and a faint whiff of ozone. The cattlebeast collapsed without so much as a moo. In my sight, I could see a hole just above the eyes centered in the forehead. There was little blood, but there was no doubt in my mind the creature was dead.

"Impressive," said the King, a pair of binoculars to his eyes. "How quickly could you deal with soldiers charging at you?"

I didn't reply. I simply rolled the range wheel to 1000 and cranked up the power. SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! Six cattlebeast dropped where they stood, alive one second and dead the next.

"Quickly enough, Sire."

Three cattlebeasts remained. I dialed back the range wheel and amplification, then clicked on the safety. Handing the 220 to Derica, I said, "Perhaps you'd care to have a go? As I said, put the cross-hairs on the target as you would your rifle sights, take off the safety, and squeeze the trigger."

Without hesitating, the Crown Princess brought the pulse-laser to her shoulder, sighted, and shot. SNAP! The cattlebeast to the left of the 200-meter marker dropped. She instinctively dialed back the magnification to get a clear picture and squeezed off another shot. SNAP! The first critter to the left of the 100-meter range marker went down, shot through the head as the first one had been. Taking the rifle from her shoulder, she examined it, smiled and shifted to the iron sights in the gap under the optics. Using the irons, she took her time before she fired. SNAP! This time, the cattlebeast tried to rear, fell back heavily, sank to its knees and rolled onto its side, dead.

"Something that big dropping from a shot through the body is remarkable. If I'd taken that shot with my Cosmidan, a beast that size would have run halfway down the range before it fell over."

She turned to her father, clicking the safety on as she did so. "Father, these magic rifles of Edward's would increase the potency of our army a thousandfold. When the word spread that Medusa was armed with pulse-rifles, species like the Junkers, Haephestans and Alphans would think twice about attacking us."

"Yes, Rikka, but consider this," said Kinthia. "We make our own rifles and the ammunition for them. They may not be state of the galactic art, but we can make them all on our own. If we purchase these New Birmingham pulse-lasers, we become dependent upon New Birmingham and Novalbion for the power units that drive them. I can't view that favorably. What if they decided to shut off the ammunition supply?"

The King said nothing, waiting to see how I'd field that question.

"Ladies, the King has been moving Medusa toward becoming a modern, spacefaring member of the galactic community, while at the same time making the transition as painless and causing as little upheaval to the planet as possible. I've encountered worlds where the rulers jumped in with both feet instead of thinking things through. Invariably, such worlds erupt into civil war within a generation and slag down into barbarism.

"We at New Birmingham can work with the Crown. If His Majesty chooses to proceed with the purchase, I would insist one condition of the sale be that small plants for your arsenals be set up to produce the power units for the rifles. Medusa has the resources to make them right now. You'd need to bring in humans to teach your workers how to build the units and to supervise operations for awhile, but in two or three years you'd be running it all." Princess Derica started to speak but I held up a hand.

"To answer your next question, Derica, it would be longer before you could build the rifles themselves. The materials are exotic and the precision required extremely high. Computer control is an absolute requirement. Even if you could produce all of the necessary materials, you would have to learn to work them. Medusa is at the build-the-tools-to-build-the-machines-to-build-the-fabricators stage.

"To be blunt, unless you are willing to risk a massive cultural upheaval you must make haste slowly. Building a society is like building a house. You have to build the foundation and let it set solidly before you start on the upper floors. His Majesty is doing that. He can accelerate the process somewhat by bringing in off-planet 'masons' and 'carpenters' to work alongside and train his native carpenters and stonemasons, but even so such knowledge takes years to absorb and become their own.

"One spin-off of this sale, if the Crown decides to buy, will be to increase scientific knowledge here. That will help His Majesty's goal of bringing Medusa to an equal footing with other civilized planets."

"You speak well, Edward Wellesley," said the King, entering the conversation for the first time. "I had you investigated before I decided to have you demonstrate your wares to me and my daughters instead of to my generals. I intend to purchase your pulse-rifles. Come, ride in Our carriage. We will work out the terms on the way back to the Palace. The Princesses will take your carriage and join Us in Our study."

"Your Majesty is most kind," I said. King Berit turned for his carriage. I recovered my demonstrator from Derica and cased it. Kinthia came to me and pressed my hand, her eyes shining. I kissed it and caressed her cheek for a moment before joining the King.

As we rolled at a stately pace, the King and I negotiated price. I read back the notes I made on my handset. It did not take long for us to reach agreement. It was clear he had done his homework as thoroughly as I had done mine. My opinion of King Berit grew even more respectful. He looked across the coach at me.

"Lord Edward, you were a naval officer. Do you happen to know anything about field artillery?"

"Yes, Sire. You checked into my background, so you know I am Raider-qualified. I was wearing my 'crown and crossbones' at the ball, my Naval Raider badge with the crowned globe and cutlasses. Raiders generally operate behind enemy lines, far in the rear, performing reconnaissance and executing smash-and-grabs on enemy bases. We're the Navy's equivalent of cavalry patrols.

"When I had the David Stirling, I carried a rump battalion of Marines. On some of our missions, in addition to providing air cover and fire support, we'd land light artillery pieces and armor. We also provided gunners for the artillery to free the Marines for their primary role. Lieutenant Colonel Andrews, the Novalbion diplomatic attaché, was my strike force commander; he was a major then. He insisted that all of the Navy officers aboard, the captain included, learn how to handle the guns in case of a disaster. Since then, I have been given additional training by the company on the guns we make, obviously."

"So you would consider yourself competent to examine a cannon and render an opinion on it, even if you haven't seen one like it before?"

"I've a fair knowledge of what artillery is available today, Sire. If you wish my opinion, I'm at your service."

The King motioned to one of the outriders escorting us. He instructed the rider to tell the princesses to go on to the Palace; we were taking a short detour. The road forked; we went one way, the barouche with the royal daughters the other.

The road took us to the barracks of a field artillery regiment. On realizing who was in the coach, the sentries turned out the guard. The King spoke to the duty officer, who in turn spoke to one of the guards before swinging up onto the seat beside the driver. We bypassed the headquarters area and the barracks to proceed straight to the artillery park. The duty officer appointed himself as our guide, and took us to a battery of about 125 millimeters bore diameter. I asked the lieutenant to tell me about them.

"They are the latest addition to the Royal Artillery, sir. They are of Alphan origin, the model they call the Thunderer. They have an effective range of 7000 meters and throw explosive shells that burst on impact."

"How far does the gun recoil when you shoot it?" I asked.

"About 10 meters, sir."

"Does it use fixed ammunition?" The lieutenant looked blank for a moment but quickly recovered.

"All of one piece, like rifle rounds? No, sir. First we ram in a shell, then the powder bag, and close the breech. We set off the charge with a blank cartridge in the breech, sir. Would you like a demonstration?"

"No, Lieutenant, that will be all. We would like to poke about a bit. Dismissed," said King Berit. The young officer clearly wasn't happy at leaving the Monarch in the company of an alien without a bodyguard, but had no choice but to retire. We walked along the ranks of neatly arrayed fieldpieces for a minute before the King spoke.

"Your opinion, Captain Wellesley?"

I hesitated, trying to think how to phrase what I thought diplomatically. Sensing my reluctance, the King said, "If it would help, think of me as Colonel-in-Chief Berit of the First Medusan Field Artillery, the King's Own Guns."

"Colonel, if these guns are what the Alphans are selling to His Majesty the King, he ought to ask for his money back."

The 'Colonel's' face tightened but all he said was, "Would you care to explain that, Captain?"

"By the standards of Old Home Terra, sir, these guns would have been considered obsolete before the First Global War. They have no recoil mechanism, either mechanical or hydraulic. Every time you shoot one, it rolls backwards like an old-time muzzle-loader. The gun crew, which is larger than it needs to be simply because of that recoil, has to roll the gun back to the starting point before they can load it again. This plays hell with accuracy. A gun captain will be lucky to keep his shots within 30 meters of the aiming point.

"They also use unfixed ammunition: a shell, the charge, and a blank to fire it. Add that fact to having to roll a heavy gun back into position, and you'll be fortunate if you can fire three rounds per minute; less than that if the ground is muddy.

"Whoever recommended this outlay of the Crown's money is no friend to the King. Whoever sold them to the Army does not have Medusa's best interests at heart either, Colonel."

"These guns cost the Royal Treasury 7,500 bezants apiece. Could your company supply us with artillery at that price?"

"If we could supply you with a gun that could outshoot these Alphan Thunderers, would you be interested?"

"I suppose you just happen to have such a gun with you, Captain?"

"Disassembled in the hold of my ship along with 150 rounds of ammunition. Enough for a demonstration."

"What do you propose?"

"Set up two targets at 4000 meters or more; say, a gun post. Don't tell the battery commanders what the range is; the time needed to get on target will be part of the test. My single gun against a battery of the King's Own. First team to destroy the target wins. If my gun does the job, the Crown buys replacement artillery from New Birmingham. We would ship you an initial shipment of fieldpieces, the machinery to build more, ammunition, and the tooling to make the shells."