Starr vs the Emperor of Space Pt. 07

Zella frowned, then drew her knees up against her chest, settling on the small bed that she had chosen for her perch. Her eyes became dark and stormy as she looked at the wall of the chamber, at the pitless steel of the wall. Very softly, she said: "I don't suppose you have heard of...Mind Worms?"

"No," Mark said, shaking his head.

"I had not either," Zella said. "Before I found myself...ensnared within their grasp. Oh Mark..." She said, then buried her face against her knees. "It...has left me so confused and scared...Kryton...he used them on me!"

Mark slid an arm around her shoulder, drawing her against him. "There there, kid," he said, softly, kissing the top of her head. "This kind of thing can mess anyone up."

"It shouldn't have! It wasn't real, Mark!" She exclaimed. "Their magneto-terror field was nothing but a mirage! I...I should have been able to resist the terror they put inside of me. But instead...they broke me. I became...aroused by fear, and terrified by arousal. Pain became pleasure, pleasure became pain -- my whole soul felt as if it was being torn asunder by Kryton!" She put her hands over her face. "What if...what if I am broken, forever?"

Mark shook his head. "No one's broken, kiddo. You're just hurt. And some folks are hurt forever. They get a leg blown off, or they get polio, or they were just born different. But that doesn't mean they're broken. They can live their lives and enjoy the world just as much as anyone else -- we just gotta figure out what they need. Iron lung. Peg leg. Whatever it takes." He smiled. "And for you, it may just need to be time. So don't go jumping into the deep end of sex -- even if it is space sex."

Zella sniffed, nodding. "Y-You're quite wise, for an Earth man."

"Well, I learned from other Earth men...from the million men that stormed Fortress Europe and kicked Hitler off his tinpot throne. They got hurt too, Princess, and they got fixed up -- by doctors, yeah, but also by their buddies, and by their officers. They came back to the fight." He gently knuckled at her cheek, his thumb wiping away a tear. "You will too, kid."

Zella sniffed, then leaned in and kissed Mark on his cheek. "Hold me, Earth Man..." She whispered. "I do not wish to be left alone in the darkness."

Mark slid his arms around her, then laid her down on her side. Like all gentlemen who were worthy of their name across the many eras of the Earth, he held his love and gently caressed her hair as she cried -- and never once did he think an impure thought or sinful temptation. He instead was there, a rock for the Star Princes Zella to cling to during her own deep storm...

And the Courier Rocket soared onward. Deeper into space.

Unaware that, in their radar shadow, an Imperial War Rocket crept after, their crew sharpening blades and loading bolt-rocket pistols in preparation for their vicious assault!

***

"And I'm on the bridge why?"

"Are you still mad? Why?" Alta asked, turning in her chair to face Claudette T.S Grant as she scowled about herself. Chuckles came from a few of the pirate crew of the Salty Sirius -- but they were stilled quickly as the rocketswain on duty -- Jarvis Janton -- scowled about himself and clicked his beak with alarming glee.

"Yes!" Claudette exclaimed. "Tarnation! You kidnapped me! You swept me off to the back of beyond in some pirate rocket with a load of scallywags!"

"She calls us scallywags," the port gun-captain, a burly tuskwoman named Orj Orca, whispered too loudly for it to be anything but a deliberate assay. "I'd rank us at scoundrels, at the very least." She elbowed her partner, the staboard gun-captain -- an equally burly tuskman named Arj Orca. Her husband laughed softly.

"I mean, other than that," Alta grumped. "I've given you everything you could ask for."

"Except for turning this rocket right around and bringing me back to Ceres! Or Mars! Or, for the love of Christ, Earth!" Claudette said, throwing her arms wide. "Or giving me a costume that isn't two tassels of GOLD!" She reached down to tug upon the thin strips of gold that swept up from her crotch, over her nipples, then down to her shoulders, looping back down to meet once more between her shapely thighs. She hooked her thumbs under the shoulder straps, tugging them and then letting them snap against her skin with an audible clap noise. Claudette's cheeks still flushed at the lewdness of her outfit -- or maybe it was in her anger at her condition. Or both!

"We can't just turn a rocket ship around," Alta said.

"You did a week ago!" Claudette shot back.

"That was...to decelerate, we had almost reached out target," Alta said, rubbing her temple. "By the Stars, woman! I told you then!"

"No, you didn't!" Claudette said.

"Yes I did!" Alta said.

"No, you just came in, drunk as Davy Sow, said 'we're flippin' and burning lass' and...and..." Claudette blushed. The entire crew grinned -- the ship's inner hull was quite thin and Claudette...was quite loud.

When she was pleased.

"You weren't complaining then..." Alta muttered.

"Shush your mouth!" Claudette hissed back.

"Captain!" the lad in the crow's scope called down from their ceiling hatch. "Captain! Radiator flash! Twelve points off the belly ridge!"

Astra grinned. "Now you'll see what we're all about, my dear!" she said, standing up and nodding at the incredibly skeptical looking Claudette. "Bring up the scope view, Crow!"

"Got it!" Crow called down from the his roost. The forward video-screen flicked on and showed the radiator that he had spotted -- a pair of gleaming wing-fins emerging from a large, bulbous looking cargo rocket, covered with thick pods of storage. Astra pointed.

"See those pods? Those communication ray antennas?" She murmured to Claudette. "Those are the clear signs of it being a robot rocket. No reason to fly cargo around with fleshy people aboard. That makes our job easy! Mrs Orca! Run out the prow death ray! Mr. Janton, hoist our colors and reef the radiators!"

"Aye aye, captain!" the tuskwoman said, her grin fierce, her red eyes gleaming as she leaned over her console. The faint rumble of moving metal echoed through the bridge, while Mr. Janton bellowed into the speaking trumpet of his communication console.

"All right you space dogs! Captain wants our radiators reefed and the droplets running! Get to it! Get to it!" The ship shuddered and creaked and the thundering sound of footsteps racing through the hollow frame filled Claudette's ears. She glanced at Astra, frowning.

"Don't we need radiators?" she asked. "They...get rid of the waste heat, don't they? Without radiators, it'll be hotter than Memphis in July!" She glanced down at her incredibly skimpy outfit and realized it had advantages despite its lewdness. Alta chuckled.

"Yes, but they're fragile as get all. If that robot rocket has a single sandcaster on it, they can scrap the radiators fast as winking and we'll be dead. The droplet radiators work well enough for-"

"Sir!" Crow stuck his feathered, beaked head down into the bridge. "Second rad-flash on the scopes! There's another rocket out there!"

"Venusian Hells!" Astra exclaimed as the video-screen showed another rocket, emerging from the shadow of the first -- this one slender and needle-like, with four radiators emerging from it at right angles, giving it a deadly, fishook mien that seemed dreadfully apt. "It's an Imperial siloship! Those carry enough atom bombs to vaporize a small moon."

"More than enough for you, Polaris!" A voice crackled over the communicator. "This is the IWR-SS Obliteration under Captain Doomworld. You have but one minute to strike your colors...or be atomized by a barrage of my twenty five kiloton ship-buster nuclear missiles! Ahahahah!"

"You may out-missile us, but no ship can match the Sirius for point defense, Imperial scum," Alta said, her voice confident. "And we still outmass you, five tons to your one."

"Do you now?" Captain Doomworld crooned.

Claudette's brows knitted. She looked from the siloship...to the robot rocket.

A memory drifted to her mind -- one horrid crossing of the Atlantic ocean, interrupted by the shocking emergence of a German U-boat. Jasmine had told her not to fear because...

Claudette, forgetting her attire and her current position as captain's love slave, sprang forward. She clutched to Mrs. Orca's burly green arm and thrust her finger at her screen. "Run out those forward sandcasters! Now!" Mrs. Orca, responding to her tone of voice and her authority, nodded and tapped a button, while Alta spun around, spluttering. "Now fire everything, wide spread, straight at the robot rocket!"

"What are you doing!?" the rocketswain was upon Claudette in a moment, his tentacles wrapping around her wrists, tugging her away. "You're trying to destroy the very thing we came out here -- the booty! I ought to wring your Earthling neck!"

"Drop her this instant!" Alta shouted.

"Fire!" Claudette shouted as she kneed the squidman directly into his cluster of eight penises, located right between his legs. As she had expected, the impact was increased by eightfold and Janton wheezed, his tentacles releasing her as he went limp and fell to his knees, curling up about himself. Mrs. Orca glanced to her captain...but her captain was regarding Claudette, her eye narrowed, her gleaming eyepatch making her face all the more impassive...then, may hap remembering a dud artillery round from weeks before, Alta inclined her head to her gunnery captain.

Mrs. Orca shouted into her communicator. "Sandcaster chaser, let fly!"

The ship shuddered. The forward view showed the two sabot containers holding the fine grained particulates that would, when they reached a few kilometers away from the robot rocket, break apart and release their payload. At many hundreds of space kilometers per second, they would shred the thin skin of the rocket and tear it almost entirely in half -- and scuttle almost all of its cargo. Claudette watched, her hands tight, praying...

The cargo containers burst apart.

"The booty!" Crow groaned.

"The sabot hasn't reached yet, Captain!" Mr. Orca called from his console.

"By the Mount of Mars! That's no robot rocket!" His wife exclaimed.

The cargo pods were sweeping away -- revealing heavy bore, large caliber gauss guns, mounted broadside style upon the spindly robot rocket...or, as it would better be known as...a Q-Rocket! The same tactic that was used to befuddle and bedevil German submarines during the early days of the global conflict that wracked the Earth worked just as well in space: Arming seemingly unarmed transports, to suddenly turn the tables in a naval -- or in this case, astro -- battle in a single moment. But just as swiftly, those tables were turned back as the sabots broke apart and the clouds of glittering dust spread outwards.

Like the fists of some greedy, vast god-child were ripping into it, the Q-rocket came to pieces. The midsection was worst hit, splitting the prow away from the rest of the rocket, but the radiators and the atomic engine itself were ripped free of their housing...for, to complete the ruse of being a simple transport, it had not applied the advanced armor that would clad a combat rocket. This left it terribly vulnerable with its only defense, that of surprise, stripped away by the quick thinking Claudette. However, even a wounded snake could bite -- another truism that Claudette could have shared, had she the time.

As the prow of the rocket tumbled away, the turrets mounted upon that chunk of hull rotated, corrected, and fired! The Gauss rounds that they launched towards the Salty Sirius acted upon their remaining space frame as if it were a set of thrusters, and began to spin it wildly...but such sacrifices must have seemed to be quite valiant to their crews. Tungsten darts shot through space, and Astra had enough time to bellow: "BRACE!" Before they struck home!

The first round was a grazing hit -- striking the prow armor. The Salty Sirius, like any combat rocket worth her dry weight in monohydrogen, was armored in a layered set of protective plating. The outermost layer, made of a material known as 'space-gel', had a great deal of heat resistance but was relatively easy to penetrate. The next layer, made of space aluminum, was just as thin but provided yet more friction against incoming rounds. These layers were then separated by vacuum itself, before then leading to the final layer of space titanium, the hardiest metal known to the solar system! The projectile struck the armor at precisely the angle to bring it into contact with several space centimeters of the thin aluminum armor! This heated the slug to incredible temperatures due to friction, transforming it instantly from solid tungsten to a fine plasma, which then struck against the space titanium, warming it...but not piercing it.

The second round, though, was dead on, straight through the nose cone of the rocket. It did not fully ablate into plasma, leaving a core of tungsten to whip through the space titanium as if it were nothing more than tissue paper. Anti-spalling material kept the inner hull from bursting apart into deadly shrapnel. Instead, it was as if a single tiny hole had appeared right above the view screen, then another hole at the same instant appeared in the wall above Claudette's head. The round continued through two more decks before, at last, emerging from the port side of the rocket. Air began to scream through the holes, and Claudette whimpered, then fainted dead away in the sudden micro-gravity as the rocket cut its deceleration burn and swung around for combat maneuvering.

Alta caught her love, then bellowed. "ROLL OUT THE COILGUNS AND GIVE THAT BLOODY SILO SHIP OUR WARMEST WELCOME, LADS!"

A fierce roar boomed through the ship as the reaction control thrusters hissed and sprayed their high pressure cold gas and brought the longest side of the Salty Sirius about to aim at the two imperial rockets. By that time, the Q-rocket had fully come to pieces and was little threat. But they had bought the siloship time enough to open her ports and drop a staggering number of atomic torpedoes into space. Each torpedo flared with escaping gasses as their engines kicked on, and they began to sweep towards the Salty Sirius -- equal to an entire year of World War 2 blockbusters, all to be dropped in a single second!

The Sirius, though...was no shrinking violet, nor untrained combat rocket crewed by green astros. Her crew had faced down atomic torpedoes before -- if not quite so many! And so, while their heavy coilguns were loading their ship killing frangible rounds, her light coilguns were being set to feed-fire, where an entire magazine of relatively cheap roundshot could be launched in a matter of seconds. The light guns began to burr away, their barrels tracking the rockets. One by one, the incoming weapons were transformed from elegant killing machines to spreading piles of scrap, their atomic bombs scattered to the eight directions of orbital dynamics!

The heavy guns went up next -- but at these ranges, a nimble siloship like the Obliteration could effect enough course correction to actually dodge the incoming rounds. The two frangible shots whipped by with many a space-meter to be spared, streaking through space like luminous green comets -- each shot was soaked with chemicals that would make them glow brightly, so that the firing control systems upon the ship would know their efficacy.

"Miss! The bastards are jinking hard," Crow said, his voice tight as he looked through his scopes. Alta, who had strapped her love into the command throne, nodded.

"Death ray their thrusters -- see if we can't sheer off some of their rotational ability," she said. "How many nukes are we looking at?"

"Six...three!" Mrs. Orca said. "Two! One!"

The last came within a range that the enemy captain must have assumed would be close enough. A brilliant flashbulb went off and a faint groan echoed through the ship as the hull was heated. The bridge spun as thrusters swung their overheated port broadside to face away from the enemy, and brought their starboard broadside to bear. Alta thrust her finger out.

"Cut them to pieces!"

Blue streams from the light coilguns and green bolts from the heavy gave the Imperial rocket a choice between the devil and the deepest sea. They chose the lighter coilguns -- their jink brought them upwards, and then a cloud of roundshot swept through their smaller vessel. Sparks and debris flew away from the vehicle, visible even through the scopes...and then it was drifting away -- bleeding air and bodies.

The crew cheered lustily, and Claudette opened her eyes, her faint fading as she blinked. "Huh? Did we win?" She mumbled as Alta stepped to her, then pinned her arms to either side of Claudette's head, leaning forward and kissing her fiercely. Claudette mewled into her mouth -- then gasped as Alta drew back, her voice a soft croon.

"Did we win? You saved my bloody ship!" She panted. "All hands! Off the bridge!"

"I'm just applying a better-" one of the crew said from where they had sealed up the forward hole.

"Now!"

The crew hurried off the bridge as Claudette blinked, her mouth opening in shock. "...right now!? After a...a ba..." She trailed off as Alta tugged her leggings down and her achingly eager, bright red girldick. Claudette felt her own loins moisten, the heat flaring with her in part due to the beauty of the lovely alien pirate...but in part because of the adrenaline awareness of her own recent brush with mortality. Her body screamed at her...and she answered it, her thighs spreading, her arms reaching up, putting palm atop palm as she cupped Alta's hands, then gasped as Alta leaned forward and bucked her cock into Claudette. Claudette's eager cunny clenched around the cock filling her as she felt the command throne creak.

"You're...still a brute!" Claudette moaned. "And a rapist. And a kidnapper." She groaned, her orgasm clear, her back arching as she was fucked. Her breasts remained caught and contained by her slinky sling bikini -- Alta hadn't even used a hand to push her thong aside, she had simply forced it aside with her own aroused girlhood. "I...ah! Hate this!" Claudette moaned, hungrily, squeezing her lover's hands, her fingers and Alta's intertwining -- her body telling the truth in every twitch and orgasmic shudder, in every desperate bite of a quivering lip to try and keep her moans from spilling forth.

"I know you do..." Alta purred, slamming her hips into her faster. Faster. Faster. Her balls clapped against Claudette and Claudette whimpered, her eyes closing to thin slits, her breath coming shorter and shallower as her desperate bid to keep from mewling out Alta's name got more and more frayed until-

"Claudette!" Alta groaned.

"Altaaaa!" Claudette screamed out, her voice ringing through the lower decks of the pirate rocket.

Alta filled her to the brim with gushing, thick, translucent girlcum. As warmth dripped down Claudette's ass, she panted heavily and whimpered.

"Mmm, we need to do this more often..." Alta purred.

"Q-Quite..." Claudette whispered, her breathing heavy, barely catching herself. "...that was sarcasim!"

"Sure it was, Goldilocks."

Alta's one eye glittered with such insolent amusement that Claudette lifted her hand to slap her -- but Alta caught her wrist, pinned her, and kissed her.

Claudette's glare persisted...but then faded...

Then her eyes closed...as she felt Alta harden within her again.

Claudette ended up saying yes with her body three more times.

And no with her mouth with each thrust.

TO BE CONTINUED