Starr vs the Emperor of Space Pt. 03

Prince S'kye lifted his head and chuckled. "I am Prince S'kye, of Venus. As I believe you know. That was a nice trick with the communication ray -- but I suppose Emperor Zardo is well known for his exceptional taste in all things..."

Jasmine chuckled, huskily. "Oh yes. Yes he is."

Prince S'kye offered his arm -- and Jasmine took it, but her concerns for Claudette came roaring back to her. She bit back her first question, and instead let Prince S'kye lead her towards the hatchways that lined the equator of this orb. He opened one, revealing a smoothly moving surface, until the a yellow line appeared. "That line is painted to indicate that there will be an opening soon," he explained. "The ring section spins once every minute -- slowly, but it has more than eleven million space pounds of force behind it. If you are caught in the gap, you are in trouble."

"That's rather dangerous, isn't it?" Jasmine asked.

"It is. Hear that faint scraping noise? That is because we have engaged the breaks. When there is little time, or we only have trained astros aboard, we prefer to keep it spun up...but no sense taking risks with you, no?"

The yellow line turned green, the paint shifting as the outer ring spun, and then a doorway came into view and the whole ship let out a quiet groan as the wheel locked home. S'kye showed her how to swing in, and soon, she was sliding along a ladder that ran 'down' from the central orb. When she emerged from it, she found herself standing in what appeared, to her perspective, to be great curved hamster wheel. She floated there, but she could already hear the low groaning of the ships internal systems...and slowly, the sensation of gravity returned, her feet pressing into the floor.

S'kye stepped from the ladder, his claws clacking softly on the metal floor, and he clicked his beak with approval. "More comfortable than that little winged rocket you were. We detected you on our telescopes almost two weeks ago -- no one was sure what you were, but both the Faemen and Hawkmen wanted to see what you were, exactly."

Jasmine nodded. She couldn't wait any longer: "My ship, it was intact when I went into ultra-sleep..."

"We guessed that was what was going on," S'kye said, sighing. He led her along the corridor. There were doorways every few meters, leading into rooms where other Hawkmen worked complex consoles and devices. In the age old tradition of all sailors, be they astro-sailors or sea-sailors, the sight of a woman, even a woman still clad in a shapeless emergency star suit, caused them to crane their heads away from what they were doing to watch her walk by. Jasmine rolled her hips a bit, enjoying herself as she walked. "But we admit, we were at a loss as to why Imperial robot rockets would attack their own-"

"It was...that's what happened?" Jasmine asked, a cold stone growing in her stomach.

S'kye nodded.

They came to the bridge of the Bird of Prey. It was a circular chamber, with curved edges to the walls. The center of the bridge was dominated by a large sphere that contained a kind of sophisticated multi-lensed projector, which projected glowing images on the inner edge of the sphere, creating an illusion of the space beyond. The sphere itself was marked with dozens of inky lines, drawn on by rulers and notations, indicating information about the surrounding area of space that the hawkmen crew had thought important. Right now, it displayed Venus, and the drawn lines on it indicated the orbits of what had to be dozens of different ships, as well as black dots on the surface that were each labeled with...

English letters?

Jasmine wondered at that, even as she saw dots labeled Sky City and Tunnel Town.

S'kye, though, led her to another one of the consoles, where a sleek Hawkwoman was sitting. Unlike the men, she had no beak. Her face was entirely humanoid, and her hair was long and bright red. The only indication she was of the same species at all was that she had brown feathered wings, and some light feathering around her wrists, and black claws instead of fingernails. She lifted her head up.

"Scannerwoman S'hira," S'kye said, pointing with his claw. "Bring up our radar scan of the winged rocket over the past forty days."

"Yes, my prince," S'hira said, tapping her fingers on the controls. The screen showed various options on her magneto-computer, and she punched in the right one to cause a chattering sound to emerge from the console. She pulled out a series of freshly printed punch cards, stood, then slotted them into the side of the projection globe in the center of the room. Mechanical arms swept out, wiping away the ink writing as the projection globe flared black. New mechanical arms swept out -- hemispheres of thin metal, with pen-tips on tracks, which could be controlled by the mechanical arms to draw elaborate notations, far better than any human hand could -- and then drew out a series of courses in white.

S'kye pointed with his claw. "This is where we detected you, with three robot rockets in pursuit."

Jasmine felt a lump in her throat. She had had no idea...

It looked as if they had reached her halfway through their flight.

"A-And...the rest of the ship?" she whispered.

S'kye's eyes narrowed and his feathers dipped in what she intuited as a frown. "It...was destroyed by the robot rockets. Why?"

Jasmine's hands clenched. "C-...Could there have been any survivors?" she whispered.

S'kye turned to S'hira. The sensors operator shook her head, quietly saying: "Those robot rockets carry two point five centimeters cannons, firing contact fused flak shells. Honestly, you're lucky they merely took out your aft. There...there is no chance your passenger survived. I'm sorry."

S'kye looked to Jasmine. Jasmine trembled, and her hands tightened. She slammed her fists into the projection globe, despite herself, then looked to the heavens. It came, roaring up her throat, without her being able to stop it.

"ZAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARDOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

***

Mark had to admit.

As a reward for retaining his control in the face of Star Princess Zella's idea of fun, a state function was not exactly what he had been expecting. When the Princess had returned to her chambers, to find him gnawing on a pillowing and trying his best to not dry-hump the blankets, she had had an unexpectedly serious expression on her face and had immediately manipulated the silver gauntlet that she wore. The intense lustful pleasure that her collar had been burning into his nerves since she had left cut off, and before Mark could ask a single question, she had said: "Get dressed. My father has called...for an execution."

Mark had felt his blood go cold.

It had gotten a bit warmer when he had seen what the Princess had thought had been a reasonable state of dress for him.

Now, he stood behind her, trying to not hunch over, as he looked out at the dignitaries and masters of Zardo's vast interstellar dominion. The fact most of them wore almost as little as he did did not exactly fill him with excitement -- as he was currently wearing just barely enough fabric to stretch over his groin, a golden belt, and a leash that ran from his collar, to the Princess' hands. They were in a large chamber of preposterous imperial splendor. The walls were plated in shimmering gold, the ceiling was studded with glowing lamps of some sophisticated electrical bulbs, and the floor itself had a large rectangular window cut into it, showing the shimmering stars of space that swept by beneath the world -- as if they were in the bottom of a large, spinning boat.

The far end of the room contained Zardo's throne, where the bald, mustachioed master of malevolence himself was seated, listening quietly to one of his advisors. The rest of the chamber was dominated by a dizzying array of...well...

"And I thought that Normandy had a lot of weirdoes," Mark muttered as he watched a man that was one part hawk, one part man, walk by while chatting to a curved, sinuous snakeman, a cobra's hood flaring to either side of their triangular, pointed head, with glittering golden eyes pausing for only a moment to glance his way.

"Shush, pet," the Princess said, biting her lip as she fidgeted.

"Why so nervous?" Mark asked. "You're not the one who's getting the chop, are you?"

"Hm?" the Princess looked him. "No! Of course not, do not be absurd, pet. It's just..."

"What?"

A loud clang sound rang out -- and everyone who had gathered quieted down as Emperor Zardo stood from his throne. His throne was situated a good distance higher than the rest of the room, and allowed him to sneer down at the guests and dignitaries that had come. The evil emperor of the solar system was dressed in a set of red robes that stretched down to his feet, with a high collar that swept to either side of his head, and a golden circlet around his bald head, with a red gemstone set above the middle of his brow, like an imperial diadem back on Earth. His hands were clad in leather gloves, and when he lifted his arms and spread them to draw even more attention, his robes parted to reveal his whipcord lean body beneath: Clad in a kind of military uniform, complete with medals and honors, and what appeared to be a sword hilt (sans sword, of course) hanging from his belt.

"Subjects...vassals...welcome," he said, his voice cutting and powerful. "Today, you are brought into the presence of your beloved Emperor, to see justice done. The only true crime is to fail in one's duty. One's duty to the state. One's duty to family. One's duty to me." He frowned, then gestured. His advisor -- a robed fellow of indeterminate species -- touched a control on his wrist and the wall at the left side of the room opened, revealing a glass rectangle that contained a man...

A man that Mark recognized.

"Vile," he whispered.

"You know him, Pet?" the Princess asked.

"Yes..." Mark said as he looked at the much reduced station of Commander Vile. The clone commander of the imperial war rocket that had captured him, Jasmine and Claudette had been stripped of his uniform, left in nothing but his tattered underclothes. "He was the man who captured me and Jasmine."

"This clone..." Zardo said, his voice still ringing with condemnation. "This clone allowed the death of my prize would be consort, Jasmine Starr. Worse, he sought to conceal this crime by laying it at the feet of his second in command."

"My lord, I-" Vile shouted through the glass.

"It is a poor craftsman who blames his tools, Commander Vile," Zardo said, his eyes flashing as, before him, the floor opened and a metal pole rose from the ground. Upon it was a large knob. Mark craned his head and saw that the knob had three settings -- the large pointer of the knob was set to OFF. "And thus, I sentence you...to the Deatomizer!"

"No! Not the Deatomizer!" Vile screamed, slapping his palms against the glass. "Please! Please! Anything but the Deatomi-"

Zardo clicked the knob up one tick -- from OFF to DEATH.

There was less noise than he expected -- just a faint humming sound. There was no glow or flash. Instead, Vile wobbled within the glass. The Princess took a step back, biting her lip. Vile coughed...then choked. He vomited, suddenly, the bile splattering against the glass as he sagged against it. He looked up and Mark felt his stomach tightening in revulsion as he saw the man's skin was beginning to sag from his cheeks, as if he had aged years in a day. Blood seeped around his eyes. It dropped from his nose. It...slid along his legs, as if he was bleeding from...well, from every open hole he had on his body. He groaned, then laid his head against the glass, panting. As he leaned against the glass, hair dragged from his scalp -- leaving weeping sores behind as the faint humming sound got louder.

"Please..." Vile choked out. His hands were trembling. His head was shaking, as if his whole body was being wracked with tremors -- tremors so violent that he was barely able to stand. "K...Kill me..."

He vomited again.

The Princess cried out in horror as more blood streamed from Vile's eyes. It was as if the man was...melting from the inside. She turned and Mark, reacting instinctively, swept his arms around the finely dressed daughter of Zardo, holding her close to him. He whispered, softly. "Don't look, Zella. Don't look." His eyes swept from the poor Vile to Zardo, who was beaming with undisguised delight as Vile suffered.

"It's so horrible!" Zella whispered against his chest, while Zardo...at last...turned the knob from DEATH...to DEATOMIZATION.

The humming sound became a low whine -- then a roaring sound as Vile screamed one last time -- his body seeming to glow...then literally glowing as his remaining hair burst into flames, the flames sweeping along his whole body. The last thing to combust was his bones, which flared to life as his entire form was turned to ash and shimmering dust. The heat grew brighter and brighter, the glass itself throbbing with a blueish illumination. The Princess, her eyes screwed shut, her hands over her ears, buried her face against Mark as he held her and tried to comfort her -- even as he felt the horror of it fill him.

At last, it was over, Zardo ticking the device back down. The pole retracted and the glass cube was sealed away by a smoothly moving wall.

"Thus...to all who fail the mighty Zardo," the Emperor of Space said, to the nearly silent auditorium.

"T-Take me away from here, Pet," the Princess said, quietly.

Mark had remembered the way that they had taken to get here, and was able to trace it back. He took in the corridors of massive palace -- the bass reliefs of rocket ships and the cowering peoples of the solar system. If he had been Jas, he might have been able to pick out the specifics of planets and places...but to him, it all looked an awful lot like the thirties, repeated again, but with different folks forced to bow before a new jackboot.

They came to the Princesses chambers. There, she cried against his chest, her eyes screwed up tight, her shoulders shaking. Mark shook his head slowly. "I guess pops never showed you that Deatomizer before, huh?"

She sniffled, shaking her head. "N-No...I was too young when he used it last..."

"I...wish I had my clothes, I..." Mark snapped his fingers. "Ah! There they are."

He stood, and the Princess watched him, sniffing and wiping at her nose with a small golden hankie. Someone had collected whatever had been in his pockets and laid them out in a small dish -- which meant he was able to pluck up his box of Winstons and a box of matches. He walked over to the Princess. "Here, kid, this'll calm your nerves down." He said, taking one of the cigarettes from the box, placing it gently on her lips. She blinked, looking shocked and confused.

"What is this?" she asked.

"It's a kind of fun we have on Earth -- we call 'em smokes. Settles your nerves," Mark said. He lit the match and then lit his own cigarette -- but the match went out. "Drat. Hold still, kid."

He leaned close, pressing his cigarette to hers -- the tips touching and catching. Her bright purple eyes met his, looking soft in the warm glow of the gentle lamps within the room. Mark drew back, his voice husky. "Just breathe in a little...yeah, like that..."

Zella rolled her head back and let out a slow, relaxing sigh as the smoke puffed into the air, streaming outwards and fading around her. She coughed, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears. "It's...strange," she said. "But I like it..."

"Winstons taste good like a cigarette should," Mark said, puffing on his.

"Stop calling me kid," Zella said, looking haughty and huffy. "I am twenty one space years old. No older than you, Pet."

Mark chuckled. "We may be close to the same age, kid, but I've done a lot more than you have." He said, casually, then paused, watching the thin tendril of smoke rising from his cigarette. "So, I gotta ask. What's up with the Empire of Space? I never thought there'd be any little green men out here -- but it looks like our whole universe is lousy with ya. What's the scoop?"

"Scoop?" Zella sniffed. "Absurd Earthican idiom. And no, this solar system has no little green men, the Tuskmen are quite large." She paused. "But it is true, we weren't here until one thousand space years ago." She smiled, as if she was reciting stuff she had learned from school -- or, knowing her being a space princess and all, from her tutors. "We came from a star so distant and far from your world that your most powerful telescopes cannot even hope to witness it."

"How far?" Mark asked.

"Forty of your light years," she said, shrugging -- causing her very filmy golden dress to nearly slip from her narrow shoulders. She let the cigarette dangle between her fingers, carelessly. "Our home star was much cooler than your own -- it is slightly larger than your largest gas giant, Jupiter. It formed three billion years before your pitiful star, with four planets that are capable of supporting life. Upon these worlds came the first of our many peoples, and they were blasting off into space while your ancestors were still avoiding your so called dinosaur-beasts." She smirked, arrogantly. "Our colony rocket set forth to settle this world, but arrived to learn that a war had broken out between the homeworlds. We were all that was left."

"Well...I'm sorry about that," Mark said, but Zella brushed it off. She turned to look away from him, taking another drag on her cigarette.

"It was before I was even born, Pet. No matter. The colony rocket arrived...and there was a rebellion in the crew. My father, the captain of the ship, wished to make a new homeworld, but the treacherous underlings of his rocket plotted against him. He was forced to fight back, but they left him here on Pluto to die, then settled across the solar system, making their own bandit kingdoms. And so, my father bided his time-"

"Wait, wait, hold up!" Mark said. "Your father is a thousand years old?"

"Yes, why?" Zella asked, blinking her bright purple eyes at him. "How old did you think he was?" She laughed. "Forty? No. My father is Aytan Zardo! The Emperor of Space, he is immeasurably older than anyone else in this entire benighted system." She smirked and lifted her chin. "That is why he was able to conquer it all when I was a little girl."

"Damn, that was, what, ten years ago?" He asked, frowning. "That'd be around 41..."

Zella huffed. "Using your pathetic Earthman units." She said, then put the cigarette back into her lips. "But yes, by your calendar, the invasion began in June 22^nd, nineteen hundred and forty one." She dragged in, the cigarette smoldering. She breathed out, slowly. "I..." She paused, looking as if she was about to say something. Instead, she stood her head. "No, nevermind. No sense dwelling upon the past. We must focus upon the future."

"I mean-"

Mark cut off as Zella stood. Her dress skimmed along her shoulders, puddling around her ankles, and he found himself gaping at her toned, taut, perfectly sculpted rump as she stood before him, nude save for her gloves and her boots. She looked over her shoulder at him, flicking the cigarette into a small circular trash can in the corner of the room.

"You will make love to me," she said, her voice soft. "And if I am not pleased, you will be consigned to the arena, pet."

Mark gulped.

"Well," he said, quietly, then stubbed his cigarette out on the nearest hard surface, wishing there was a damn ashtray. "I've heard orders I've liked a hell of a lot less, kid."

"Stop calling-" Zella swung around, revealing her perky breasts, her rosy nipples, her elegant neck -- but before she could finish, Mark had stood, caught the hand that had been about to slap his face, then pinned it above her head as he pressed her to the wall and kissed her upon the mouth. Her mouth opened and a muffled 'mmph!' of shock escaped her lips, barely audible around his own. Her tongue pressed to his, gently at first, then with more eagerness as her arm struggled against his hand -- then went slack as she moaned into his mouth, a soft mewl that drove him harder. He pressed her back against the wall, his cock aching against the strip of cloth that barely contained him. His heat pressed to her thighs and he felt the tiny bump of something metal, right at the upper edge of her own pussy. Mark broke the kiss, to breathe in some air, and Zella hissed in a sucking gasp, then snarled. "H-How dare! How dare you!"