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Message-ID: <34080asstr$1008479403@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Mother Kali <kali_mother@yahoo.com>
MIME-Version: 1.0
Subject: {ASSM} ST: The Surrogate Species, 1/3 (sci fi, M/M, NC, tg, med, body mod, castration, male preg)
Date: Sun, 16 Dec 2001 00:10:03 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Standard disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. It is
for entertainment purposes only and intended
exclusively for adults. If you are not legally of age
according to the laws of your land, please go away.

Special disclaimer: Some people may find this story--
well, kind of yucky. Please beware that it contains
extreme body modification, acts of non-consensual sex
between men, and male pregnancy, all set in a galaxy
far, far away. If this is not your cup of tea, go back
now. You've been warned!

Warnings: sci fi, M/M, NC, tg, medical, extreme body
modification, castration, male pregnancy

***

The Surrogate Species
by Mother Kali

(Part 1/3)

Kael Garon, the supreme overlord of the Krill Empire,
stepped off the transport and walked the short
distance down the gangway. He hesitated a moment at
the air lock before entering the space station and
leaving his pride behind, a casualty of war. Inside,
Garon scowled at the spare, utilitarian decor. The air
itself seemed to taste foul here, even though he was
equipped with an environater that adapted the
atmosphere to his own biological needs. To find
oneself in such humbling circumstances could be
nothing but a bitter experience, especially for the
leader of a race as fierce as Garon's own.

Of course, it was his people's war-like nature that
had ultimately led to this moment of disgrace. Under
his father, who had been Kael before him, the Krill
had set out to conquer as much of the galaxy as they
could lay their hands on, and they had been stunningly
successful. World after world fell to their superior
technology and ferocious love of battle. They had not
been gentle conquerors, either.  For thirty years, the
Krill Empire had drained the resources from vanquished
worlds and turned other races into veritable slaves.
The Krill people began to believe they were
invincible.

Perhaps this was the ultimate cause of every great
empire's destruction--blind arrogance. In the case of
the Krill, their undoing had come from the most
unexpected source. It was humbling, really, to know
that a species so inferior in strength could prove
such a formidable foe. 

They were called the Vilasians. Their planet lay at
the farthest reaches of known space. The Krill's
string of conquests had brought them all the way to
this distant outback. Little was known of the
Viasians, but victory was an addictive pleasure.
Garon's father had insisted on invading, despite the
lack of intelligence on the species. 

As it turned out, the Vilasians were poorly prepared
for an attack. They were winged, gossamer creatures,
ethereal souls with a pacifist nature, so very easy to
crush. The sleek black columns of Krill soldiers, tall
and powerful, their body armor glinting in the pale
pink light of the Vilasian sun, marched on the
capital. They made quick work of destroying the
government and brutally ending the sovereignty of the
Vilasian people. 

Perhaps, the Vilasians would not have exacted such a
terrible revenge if the occupation had been less
bloody. Perhaps, if they had simply pillaged and not
raped, the outcome would have been different. But the
Krill warriors found the filmy softness of the
Vilasians irresistible, and sex was a spoil of war
they had come to expect, even to demand.

The Krill pursued their pleasure with lusty abandon,
but the delicate Vilasians were not designed for the
rigors of such physical passion. The hapless victims
who fell into their conqueror's clutches were quite
literally fucked to death. After little more than a
month of domination, the race was on the brink of
extinction.

Apparently, they thought it only sporting to return
the favor.

No one among the Krill realized these meek, fragile
beings had such a taste for vengeance until it was far
too late. The Krill went on with the usual business of
conquest. They carried the riches of Vilasia back to
their own world and prepared the planet for
colonization. When the last of the Vilasians died out,
the majority of the ground forces were sent back to
the Krill home world. The soldiers came home to their
wives, eager for the joys of the marriage bed. There
was nothing that complemented a warrior's glory in
battle like siring a child upon his return. 

 
It took months for their doctors to realize that all
the desperate women flooding their offices shared a
common problem. The Vilasians had given their rapists
a going-away present, a genetically engineered virus
that somehow eluded medicals scans. It caused no
symptoms in the men, but when the women contracted it
through intercourse, it shriveled their sexual organs
and left their wombs small, hard stones. No offspring
would ever grow inside them. To make things worse, the
virus mutated into an air-born pathogen. Soon, even
women whose husbands had not been on Vilasia could no
longer conceive.
 
That was twenty years ago. Despite their scientists'
best efforts, no child had been born to his people in
all that time. They were a dying race.

It was this desperate need that had forced them to
turn to the Marak, the only power in the system that
rivaled their own. The Marak were an artificial life
form, created by some long forgotten race. They had
been designed as servants, but some twist of fate had
freed them. There were various stories about how that
happened. Some versions held that the master race was
wiped out in some cataclysm, a plague or a natural
disaster. Others insisted that the Marak had risen up
against them and slaughtered those who had given them
life.

Whatever their origins, they had evolved into an
efficient, logical, highly organized society of
scientists. They functioned as the think tank for the
entire sector, solving problems for a price. This was
the source of their power. They had a truly miraculous
gift for invention, and their services did not come
cheap.

Garon himself had promised them half the worlds in his
empire to save his race from extinction. And
remarkably, they had proven successful. The first
infants had begun arriving on his world a few months
ago. His doctors had given the children thorough
examinations to make sure this was not some form of
trickery. But they were exactly what they appeared to
be, healthy Krill offspring.

It was now time to settle the bill. Garon had come to
sign over control of the promised planets--but not
before he saw for himself how the Marak had
accomplished in less than a year what the best minds
among his own people had not been able to do in two
decades.

He looked around the receiving area where he had
disembarked. Of course, no one was there to greet him.
The Marak did not much concern themselves with the
niceties of life. They deemed things like protocol and
good manners to be irrelevant. If they had grown
occupied with some experiment, they might leave him
waiting for who knew how long.

Garon folded his arms across his chest and sighed. He
would far prefer to lead troops into battle than to be
stranded here in this godforsaken place. He despised
its monochrome sterility, its efficient plainness. The
Krill were a vibrant people, passionate and proud.
Their culture was ancient and rich, full of color and
beauty and liveliness. This space station and
everything else about the Marak affronted his
sensibilities. The Marak defied everything he stood
for and believed in.

 
Garon waited for some time until finally the heavy
metal doors opened, and one of the Marak entered the
receiving room. They were ovoid in shape, and their
movements gave the impression of rolling rather than
walking. No matter how much contact he had with them,
they still managed to unnerve him. 

It was not that they were artificial life forms that
disturbed him so much. He had traveled this part of
the galaxy extensively. He had seen other cybernetic
races. But the Marak were a hybrid of biology and
technology. Their inner structure was mechanical.
Their intelligence came from circuits and chips. But
their outer covering was living tissue, silver and
glistening with some sort of natural lubrication.
Their faces were smooth and expressionless, each one
indistinguishable from the next. He did not know if he
had dealt with this particular one before. He had no
idea if it was male or female. In truth, he did not
know if they even had such a thing as gender. 

He suppressed a shudder and gave a formal half bow, as
demanded by the customs of his people. "I bring you
the greetings of the Krill Empire," he said.

"Kael Garon," the creature said. "I am Toorah, the
director of research on your project. I will be
showing you our facilities and explaining our
methods."

"I appreciate your taking the time to meet with me,"
he said.

"It was reasonable to request a project review before
making final payment. We saw no reason not to comply."
The Marak moved toward the door. "Come this way."

Garon tamped down his irritation. On his world, it was
an insult to show a guest your back. Apparently, the
Marak had no such compunction. He strode forward and
rejoined his host.

"Your case has proven most interesting," the Marak
said. "At first glance, it seemed to offer no
challenge. We believed we would be able to reverse the
affects of the virus, but the bioengineers who
designed it were quite thorough. Still, your males
produce the zygote within their own bodies. That has
not been affected by the pathogen. It is only the
females' ability to accept and nurture the zygote that
has been disrupted. So we needed only to find a
suitable environment in which the microspawn could
grow to maturity. We thought we would be able to
construct an appropriate incubator."

"And that proved successful?" the Kael asked.

"It did not, I'm afraid, quite contrary to our
hypotheses. So we began searching for a compatible
species that could act as a surrogate. This also
proved difficult. We experimented with many races
without finding a suitable match."

Garon was growing impatient. He was the client. He had
no interest in hearing how difficult the assignment
had proven. "But you *did* eventually find a viable
surrogate, did you not?"

"Six months ago, we discovered a new species,
previously uncatalogued. They have proven a most
efficient surrogate.  To date, we have delivered 126
healthy, fully developed offspring to your world."

"What is this species? Where did they come from?"

"We refer to them as Species #4587. They are settlers
from a distant part of the galaxy. Their own planet
has grown overcrowded, and they set out on a long
range mission to colonize a new world."

 
"So you attacked them and took them prisoner?" 

The creature's expression remained blank. "They
entered our space without authorization. They are not
covered by any covenant of cooperation. According to
the articles of stellar law, the ships and all their
contents rightfully belong to us."

Garon could not suppress a sneer. There was nothing he
despised more than a race that hid behind the law to
do its dirty work.

"There was more than one ship?" he asked.

"We have recovered several, and more continue to
arrive. The first ships deployed beacons to guide the
rest. We project an adequate supply of surrogates to
meet the demand."

"And these females are able to carry our offspring?"

"The females, no. Their biochemistry proved
incompatible. The female hormone disrupts the
microspawn's development and results in severe birth
defects. We have found other uses for them. However,
we have been able to modify the males to carry the
offspring."

The Kael frowned. "Both sexes carry the young in this
species?"

"No. But the male biochemistry is conducive to the
growth of the offspring. We have been able to adapt
the lower section of the digestive tract, the rectum
and anus, to serve as womb and birth canal."

Garon blinked, too stunned for a moment to react.

"You--" he sputtered in outrage. "You are growing my
offspring in a shit hole!"

"Kael, I assure you there is no need for concern," the
creature said, with a hint of distaste in its voice at
Garon's emotional outburst. "What is waste to one
biological entity is fuel to another. If we provide
the surrogates a carefully controlled diet, their
natural metabolic processes break down the nutrients
to create energy for themselves, along with a
substance that provides the appropriate nourishment to
the offspring. The natural membrane that surrounds the
offspring as it grows provides the needed atmosphere.
It is a logical and symbiotic approach to the
problem."

Garon took a deep breath and tried to calm down. "And
how are they born? If the males do not normally give
birth."

"The muscular action that normally expels waste is
powerful enough to deliver the child. We use a drug to
stop this reflex while the surrogate is pregnant. When
the offspring is sufficiently mature, we stop the
medication, and the surrogate is able to give birth."

 
"I'd like to see these surrogates."

"Of course. The laboratory is only a little further."

"I want to see *everything*," he said.

There was a challenge in his voice, but the Marak
responded without emotion. 

"Order is always our objective, Kael," it said. "We
will not bypass any step of the process during this
review. There is a new shipment of this species just
arrived. You will be able to see the modification
procedure the males undergo in order to become viable
surrogates. This way."

The Marak punched in an access code, and a door slid
open, leading to a large cargo bay. Garon followed the
creature inside. A Marak shuttle sat on the landing
pad.

"The ship has just docked," the Marak explained. "You
can see the future surrogates as we unload them."

As if on cue, the heavy titanium cargo door of the
ship swung open with a loud metallic groan. Two Marak
lumbered down the gangway and took positions at the
bottom of it. They were armed with lightning rifles,
the perfect weapons to control behavior, designed to
cause excruciating pain without inflicting any actual
physical damage.

The first prisoner appeared at the top of the gangway.
He blinked in the bright light, disoriented. A Marak
guard quickly pushed him forward. He stumbled a step,
regained his balance and made his way down the rest of
the gangway. At the bottom, Marak guards instructed
him to stand off to the side. He meekly obeyed, his
head down, his hands crossed in front of his lower
body. He was a good head taller than the Marak,
muscular, superior by far in physical strength. But
Garon suspected he'd already felt the blast from the
lightning rifle and realized that his strength meant
nothing in the face of the Marak's superior
technology.

The rest of the captives began streaming out of the
shuttle in an orderly procession and lined up on the
tarmac. They all appeared intent on covering
themselves, just as the first one had.

Garon could not understand how this feeble attempt to
shield themselves was going to do them any good. They
were the most oddly vulnerable looking species he'd
ever laid eyes on--soft, fleshy and exposed. He'd
never seen anything quite like it. And yet, they did
not appear weak, exactly. Although they were by no
means as large or as physically powerful as Garon's
own race, they were still quite physically impressive.
They held themselves straight and proud. Whenever they
moved, there was the play of well-developed
musculature. It was a most interesting contradiction.

"They have no exoskeletons?" he asked his host.

It shook its head. "Only an epidermis."

"What protects them in battle? Or from the elements?"
 

"Normally they wear garments made of plant and other
types of fibers. We remove them as a matter of
security and to make it easier to monitor their
physical condition."

"Why do they hold their hands in front of themselves
like that? Is it a military stance?"

"Apparently, it is taboo in their culture to be seen
by others without wearing garments. It seems
especially important to them that the genitals are
covered."

The Marak motioned to the guards, and the guards
ordered the prisoners to drop their hands to their
sides. The captives hesitantly obeyed.

This species' delicate looking genitals made them seem
even more vulnerable. Garon found it oddly arousing,
the way this being's sex was so prominently and openly
displayed.

"The phallus has no carapace to protect it?"

"No. It is always exposed. When the being is sexually
aroused, its phallus becomes engorged, as does the
male phallus of most species. Otherwise, the phallus
rests limply between its legs."

"And what is that hanging beneath the phallus?"

"The male gonads. This species has them on the outside
of the body."

"You have to be kidding."

The Marak regarded him with a look of confusion. They
did not have the concept of humor in their culture. It
had no idea what it meant to say something in jest.

"How do they protect themselves in battle?" Garon
wanted to know. "Would they not be constantly at risk
of an enemy trying to destroy their ability to bear
offspring?"

"We found children among them. And there were no males
whose genitals were not fully intact."

"Very strange."

Garon stared at them. They were so very different from
his own people, but beautiful in their own way. He
began at one end and walked down the line, inspecting
each one. The creatures kept their heads bowed, their
eyes lowered. He could hear their nervous breathing.
He could feel their fear. 

 
Near the end of the line, one particularly caught his
attention. He stopped to take a closer look. These
creatures came in many different shades. This one was
pale. He had a tousle of golden hair on top of his
head, a patch around his genitals, and a light dusting
all over his body. He put a hand against the
creature's chest. He could feel its heat and the wild
pounding of its heart. He tilted the man's chin up so
he could see his eyes. They were pale blue with dark
centers, wide and bright with fear. He lightly stroked
the man's cheek with his thumb. The man trembled. His
skin was the softest thing Garon had ever felt.

"The next step is modification," the Marak said. "You
can watch as we perform the procedure on this one." It
indicated the golden-haired captive.

Garon nodded. "Yes, I would like to see that."

The Marak gave a sign to the guards, and they pulled
the golden-haired man from the line. They held him
tightly beneath the arms, making escape impossible. He
tried a different tactic, sagging heavily, making his
body dead weight, trying to resist being taken away.
The guard quickly jabbed the lightning rifle into his
ribs. This made him much more cooperative. The Marak
dragged him from the room, down the corridor, to the
medical bay. Garon and the researcher followed.

Inside the operating room, the guards ordered the
captive to lie on the table on his stomach. They
restrained his arms and legs and then pushed a button
on a nearby console. The table shifted so that the
captive's legs were spread and his buttocks positioned
high in the air. A Marak doctor stepped over to him,
carrying a long, slender probe made out of some sort
of shiny silver metal. He parted the captive's cheeks
and introduced the probe into his anus.

"Hey!" the captive yelped with outrage. "Get that out
of me. What the hell are you doing?"

The Marak doctor did not answer or stop what it was
doing.

"They always resist having anything inserted into the
anus," the Marak researcher explained to Garon. "The
males even more so than the females. We believe this
may be another taboo in their culture."

Garon rolled his eyes. The Marak were the most
brilliant scientific minds in the galaxy, and yet,
they couldn't grasp the simple emotional fact that
having something forced into your body against your
will was a violation, no matter what your culture. 

The doctor pushed a button on the control panel, and
the instrument buried in the captive's anus started to
hum. The man's eyes widened, and then he began to
shriek.

"This enlarges the anus," the researcher explained.
"So that it can accommodate a Krill phallus without
tearing, and also to make birthing easier."

"It must be painful."

"We block the nerves to prevent the worst of the
sensations from registering. But there is no way to
completely avoid discomfort. They can feel what is
happening to them, and it causes distress."

The man's face had turned bright red from his
screaming.

 
The procedure went on for several more minutes. When
it was completed, the doctor removed the probe from
the man's anus. From his vantage point, Garon could
see that the opening was much larger than it had been
before. It was really rather a grotesque procedure,
but necessary to prevent another disaster like the one
they'd had with the Vilasians. At least, these beings
would be able to withstand intercourse with Krill
males.

The man lay crumpled on the table, his back heaving.
The doctor allowed him to rest for a few moments
before instructing the guards to turn him. They
positioned him on his back, with his feet fastened in
stirrups, his legs spread wide. They again restrained
his arms again and added a strap across his chest to
keep his upper body stationary. The man's belly
rippled with fear.

The doctor ran a scanner over his torso. The
instrument mapped his internal organs. When the doctor
found the correct spot, he took a device and held it
against the man's skin. There was a flash of red light
as the instrument made an incision. A moment later the
light flashed again, and the incision was closed. The
man did not flinch. At least this procedure was not
painful.

"A gland was just implanted in its bladder. It will
turn the surrogate's liquid waste into nourishment for
the offspring. Now, there is just one final step
remaining."

The doctor moved between the man's legs and positioned
what looked like a black box around the sack that hung
below his phallus.

"What is that for?" Garon asked.

"Too high a level of the male sex hormone in their
blood can cause miscarriage. We amputate the gonads as
a preventative measure to protect the offspring. This
instrument removes the outer structure called the
scrotum along with the testes."

The black box made a faint buzzing noise. The doctor
put its hand beneath the man's body, pulled away the
machine and caught the severed gonads with a soft
plop. The man strained to sit up to see what had been
done to him, but the bonds kept him in place. Garon
wondered if the anesthesia blocked all sensation or if
perhaps he could feel the loss of that soft weight
between his legs. 

The doctor carried the amputated scrotum over to the
sterile work area. He weighed it, punched some data
into the computer, put the scrotum into a container
for cryogenic storage and tagged it with the man's
identification number.

"You don't just discard the sex organs?" Garon asked.

"That would be wasteful," the Marak replied. "Perhaps
we will find some use for them."

A cold chill went down Garon's spine. It was true that
he had done many things in the heat of battle that he
could never speak of in civilized company. There was a
great deal of blood on his hands. But he had always
honored his opponents on the most basic level, as one
man pitted against another. He had always treated them
with the dignity his warrior's code demanded, offering
the defeated a quick and merciful death. Whatever else
might be said of his people, they did not torture or
mutilate on the battlefield. And while he might need
the Marak to save his race from annihilation, he could
not watch the cold and calculating way they harvested
this man's sex organs without a wave of revulsion
coming over him.
 

The doctor carried the clear container with its
grotesque contents over to the cryo unit. The man on
the table frantically turned his head to watch, trying
to see what the container held. The doctor sat it down
on the counter while he punched in a code to open the
freezer. This gave the man a plain view of the
receptacle. 

Garon could not imagine what that must be like, to
find out that you had just been castrated by seeing
your dismembered gonads prepared for cryo
preservation. He shuddered at the thought. He had
never been more relieved that his own sex organs were
buried deep in his pelvis, shielded by bone and muscle
and body armor.

The golden-haired man stared at the container for
several long moments. Garon could not imagine what a
monstrous reality that would be to wrap one's mind
around. 

The man began to shake his head. "No," he moaned, as
if in physical pain. "No. No."

The doctor placed the container into the cryo unit,
secured it and closed the door. The whooshing sound of
the hermetic seal caused the golden-haired man to
flinch.

"No!" he said, more loudly, with greater
determination, refusing to accept the loss of his sex
organs.

He thrashed his head back and forth and pulled
frantically at his bonds, desperate to sit up, to
check between his legs.

"No!" he yelled. "You fuckers! No! You bastards! You--
Aaaaaah! No! No!"

The researcher looked perplexed. "The nerve impulses
are blocked. There is no discomfort. And yet, they
always scream."

"He's just been emasculated," Garon said dryly.
"That's not something a man accepts without a rather
passionate objection."

The Marak blinked at him, without comprehension. Garon
thought they really must not have gender. They
probably just constructed more of their own kind in
one of their workshops whenever they needed them. They
had no idea what it meant for a man to be unable to
spread his seed, to know that his line would die with
him.

"Whatever objection he may have is perfectly
pointless," the Marak said dismissively. "The
procedure has already been performed. He is a
surrogate now. He has now choice in the matter."

Garon doubted that the golden-haired man would have
been comforted by such logic. He watched the man flail
and scream until he exhausted himself. Then he began
to cry, huge, trembling tears that spilled down his
cheeks. Garon had to turn away. He couldn't watch such
misery and know that he was the cause of it.

 
He couldn't afford to feel anything for these
creatures, not when using them in this way was the key
to his people's very survival.

The doctor called the guards back. They released the
restraints and hauled the man off the table. Garon
half expected him to lash out in rage. But the Marak
jailer pressed the lightning rifle against his back.
The threat was clear. The golden-haired man sagged in
defeat as they dragged him from the room.

"Where will he be taken?" he asked.

"To a holding cell. He will finish healing overnight
and be ready to begin service tomorrow."

"I'd like to see these cells."

The Marak nodded. "Of course."

It started for the door, and Garon followed, resigned
by now to always being on the heels of his host. They
went down several long corridors. The Marak stopped at
one of the doors and punched in the access code. The
door opened, and the noise from inside the room hit
Garon like a slap across the face. Aisles of cages,
stacked three high, lined the room. Each was filled
with a newly castrated male. Their collective wails
reverberated off the metal walls like a desperate
requiem.

Garon walked the aisles, looking for the golden-haired
man. The faces of some of the captives were red and
swollen with fears. Others were pale and drawn with
shock. All were profoundly distressed. 

Garon located the golden-haired man near the back of
the room, huddled on the cold floor of his cage,
cradling his mutilated genitals in his hands. He
sobbed uncontrollably. Garon watched him for several
moments, but the captive was too distraught to notice.
Finally, Garon turned away and went to rejoin the
researcher, feeling weary and saddened.

The Marak was talking into a comm device when he
returned.

"Kael, this review will have to be terminated for now.
My attention is needed elsewhere. We have prepared
quarters for you. We can reconvene in the morning."

Garon was in need of a break, so this change of plan
was not entirely unwelcome. And yet, the Marak's
presumption rankled him.

"That was not our arrangement. And I do not have time
to waste," he snapped.

"Nor do we, I assure you. But this cannot be helped.
You may stay, and we will continue in the morning. Or
we can terminate the proceedings altogether."

"Is this how you treat all your clients?" he asked.

The Marak stared at him blankly.

 
He sighed. "Very well. Have someone show me to my
quarters."

The Marak nodded, and then spoke into his comm device.
A moment later, another of its kind appeared.

"Come this way," it said.

The guest quarters were down a level, at the end of a
long corridor. 

"There is a food dispenser," the Marak told him,
indicating a panel on one of the walls. "The computer
should be able to provide you with anything else you
require. But if not, there is a comm device here." It
pointed to a button by the door.

"Thank you."

It nodded and left. The door closed automatically.

Garon looked around. The accommodations were much as
he had expected--adequate and depressing. He scanned
the menu list on the food dispenser and found a
traditional Krill stew. He pressed the button, and the
food appeared. He took the bowl and sat down in the
most comfortable chair the room offered. Of course,
the stew tasted as if it had come from a food
dispenser. The flavors were muted. The consistency was
all wrong. But he was hungry, so he ate.

Afterwards, he lay down on the bed to think. He wasn't
sleepy, and there was little else to do. The Marak
apparently considered entertainment to be irrelevant. 

He thought about the golden-haired man, his creamy
skin, his eyes that were the same bright blue as the
great mountains on Krill. To his shame, he felt the
telltale tightening in his groin, the heat of arousal
in his belly, and then his penis began to uncoil from
its carapace. 

Garon liked to believe that he was a very different
sort of Kael from his father. He had never found it
proper to take pleasure in another's suffering. Under
his command, the excesses of his soldiers had been
reined in. They kept order on the conquered worlds,
but they did not ravish them. Garon understood what
his father had never been able to see. Forced slavery,
unnecessary violence, casual injustices perpetrated
against vanquished worlds--sooner or later, these
things always came back to haunt you. Garon had vowed
there would be no more Vilasias under his rule. 

He had to wonder where all his high-minded philosophy
had gone when it came to species #4587. 

He didn't wish them ill. If it had not been a matter
of survival, he would have let them come and go in
peace, with safe passage through Krill space. But it
*was* a matter of life and death to his people. And
surely, that took precedence over any notion of
justice. Didn't it?

And why did just the thought of the golden-haired man
heat his blood and make his penis stiffen?
 
Garon sighed. Was it simply because this was such a
lonely place that he could finally admit to himself
what a lonely man he had become?

This had not always been the case, of course. He had
been young once upon a time, filled with hope and
prospects. He was next in line to become Kael, and
that had placed the world at his feet, many worlds, in
fact. His was a carefree existence. The only pressure,
if you could even call it that, had been the need to
choose an appropriate mate, a female of good
reputation and prominent family who would be able to
carry out the duties of Consort with grace and
dignity. 

He found it a most agreeable obligation.

He had gone from reception to party to ball to
festival, meeting and flirting with every young women
of marriageable age and noble birth. It had been like
wandering through the most wonderfully verdant garden,
and he was the lucky gardener who could pluck any
blossom he chose. All he had to do was reach out his
hand and take what he wanted.

His father had given him the traditional coming-of-age
speech. He had passed along to him the knowledge of
how men and women coupled. He had also given Garon
some advice about love. He had said that Garon should
not try too hard to find a wife. He would simply know
the right woman when he saw her.

Garon's father had proven so very right. Garon could
still remember that moment as if it were yesterday. He
had walked into the reception room in her father's
house and saw Jaina standing there by the window.
Sunshine streamed into the room and made a halo around
the sleek, dark planes of her face. He lost himself in
her loveliness, totally, gratefully.

He forgot his manners completely and neglected to
greet Jaina's father or to send his own father's
compliments. He had not waited to be presented to the
family. He had gone straight to Jaina's side and
introduced himself. She was more delicately built than
most females of their kind, and he towered over her.
Something about that touched an erotic place in him.
She really was a flower, both fertile and fragile, and
he had never wanted anyone more than he wanted her.

She smiled at him, bemused. Her eyes were wide and
dark and mysterious. He stared at her, and she didn't
look away. Flower that she was, there was a spark in
her, too. She was not dazzled by him or his status, as
so many others were. She kept her back straight, her
gaze level. She understood her own worth, and she
would not downplay it, not for a future Kael, not for
anyone. It only intensified his passion for her. 

He took her hand and clutched it, far more
passionately than was proper for a first meeting,
holding onto her slim fingers much longer than
protocol allowed. And that finally did cause her to
lower her eyes, not out of shyness, but with a sense
of embarrassment for his unseemly zealousness.
 

In that split second, he knew beyond any doubt that
this was the woman who would be the mother of his
children.

It had been so sweet, after the many days of wedding
ritual and revelry, to finally be able to lie with her
in the marriage bed. He had held her and soothed her
and entered her with extreme gentleness and care. And
it had been so good, the exquisite connection of being
inside her, feeling her heat, having her completely
surrounding him, the safe haven to which he would
entrust his little seedling.  When he had come inside
her, she had cried out, the tears streaming down her
face in surprised joy. This was the moment all Krill
females waited for, when she would accept her
husband's offspring and carry it for him in her body,
when she would truly be a woman.

When the doctors came the next day to check on Jaina,
however, they found that she was not pregnant. Jaina
looked crushed, but Garon was not entirely
disappointed. It meant that he could take his pleasure
with her again, something that would not have been
safe if she were already with child. He quickly sent
the doctors away and took Jaina to bed again, savoring
their lovemaking, believing it would be their last for
many months, until after she had delivered and weaned
their first child.

But Jaina still did not get pregnant. 

A few months later, they learned the devastating
truth. Jaina, like every other Krill woman, had been
rendered incapable of conceiving.

After the diagnosis, Jaina would not let him comfort
her. She would not speak to him, would not allow him
touch her or even to remain in the same room with her.
It quickly became clear that she would never forgive
him. It didn't seem to matter that he had never been
to Vilasia, that he had not infected her, that she
would have been barren no matter whom she'd married,
that it was his father's military policies that had
brought such terrible destruction, not something that
he himself had done. She had suffered the loss of the
most sacred thing a Krill woman could ever hope to
gain, the thing that gave a woman's life its most
profound meaning. She had to blame someone. 

They had never been intimate again. Under the
circumstances, intercourse would have been an affront
to her. They never spoke about her infertility, not
once in twenty years. She would not confide in him
about her suffering. She did not trust him to
understand, even though he, too, had suffered the
loss. Even though he was just as devastated.

Jaina had managed to hold herself together for a
while, at least enough to discharge her duties as
Consort. The two of them made the required public
appearances. They held hands and pretended to be
something they weren't. Jaina gave speeches to Krill
women's groups and urged them to have courage, to
stand by their husbands, to wait for a cure. To anyone
who didn't know her, she seemed the perfect model of
long-suffering patience.

But eventually the strain became too much for her. She
slowly lost her mind. No matter how many doctors or
counselors he called to the palace, no one was able to
stop her steady decline. For years now, she had been
locked up in a suite of rooms in a distant wing of the
palace. Every month or so, he forced himself to check
on her. She no longer recognized him when he stood by
her bedside. When he looked into her eyes, they were
dull and blank. The spark he had loved so much had
long since been extinguished. 

(Continued in part 2/3)

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