Wild Space Pt. 01.5

Every day there was a new one.

Hof hated his job most of the time. The intermittent loneliness and isolation killed him. Nominally, he was there in case the robot freighter ever malfunctioned. But it never did, none of them hadn't in the hundreds of years that his planet's merchant fleet had ever functioned. But still, regs were regs, and if it meant a boring half a year for one man so cargo could be delivered on time, so be it.

There were some benefits. When Hof had signed up for this gig, he was mostly happy that it got him off the streets for six months. Benbar was getting too hot for him, the whole moon. He owed people money. Odds are, by the time he got back, they'd be dead or have forgotten. If he ever came back.

As the sole person aboard the vessel, Hof was afforded a small wooden cot tucked into a hollowed out bulkhead, a full electronic entertainment system, and no real duties to speak of. He had sneaked in some liquor and snacks, but that lasted about a day. He was forced to try the ship's food. Once he did, it had been like eating gray paste. He'd held off for a day until his hunger had finally made him cave in. But by now, five months, 29 days in, Hof was so accustomed to the artificial stuff that he barely remembered the difference. Mealtimes consisted of a mug of a lukewarm and bland liquid and a flavorless gray mush of something approaching solid that he just nicknamed "Nutrition." Not much in the way of taste, but it filled his belly.

No matter what he ate, or how much or how little, he was putting on weight, even more so than usual. He supposed it was the complete lack of activity, besides the sex. Hof had never been exactly svelte, but there was very little room to get any exercise on the freighter. Slowly, his stomach encroached on every pair of uniform pants he had. There was no way of getting any more clothing. Finally, he had to go completely pantsless and simply draped towels everywhere he tended to sit or lie.

He had the sum of human knowledge at his finger tips with the computer and entertainment system, but like everything on Benbar, it had been stolen. The entire database had been lifted from a Capital Navy officer's cruise ship. The entire of his reality, in written or video format, had a distinctly nationalistic, pro-human, Centralia driven bent. After a week, Hof had tired of all the old newsreels, books, and anthems from even an ironic point of view.

He was looking forward to seeing his home again, in an abstract kind of way. Hof had somewhat forgotten Benbar, that hostile, poor moon he had the bad luck to be born on. The freighter job had seen like the only way out.

At first, it had been liberating. He'd shaved a wide, fat strip in his hair, drank himself sick, and stayed up until all hours blasting his music. After sleeping in, he would eat hot Nutrition, and if it wasn't fancy at least it was free. Unlike his various criminal enterprises back home, he never had to worry about enough to eat, money, where to stay. Hof had gone from a street hustler to a prosperous employee of the Benbar Merchant Fleet in days. It was glorious.

Now, not so much. Six months is a long time to go without hearing another voice, seeing another face. It would be enough to drive a person insane. Perhaps for that very reason, his employers had arranged for a proper diversion.

One "hatched" every six days, 19 hours. That was how Hof thought of it. In reality, a new sex slave, completely human, left the conical maturation chamber. The first time, it had been a beautiful woman, black, coltish with long legs, a narrow waist and small, firm breasts. The week after that, a chubby, pale redhead with large natural breasts and wide hips. A week later, a fine boned young man with gracile features. And so on.

None of them spoke, even when called names or ordered to. They either didn't see the need to or weren't designed that way. They only had one purpose, to give pleasure, and they did at that.

After the six days, they would not come to his beck and call any longer. They'd return to the chamber and disappear. No amount of prying into the chamber with any of the tools aboard would do make its large, human sized hatch budge an inch. Attempting to restrain one of them to going inside had left him with a stinging backhand red mark upside his face, from a squat, muscular woman with short blonde hair. That had been enough to satisfy his curiosity, and instill a little fear. The clones seemed deaf, dumb, and mute. But not dangerous, unless he should attempt to interfere with their life cycles. And he wouldn't, not ever again. Suppose they should stop coming? How was he supposed to get through his last days here?

Hof was using the latest one, the last one, now that he thought about it. That's how he thought of them, as a useful item, things without gender or need. This clone was a long haired blond woman, generous on the hips and bum, with sensually dark lips and blazing eyes.

He was glad the last one was a woman. Hof preferred women, but had resorted to other men before, when they would have him and there was no alternative. He supposed the ship was giving him a variety, and frankly he appreciated it. That was another good thing about being on this bucket: boring or no, it afforded him plenty of sex partners. Far more than he'd ever enjoyed before this job.

The clone was bent over the table in the dining area, a spot that Hof had found through a lot of experimentation was the best place for a doggy style romp. "She", if it could be called a she, was being taken for perhaps the third time that day. It was becoming more and more difficult to see them as anything resembling people. She had all the parts of a woman and performed well, but she didn't make a sound, talk dirty, or make the first move. Hof still found it disconcerting, but he endured it. Small pride to pay for utter obedience.

Hof had his now ample belly stacked onto the clone's backside, nearly covering it, and a mug of whatever flavorless, warmish the ship dispensed on the table next to her. Had he thought it would stay, he'd have put it on the clone's back for convenience as he thrust. This was the only bit of exercise he ever got, and he wanted to be as comfortable as possible.

"Throw it back," Hof told her absently as he rested, standing there, out of breath. Obediently, the clone braced herself, hands down on the table, and energetically pushed her ass back onto him, making a characteristically fleshy sound. Glancing down, he idly noticed that this one's pink cunt gripped his shaft to the point where she could pull away and still envelop him slightly. Like some kind of ooze. He looked away, faintly disgusted.

He was thirsty. He'd been working hard, after all, and he was a big boy these days. His mug was far away. Hof thought about telling the clone to stop so he could refresh himself, but felt himself beginning to climax and couldn't be bothered.

He made a sound, a grunt with three distinct notes, like someone's stomach after a large meal. Hof caught a glimpse of himself in the shiny bulkhead opposite of him: a tall man whose belly was far wider than his shoulders, a thicket of ash blond hair, a dimpled chin, and a ruggedly handsome face now gone ruinously to fat, but still retaining some kind of brutish attractiveness, he liked to think.

The clone had stopped moving. Hof knew if he didn't say anything else, she would remain there, bent over into the table, until it was her time to return to the chamber. He had done it, let one do the things lay there for days. He had done other things, too, unspeakable things. The first few times had been hard, but his curiosity had gotten the better of him. After it had been done...what did matter? No one saw, no one remembered. Not even him. Hof could do whatever he pleased to the clones, say whatever he wanted. And once it was done, so long as they could make it back to their chamber on the sixth day, it was if they never existed.

"Get out," He said. Hof wondered what kind of reception was waiting for him, back home. Benbar was just a day and a half away, but with how little he did, he couldn't be sure. Sometimes the ship landed then blasted off, other times it flew for days without reaching any port. Loading, unloading, it all happened on a far away part of the vessel he couldn't reach. He did have access to the maintenance areas and his own bulkhead and living area, but that was it.

"Where do you want me to go?" The clone asked him. She had stood and was frankly regarding him with dark eyes.

Hof nearly jumped out of his uniform blouse, and braced himself against the bulkhead. When he recovered, he was goggling like an owl. He felt an absurd urge to cover his still throbbing crotch.

"You...can talk!"

"That doesn't answer my question," The clone stood, tossed back her long blonde hair. "Where do you want me to go?"

"I don't...shut up." Hof said awkwardly. After six months of being obeyed completely, of only hearing his own voice, all of this was a lot to take in. "Tell me how you can talk."

"No different than you, I imagine." She said. "But now you still haven't answered my question. Out of your sight usually works. I'll try that."

"Hey!" Hof said. She was walking away.

He might not have been very fit, but he probably outweighed her by a good seventy five pounds. Hof caught up to her, grabbed her arm, and whirled her around.

In the same motion, something flashed in her hand, and he felt a stinging pain underneath his collarbone, right at the shoulder. His own fork was sticking out of him.

The clone didn't give him a chance to even whimper. With the heel of her hand, she hit the end of the utensil, driving it deeper until it flopped out, clattering onto the deck. Blood seeped out of the small and savage wound.

When Hof tried to squeal and twist away, she grabbed the size of his neck in some kind of pinch, rendering him unable to move much or speak. When he flailed she squeezed, hard, flooding his body with cold numbness and pain.

"You're going to do as I say either way. My vote is no pain. What's yours?" She had him in some kind of damn nerve hold or something. He could barely nod.

She led him to the maturation chamber, hips and hair swaying with the mindlessly sexy walk that he had grown to ignore over the last six months. They all moved like that. They all performed. They all obeyed. But they never, ever did anything like this.

"We're getting in."

"Wait, wait...what happens?"

His words brought another squeeze to the side of his neck, nearly bringing him to his knees. But she answered.

"The next one has to eat, don't they?"

Hof gave such a sudden cry that she jumped. He dug his heels into the deck, arms reaching out and gripping the sides of the bulkhead for dear life. But the interior of the freighter was too smooth and he found himself sliding along, no matter how hard he resisted. It wasn't long before the pitted metallic chamber was before them.

"Retiring pilot Hof."

The maturation chamber opened as if by magic, at her command. The interior consisted of a grated floor and mysterious emplacements along the wall, like open mouths. It was a great deal bigger than it appeared from the outside.

"What's going to happen?"

Her foot swung around in series of a cruel, wicked arcs, pivoting from the hip, hitting him right in his calf. He crumpled after the first one but she still managed to get two more kicks in.

The pain left him nearly breathless. She was so strong, so fit, and he wasn't. Hof slumped on the ground, clutching his leg.

"Take off your uniform top."

"What? What for?"

All she had to do was stare. Reluctantly, Hof stripped off the dingy gray jacket and shirt, which he'd hiked up during their frolic. His gut sagged mournfully.

"Throw them out. Don't want them getting recycled, too."

Some deep hardwired instinct, ever since his ancestor's ancestors had emerged from the primordial goo on Centralia, flared up in him. Something human, a sensation he hadn't felt in a long time. He would not go quietly into that good night. Whatever was about to take place would not be to his benefit. His very life was being threatened. At the very least, he'd go out fighting, like a man. He wadded up the clothing in his hands, and in one motion tried to toss it at her and leap at the door.

She had been waiting for him to make his move. Easily, fluidly, she blocked his way.

"We remember, you know. You'll see. You'll see. But now try me, fat man."

Her words fanned his anger. Hof had always been mocked this way. With an inarticulate yell, he charged.

It was all over in a few seconds. She barely moved, only twisted, using his own motion against him, sending him face first into the side of the chamber. When he slumped against it, she hit him with a series of knife hand strikes to his kidneys.

When she was done, he could only whimper and blink tears out of his eyes. Too many nights spent lounging around, gobbling up food, indulging his every sick whim onto an easily disposed of fake person. And not enough exercise and sharpening his mind.

"Recycle."

A gray liquid seeped through the grating on the deck. Hof immediately recognized it oozed around his body. It was the same gravy he'd dined on every day, three times a day, for the last six months. He retched as the liquid pooled quickly around his legs and waist.

"Go ahead. It all washes away, all gets recycled. You'll see. You'll see."

The dishwater gray liquid was numbing him, priming him for the kill. He somehow found the strength to scream, until his mouth was filled and he could no longer make a sound.

********************

The new maintenance worker was a short, willowy brunette woman with prominent teeth and unhealthy hair down to her neck. She looked like she was in need of a good meal, a good shower or a good hard fuck. Probably all three.

"So...I just come on aboard?" She asked the open ramp of the ship. There was no answer. She supposed a robot freighter had no real AI to speak of, or none that she could communicate with. The woman checked her orders, received a week ago, against the registry numbers on the ship. Everything looked to be on the level.

It was strange. The ship was nearly empty. At the top of the ramp was a big sign:

COT IS IN THE SCRAPPED BULKHEAD

DON YOUR UNIFORM

FOOD AND ENTERTAINMENT AVAILABLE

YOU ARE ALWAYS ON CALL

HAVE A PRODUCTIVE AND SAFE TIME

Inside, around a turn of passageway, was a wooden cut set up inside a bulkhead that had been torn out. There were some dishes and two taps, one labeled "drink" and the other "food." A standard entertainment system and a dining area. It was awfully cramped. She shrugged out of her street clothes and into a dull gray uniform, revealing breasts, stomach, and a narrow ass that all showed a lot of hard usage, but still had plenty left in the tank.

The ramp hissed as it raised itself into the ship. The woman ran back to the boarding area, only to see the last sliver of her homeworld disappear as the freighter blasted off.

"Wait!" A few more minutes of shouting proved fruitless. There was nothing she could do, no one to hear her.

She heard movement behind her. She turned from ramp, out of breath, upset, red faced.

Standing there, nude, was a tall and chubby blond man, his hair nearly as white as snow. She had always had a thing for big men. When he did walked towards her and invitingly opened his arms, the woman saw that he had a dimpled chin, a hooked nose, big ears, a handsome but brutal face.

*******